A couple of months ago, while surfing the internet, my eyes were drawn to a news article on the BBC Hindi website. The piece covered an ordinary exam conducted in an Indian town somewhere in Bihar. Although the news might not have captured everyone's attention, it held great significance for me. The event described by the news reporters was hard to believe, especially in the part of the world where I currently reside. However, such practices were commonplace in the area where I was born and raised.
The image posted on the BBC's online page transported me back about 30 years, creating a strong sense of déjà vu reminiscent of my high school days.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/hindi/2015/03/15
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The above picture depicts a 10th-grade exam held in Bihar, India, where people are assisting their relatives in climbing a two-storey building. However, I am referring to the exams conducted in my own country, Nepal. Currently, I don't have a clear idea of how the School Leaving Certificate (SLC) Exam is conducted in Nepal. It has been more than seven years since I disconnected from the education system in my country. Nonetheless, I vividly remember the SLC exams from my time, and it seems not much different from the scene depicted on the BBC homepage.
In Nepal, parents view the School Leaving Certificate Exam (SLC) as a crucial gateway for their children to step into the future world. The sense of passing this exam is comparable to the joy of a fairy tale prince rescuing a beautiful princess from a monster's captivity. The significance of passing this exam is even greater for girls, as this story aims to elucidate. Beyond this, it seeks to portray the snapshot of the SLC examination system during my era.
The narrative endeavors to emphasize that the exam was more than just a mere formality—it was a drama. It sheds light on the roles played by essential societal components such as parents, public authorities, teachers, social workers, business persons, and children in this dramatic scenario. It is intriguing to observe how a society openly accepts shameless and illegal behavior to ensure their children pass the exam. This phenomenon reflects a society where value is attributed to individuals based on exam success, irrespective of whether the education system equips them with practical skills
On a cold December day in Nepal, an unusual occurrence took place—rainfall, a rarity during that season. To add to the surprise, heavy thunderbolts accompanied the rain, lasting only half an hour. Intrigued by the unexpected hailstone, my friend Saugat and I ventured to the farm fields to inspect if any birds had suffered due to the weather. Our suspicions were confirmed; we discovered six dhukur birds (Streptopelia decaocto) that had not survived the hailstorm. Returning home, we decided to fry the meat outdoors despite the chilly evening. We savored the fried dhukur meat along with Chiura, a traditional beaten rice dish. Our family, including Saugat, gathered around an outdoor fireplace, sharing laughter and tales of funny and eerie events from our lives.
Saugat, a science teacher from a nearby high school and a paying guest in our home, was a lively participant in the storytelling. On this particular evening, my father recounted a real horror story from his past. While traveling to Kathmandu, he encountered a monstrous entity blocking his path in the pitch darkness. Armed with a deep belief in a sacred Kali mantra, my father successfully used it to ward off the malevolent force, sending shivers down our spines as he narrated the tale.
As Saugat was about to share his own story, my mother interjected with a supernatural account. She recounted seeing a white horse wandering around our kitchen garden in the moonlit midnight. The rider on the horse was singing a haunting song, "सेतो घोडा सेतो असुरो, घोडा माथि चढ्ने साइलो ससुरो!!" (White horse and white asuro, the man on the horse is Father-in-law). Despite her father-in-law having already passed away, she claimed to have witnessed him riding the horse. The atmosphere grew eerie as she continued her tale.
Amidst the storytelling, the distant sound of a motor vehicle in the north interrupted our conversation.
Our village was situated 3 km south of the Mahendra Highway, the only highway in Nepal. Unfortunately, there was no well-constructed link road providing easy access to our village. Given the absence of private cars in the village, the need for a smooth road wasn't a priority. Witnessing motor vehicles in our village was a rare phenomenon, and for many villagers, the idea of touching or riding in a car was nearly impossible to fathom.
As the distinct sound of a vehicle grew clearer, signaling its approach towards our home, speculation ran rampant among us. Saugat suggested the possibility of a crime incident in the village, prompting a team of government attorneys to investigate. The suspense heightened as the sound drew nearer, culminating in the appearance of a green car that came to a stop in front of our home. We dispersed, eager to catch a glimpse of the unexpected visitor.
During those days, owning a car was a distant dream for an average villager. The mere presence of a car in front of one's house elevated their status, suggesting a strong connection with influential individuals and inevitably evoking envy from some neighbors. The car in question was a GAZ 69, manufactured in the then Soviet Union. At that time, such vehicles were commonly seen navigating the rough rural roads of various parts of Nepal.
My father approached the car, visibly surprised by the unexpected visitors.
"No letter, no telegram, what a surprise?" my father inquired.
"Hey! You know very well that I don't believe in formalities, so I did not send any message," the person responded.
From their conversation, it quickly became apparent that the man in the car was a very close friend of my father. After a few minutes, an elderly-looking gentleman and a beautiful girl emerged from the car. They exchanged greetings with my mother, and even though Saugat sir and I were unfamiliar with them, we respectfully offered our Namaste. The man wore a smile, while the girl appeared shy. My father introduced them to all of us: the man was his best friend from school days, named Bhusan Thapa, and the girl was his daughter, Anju. They hailed from Kathmandu, and Bhusan had recently retired from his military assignment. Anju was in town to take the SLC exam this year, having intentionally switched her exam center to Malangwa. It was a common practice for individuals who hadn't succeeded in passing the exam in Kathmandu to transfer to a center where the examination was considered "easier." Malangwa, the headquarters of Sarlahi, was well-known as one of these more lenient centers, and that explained their visit.
Picture source: Google image
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In my culture, the arrival of an unexpected guest in the evening is not only common but regarded as a divine occurrence. Thus, we welcomed them as if they were gods. All members of our family gathered to make them comfortable, turning the evening into a festive occasion per my father's direction.
Our servant boy, Gyanche, was dispatched to retrieve their luggage from the car. Meanwhile, Saugat sir and I began the process of catching a red rooster to prepare a special curry. Since we belonged to the Brahman caste, my mother refrained from cooking chicken inside the house, and thus, we prepared it outdoors. We enjoyed the meal under the warm glow of a paraffin lamp, creating a joyous feast. Above all, Bhusan was a remarkably humorous man, speaking with great expression, making the evening even more delightful.
Curious villagers of all age groups had gathered around the car, asking me about the distinguished visitor. I decided to introduce Bhusan as a high-ranking police officer, perhaps to keep the villagers at a distance. This prevented any harm to the car during the night. However, to ensure its safety, our servant boy slept inside it for the next five nights. When Bhusan uncle departed for Kathmandu, our boy was deeply saddened, prompting Bhusan to give him a five-rupee note as a gesture of kindness. Later, I learned that the boy used to let two or three villagers sleep in the car for a fee, turning it into a source of extra income. With Bhusan's departure, his business also came to an end.
Much later, I realized that we, the people of Nepal, possess a particular "extraordinary gene" that allows us to transform any opportunity into a source of extra income. Am I proud of it? After the meal, we gathered in the bedroom to talk. Bhusan, now more serious, revealed the reason for their visit. Anju, his daughter, had been unsuccessful in passing the SLC exams. Bhusan explained that Anju, now 20, was at the age where she needed to find a suitable partner for marriage. Despite being a cultured and talented girl, the lack of an SLC certificate made it challenging for her to secure a match. Last year, Bhusan had attempted to arrange a match with Colonel Ritendra's son, a Second Lieutenant, but the family hesitated due to Anju's educational status.
Expressing his concern, Bhusan shared the emotional pain of his daughter's situation with my father. My father, in the manner of good friends, assured him of support, promising to use every possible means to help them overcome this obstacle. He declared, "Listen, Bhusan, Anju is like my daughter. From today, I will share your burden. We will find a solution. For now, let's rest, and tomorrow we'll make a plan." With that, we exchanged good nights and retired to sleep.
As my room was occupied by guests, I found myself sleeping in Saugat's room. Saugat had a habit of tuning in to the BBC Hindi service on the radio. During that time in Nepal, listening to BBC Hindi in the evening was a reliable source of news and knowledge. Although I wasn't particularly interested, I joined in.
I vividly recall the radio broadcasting news about someone named Vinova Vabe, who had passed away just a month prior. Curious, I turned to Saugat and asked, "Who is Vinova Vabe?" He promptly stopped me from asking any questions about him. The narrator was also drawing comparisons between Vinova Vabe and Mahatma Gandhi, but I can't recall more than that. The broadcast also covered the 9th Asian Games held in New Delhi.
Suddenly, Saugat turned off the radio and asked me, "Did you manage to get some sleep?"
"Not yet," I replied."So, what do you think about Anju?" he asked.
"She seems to be Bhuskole (empty-minded)," I responded. I knew my answer didn't please him.
I noticed he stayed awake for a long time that night.
Anju was a beautiful girl of moderate height, radiating maturity in almost every aspect of life. She had a flair for decorating the home, singing songs, cooking meals, knitting sweaters, playing carom board, and, above all, talking a lot. According to her father, she also played the guitar. We had only heard of the guitar; the instrument itself remained unseen.
The next morning, we woke up rather late, and to our surprise, tea was ready for all of us. We gathered in the front yard, each carrying a glass of tea—prepared by Anju! What a girl! She had just arrived the previous evening and had already taken over our kitchen. But the tea was genuinely delicious, and we all enjoyed it. My father, slightly exaggerating, commented on her, "I've never had such tasty tea." It was true, but I didn't like the comment because I preferred my father appreciating no one but me.
According to the plan, they stayed with us in our home for about five days. Anju was no longer the shy girl we first met; she had become bold and very talkative, quickly adapting to our homely traditions. She enjoyed cooking, preparing morning tea, working in the kitchen garden, fetching vegetables and flowers for pooja, discussing Hindi cinema, singing songs, and, above all, demonstrating an extensive knowledge of Bollywood stars' family trees. She could provide details about contemporary Bollywood figures like Rajesh Khanna, Hema Malini, Danny, Naseeruddin Shah, Smita Patil, Jeetendra, Rishi Kapoor, Tina Munim, Pran, Dharmendra, Zeenat Aman, and so on.
It's somewhat embarrassing for me to admit that until that time, I hadn't seen any movies, but Saugat had watched two or three. We never disclosed this to Anju, fearing that our reputation would suffer if the truth came out. Anju's only significant shortcoming was her lack of interest in books. Given that she was a candidate for the upcoming SLC (School Leaving Certificate), it was crucial for her to focus on her studies. Observing this, my father asked Saugat to take charge of her education. Saugat gladly accepted the responsibility and began teaching her English, Math, and Science.
However, after assessing her knowledge level, Saugat became quite frustrated one day. He confided in me that he doubted whether she would pass the SLC this year. Despite her adept social skills and quick adaptation to new surroundings, her academic knowledge seemed lacking. Saugat was genuinely concerned, especially considering my father's promise to ensure she passed the SLC this year.
She used to call me Bhai. Even though she addressed me as Bhai (brother), I didn't feel comfortable talking to her. Frankly, I didn't want them staying in our home. They occupied my room, and I had to shift to another place. I was becoming a refugee in my own home due to their arrival. Anju's closeness to my mom hurt me, especially since she took over the kitchen, preventing me from pilfering cream from the milk.
Anju was also very close to Saugat sir, and their interactions seemed like those of longtime acquaintances. During Saugat's teaching sessions, Anju often stared at him, as if lost in dreamlands. Within those five days, they became "more than friends." Later, my mother revealed that Anju had been asking her a lot about Saugat.
The next day, my father and Bhusan uncle went to Malangwa to arrange accommodations for the 15-day SLC exam period. My father, being a local political activist, was well-known in the district and had good connections. Ramashis Raya, a former colleague of my father and now a friend, happily agreed to help find accommodations for Anju and her father during the SLC. They would be staying at Raya's home in Malangwa. Meanwhile, Saugat, Rupak Jha, and I lived in a rented room and ate meals at the nearby Guptajee's restaurant.
Now, I need to explain why the three of us were accompanying Bhusan's family. Saugat, having just completed his BSc, was teaching at a nearby high school. Rupak Jha was a brilliant math teacher at our school, hired by my father during his tenure as headmaster. Both Saugat and Rupak were experienced "cheater teachers" hired for the SLC exam in Malangwa every year. I, a 9th-grade topper, had just started my tenth grade. My duty was to copy cheating material and discreetly provide it to Anju during the exams. With my father's influence, Anju's seat was arranged next to the window, making it easier for me to pass her the cheat sheets. Although Anju's father assured me that the police and guards wouldn't interfere, the responsibility given to a 15-year-old was daunting. However, the prospect of living in a different place, eating at a restaurant daily, and occasionally watching Indian movies in Sonbarsa seemed like a significant opportunity. Despite being a first-year student in the 10th grade, my stature was too small for cheating directly, so I became the "runner," ensuring the right cheating materials reached the right person—Anju. I felt a mix of exhilaration and apprehension, as it was the first time I had such a serious responsibility. I began to appreciate the Thapa family's presence in my house, eagerly counting down the days until we went to Malangwa!
The highly anticipated time finally arrived. After a light meal at home, we set off for Malangwa around 9:30 am. Bhusan uncle was driving his GAZ 69, with Anju and my father seated next to the driver. Saugat, Rupak, and I occupied the rear seat. As the GAZ 69 warmed up, the smell of petrol filled the air, lifting my spirits. "Nice! I've inhaled all the smell," I exclaimed. Seated in the open area of the rear seats, as our car began to move, village kids ran towards us, undeterred by the dust kicked up by the wheels. Watching them, I felt like a general embarking on a mission with great responsibility.
The car left our home, traversed the village, and headed towards a dense forest, which led to the Mahendra Highway. Once on the highway, we took a left, driving westward. "Your car is running very swiftly," remarked my father. "Oh, yes, it is happy today because the wheels are rolling on the road from where it is coming," Bhusan replied. I didn't fully understand his response but smiled along with my father's laughter. After covering about 7 km, we reached Nawalpur, where we exited towards Malangwa. Later, my father explained that the road was constructed with the cooperation of the then Soviet Union, and the car itself was also from the same country—that was the clue!
We stopped at Nawalpur to refresh ourselves, with each of us enjoying a cup of tea. After spending about an hour there, we continued towards the south, heading to the headquarters of Sarlahi district—Malangwa. The road was not blacktopped; in some places, it resembled a ditch filled with yesterday's rain, making it muddy and sticky. Some cows and buffalos tied to wooden poles almost obstructed the road's middle, and only skilled drivers could maneuver their vehicles. "Even in this winter, the condition of the road was like this, what would it be like in the rainy season?" I pondered. However, the others inside the car seemed unfazed by the situation. At times, we had to get down and push the car through the mud. I distinctly recall the challenging task of crossing a river without a bridge. The river flowed through the road, and we had a tough time getting the car across. Nevertheless, we reached Malangwa in the evening.
Now, it's essential to explain why we had to go to Malangwa and why the exam wasn't arranged near our house. Malangwa was the only place in the entire district where we could take the SLC exam. At that time, Sarlahi district had no more than 10 high schools, and due to a lack of resources, the government couldn't conduct SLC exams outside the district headquarters. Therefore, students from schools outside the headquarters had to travel to their respective district headquarters to take the exam. It may seem awkward, but it was the harsh reality of that time. I had witnessed people in such dire straits that they were selling their parents' jewelry, stored food, or cattle to afford the cost of a 15-day stay in Malangwa (minimum $6.00; the exchange rate was $1.00 = 35Rs) to try their luck at the Iron Gate. Moreover, a tragic reality of our time was that many students abandoned the exam simply because they couldn't afford the living expenses at the headquarters.
So, here we were in Malangwa. Our first stop was at Rajdevi Mai's temple to seek her blessings. Bhusan respectfully took off his Topi from his bald head and bowed at the feet of Rajdevi's statue for an extended period. I was certain he made promises to the goddess, offering something valuable if our desired goals were fulfilled in the future. Following the temple visit, we were taken to Guptajee's restaurant, where we were to dine for the next 15 days. It was a modest restaurant in town, and our arrival, arriving in a car, likely brought pride to the owner and envy from the neighbors.
Bhusan introduced us to Guptajee, the restaurant owner, and clarified what we could expect during our stay in Malangwa. Our breakfast included Puri, Julewi, and Tarkari, followed by Special Garam Chai. Lunch consisted of Bhat, Dal, Sabji, Papad, Pickle, and Omelet, with meat allowed every alternate day. On days without meat, we could order Dahi. Dinner had the same menu and rules as lunch. During the day, we were offered Pakaura, Chiura-Tarkari, or Dahi Chiura and Tea. Additionally, Bhusan gave each of us Rs20.00 as pocket money. As a welcome gesture, Guptajee treated us to high tea for free, and we thoroughly enjoyed it.
Afterward, we were taken to our accommodation, received keys from our elderly landlady, and entered. The strong smell of DDT, widely used at the time to eradicate mosquitoes as part of the Malaria eradication program, greeted us. We opened the windows to let in some fresh air. The room was clean, with two beds adorned with mosquito nets. The walls were papered with old newspapers and some Hindi movie posters. I realized I would be sharing a bed with Saugat. Two cupboards in the corner provided ample storage space, and there was electricity with bulbs and a hanging ceiling fan. However, since the electricity came from India, it was unreliable. The landlord kindly provided us with a lantern fueled by kerosene. We unfolded our bedding, consisting of a thin rug, a pillow, a bedsheet, and a quilt, all covered with a green cloth tied with an attached belt. At that time, we were unaware of the existence of sleeping bags.
In the evening, we visited the place where Anju and her father were staying. We all, including my father, Anju, and Bhusan, shared a meal at Guptajee's restaurant. The food was delicious, with the fish curry being particularly spicy but excellent! Before parting ways, my father spoke to us, emphasizing the trust he placed in us and the importance of our actions to his prestige. He assured us that nobody in town would bother us, having already spoken to the CDO and Head of Police. He reminded us that most teachers in the school were his friends, and if we needed help, we could contact them. He turned to Anju, advising her to consider us as her own brothers and to feel free to seek help from us. Anju smiled in response. When my father mentioned that we were like her brothers, I discreetly pinched Saugat, causing his face to turn slightly red. The next day, my father returned home by public bus.
The night before the start of the SLC exams, we, along with Bhusan, went to inspect the examination center. Our primary concern was figuring out how to smoothly pass cheating materials to Anju. We checked the seat plan for the examinees and discovered that Anju's seat was on the second floor, away from the window. This posed a challenge to supplying cheating materials seamlessly. Upon informing Bhusan, he promptly complained to the police officer.
A tall policeman approached us, inquiring if we were there to help Anju. Hesitant, we remained silent until Bhusan confirmed, "Yes, these are my boys." The officer nodded and requested a private conversation with Bhusan. After a brief talk, Bhusan informed us that the officer was the area in-charge, and he assured us that Anju's seat would be moved to the ground floor by the window. To verify, a constable escorted me to see the rearrangement, and it was indeed done perfectly. I felt relieved and happy.
As we finished our private discussion with Bhusan, we observed the same police officer engaged in similar talks with others. It became clear that we were not the only ones attempting to manipulate the seat plan set by the education authority. The education department was weak in the face of security agencies, which were often corrupt. The exam season was the second most lucrative time for the police and security officers, with Dashain season being the first.
Later that evening, a rumor spread at Krishna Devi High School around 4:00 pm. It claimed that a well-known BSC teacher from India, Naresh Lal Karna, had been hired to produce foolproof cheating material. He charged Rs 10 for a carbon copy of his cheat. This news surprised Bhusan, and his expression betrayed his concern. He might have questioned his decision to choose us as supporters for his daughter, Anju, but he acted indifferent.
After dinner at Guptajee's restaurant, we spontaneously decided to go watch a movie in Sonbarsa, a bordering town in India. Despite having a lot of work to prepare for the next day, we planned to address it early in the morning. We needed to construct a small plastic-covered hut to serve as an office for producing cheats. Once a decision was made, our group of three took a rickshaw and headed towards India.
"Didn't you guys notice Bhusan's expression this evening?" asked Rupak.
"I'm sure he might have hired Mr. Naresh too," said Saugat.
"But I don't care. I have plenty of local clients, and I'll start my own business even if he didn't trust us," remarked Rupak.
Feeling a bit disheartened, I kept my emotions to myself. This was my first time visiting India and also my first time watching a movie. If memory serves me right, the film was called "Gaai aur Gori." The cinema hall was old, dirty, and disorganized, with dirt, spit patches, and a strong smell of room freshener permeating the air. Despite the unappealing surroundings, we were there to watch a movie, and that's all that mattered. Although I can't recall the entire story, I remember a cow remarkably supporting a lady, perhaps the heroine, and we thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I wished Anju hadn't watched that movie so I could share the entire story with her.
Returning to our room around 11:00 pm, we began strategizing for the upcoming mission, set to begin the next day. The first day's exam focused on Nepali, a subject in which I excelled compared to Saugat and Rupak. They requested my help in answering some questions, and I happily agreed. Saugat and Rupak unpacked a heavy bag provided by Bhusan, containing guidebooks, fine papers, pens, pencils, scissors, erasers, and carbon papers – everything needed to create cheating materials. They were familiar with these activities, having sold materials in previous years during the exam period. However, this time, it was their first experience being hired and paid well for their services.
By around 12:30 am, Rupak had already fallen asleep. Saugat and I were on the verge of sleeping when we heard a knock on the door. Wondering who could be there at this late hour, Saugat opened the door to find Bhusan.
"How are things going? I've come here five times, and you were not here," Bhusan inquired.
"Sorry for that. We went to watch a movie in Sonbarsa and came back late. Now we are prepared for tomorrow," Saugat explained.
"Great! How was the movie?" Bhusan asked.
"It was good," was my response.
Waking up late in the morning, Bhusan's unexpected visit the previous night had disrupted our strategy, dampening our enthusiasm for the day's work. Saugat assured me that he would talk to Bhusan about the situation. He also requested that, for the time being, we keep this matter from Rupak. Despite our internal conflicts, the three of us got ready and walked to Guptajee's restaurant.
The SLC exams were commencing today, creating a festive atmosphere around the area. Guptajee's business was thriving due to the influx of people from different regions. Despite our inner turmoil and feelings of humiliation, we ordered Puri, Julewi, and Tarkari, followed by Special Garam Chai for breakfast. Seeing Guptajee happily serving us, we realized that Bhusan had not yet informed him about the change in the arrangement. We anticipated meeting Bhusan at the restaurant, but he didn't show up.
While eating, we remained quiet, avoiding conversation for some time. Breaking the silence, Rupak remarked, "Friends, eat as much as you can because this is the last breakfast sponsored by some foolish person. We won't eat anything paid for by this man from this point forward."
We thought Rupak was unaware of the situation, but he had been pretending to sleep during our conversation the previous night.
Saugat suggested the idea of going to the place where Bhusan and Anju were staying to inquire about our status. However, Rupak immediately rejected the proposal. He asserted, "We are not his slaves, friends! I am not coming here for the first time; I have many old and new clients, and I will serve them this year too. Bhusan comes and goes, but we have to stay here for a long time. I would prefer to serve my local people because they are always with us. If you want to go, I will not stop you. Please don't ask me to visit a chicken-hearted man."
It became apparent that our team was now divided, with Rupak choosing not to stay with us. I expressed to Saugat that I also wished to go home. Saugat, facing a crucial decision, understood the gravity of the situation. Without the involvement with Anju, Saugat might have followed Rupak's path. However, being in love compelled him to make a compromise with his dignity. Saugat attempted to persuade Rupak by reminding him that we were there not solely because of Bhusan but also due to Master Shaheb's (my father) request. Therefore, it was necessary to talk to Bhusan before abandoning our mission.
Rupak, who held great respect for my father, seemed slightly calmer after hearing his name. Reluctantly, he agreed to visit Bhusan. The atmosphere was tense, and we remained silent throughout the journey. Upon reaching Bhusan's place, he was engrossed in reading an Indian newspaper. None of us, except Saugat, greeted Bhusan. Saugat politely explained that we had come to bid farewell because we didn't see our importance in the mission. Before Bhusan could respond, Rupak interjected, "Actually, we agreed to come here not for you; we are here because Master Shaheb requested us to help you. It is clear that you did not value us; otherwise, our primary responsibility would not have been shifted to another person without consulting us
I remained silent, bowing my head toward the ground. Bhusan appeared a bit upset and exclaimed, "Who told you to go? You all can stay here. Otherwise, who will pass the cheat to Anju? All the people, including guards, superintendents, and police authorities, know you guys as my associates. I paid them a significant amount for this. You cannot leave me in this situation."
"It's clearly your problem. We are qualified teachers; every year in Malangwa, we come to help with the SLC. Almost all local people not only know us but also respect us. Now you are saying we should be just messengers for Karna? Who is he? We could challenge Karna in all respects. How dare you tell us to be his messengers? It's not possible. We will start our own business here and show you how important we are. By the time you realize our value, it will be too late. Of course, we stay here, but not for you," Rupak declared with an intent to escalate the confrontation.
"Rupak, don't make this matter worse. At least I need Ravi to pass the cheat to Anju," pleaded Bhusan. "Ravi will be with me," confidently stated Rupak. "Won't you be with me, Ravi?" asked Bhusan in a very soft voice. I conveyed my negative response by nodding my head, unable to make eye contact with him.
Meanwhile, Saugat managed to meet Anju and conveyed all the bitter happenings among us. Later, we discovered that he had also assured her that the situation would not create any disturbance in her exam.
"We just departed without saying goodbye to him. We didn't eat at Gupta's restaurant but went to eat at Mahindra's hotel. Rupak covered the cost for three plates of lunch, which amounted to 18Rs. We three were like wounded lions. We proceeded to the exam center.
The exam was supposed to start at 1:00 pm, but the school grounds looked more like there was going to be a big celebration. The atmosphere was filled with festive signs. Temporary tea shops, set up under recently built cottages, were opened. Tobacco, cigarettes, sweets, light meals, and pan (betel) were also available. More than 25 help centers in colorful plastic tents were set up. We decided to buy some blue plastics from a vendor and set up one more center. Saugat brought a big cardboard and a marker, then wrote in bold letters:"
The cardboard was placed in front of our plastic hut. It was really attractive. We didn't have that much enthusiasm to work there, but we wanted to showcase our talent to Bhusan.
Now our clients were different! Hari Basnet, Deepak Chimoriya, Bhagya Narayan Shing, Subhadra Ghimire, Nanda Raj Joshi, Kailash Amatya were our new clients. These people would buy our cheat by paying 2 Rs per page. The three of us would make three copies of cheat with the help of carbon papers, producing 9 pages at once. Since we only had six clients, the remaining three pages were extra for possible newcomers. A lot of people were gathered in front of Karna's camp. Although the gathering in front of us wasn't as large as around Karna's camp, it was still significant. Since Karna was from India, he didn't know much about the Nepali subject. Karna's camp hired a local Nepali guru to provide the answers. In front of Karna's camp, there sat a heavyset man, Bhusan, on a chair. He occasionally looked at us but pretended as if he was looking elsewhere.
The exam was about to start. The bell rang once, signaling the distribution of questions. Our client Hari Basnet was a local figure. He had failed the SLC 5 times, but nobody dared to disturb him while he was in the exam. The police and other guards had no information about the breakup between Bhusan and us, so they allowed me to enter any place in the exam center. As soon as the exam questions were distributed, Hari Basnet folded the questions, put a small stone in it, and threw it toward me. I got it! We understood that the cross mark on the question meant the client didn't know the answer. In Hari's questions, almost all were marked. Our camp was the first to get the questions.
"Hurry up," said Rupak.
"I know all the answers!" I exclaimed.
"Go ahead," said Saugat.
Then the cheat production belt started to run like a machine. It took us 20 minutes to deal with three difficult questions. Within 30 minutes, the answers were ready to go, reaching all our clients. On the other side, the scene was gloomy at Karna's camp. It took 15 minutes to get their questions out. Then the guru, because of his age, could not tackle the questions as fast as us. Bhusan looked panicked. Rupak and I were happy. Saugat was feeling upset. The paradox was he used to hate Bhusan but loved Anju! It was clear that Anju was going to fail this year too. The guru of Karna's camp was too slow, and he had hardly attempted 5 questions in the 3 hours of the entire exam.
Bhusan was watching and comparing the activities of both camps. Our camp was full of energetic and hardworking people. On the other side, even Mr. Karna was not there at the camp. The poor guru was tackling problems alone at a snail's pace. In our camp, our demand was increasing. The three of us added one more carbon copy to each paper, yielding 12 pages instead of 9.
The exam was going smoothly. Two hours passed, and all of a sudden, Bhusan showed up at our camp. "Guys, don't stop!" Rupak commanded, "We need to finish in time!" he continued, emphasizing the urgency.
"My dear boys, I realized my mistake. I apologize in front of you. Please help my daughter," he said, with tears in his eyes. Saugat interrupted him, assuring Bhusan that Anju would not fail this time. Rupak and I were surprised by Saugat's remark.
"It is too late, uncle," I remarked.
"My dear son, it is not too late if you give her whatever you have now. It may help her just get a passing mark!" uttered a worried father of a daughter. Rupak ordered us to give those cheat sheets to Anju. Saugat stood up and rushed to hand them over. The exam was over! Anju came out of the hall smiling, thanking all of us. She behaved as if there was nothing happened between her father and us. Our beneficiary students came to visit me, thanking me and appreciating me by calling me a genius. I was more than happy. Today was my day!
As per Bhusan's request, we got into his car and went to GuptaJee's shop. He asked us to merge with Karna's camp. Saugat almost agreed, but we did not. Lastly, a deal was reached to operate our work from our hut, Karna operates from his own, and Bhusan will use cheat sheets from both camps. I had not thought the cordial relation between Bhusan and us would bounce back, but it happened.
The second day, we woke up a bit late. Around 8:00, we went to GuptaJee's restaurant and moved around Malangwa. Many palm trees had grown outside the town. Pots were hung just beneath the branches. It surprised me. Then Rupak proposed his plan to drink Tadi and eat fish tonight. We all agreed.
Dear Sir
The End!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Exersise for readers :
1.Did Anju pass the SLC?
2. Did Saugat win her love?
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