The rain beckoned to the windows and the windows beckoned to the children to come out and play. The rain clattered down and dripped off the roof of the school building. The children looked out with longing. Some broke pencil nibs in frustration, some played with their rulers and others exchanged wadded papers full of jokes and plans. Girls re-braided their hair, boys traded sports cards and tomboys released paper planes in the air. But there was pin drop silence. No one dared speak. Miss Saleha had assigned them to a maths exercise, which most of them could not solve. They glumly waited for the court martial to follow.
Miss Saleha looked up, solved every problem and rewarded them with bonus homework for a week. Everyone looked sullen less at the thought of extra homework than being locked indoors in such weather, except for the few mathematicians of the future. They had solved each problem in the first ten minutes, gleefully sliding back their glasses or running their hands through the hair with pleasure. This pleasure was dulled by threatening looks thrown their way by two of the biggest bullies.
There insouciance did not go as unchecked as they had hoped. The names of offenders—hair-braiders, card-traders and paper plane throwers—were promptly announced with strict instructions to stand up on their feet and remain so for the rest of the class.
“This is a classroom, not your grandmother’s living room. I will not be telling you fairytales and feeding you sweetmeats while you daydream of the rain. Hear me well. I will not tolerate such behavior. One more sign of inattention and you will be asked to do each exercise a hundred times. Is that clear?”
“Yes Miss,” went the ringing chorus of alarmed children.
In seconds, every sullen face was glued to an exercise book.
Suddenly Miss Saleha got up and said, “Children, I will be gone for a few minutes. I expect pin drop silence in the class and answers to every question by the time I return. Your class monitor will inform me of unruly students. Needless to say you will be rewarded with the strictest punishment for the slightest offense.”
Miss Saleha stepped out. The class monitor kept a strict watch over the students. Some students tried to edge out of the classroom noiselessly but were called back. A few offered bribes of tiffin coupons and candies but none were accepted. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed yet there was no sign of the teacher.
Whispers of “is she here?” or “can anyone see her?” could be heard throughout the class. A few boys devised a plan. One group would distract the monitor while another would go out. And so it was. Someone threw a bottle of water on the teacher’s desk while a group of three girls and five boys ran out.
And truly it was a sight they would never forget.
They gawped in awe and wonderment. Her arms were spread wide, turning in an ancient dance embracing the rain. The drops of rains glimmered in her cupped hands like lamps lit in a temple. Her pale green sari was at one with her motion. Raindrops continued to scatter back and forth as she whirled in an entrancing spin under the slanting motion of an unceasing rain.
Untara Shakira is an aspiring fiction writer.
