Prize Day at Caveryhalli

'Prize Day at Caveryhalli'

Unicef/ IETS
Translated into Kannada and Hindi for first-generation rural learners
16 pages
Paperback
2006

My original story in English: 

Prize Day at Caveryhalli

By Aditi De

“Oh no!” said Pankajamma, clutching at Amreen’s elbow as they turned into the long school corridor that led to the assembly space beyond Std. X. “I don’t think our Prize Day is going to be the best ever.”

“I doubt it, too” echoed Amreen, breaking into run. “Why are these senior boys fighting now?”

By the time the Std. IX girls arrived there, Sangamesh had Balukrishna by the collar. He was shaking his best friend violently.

“Ganesha Sir said I was to make the welcome speech for the chief guest, Abdur Raheem Sheikh” yelled Sangamesh, crossing his arms over his chest seconds later. “Not you!”

“But I’ve always won the elocution and sports prizes!” Balukrishna screamed back, his clenched fists on his hips. “Sheikh anna is an important politician today. I’m sure it’s because he won the Caveryhalli school elocution prize ~ like me. Not some silly best student award like you… Why can’t you tell Ganesha Sir that I’d do it much better? That’s not fair….”

“I’ve topped our class ever since Std. I. Don’t you ever forget that!” retorted Sangamesh, as four of his classmates gathered around him. “That takes brains, you know. Who cares about reciting like a parrot? Or running faster than the rest of the school? Nobody who’s clever needs those skills…”

“I don’t know why I ever thought you were my friend,” yelled Balukrishna, even louder, as his friends tugged at his shirt. “You can’t even be on the winning side in our kabaddi matches against the Doddahalli school. I hope you forget your speech on stage today. I hate you…” 

“Calm down!” panted Pankajamma, reaching the boys. “Remember, Ganesha Sir said all of us have to work together make our Prize Day wonderful.”

All she got in return was an ugly glare from Balukrishna ~ and a knock on her head from Sangamesh.

“Ganesha Sir is a wise man. We have to listen to him,” added Amreen. “He is our principal, after all.”

As Amreen separated the warring boys, Pankajamma observed, “I like Balukrishna because he’s the best speaker in school. And I admire Sangamesh because he always tops his class. But each of them is so busy talking all the time that they never ever listen to anyone else….”

Over the next two hours, there was no time for small talk. Amreen helped her classmates Ramya and Mary Joseph to string bright marigolds and mango leaves across the blue cloth backdrop to the stage. In another corner, Mamatha rehearsed the bhajan that was to set the mood for Prize Day.

But they could see that all was not well amongst the boys. “Balukrishna looks like he’d like to punch Sangamesh on the nose,” whispered Pankajamma to Ramya. “What can we do to make them friends once more?”

Before they could discuss a plan, a huge car drew up to the school gate. Sheikh emerged, dressed in a white outfit, starched like a crisp paper dosa. Ganesha Sir and the senior teachers rushed to welcome him.

Sangamesh, who had been asked to join them as the school’s top student, ran towards the car. Suddenly, he stumbled over a broken brick. Red-faced, he rose to his feet. Behind him, he heard a titter of laughter. It had to be Balukrishna’s gang!

He tried to ignore them, but it was difficult. Would he fall from favour with Ganesha Sir? These troubled thoughts whirled through Sangamesh’s mind as the assembly settled down. Soon, he heard the principal call on him to welcome Sheikh.   

“Our honored Chief Guest, we are proud to have you with us on this special day,” Sangamesh began, after changing his dusty shirt for a clean one borrowed from a classmate.  “As an ex-student of …”

He found he could not recall the name of the school he had belonged to for ten years. He tugged at his shirt sleeves. That didn’t help. He looked at the clock on the wall. His mouth felt dry. His palms were sweating.

“As a student of ….” Sangamesh tried once more. He felt as if a million eyes were drilling into him. He couldn’t go on. He wished he had allowed Balukrishna to make the speech instead.

“We’d like to welcome you, Sir,” he said hurriedly, unusually lost for words. Then, he ran off-stage as fast as his feet would carry him.

Over the next hour, Sangamesh found his way to the stage in a daze. He had won prizes for top scores in maths, science and history ~ and a large cup for topping his class yet again. But somehow, none of these cheered him up. He felt as if the whole world was jeering him.

That’s when Sheikh went to the mike. He began, “Ganesha Sir, boys and girls, it seems as if I was here just yesterday ~ as a student. Those were the best years of my life…”

Pausing, his eyes rested on Sangamesh’s downcast face. He took in Pampanna’s triumphant look, his arm around Balukrishna’s shoulder. He noted how they looked at Sangamesh with cold eyes.

Sheikh continued, “But I’d like to share another time with you. I’d just joined the government when a flood hit a village, 50 km. from Caveryhalli. Thippeswamy, who was our boss, took hours to explain how relief efforts worked best. How we could get cooked food to the stranded villagers. How they would need blankets, homes, new clothes very soon…”

But young Sheikh did not like Thippeswamy. Not one bit. Why? Perhaps because his boss was a very short man with a pencil-line moustache, which he found funny. His voice was slightly squeaky. He usually wore safari suits and thick chappals, which smartly-dressed Sheikh found comic. He disliked the way Thippeswamy’s arms hung limp as he spoke, the way he tugged at his well-oiled hair, even his constant nods as he listened. 

“I didn’t listen to Thippeswamy’s instructions. I didn’t understand why he insisted that the rice, palya and sambar should be plastic-sealed in small packages,” Sheikh told the audience. “I had thousands of kilos of cooked food and drinking water packed tightly into cardboard boxes. Our helicopter flew high, high, high above the waters. The marooned villagers below looked like ants. Some were on rooftop islands amidst the floods. We airdropped the food supplies…”

This sounds like a film story, thought Pankajamma. Was Sheikh a hero in this story, like Rajkumar or Vishnuvardhan in the movies?

But his voice boomed on: “To my horror, I found that the heavy boxes, filled with food, dropped past the starving people below. The tiny heads we saw dived into the water. But when they came up five, ten, then fifteen minutes later, they were empty-handed….”

Sheikh stopped. His eyes met those of his listeners. He spoke as if he was reaching out to each of them, one to one. In a gentler tone, he said, “I should have listened to Thippeswamy. I should have had the food packed in plastic bags, so that the flood waters couldn’t get into in, so that it would stay afloat….”

What happened then, Amreen asked Mary Joseph, who shrugged.

“At that moment, I realized how my young son and daughter would feel if they had to starve while good food was wasted,” said Sheikh. “I should have listened to Thippeswamy. I knew it was all my fault. ….”

Once the chief guest came off the dais, the Caveryhalli students flocked around him.

“Sir,” said Balukrishna, “why do you feel it was your fault?”

“If only I had listened closely to Thippeswamy, I would have respected his experience,” replied Sheikh, stroking his greying beard. “I know now I was only part of a team needed to get that food safely to the flood-hit families. It wasn’t important whether I liked my boss or not. What mattered was whether I got his message right, both through his words and gestures…”

Pankajamma’s hand shot into the air. Frowning, she said, “I don’t really understand, Sheikh sir…”

Smiling, he asked, “Can I ask you all a question? Did you have a fight while working together on Prize Day?”

“Yes, sir,” said Balukrishna, sneaking a look at Sangamesh. “We didn’t know that we needed to play together like… like a cricket team! But… how did you guess?”

“I could feel the tension while Sangamesh was speaking,” said Sheikh. “I know how smart he is. So, it had to be something else…”

The boys shuffled their feet. They looked at the ground. Within moments, the story of the morning’s rivalry was out in the open. They felt as if Sheikh was a favourite anna in their midst, not a chief guest any more.   

“Did you know how to read people even as a schoolboy?” asked Mary Joseph.

“When we were in Std. VII, my classmates and I could figure out whether Ganesha Sir was in a good mood or not, the minute he stepped into our room,” Sheikh said. “Do you know how?”

“No! How?” asked Sangamesh, not wanting to be left out. 

Looking at Ganesha Sir, who was grinning by now, the chief guest continued, “Sudhir, Saleem and I would watch as he came in. If he whistled under his breath, that was a good sign. If he rocked his chair as he took the roll call, that was even better. On such days, we knew we could throw chalk at each other, munch on murukku behind our books. Or even tie the girls’ plaits together…”

“That sounds like a lucky day!” giggled Pankajamma, stroking her own glossy plaits.

“Of course,” said Sheikh. “But not all days were so easy. On some days, Ganesha Sir would come in frowning. Even as he sat at his desk, his foot would move up and down restlessly. We learnt to be very quiet at such times. If we were noisy or forgot our answers, he would send us out of the class. Or even off to the principal’s office for a scolding….”

On stage, Ganesha Sir was listening to them. He looked at the ceiling, then burst into laughter.

“The principal’s in a good mood now,” said Pankajamma to Lalitha.

As Sheikh left at the end of a long Prize Day, the girls came upon an unusual sight.

“Look, I think Sangamesh and Balukrishna are friends again,” said Amreen to Pankajamma. “Balu’s just handed over his favourite blue marble, the one his Mama from Chikmagalur brought him. He promised not to part with it all his life.”

Pankajamma agreed, “I think that means Balu will get to make a speech on Sports Day next month…”

“And Sangamesh will cheer when Balu wins medals for the 100-metre dash and the high jump,” said Mary Joseph, nudging Amreen. “They’re even looking at Sangamesh’s prizes shoulder to shoulder.”

Just then, Sangamesh and Balukrishna strolled past them. They were sharing a jalebi from the snacks handed out to the students to mark the occasion.

“We can do anything we want, as long as we work together,” said Sangamesh. “We can go into space together. Or find out all about the first animal that ever lived around Caveryhalli. It should be fine ~ as long as we can figure out how Ganesha Sir’s moods are, or those of our families at home…”

“This morning’s fight was so silly,” added Balukrishna, his arm about his friend’s shoulder. “You speak almost as well as I do in public. Honestly, I mean that…”

“If you teach me how to speak even better, I promise to learn how to play kabaddi brilliantly enough to be on the school team that you captain,” grinned Sangamesh.

“That’s a great idea. You could be the Rahul Dravid of Indian kabaddi,” replied Balukrishna, as they shook hands. “How about a lesson right now?”