It was nearly a month after that fateful day, that Ronojoy and Sujoy started attending school again. Mrs. Parthasarathi, the principal, had come home to visit them and speak to Mala. ‘Attendance is the last thing you need to worry about right now, Mrs. Chatterjee. They can stay away as long as it takes, you will be the best judge of that. All I will say though is that after a while it may be better for them to get back into a routine, mingle with boys of their age. It may take their mind off this tragedy. But I leave it to you.’
A fortnight after Subir’s memorial service, Dida had the same advice for Mala. So, one Monday morning, the yellow school bus stopped by their gate again and the two brothers walked out in their crisp uniforms. There was a hush in the bus when they stepped in, no words exchanged till they reached school.
After morning assembly, Mrs. D’Souza, Sujoy’s class teacher, escorted both of them to a corner of the staff room.
‘Sujoy, Ronojoy, what happened with your father was terribly sad. I know you must be feeling very low, but life has to carry on. You have to get back to class with your friends, you have to study hard and grow up to be successful young men so that your mother can be proud of you. Ronojoy, you have to take care of your younger brother and mother. If either of you need any help or just someone to talk to, we are all here for you, anytime, okay? Slowly, but surely, you will start feeling better again, I promise you.’
And with that, they had been led back to their respective classrooms.
Sujoy’s reintroduction to school was relatively eventless. It was only the first grade; all the boys were new entrants feeling their way into the system. Initially, Sujoy felt a bit awkward and didn’t speak a lot to his classmates. One of the students, Kunal, who travelled in the same school bus had walked up to him during recess, ‘Your father passed away, no? I am sorry. At home, Mama and I prayed for you and your brother.’ Then he had extended his hand with a Five Star chocolate bar for Sujoy. Sujoy hadn’t even been able to say thank you. He just stood there with his head bowed, tear drops falling on his shiny black Bata shoes.
Ronojoy’s first day in school was fine, the problems started from the second. Between classes, he noticed small groups of boys staring at him and giggling. He thought it was his shaved head – covered only in fuzz yet – that was the subject of their amusement. During class, a couple of pieces of chalk came flying to land on the back of his head. He ignored it. Once, while walking down the stairs, he was pushed and almost fell.
During lunch break, he would stand on the sidelines of the basketball court where his friends – erstwhile friends – formed teams and played seven-a-side football. Since his return, he had been hesitant to join in and now felt increasingly unwelcome. Once, he walked up and stood nearby when the teams were being formed but they just ignored him. He stood and watched them play, wishing someone would ask him to join in. No one did. Ronojoy withdrew further into himself. He would return from school with a sullen and forlorn expression. Mala, who herself spoke very little those days, asked him a few times, ‘Bochka, is everything okay at school?’
He just shrugged.
When Mala wasn’t around, Ronojoy asked Sujoy, ‘Do you have friends in class?’
Sujoy’s reply was vague, ‘Kunal and Bhaskar and I share our tiffin. Ma’am has asked me to talk to them if I need help with the classes I missed.’
‘Whom do you play with?’
‘After tiffin, I go to the table tennis room, where Sports Sir gives us training – one group after another. Four of us play at one time.’
Ronojoy nodded. He felt relieved that Chhotku was spared what he faced in school.
Sports day drills started in school. All sections had to do forty-minute sessions of marching for the sports day parade. For the heats of the athletic events, racetracks were lined, sand pits dug. Wooden frames with Roman rings were put up.
Ronojoy had decided to give the long jump a shot. He was taller than most in his class, which gave him an advantage. On the day of the heats, he walked up to the edge of the sand pit and stood assessing the distance. It was then he heard loud giggles and felt a poke in his ribs. Ronojoy turned to face a grinning classmate who pointed to his left. A group of boys was standing by the gymnastic rings. One of them was swinging from the top horizontal of the frame; he had looped the chain of the Roman ring around his neck, twisted his neck to one side and stuck his tongue out, in parody of a hanging man.
Ronojoy’s heart pounded as he took this in, the blood rushing to his head. He ran towards the group and flung himself at them, striking out blindly with his arms and legs. A tussle followed but Ronojoy was soon pinned to the ground. The commotion had caught the eye of the sports teacher, Mr. D’Cruz, who came bounding: ‘Break it up at once, fellows! What on earth is going on here?’
One of the boys pointed to Ronojoy, ‘He attacked us.’
‘Why?’ Mr. D’Cruz turned to Ronojoy.
Ronojoy sat on the ground, his eyes stinging with tears. He said nothing.
‘Why did you do that?’ Mr. D’Cruz asked again.
Ronojoy didn’t answer. He lowered his head.
Mr. D’Cruz held his hand and helped him up. Together they walked towards the principal’s room.
Ronojoy didn’t go back to class after heats that day. Mrs. Parthasarathi had called Mala on the phone. Mala rushed to school; there she asked Ronojoy repeatedly what had provoked him but he refused to utter a word.
It was only after they reached home that Ronojoy had broken down and wept. In halting phrases, he managed to describe what had triggered his outburst.
He sobbed uncontrollably and said the same words over and over, ‘I won’t go to school again. I won’t go to school again.’
Mala was so shocked that she didn’t even know how to console Ronojoy. How old were these boys? Twelve? This is how cruel they could be, to a boy who had just witnessed his father’s suicide?
Dida came by that evening. Mala and she had a long conversation behind closed doors. When Dida came out of the room she looked vexed, even shaken. She told the boys, ‘How about a short holiday at Dadu-Dida’s house? Shall we say no school this week?’ and looked at them with a forced twinkle in her eyes.
Sujoy ran across and hugged Dida, he was obviously delighted. Ronojoy nodded – anything was better than the prospect of going back to that school.
In the closed room, Mala and her mother had discussed sweeping changes to their lives. Mala said she couldn’t breathe in that house any longer. Every day was a trial. She had to go away else she would go insane. When her mother suggested that it was all too raw now and time would slowly make things more bearable, she merely said it was not just about grieving.
Mala also felt that the boys should leave this milieu – their school, this house – Ronojoy particularly. Being in this house in the company of an emotionally disturbed parent and a bunch of cruel bullies at school would damage him even more.
Dida had protested, saying this would heap upheaval upon upheaval on the little boys but Mala seemed to have made up her mind.
With her face set in steel, she had turned to her mother, ‘Ma, I know it is unfair but I need your help. I have no one else to ask.’
Things moved quite swiftly after that. It seemed Mala had already made enquiries; her childhood friend Tara was the vice principal of an old and reputed residential school in Nainital. Given the circumstances and Mrs. Parthasarathi’s strong letter of recommendation, the admission process was very smooth. The boys, in fact, never returned to their old school.
In just under a month, they had begun packing their bags for Nainital.
On the eve of their departure, Mala and her mother sat in their living room with the boys. Arrangements at the hostel and such matters had already been discussed.
Ronojoy asked, ‘Ma, when will we be home again?’
Mala did not want to be untruthful to her son yet she reckoned that alerting them to all her plans at this stage could be unnerving. She chose to be evasive.
‘I don’t know, Baba. In a couple of months your school will have vacations. We will be together then; where that will be, we shall see. It may be in our house in the hills too; that is much closer to your new school.’
She shot a conspiratorial glance at her mother.
‘Will you come and see us often then, Ma?’ Sujoy asked anxiously.
Perhaps on account of his age, he was much clingier.
‘I don’t think that is encouraged or even allowed, Chhotku, but you will make lots of new friends, spend more time with Dada. It will be nice.’
Sujoy turned to Ronojoy, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Dida sat with a furrowed brow.
The next day they left very early to catch the morning train to Kathgodam. It wasn’t even fully light when they stepped out of the house. From the gate, Ronojoy looked back at the silhouette of their house. He had a feeling, a premonition, that he would never be there again.