The Boy In Red Shirt

I wish I'd been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is how he was murdered. I was standing in front of a closed classroom door in response to a distress call received at my police station. An incomprehensible child's voice was emanating from inside which was mixed with sobs and a very peculiar repeating sound that of tearing of cloth along with a squish.

The door was closed from inside so the only way was to break it down. "Just break it down", I shouted to one of the constables. He promptly used his shoulder to break open the door.

"Oh my God!", I could not stop myself from exclaiming. A young boy not more than 12 years of age was sitting upon the abdomen of a young man and stabbing repeatedly with a pair of scissors upon his chest. It was a gory scene, with blood all over the boy's face and clothes. The 'victim' lay dead and motionless, his shirt shredded and blood-soaked beyond recognition. The boy was in a trance and his right hand with scissors moved, as if, mechanically or robotically. "No, No, Enough! No more, not with me, not with anyone else, no, no!", the boy was repeating, sobbing uncontrollably all this while.

I've witnessed many gory scenes in my entire career but never had I seen such a heart-wrenching spectacle. I along with the other onlookers got transfixed at my place with a sort of numbness. As if the time itself had stopped along with the entire universe. He also was oblivious to our forced entry and carried on with his stabbing and kept on repeating the dreaded words.

Coming out of the stupor, I regained my senses and with one swipe I picked up the boy from the dead body and gave another gasp of disbelief. Other persons, the policemen and school staff members started screaming and there was such a commotion that I had to take control of the situation. "Stop!", I shouted, "Shut up!". By now the boy had come out of the trance and had started to shake like a leaf, crying his heart out. " Come on", I said to a caretaker, " take this child away". " Seal the room and let no one enter this place", I told my constable. Taking the dreaded scissors in my hand, I put it inside a plastic bag and came out of that eerie room.

"Come to my room", said the Principal. I accompanied the Principal to his room. "Wash your hands, over there", he pointed towards the washroom. "Who's that boy?", I inquired. "He ....well, his name is Angel, he belongs to a well to do family of this town, his father is a renowned lawyer, he was born a mentally challenged baby, premature birth I guess", he said."Oh! that's why he ended up at your special school, I guess", I retorted. "Yes, you are right,he was in the care of a nanny for a while and was basically home-based, but you see , how it is, the wealthy, high society parents felt the embarrassment in owning him up, so, so one day they got him shifted here, the school for special children", the Principal informed.

"OK! so how old is he?",I inquired. "Well he is 12 years old and he has been here since last 7 years, well yes, and incidentally his parents have never tried to meet him even once, only the cheque is received every month as if they were only paying off their liability", the Principal was pensive. "So ! is Angel impulsive by nature?", I asked further. "Not really, but you never know and moreover the special teacher, the one who was murdered, was one of our best, he was extra sweet and caring towards these special children, and now this spine chilling scene....oh!", the Principal seemed to be moved by emotions.

 "Yes", I continued, "It was last week itself that children from your school visited the police station, under the government's programme of 'Save Our Children' week celebrations. One of the students was visibly shaken when the workshop conductor detailed about the 'good touch' and 'bad touch. Yes, he was a boy wearing a red coloured shirt, he lost control, you see, after hearing about the details"."Oh! I see", the Principal quipped, "You know we have such a difficult job, you have to understand what these children want to say and even judge by their body language. That's why we have special training so as to understand and educate such children. We have to be extra careful and compassionate with such children, you see, they have tender sensibilities and once they try to communicate and you are unable to comprehend the import, Oh! it's so frustrating. They want to say something and you are unable to make out the meaning- completely frustrating and quite taxing too, upon your overall mental health...". " Yes", I quipped, "that child was frantic and was trying to tell me something but you know it was beyond my comprehension.

The workshop conductor, that lady, she was also unable to understand the sign language or calm down that boy in a red shirt. He was calmed down by one of the special teachers, I thought he was also given some chocolates but still, the child took a lot of talking and soothing down, before he could become normal. Yes and hats off to you and your teachers, you deal with such situations daily. Shoot! but how come such a fatal accident could happen with a teacher who had patiently looked after such children all his life, patiently so.....".  

 "Beyond belief", the Principal exclaimed "can't fathom the reason for such an extreme act, the happenings are beyond my comprehension, Angel was the calmest of all the students and had not spoken a word in the last 10 years. The special teacher was the most hardworking of all the staff. What led Angel to such fury and such a horrendous act, purely beyond my imagination. I have an experience of 20 years in this field of special education but never ever have I witnessed such a horrible act, full of blood and fury". " Tell you what", I retorted," I've also never witnessed such a horrific act by a child, that too by a special child, Unbelievable! what about the track record of the teacher, was there anything fishy about him ever?". " No ", the Principal said," Not at all, he was the most well-liked teachers of them all, he was one of the best there are in the field of special education, he has even written a book titled -'Protection of Children from Sexual Offences'. He was pursuing his doctoral research in this field and was many times awarded for his exemplary services.... so ironic you see, the protector himself was killed by the protected".

  My eyes wandered towards the name of the institution written on a board 'Protection and Care'. By this time the caretaker had washed clean the boy Angel and had also put some washed clothes on him. The boy entered the Principal's room, as I turned towards him, I found myself staring into the face of that boy in a red shirt, who had visited my police station. Emptiness and speechlessness....