A Sew Through Time [Bandbudh And Budbak]

Vol IV: 1: Do not forget, Dubey sir!

Books settled over the wooden table. A thin layer of chalk dust cramped inside it's creaks.

Taking out a piece of crumbling chalk from the little drawer, it screeched on the blackboard. The day, the month, then the year.

Fisting the chalk in his hands, Dubey sir continued peering at the white underline. He has forgotten it. Placing the chalk back, he declared to his class he will first check their homework.

A student raised his hand excitedly, not the familiar hand of Gyan he knew.

His eyes darted across the empty benches, exclaiming,

"Ee ka?! Vhere are the other students?"

Nobody looked up to answer. He slammed the table and repeated again, a tinge of rage accompanying this time.

One student got up.

"Absent?!" He turned to check the date, "But today is a school day! Half the class is absent alltogether?"

"Sir, I think you forgot about that... incident"

"Vhat incident?"

He looked up and mumbled again.

Unable to hear him, Dubey sir walked towards his seat.

When the boy opened his mouth, what came was not his voice- a shrill, ear-piercing sound.

His eyes screwed up at the ceiling.

The alarm clock ringing on his bedside table.

Slamming the snooze button, Dubey sir rolled to his other side, enjoying the last bit of sleep which hung in his eyes. The new year's morning weather sent goosebumps prickling over his arms.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea crept up his nostrils. Wandering into the veranda wearing a comfortable and warm housecoat, the old teacher took a sip and exhaled. He noticed the empty road below his house.

Strands of fairy lights swung gently in the wind, hoardings were being taken down with the dispersal of Christmas. Strays dogs gnawed inside soggy cake boxes, toll the shopkeepers either shooed them away or fed them while pushing up clattering storegates.

Sitting on the jute chair, he picked up the daily newspaper and opened a page to read. The fresh smell of warm printed pages; but the wind broke into the filaments.

"It feels just like those years again"

Reading did not waste his time, the wind was playing with the paper. Yet he did not wish to call any relative to wish them a Happy New Year.Some relatives should never be contacted for good causes. Besides, all phones have not been working well since that night.

He sat at his desk. Putting on his thick, square rimmed glasses, he slipped out the roll of answer scripts and twisted the cap of his red gel pen.

The delicate nib pierced over wrong answers when he rolled a big, fat zero over a paper,

"This Badri failed again"

Someone bade goodbye in the stairs and climb down. He could hear it from his room,

"Oh..."

The orange band left a sticky residue over the white rolls. Closing the drawer, he turned on the T.V to watch the news with disinterest, pressinh the plastic wrapped remote.

The screen broke out into thin bands of magenta, green and white. He turned it off

Sitting on the sofa, Dubey sir recalled the last part of his dream. Who had gone missing? Those little benches were empty, Badri and his friend Budh used to sit on them.