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Sohrab Khandelwal

Children Stories Comedy Drama


Sohrab Khandelwal

Children Stories Comedy Drama

A Bloody Mess!

A Bloody Mess!

7 mins 473 7 mins 473

Teachers might not be Gods, as they are not omnipresent but for children of a primary school, teachers are no less than Gods. Their word even holds precedence over what the parents say. In such a scenario children are no less than Moses and teachers are like God giving out the ten or many commandments. It is often the case that, at that young age, we all wish to be in the good books of our teachers. And children go to great lengths to impress their Miss /Madam / Sirs. 

As I sat down wondering what incident to write, a memory sneaked upon me from out of nowhere pleasantly surprising me. But not all surprises are pleasant.

And so the story goes. My father was posted in Adampur , a small town in Punjab. I was a young enthusiastic kid of 6, studying in ‘Second A’, Kendriya Vidyalaya No.2. Every class was divided into three sections and there was a healthy competition between them. We would study, play, wrestle till the school bell rang and by the time we reached home, the uniform was stained with dirt and hair filled with mud. It was the time period of no mobile phones, so even running was a fun game for us kids. Although the best game of them all was to -- make paper planes, fill them with sand, send them off flying towards the enemy territory. The enemy territory was always the other section. Every section had its fair share of students. ‘A’ section was supposed to be the brightest and intelligent of them all. While the ‘C’ section had the biggest share of naughty kids. ’B’ section was just the Boring section and was rather forgettable.

Although there was a fair share of competition between the three sections. We would all be united against the common enemy which was the 4th Standard. They were the bigger boys and shared the games period with us. That 'sharing' meant we had to fight for territory in the playground during the games period. And we never really won and always had to concede to the bigger and stronger boys. At that age, an advantage of only a couple of years was a decisive one. As we all were growing at an exponential rate. The PT sir wouldn’t be looking at us throughout the games period, so chances were that if push came to shove, we would be beaten.

There was nowhere to run as the kids from the 4th standard were faster with their bigger legs. A friend of mine who shared the same name as me Sunny, was the fastest kid in our class and he came from a village nearby. I was counted as one of the strongest kids in our class who never got away from a fight. In fact, I used to love to wrestle. Then there was Rahul, a loudmouth bragger who always had stories to tell about what he had done during the summer holidays. But he was the one who was always the most scared. Or Vikas who was a fast runner and used Brylcream from his elder brother to fix his hair. Vikas’s elder brother was in 6th class but unfortunately not in our school.

Or else he would have definitely helped our cause. My friend Deepak was the most loyal one and he was also the bravest of us all. He would later help me against a bully one day but that's another story. It was the games period and we decided that this time we would play in the ground irrespective of what the 4th Standard kids would say or do. The four five of us had got the whole class united and we took charge of the playground. For a while the PT Sir was also sitting close by under the shade, sipping a cup of tea chatting with some other Sir, who did not teach us. That only boosted our confidence further. As we continued to play amongst ourselves in the playground. It was proposed by someone that there be a football match between the 4th standard and the 2nd Standard. The idea was most definitely not ours but the PT sir agreed to it. 

We had often been at the receiving end of more than a push and a shove or a small hit now and then. It would always be enough to scare us off. But we never could we prove it in the Supreme Court of the School, which is the Principals Office, or the High Court of the School, which is always the Staffroom. Any case that had to presented would have to go through those stages of the staff room and then to principal mam, esp if the matter concerned different classes. Otherwise, it would be heard in the classroom itself. Whenever we had made a case, it was always our word against theirs and somehow nothing became of it. It would only anger the senior kids and make them more menacing. 

But this football match would change everything. They were rough and they were winning, we were timid and we were also losing. We were also getting tackled and pushed around like the football itself. The PT sir was nowhere near and had moved out of sight. It was an existential crisis, until, my friend Deepak fell down and scraped his knee. There was visible blood coming out his right knee and he was hurt. This was the opportunity we all had been looking for. We were all excited and rather joyful at this incident. So while Deepak winced in pain, two of us assisted him in walking. There was no attempt made by us to stop the blood. It was not a deep wound, perhaps just skin had peeled off. Vikas and I helped him walk while Rahul and Sunny walked on the side.

There was a bounce in our step as we made our way towards the staff room. The school was spread out in a huge area and the staff room must have been at least 200 meters or more away from where we were playing. We walked slowly and by the time we were close to the staff room, the blood had stopped flowing. The wound had dried and we were still 50 meters away from the class

“Blood has stopped”, sunny said in a disappointed tone. 

“Now what do we do”, Vikas asked showing concern.

“Madame won't believe us”, I added thoughtfully. 

“Sorry”, said Deepak. He felt he had let us all down. 

“Let's press it around and make the blood come”, said Rahul. And to all of us, it seemed like a good idea.

So while Deepak winced in some pain, (that we have no idea of judging how much it was) Rahul, Vikas, Sunny and I, all took turns to try to press the blood to come out of the wound. But it was a futile effort. No more blood would flow. The wound was small a slight scraping of the skin, it still looked fresh although the blood had clotted. No effort on our part was able to change that. So we decided to let it rest on fate and rushed to the staff room. Surprisingly Deepak managed to run alongside us and reach the corridor that led to the staff room. 

Very smartly Vikas and I supported him on either side as Deepak limped with our support. Sunny and Rahul were with us looking at the wound.

“May I come in Madam”, we all pledged in sync raising our right arms perpendicular to the ground.

“Come in. What happened”, said our class teacher. There were a couple of other teachers present too. As we explained our ordeal, we told her many times that even blood was coming out of the Deepak’s knee. Each one of us must have said it at least once and several times pointing towards the knee. Madame looked convinced as she had a grave expression on her face and listened to us patiently.

“I will see to it action is taken and now let's go to the infirmary”, said our class teacher inspiring faith in us.

At that precise moment, another madame entered, sitting down next to our mam, spoke in the most casual manner,

“Aruna, don’t worry its nothing, I saw them coming on the way. They were all trying to press the wound to make the blood come out. It's hardly a scrap. Now off you go to your classes!!”.

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