'May I have the mic?’ Phil said.
I passed the mic to him.
‘Namaste,’ Phil addressed the audience. That one word in Hindi
made the audience swoon in ecstasy. This is how we Indians are. If
white guys speak even a tiny bit of Hindi, we love them.
‘Kaise hain?’ Phil said. The crowd roared in excitement.
‘We loved the show. Congratulations to all students, mubarak,’ he
said. Applause rent the air.
‘We found the students here extremely talented. We feel they
deserve to have more opportunities to learn. We have decided to give
the school a dozen computers, with all our software preloaded.’
The crowd clapped. I did too, wondering what we would do with
computers without electricity. Maybe they will come with computer
tables, I thought. We could use the tables. Phil continued, ‘Of course,
computers alone will not be enough in a school that needs
infrastructure. Thus, the Gates Foundation would like to give the
school a one-time grant of fifty thousand dollars and, subject to
inspection, a grant of ten thousand dollars a year for the next five
years.’
My head felt light. I saw the activity around me in a haze. Riya
jumped. Really, she stood up and jumped. Everything else was a blur.
The media sprang into action. Reporters barged ahead of the front row
to take pictures. My mother couldn’t contain her excitement. She came
on the podium and translated the announcement in Hindi, and
converted the amounts to rupees.
‘Twenty lakh rupees now, and four lakhs a year for the next five
years. We will now make this one of the best schools in Bihar,’ my
mother said. The crowd stood up and continued to clap. MLA Ojha
inserted his face in front of as many cameras as possible.
My mother gave me a hug. Samantha came up to me and
whispered in my ear, ‘Congratulations, Madhav, you did it. We will
talk later, okay? I need to rush. I’ll call you.’
‘Yes, thank you, Samantha.Thank you so much.’
'Here's my card,’ Phil said as he slipped one in my hand. ‘Your
work has impressed us. I know St. Stephen’s. To give up a career and
come here is admirable.’
I wanted Riya to hear this too. I looked for her but she was
nowhere in sight.
Crowds of villagers filled the stage. Security personnel escorted the
Gates Foundation delegation out of the venue to their cars.
‘Thank you, Rajkumar sahib,’ a villager tried to touch my feet.
‘You are our hero,’ said another.
I wanted to bring Riya on stage. But the crowd wouldn’t let me get
past them. The crowd lifted me. I was thankful; at least it would be
easier to spot Riya from someone’s shoulder.
‘Rajkumar Madhav,’ said one.
‘Zindabad!’ the others shouted in response.
I saw her empty seat. Where did she go? I wondered. The crowd
bobbed me up and down.
I looked around frantically. There was no sign of her. The media
wanted quotes. I remember saying this was a fantastic outcome that
would change the future of thousands of students of Dumraon.
‘Are you happy?’ one reporter asked me.
‘Uh? Yes,’ I said. I was happy. I mean, I should be happy, I told
myself. Where the hell was Riya?
My mother came to me. The media turned to her.
‘Ma, have you seen Riya?’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘My friend. She was sitting in the front row. Where did she go?’
My mother shook her head. She turned to the reporters.
I extracted myself from the crowd on stage. MLA Ojha came up to
me.
‘Congratulations, Rajkumar ji. Lot of money, eh?’
‘Thanks, Ojha ji.Thank you for the opportunity.’
‘It’s okay. Now are we sharing it or what?’ he said.
I looked at him and his slimy eyes. He saw my shocked expression.
He burst into laughter. ‘Joking, Rajkumar ji. Always so serious. Of
course, it is all for the school.’
I smiled and excused myself. The crowd thinned in about twenty
minutes. Most of the parents and students had left. I asked the school
staff if they had seen Riya.
‘She was in the front row. We saw her stand up when the white
man announced the money,’ Tarachandji said.
I went to the makeshift parking area. No cars.The delegation had
left long back. I couldn’t find Riya’s car either.
I called Riya. Nobody picked up. I tried again, thrice. No response.
I called Riya’s driver.
‘I am on leave. Madam must have taken another driver,’ he said. I
hung up.
I wondered what to do next. Where could she have gone? Did she
get an urgent call from home? Office? Where could she be?
“Madhav sir,’ a girl’s voice interrupted my chain of thought.
It was Shabnam, my student from class III. She wore a dhoti and a
kurta, having played a villager in the Krishna skit. Her parents stood
behind her.
I folded my hands to wish them. They thanked me for a great
function.
‘Madhav sir, didi left something for you.’ Shabnam handed me a
brown envelope. ‘Riya didi said to give this to you after the function.
She left while you were on stage.’
‘Did she tell you where she was going?’
Shabnam shook her head.
‘Did she go in a car?’
Shabnam nodded and left with her parents. I tore open the
envelope.
‘Where are you?’ my mother shouted from a distance.
‘Here only,’ I said. I slipped the envelope into my pocket.
‘Many people are coming home for lunch to celebrate. Come, let’s
go.’
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