Shala by Milind Bokil Page B

holding the pencil, but it was impossible. Sir asked,‘Why are you not drawing?’
    ‘Just look at his hands, sir,’ the boys in the front bench said. ‘Bendre ma’am hit him because he wrote Anushasan Parva on the blackboard.’
    Sir came near me and held my hands at the wrist to inspect the palms. He kept looking at them for a while. The entire class was silent. I was desperately trying to hold back my tears. Then he gently ruffled my hair saying, ‘Grow up!’
    Chitre and Phawdya wanted to accompany me back home, but I refused and took the route back through the paddy fields. I stopped near the trees. The tears were waiting to burst. I did not fight them. My palms were burning, but there was a strange sense of elation too. I felt good. It was like flying high in the air.
    The sky was azure. The paddy fields stood silent in the warm sun. A patch of land on one side had been cleared out; they had probably started harvesting. The smell of ripe corn hung in the air. The breeze from the woods carried the scent of the trees. The oil on my palms smelt strange. But the fragrance all around me more than made up for it. I felt like a feather floating on fragrant waves.

    I had decided not to say anything at home, but when Aaisaheb put the cup of tea before me, I wondered how I could possibly drink it. I tried curling my fingers around to pick it up but couldn’t.
    ‘Can you pour it in the saucer for me?’ I finally asked Aaisaheb.
    ‘Why? Are you a two-year-old toddler?’
    Then I showed her my palms. Seeing them, she exclaimed, ‘You rascal! What prank did you play this time? Got punished, isn’t it? Great!’
    Ambabai came running out of the room. I recounted the entire episode before they had a chance to start their sermons.
    ‘Who asked you to act oversmart?’ Aaisaheb shouted. ‘You think you’re a big revolutionary, eh?’
    Ambabai was silent for a while. She kept looking at my palms, wide-eyed.
    ‘You are such young children. Why should you get involved in all this politics-volitics? Who taught you all this?’ Aaisaheb continued.
    I was expecting Ambabai to add insult to the injury. But surprisingly she kept quiet and did not toe Aaisaheb’s line.
    ‘Just look at the way she has hit him!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is akin to the brutality shown by the police. Why should she beat anyone like this? You must tell Baba to lodge a complaint in school tomorrow.’
    A strange fear enveloped me. A complaint against Bendre ma’am would give her an excuse to hold a grudge against me forever. I could not risk that. I preferred to silently endure the pain instead.
    Luckily Baba did not do anything. He was told about the entire episode when he returned in the evening. The lead was taken by Ambabai, of course. Baba merely said, ‘The fault is his, isn’t it? So he has to bear the punishment too. And in this case, it is better for a government servant like me to not interfere.’
    Aaisaheb was initially upset with me, but after hearing Ambabai, directed her anger at Bendre ma’am. She kept quiet after hearing Baba’s point of view. After dinner, she smeared fresh sandalwood paste on my palms, followed by the mandatory lecture. That night KT had come down to play chess with Baba. I was lying down with my palms facing down, hiding them, but he noticed. He quietly took me upstairs where his friends Ashok and Vijay were chatting. They asked me to recount the whole incident. They were impressed and, patting my back, said, ‘We thought you were a kid. But you turned out to be a brave man! Shabbash! Yeh hui na baat!’
    ‘What is the name of that sir?’ Vijay asked. ‘The one who told you about Emergency?’
    ‘Manjrekar sir.’
    ‘Would he come here if we invited him?’
    ‘Yes, I am sure. He is a bindaas character.’
    ‘Then we’ll invite him one day. You did a good job today.’
    ‘We should include him in our group,’ Ashok suggested.
    ‘What do you mean include him? He is already in our group,’ KT said,