Revenge is mine...

...and the meek shall inherit the earth

This post was written as a submission for the wonderful Ochre Sky Stories writing workshop run by Natasha Badhwarand Raju Tai

The bus doors opened and we all rushed in to try and get the best seats. Theoretically we were supposed to line up and file in, but try getting a set of 8-10 years olds after school to meekly line up, and you’ll see what a fool’s errand it is. Today was special for me because I was at the front of the queue, something that I had never done before. Most days by the time I got to the queue, there were already twenty odd boys in it, and I knew that I might not even get a place to sit, or if at all, it would be in the last row stuffed in with five others. I was not very athletic- you might even call me awkward, and so when everyone would run from class with their bags on their backs to the bus queue, I would be one of the last to get there. Also, unlike everyone else, I was never ready to go with my bag before the class ended- somehow, I thought that was disrespectful of the teacher, and I never wanted to do that.

But today was different. I had been called by Mr. R to the library in the last period to help with some new books that had come in. I think he was fond of me, and he knew I was from the Oxford family, so he felt I must have an interest in books. He was right, and I was very happy to help him sort out the new books. He must have known of the politics of the bus queue, and by looking at me he must have figured out that I never get there on time, because around 3:20 he said in his kindly way ‘That’s enough now. Go and get your bus home.’ ‘But the bell still hasn’t rung! I protested.’ He smiled and said, ‘Never mind, go and get the bus before the others.’ I walked across the empty quadrangle, loving the fact that I was out in the afternoon sunshine while everyone was still in class- even if it was just for a few minutes more. And so it was I found myself at the front of the bus queue.

As I waited for the bus doors to open and the rest of the boys to be let out of class, I allowed my thoughts to wonder to which seat I should take. I thought of the one just above the stairs-that was fun because you could see the door opening and closing, and the road rushing past from under the door. I could have sat on the right; that was an interesting place to sit nowadays. A few days ago, there had been an accident on the road to school, and if you sat on the right you could see the wreckage and imagine what the accident must have been like. Then it dawned on me that the entire bus was mine- I was first in the queue, and that meant I could even take the seat right up front- the one alongside the driver on the other side of the engine. This was gold! This gave you a fantastic view of the road up ahead, you could see all the cars coming down; you got a first rate view of the valley side, and if we came up against another bus or truck at a narrow part of the road, you could even very importantly look out of the window and nod to DD, our driver, indicating whether there was space or not to move ahead! Yes, this was the seat I wanted!

As the doors opened I rushed in, using my bag effectively to block the next person behind me, and lo- I was in the coveted seat! I plonked myself in and looked around very pleased- grinning from ear to ear. DD saw me, and he must have realized the enormity of my triumph- he grinned back at me too! I was completely savouring the moment. From where I sat, I could see all the way till the end of the drive and the twin towers. I could see the PD flat on my left, where the boarders had already started their games and the teams for the football game were being formed. On the right were the tall Dhuppi trees, which had probably been planted when the school was set up. They were tall, thick trunked, and had a wonderful mysterious shaded area beneath them. I could see them, and I could also see the road below, and the old Land Rovers as they wheezed their way up from Singtom, laden with people, goods and animals.

As I sat in my chair looking around, I heard a gruff voice- ‘Get up. I want to sit here’. I knew that voice, and hearing it struck a cold dagger through me. It was T. T was big, brutish, constantly had snot flowing from his nose, and smelled. He had failed multiple times, so even though he was in our class, he was probably a good 3-4 years older- and looked it too. I had heard that he smoked and gambled. And he got what he wanted. His way was simple- if you didn’t give it to him, he beat you up. I trembled as I looked towards him- I didn’t have the courage to look at him- and said ‘But this is my seat. I came here first.’ Next thing I knew his hand was on my blazer lapel and he was pulling upwards. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I began gasping. Thankfully, before much could happen, DD intervened: ‘Both of you can sit here. This seat is big enough for two boys.’ T looked at him sulkily, thought about saying something, then thought against it. To save face, he sulkily said ‘I want to sit next to the window.’ DD indicated to me that I should get up and let T sit first, and so there we were-T trying to take up as much of the seat as he could in what he thought was his place, and me clinging to my little sliver of seat, half my bum off it, driven by my righteousness.

And so we moved off, for the 15 minute journey from school to the bazaar, where we would all get off and walk home. I resigned myself to my sliver of space and looked out of the windshield ahead of me- at least I had that view. The bully T decided that he wanted to have fun with his friends who were sitting behind so he twisted around to try and face them, knocking me off my seat. DD yelled at both of us that we needed to sit down, so the bully grudgingly gave me a small corner.

So there we were, driving up the road, with a bunch of boisterous schoolboys, none more so than the bully next to me, who was shouting over the sound and of the bus engine and gesticulating to his friends in the back. And here I was, feeling thoroughly miserable with myself for my predicament, but holding on to my small bit of space on that seat, more for my pride and to keep face. And trying to keep a brave face, though I was close to tears. DD glanced at me a couple of times but said nothing.

And then I saw it. In the outer pocket of his blazer, the bully had a neatly folded piece of red cellophane paper. I knew it was precious to him the moment I set eyes on it. Don’t ask me why, or how; I just knew. And in that moment, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to separate him from his precious cellophane.

In a flash of bravado born from the need for revenge, heedless of the lunacy of it all, while the bully was wildly shouting to his friends, I carefully plucked the cellophane from his pocket. As I did it, somewhere a part of me realized how easy it is to pick people’s pockets! And in that instant I also realized what I had done. Reality hit me like a brick. I had this piece of cellophane paper in my hand, and if the bully saw it- the rest was too horrible to contemplate. I wildly looked around and saw DD looking at me. There was a bit of a traffic stoppage, and the bus was at a halt. He quietly put out his hand, and equally quietly, from the eloquence born of camaraderie, I gave him the cellophane. He quietly dropped it on the floor on the further side of his seat, and the bus moved on.

I spent the rest of the journey- not more than five minutes- in a complete panic. What if the bully reached into his pocket for the paper? What if he looked at me and saw the guilt on my face. I stole several glances at DD, but he was nonchalantly driving the bus, wrestling with the huge steering wheel as he maneuvered round the curves of the road. When we finally got to the bazaar, the bully shoved past me. I fell backwards on the engine cover of the bus, but I’ve never been happier to have been shoved. I got up and dusted myself off, and looked one last time at DD. He grinned and winked at me.

The enormity of what I had done hit me as I walked away from the bus on the road to home. I had actually got even with the bully. In my mind I could see the bully discovering that his beloved cellophane paper was not there, and the look of disappointment on his face. A warm glow slowly spread through me. I remembered my favourite line from Wodehouse, ‘…and God was in His heaven and all right with the world’.  Yessir, God was in his heaven, and I was close, and all was indeed right with the world.