Fiction: The coming-of-age tales of Banka, a sweet schoolboy from small-town Odisha

When Robin Sir dropped his name in the class like a bombshell, Banka’s heart missed a few beats. He was reminded of a poem by Wordsworth. A short poem of seven to eight lines, called “The Rainbow”, whose very first line always baffled him. “My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky.” Bhagabat Sir, who taught English poetry, had tried hard to explain, but had failed to drive home the point. How can the heart leap when one saw a rainbow? The heart is supposed to stay fixed, fenced in by the ribs. How can it leap? Can a human being survive if the heart actually leapt?

As it was, he did not do well in literature. But after he joined the new school, the headmaster Kailash Sir came down to their house and started teaching him English and Sanskrit himself. He supposedly did that because he was a friend of Father’s. Moreover, he believed that Banka could be among the top ten students of the state in the matriculation examination. For long, no one from the school had made it into that hallowed list. If Banka were crowned with that rare honour, the school would be glorified, the prestige of the teachers would be enhanced. With this idea of the school gaining a competitive advantage, Kailash Sir placed him under his personal tutelage.

Though Banka had failed to top after six months of direct guidance, he had somehow developed a liking for literature. He had been placed in section C provisionally because he had been admitted to the school in the middle of the academic session. But by the time teaching for class ten began, Banka had been shifted to section A, in which the most meritorious students of the class were placed.

The teachers made their best efforts for the students in that section. There was special coaching for them even on Sundays and other holidays. The teachers took turns to identify their weaknesses and tried to address them. Whoever had any doubts had a chance to clarify them in these extra hours of teaching. The headmaster, Kailash Sir, himself oversaw these efforts, started a year in advance, to ensure that all the students of that section cleared the matriculation examination with a first class.

Banka considered himself fortunate for being brought to that section. For there was a sense of veneration in the entire school for section A of class ten and class eleven. But when Robin Sir was made the class teacher of their section, all the students, including Banka, were both surprised and frustrated. Not that Robin Sir had any deficiency as a teacher. He was one of the few teachers with an MA degree after Upadhyay Sir left the school on being selected as a judge in a local court. But he had this slightly negative reputation as a loudmouth.

As it was, he had this unconventional name which sounded like that of Bandit Robin, the famous hero of a popular detective novel series by Jogindra Das. On top of that, he was not very particular about taking classes. He rode his motorcycle to the school in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and with a pair of dark glasses over his eyes. He was often seen smoking cigarettes near the staff’s common room. This type of conduct for a teacher was not palatable for many in the small backward town where Banka lived. The tales of his political clout and moneyed background gave him some immunity no doubt, but the mismatch between his flippant personality and the gravitas expected of a class teacher of section A of class ten was hard to ignore.

“Yesterday the ministry was formed. Our Krushna babu got the portfolio of Labour,” Robin Sir announced dramatically after taking attendance. Banka could easily see that this announcement was made to augment Robin Sir’s own sense of importance. As if he was letting the students realise how close he was to Krushna babu MLA, how privy he was to some of the most important happenings of the state, like the formation of the ministry, despite being a nondescript teacher of a mere municipal school. But nobody could grudge his forays into current politics because it came under the ambit of the subjects he taught: civics and general knowledge.

In Banka’s friend circle, an impression had been created that good students should become IAS officers when they grew up. And to clear the IAS examination your general knowledge had to be excellent. Therefore the jeans-clad, goggle-wearing, stylish hair-sporting, chain-smoking Robin Sir was profoundly relevant.

“And Biju Patnaik?” Banka asked inadvertently. He had great respect for the adventurous lifestyle of Biju Patnaik.

“What about Biju Patnaik? He would be the honourable leader of the opposition.” Robin Sir answered with slightly less enthusiasm.

The fact that this bloody lecher Krushna, who had eloped with a minor girl of this very school ten years ago, would become a minister, and a charismatic personality like Biju Patnaik would sit in the opposition was anathema to Banka. “Sir, you were there when the ministry was formed. Why didn’t you try to get something for Biju Patnaik?” Banka asked.

“Arrey, people’s opinion is the most valuable thing in a democracy. People wanted Biju babu to remain in the opposition, not become a minister. What could we do? For example, if all the students opine that Bankanidhi Harichandan should become the monitor of this class, should we not accept that opinion with our heads bowed?” Robin Sir was trying to change the subject. That was when Banka’s heart took a sudden leap.

That was when Banka’s heart took a sudden leap. His body froze. In a strange gush of emotion, his body was shaken to its hair follicles. His tongue felt dry inside his parched mouth. In a flash, he understood the meaning of the poem “The Rainbow” by Wordsworth, which he had been unable to understand for a month. Thoroughly flabbergasted, he continued to stand although he should have taken his seat after asking the question.

“Then what is your democratic opinion? Those who want Bankanidhi to be the monitor of this class please raise your hands,” Robin Sir ordered.

From the corner of his eyes, Banka saw the backbenchers raising their hands with alacrity. They probably surmised it was Robin Sir’s desire to choose Banka as the monitor, and going against the wishes of the class teacher was not a wise decision. Attendance, fines, progress reports, etc., were all in his hands. If the teacher was favorable then there would be no fear of getting fined if you were caught cutting school to watch the occasional matinee show. Imitating the backbenchers, the boys sitting on the middle benches also raised their hands. These boys did not have the ability to think independently. They preferred to drift with the current. But the brightest boys and most beautiful girls of the class in the front seats were still undecided. Their number was minuscule compared to the total strength of the class. But their voice carried more weight. Among the students and teachers, both.

Prithiviraj, who topped the class, was also among the brightest frontbenchers. Prithiviraj was as handsome as he was good at his studies. Moreover, since he was an old student of the school he had a devoted fan club. The entire group excelled both in studies and mischief. During the lunch break, they smoked behind the Mahadev temple, placed anonymous love letters in the books of female students, went to matinee shows during school hours and so on. It was probably, for this reason, that Robin Sir broke with the tradition of selecting the topper as class monitor and chose the timid and quiet Banka, though he had joined the school only six months ago.

Excerpted with permission from The Life and Times of Banka Harichandan, Dipti Ranjan Pattanaik, translated from the Odia by Himansu S Mohapatra, Yoda Press and Simon & Schuster India.