“The moon still shines, hearts still break, the Sun still rises, and we all…the mere players as identified by Shakespeare, still pray.” That was the end of his poem. I’ll remember it for my entire life; There came about a rare moment of pure silence in the hall, then everyone present- the students, teachers, parents- all at once, started applauding. The applauding audience did bring a smile and raised Joshin’s hands, he kept bowing weakly with that smile, although his smile…ohh it was one of those Gatsby smiles, when you have everything and yet nothing.

On his way down the aisle, Josh received pats and handshakes and “Shabbash”s, and trust me when I say most of them were heartfelt; His head was bowed and he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, as if…as if he were thrown in a cage with eagles. All those eyes threatening him.

You see Mr.Rao, Joshin was a kid, whose kind is not defined. He’d lost his childhood quite early and…umm, well…he was living a metaphorical life.” Dr. Videsh Pattnaik rubbed his eyes from underneath his spectacles and then held them, almost showing how that kid had impacted his life. “Would you like a tissue Dr. Pattnaik?” said Mr. Rao, handing him one from the worn out tissue box. Videsh took it. People had often cried in this room, most of them children. Children being ‘disciplined’ by the dreaded Principle. “I…I think…um, since the age of 33, I’ve been teaching. Almost 25 years. I have only encountered 2 children, I’m sorry: 2 marvels.” He paused. “The first one was just 12 years back. Karan Vikram Rathore. A bright kid, living a dreadful life. He had a disease, a very unique disease. He got nightmares every night and could only think about those all day. He was close to me. A good student. And a good writer. I taught him to channelize his thoughts into stories, entries, poems…He died of dengue. During his last months, he’d been writing letters to me, I gave them to his parents. I was his only friend, I found out after…”  Mr. Rao realized that he had become Videsh’s journal, it wasn’t night, but he was monologuing. He could do nothing. Mr. Pattnaik was his interviewee.

“Then came Joshin Sinha. This kid, Mr.Rao, he would truly be a legend if he’d lived longer. His works, his art, everything, his story…Mr.Rao… I don’t think I’ll be able to tell you much about him. All I can give you is some of his works.” He took out a folder and kept it on the desk. Then he sat down again. “Thank you so much for your time Mr.Pattnaik. Can you give me any leads…any friends, people close to him, anything?” He thought and then looked at me and said, “He’d mentioned a prayer group once or twice. I think you should go to them. They may be able to tell you more.” Mr. Rao nodded in gratitude, took the file and left. As the door closed, the silence started creeping in and took over Videsh. He moaned in anguish and agony, silently.

***

Captain Rao, exhausted after a long day’s work, came out of the school building and looked around. He took off his cap and caressed his moustache. He Thought to himself, “What a life man! Why do kids these days become so easily pissed off?” He probably didn’t understand the gravity of Joshin’s situation. At that time.

Suddenly a pigeon landed in front of him, eating snails. Rao kept looking at the pigeon for as long as it was there, enjoying its feast, and then looked at it fly away. He was thinking of something, always thinking of something. Rao’s team approached him am broke his thought.

“Captain, we have found out about the prayer group that Joshin attended. Seemed to be quite regular.” said one of the inspectors.

“Good job, Raman” said Rao as he patted the young inspector, and walked away towards the car. The team followed him and they left in the five Innovas.

***