Fiction: Young Langdya blackmails the school principal when he learns of his affair with a teacher

The sound of the door being kicked brought Langdya Pitambar back to his senses. His reverie broke. The marksheet in his hand fluttered in the wind as the door of his classroom banged shut. He had seen, with his mental “fast forward”, what he feared would happen in the liquor shack that evening. However, positive thoughts overtook him and, hoping that things wouldn’t pan out exactly the way he had visualised them, he took out his pen and added a few numbers before the zeroes. He totalled the new marks and, folding the marksheet into his geography book, stepped out of the classroom. As he stepped onto the main road, a black cat jumped from a wall and crossed the road. Before Langdya could react, she jumped onto the other wall and disappeared. Langdya was incensed. “Damn it, you cat! Now the scene is going to be repeated tonight just the way I dreamt! Fuck you!”

The cat heard Langdya’s curses as she wiped her whiskers, but chose to ignore him. She muttered to herself, “I had to scram as that Deshmukh’s dog Tipya was after me. What can I do if Langdya was crossing the street that very minute? He doesn’t study, he tells lies, and then he blames me and calls me a motherfucker!”

She climbed the wall to glance at the street. Langdya was on his way home. As one of his legs was a few inches shorter than the other, he walked with a pronounced limp that made the bag on his back bob up and down with each step. Ensuring that Tipya was nowhere in sight, she jumped down the wall and walked towards the Pawar household. This was the time Mrs Pawar cleared the plates after lunch. Today being Friday, she was quite certain that she would find a piece of mutton or two. The thought of a juicy mutton piece ran a shiver through her body as she spread her claws.

Pitambar limped his way home. He had never enjoyed school. All his classmates were now in the tenth while he was stuck in the seventh grade. Except for the Physical Training (PT) class, he never enjoyed any other subject. His father had hoped that Gengane-teacher’s tuition would help him clear the exams. But what could Gengane do? Langdya’s mind was like a dried-up well. Any amount of effort to send a bucket down would not yield water. And Gengane’s teaching was like trying to fill that well with spoonfuls of water. On top of it, Gengane’s pet cat would somehow irk Langdya. On the very first day of class, Gengane had asked Langdya to write an essay titled ‘My Ambition’. After seeing the topic, Langdya sat there chewing his pen cap. Then he wrote the first line: ‘India is essentially an agricultural country.’

Gengane-master sat nearly eight feet away. The cat was near Langdya’s feet. After Langdya wrote the first line, she stood up and went near Gengane to lick his toe. Gengane shouted, ‘You fucker, where does “agriculture” figure when the essay is about one’s ambition?’ Langdya was taken aback. How the hell was Gengane able to see what he had written, sitting so far away? He stared at the cat with suspicion and disbelief. The cat sat near the wall, her eyes shut, blissfully ignoring Langdya. Langdya threw his notebook at her but missed. Their enmity, which began that day, continued to grow since then.

Gengane was trying his best to impart an education worth the tuition fee he was charging, but all his efforts were in vain, for Langdya couldn’t understand a word of what the teacher taught. Langdya told himself each day that reading and writing were not his forte. He somehow spent his time in the hope that his father would say to him one day, “Quit school and take up a job somewhere.”

A thought crossed his mind: “That Bhadya fucker would have told his dad that the mid-term marksheet has been issued today.’ He muttered a few juicy epithets for Bhadya. ‘That Bhadya is an intelligent guy and gets good marks. That’s fine. Let him roll up the marksheet and stick it up whosoever’s ass he wishes to. Why the hell does he try to meddle with others’ lives?” Langdya muttered as he limped his way home, his bag swinging on his back with each step. He recalled the black cat having crossed his path when he left school and once again wondered whether he should show the marksheet to his father. He was sure his father would ask for it and he was doubly sure that Gengane would talk about it in the evening at the liquor vend. What should he do? Langdya’s mind, sharp in subjects other than those taught at school, whirled with rapid speed. He began spinning stories to tell at home.

I won’t go home now. I will while away some time at the bus stand, look at the cinema posters at the talkies. Stand near the paanwallah for a while and collect a few half-burnt cigarette stubs … The idea was to reach home as late as possible. The scene at home when he walked in would be as follows.

“Is this the time to come home? When did your school get over? And were you eating cow dung all this while.”

“No, not eating. I was watching it.”

“Better tell me the truth, okay? And if you dare lie, I will whack you with the tyre-tube. Believe me!”

“We were given the mid-term marksheet today.”

“I know that. Why do you think I am here to welcome you home?”

“I was walking home reading the marksheet when I saw Bapurao’s buffalo approaching me.”

“Forget the buffalo. Tell me where your marksheet is.”

“That is what I was telling you. That buffalo grabbed the marksheet from my hands and gobbled it up.”

Langdya’s father kept staring at his son wide-mouthed for a while. Realising that his jaws were aching, he got back to his senses and said, “You mean the buffalo ate your marksheet? Why? Maybe you told her that she will give more milk after eating your marksheet. Or perhaps someone told her that eating a seventh-standard marksheet leads to a quicker pregnancy!”

“I don’t know about that. She ate it up – that’s what matters!”

“What the hell were you doing for five hours then? Or were you pleading with the buffalo to regurgitate your marksheet?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? Really, you motherfucker!”

“I was following her. I was hoping I would find the marksheet in her dung. But she never shat!”

Ajabrao kept looking at his son in disbelief. Then, as if resigned to his fate, he finally asked, “Well, did you pass or not?”

“Yes. I did.”

“It is quite a coincidence that Bapurao’s buffalo had to find your marksheet, of all things, to eat. Now I can imagine Bapurao milking her tomorrow morning to find History, Geography, Arithmetic and English coming out of her teats!” Ajabrao laughed loudly at his own joke.

Langdya snapped out of his reverie when he heard his father’s laughter in his mind. He wondered if the story of the buffalo eating the marksheet would fly. Just then, he noticed a cat coming out of Karjatmal Marwari’s shop. ‘Arre, this is Gengane-master’s cat. What is she doing here?’ Langdya wondered. The cat stopped for a moment and looked at Langdya. She gave him a knowing smile but Langdya didn’t smile back. Instead, he picked up a stone to fling at her lest she cross his path once more. The cat dodged the stone easily and cursed at him, “Lazy bugger! He doesn’t study, keeps a roving eye on Gengane’s wife, and when he fails, he takes his frustration out on me. Now I will deliberately cross the street.”

Muttering, the cat crossed the lane. Langdya was frustrated. A cat had crossed his path twice since he left school. He was convinced that his stories wouldn’t work and he had no option but to show the marksheet to his father.

He was hungry. He remembered his mother was roasting big brinjals to make baingan bharta in the morning. The very thought of hot bhakris made him drool. Forget the marksheet and its consequences! I will hand over the forged marksheet to Bappa. Once Gengane tells him the truth, I will figure out a way to face him. Now all he could think of was baingan bharta and bhakri. ‘Fuck Gengane and the marksheet!’ He cursed under his breath and started walking rapidly towards his house. The bag on his back swung faster with each step. Gengane’s cat, roaming near Chandu Sheth’s shop, saw Langdya walk home with a determined step and muttered, ‘Even Gengane’s wife is eyeing this fellow. Gengane is an idiot not to see all this!’

Excerpted with permission from One and Three Quarters, Shrikant Bojewar, translated from the Marathi by Vikrant Pande, Eka/Westland.