The Last Day At School

Kumar was sitting on the terrace. All alone. It was the time of evening. The sun was about to set in some time. The sky was colored in orange with a shade of pink and yellow. It was one of the highest terraces in the town - the building of the only school in the town.

Kumar didn’t study there. He was neither a teacher. He was just a peon. Every day he would reach school at 5:30 in the morning and sweep all the classrooms and offices before anyone arrives. After that, he would clean the toilets for the day. After having filled the water tanks and soil pots with fresh water, he would run to the terrace to welcome his best friend. 

Every morning he raced with his friend – “Who will come first?” Sometimes he would win. And sometimes the sun would already be there waiting for Kumar to come upon the terrace to meet him. Kumar would sit on the terrace floor, legs outstretched, hands held like tight ropes behind his back supporting the body upwards. He would look at the sun for a while and smile for no reason. Perhaps exchanging the greetings with his old friend. After a while, he would go back downstairs, take out his worn-out wooden chair from inside, and place outside the office gate.

Once it is time for school to start, he would stand at the main gate and greet every student coming in with a warm smile, and a salute followed by a ‘Namaste’ to every teacher. Kumar would then ring the bell for Morning Prayer at sharp 8 AM. Everyone would come running to the ground and stand in lines. A couple of students would stand in front to lead the prayer for the day. And in the next few seconds, the whole ground would echo with the chorus of everyone singing. Kumar would stand a little far away under the shed of the Neem tree and would sing with everyone else in the symphony, but keeping his voice only to himself.

He considered himself a part of the school. And that was the reason why he did everything with his heart. He would run from one place to another, sometimes serving water, sometimes delivering files and papers from one office to another, sometimes delivering chalks and dusters to classrooms, sometimes taking a kid to the washroom, sometimes tying their shoelaces… and in the middle of all these tasks, making sure to ring the bell after every 50 minutes for the next class to start.

He liked to think of himself as an integral part of that school. But he kept this feeling only to himself, for he was not sure why would anyone consider a mere peon a part of the school. After all, he wasn’t doing anything of importance.

One day, the Principal of the school, Mr. Mehta, called him to his office. Kumar went in, greeted him with a warm smile and a Namaste, and stood in front of him waiting for his order. It was not unusual for Kumar. It was a part of his routine job of the everyday. But that day Mr. Mehta didn’t call him for a routine job.

“Kumar,” Mr. Mehta spoke, “How are you?”

“With your grace, Sir.” Kumar replied, “I am good, thank you, Sir. Tell me.”

Mr. Mehta almost choked. For some reason his voice was heavy. “Kumar… Ummm…”

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Kumar asked him sensing the tension in his voice.

Mr. Mehta looked at his face. He didn’t know how to say what he was about to say.

“Kumar…. The government has appointed regular peons in every school.”

For a moment he thought it was good news. He thought that he had been regularized by the government forever. But the way Mr. Mehta conveyed the information, it made him doubtful. “So…” he asked the Principal with a mild hope, “… so, I have become permanent now then, Sir?”

 The Principal didn’t want to break his hope by answering his query. But he had no other choice.

“Kumar… the govt has appointed people for the permanent posts of peon… And they have appointed one for this school also.”

Kumar’s heart skipped a beat. And it felt like a heart attack to him.

“Kumar…” Mr. Mehta continued, “I am really sorry to tell you this… but we have no choice now Kumar.” He took a deep breath which filled his stomach and chest and almost choked his throat. He didn’t want to release them; neither to Kumar and nor to the breath. But he had to.

“The new peon would join the school from Monday…” Mr. Mehta continued unwillingly, “And you can stay with the school… till this Saturday.”

As Mr. Mehta finished the news, he felt lighter with having lifted off the burden of words from his shoulders. But his heart was heavier.

Kumar froze there for some time. His face was calm, but the heart was crying. After a while, as he recollected his senses, he greeted Mr. Mehta with the same warm smile and spoke, “Ji Sir. Thank you for letting me stay for this week.” And with a Namaste, he took his leave and turned around to move out of the office. 

As he neared the gate and was about to move out, Mr. Mehta called him, “Kumar…”

Kumar turned around at his name once again, “Ji Sir?”

“Kumar…” Mr. Mehta spoke to him in a warm tone, “You should know that… you have always been an integral part of this school... always.”

Before he could control himself, a teardrop fell from his eye and it followed an uncontrollable stream of tears after it, falling down from his eyes, tracing the surface of his wrinkled cheeks, hanging down from his chin and finally fell to the ground. “Th-th- thank you, Sire… Thank you so much.” Though he was sad, there was satisfaction in his heart. He had been an integral part of that school.

Kumar was sitting on the terrace. All alone. It was his last day at school. The sun was about to set. He wanted to spend his last evening in the company of his old friend. And he wanted to bid goodbye… to his old friend and to this place… for one final time.