by Neil D'Silva
“Come in, Maya,” the headmaster said as she entered. “Was it you who kept the heart back in the lab yesterday?”
Maya nodded. “Yes, sir, I surely did. I put it right behind the reptiles. What has happened?”
“The heart is missing, that’s what.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, it is,” said the Principal. “The hospital called me this morning to send the heart back, and I sent Ranganath up to look for it, but it’s just gone. Are you sure you kept it there?”
Maya tried to recall the scene. She was certain she had moved the chameleon jar to make space and shoved the heart behind it.
“Yes I am sure,” she said. “I even locked it.”
“The lock has been broken,” he said.
“How? Why would anyone do that? There is nothing in that cupboard besides specimens.”
“The lock has been broken with some kind of heavy instrument. And the heart is gone.” The Principal buried his head in his palms. “All of you,” he addressed the men standing in front of him, “what are you doing standing here now? Go and search every nook and cranny of the school. Investigate everyone concerned with the sixth floor. That heart must be found under any circumstances.”
The peons and assistants walked away one by one, muttering indecipherable things under their breath.
“Where could the heart have gone, sir?” asked Maya when the peons had left.
“Search me!” There was exasperation in his voice. “You wanted the heart, and I really had to pull some strings to get it here. Please think. Does anything come to your mind?”
Something surely did. It was the form of a tall gaunt person, and the strong scent of his chest. Maya almost parted her lips to speak out her suspicions, but then she kept quiet. There was no proof nor was there a motive. Why would an Arts teacher have to do with a heart, of all things? Artists could be eccentric though, she knew. She had read about Leonardo da Vinci raiding tombs and pulling out dead bodies to measure their bones so that he could create his authentic Renaissance sculptures. But it was foolish to think about it in this context. She quickly banished the thought from her mind.
“Maybe some student played a prank,” said the Principal, his hands in his hair. “These students of today! Sometimes I feel I should give it all up and escape to the Himalayas.”
With that, he dismissed Maya.
Maya walked up to the staffroom with a ponderous mind. What could be the purpose of stealing a dead heart? It wasn’t any object of value, or was it? Could it be the misdeed of some peon who hoped to earn something out of selling it to the right people? Or was it indeed some juvenile mischief?
Drawing a blank, she walked up to her little cabin. Soon everyone would know about the missing heart, and how lackadaisical she had been about it. Will things be the same for her at the school again?
Her mind veered again towards her initial suspicion.
Bhaskar Sadachari—could it indeed have been him? He was weird enough anyway.
What had he been doing at the sixth floor corridor, just outside the laboratory? Being so stunned on finding him there, she hadn’t given much thought to his presence on a floor where he had no business to be at all.
However much she rationalized herself to think the opposite, the suspicion refused to leave her mind.
Could it be possible? Really, could it?
And just as soon as the image of Bhaskar breaking the tiny lock on the glass case and gleefully pilfering the heart formed in her mind, she chased it out. But try as she might, she couldn’t be at peace after that. It was an image that lingered.
After all, she had seen him in the corridor. He had evidently followed her. The vision of him standing like a cowboy in the hall began to haunt her, and only when the final school bell rang did she snap back into her senses.
Maya gathered her things and rose. She stuffed the uneaten lunchbox in her bag; she did not feel like staying back in school that day. She wanted to make an exit before Padma came in with her uncomfortable questions.
She was moving towards the school gate when she saw Bhaskar Sadachari again. Maya wanted to expel all thoughts of him from her mind but some unknown destiny seemed to put her in his way relentlessly. This time he was standing quite close to the gate, scoffing at the security guards. One of his duties was to patrol the students milling out of the school premises. He stood there and conducted them out in an orderly manner, and he was good at that. No one dared step out of line when he was at the helm. When the boys exiting the gate spotted him, they ceased all banter, and plodded along with their heads bowed, as though they were part of some funerary procession. No one wanted to get on his bad side.
Standing at the gate, Bhaskar looked much like a security guard himself. Or probably even a soldier patrolling the nation’s border, albeit without the uniform. His physique of a tall, imposing man instilled fear and awe in people. Very few people knew what Bhaskar Sadachari was as a person, for they were too intimidated by his personality.
Maya knew a thing or two about people. For some reason, she found herself analyzing this strange man. This man with his stern face—was he actually putting up a show to frighten people away? Was his reluctance only a façade to keep people away from looking into some inner sorrow, and was his art a way to give vent to that sadness?
Maya realized she was staring too hard, and abruptly looked away. What had she been thinking? This was an unknown man. She did not know anything about him, did not want to either. Feelings of embarrassment and fear welled up within her.
She could not meet his gaze now. She only wanted to move out with her head bowed, for she feared her suspecting eyes would unintentionally accuse him of something she wasn’t sure of herself. Hurting a known person is a miserable thing, but hurting an unknown person is dangerous. One does not know how they could react. Maya didn’t want to insinuate anything at this point for she feared what retaliation it might bring.
But when someone is so deeply ensconced in one’s thoughts, it is difficult to avoid eye contact with them. Almost automatically and completely unintended, Maya’s eyes went up, ever so little, and found Bhaskar’s eyes staring right into hers.
It was as though they were probing into her eyes, trying to get a slice of her mind.
The muted buzz of the students was all around them, but in the midst of that, these two unlikely people had eyes for no one else but each other, though only for a brief moment.
Then Maya realized that the visual communion had gone on for too long. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes once again. But he didn’t. She felt his gaze on her back, searing into her flesh; and, she didn’t know why, it made her feel warm. She hadn’t quite experienced this before—the strange pleasure of him looking at her like she were an object to be scrutinized, like she were a piece of meat. No one had looked at her like that in a long time, except maybe Samar when he was alive, but that was such a long time ago.
***
The heart wasn’t found all through the next week either. Maya was called to the Principal’s office several times that week, but she had only one story to tell. Soon, everyone realized there was nothing to be done. The stealth cameras on the sixth floor hadn’t been functioning since ages. The management hadn’t bothered to repair them. In fact, it was because of the non-functioning cameras that Principal Purohit was hesitant to file a police complaint. The police would first want to know the reason behind this apathetic attitude of the school. Anything that put the spotlight on schools—especially unfavorable things—made wonderful grist for newspaper headlines anyway.
Then, one day, the school driver crashed the Principal’s personal car into the school gate as he was trying to pull it into its allotted driving space. The Principal hadn’t been sitting in it but his expensive Mercedes E-Class was mercilessly mauled on the passenger’s side. The headmaster reprimanded the driver for his costly mistake with the choicest expletives and threw him out of his gainful employment. However, later, when he was in his office going t
hrough the insurance papers, he realized that he could actually leverage this accident to his advantage.
That afternoon itself, he called the hospital and told them there had been an accident involving his car He told them the heart had been in it, which was damaged beyond recognition and had to be disposed of. He smooth-talked them into believing the lie. The hospital dean, who was also a distant relative of Principal Purohit’s wife, sighed and said the heart was a bad debt which could only be written off now.
But, Maya couldn’t get it out of her head that she was somehow responsible for the missing heart. She went into long spells of guilt, even when sitting with people in her cabin, mulling over how she could rectify the loss.
She was in one of these gloomy spells, when three of her brightest students asked to enter her cabin.
“Mam,” the tallest one, who already had faint vestiges of whiskers on his face, spoke for everyone, “We have prepared the designs and the content for the Science Exhibition. But, mam, who will prepare the clay models?”
They had chosen to depict blood circulation within the heart. The Physics teacher had already agreed to build circuitry with red and blue LEDs to show the pathways of oxygenated and deoxygenated blood. Now, they needed an artist to cover the wires and gizmos with their art, and to make it look like the model of the circulatory system.
“Can none of you do it?” Maya asked.
“We don’t know how to work with Plaster of Paris or clay, mam,” the boy said. “We can try but we have never done it before. We don’t want to ruin the whole thing.”
“What about Aman?” Aman Gupta was the most artistic student in the entire ninth grade. The poor fellow was often overworked by teachers asking him to draw diagrams on their chalkboards.
“He is not too sure either,” the boy said. “He tried but he could not get it right.”
Bhaskar’s voice ran through her head once again as it had done all that week. But it was saying something else now—a humble offer, no frills attached. Do you want me to make the models for you, the voice said in her head.
The exhibition was coming up in a week, and losing was not an option for the Madam Somdevi Khanna School for Boys. I’ll prepare the models myself, but I am not going to take his help, another voice spoke in her head—her own. But saying something is much different from actually doing it. Rosie had said he was a nice person anyway.
The phone on her table rang. It was the Principal himself.
“What is this, Maya?” he said. “I just found out that the models are still not ready. Are we sending students to the Exhibition this year or not?”
“Yes sir,” Maya said meekly.
“Then we better do it right. We haven’t lost the trophy since the last seven years. We don’t want to start this year.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The models have to be perfect and there’s no time. You need someone to help you out. Don’t leave it to the students, Maya. You seem distracted nowadays. Come and have a chat with me when you can.”
“All right, sir.”
“I am sending Bhaskar Sadachari to help you with the models. You know him, don’t you?”
She took a gulp of water. When she found her voice again, she said, “Yes sir.”
And just then, as if on cue, she saw Bhaskar walking in the outside lobby through her transparent cabin window.
“Should we ask Bhaskar Sir?” the tall boy asked. “He offered to help us anyway.”
The universe is conspiring against me, Maya thought. She kept the receiver down, but words failed to come out of her lips.
Hearing his name, as if he were waiting to hear it, Bhaskar strode in. “Did someone mention my name?” he asked.
The thick aroma permeated into the cabin before his body appeared at the door. Maya felt the odor this time, a strong musty smell that wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t a fragrance either. It smelled like sandalwood gone wrong, like some stale floral hair oil product sold for ten rupees a bottle at a roadside apothecary. Maya stopped inhaling for as long as she could, but when she couldn’t, the air gushed into her nostrils and she felt the smell stronger than ever. And this time, it did something to her. She smelled an undercurrent that she didn’t entirely dislike.
“Sir,” said the tall spokesperson, keeping one eye on Maya, “We want your help in preparing these models.”
“Oh, I will have to take permission from Maya Madam.” He looked at her and smiled. The smile was a wrinkly one, his cheeks folded in bunches as he did that, and it exposed his teeth. They were white, so white that the canines appeared to be sharper than they should have.
Maybe he was a good man after all. Or, maybe she just didn’t want to be known as a woman who didn’t give a talented person an opportunity only because she harbored a prejudice against him.
Whatever the incentive was, she nodded. It was a slow nod—her head did not go all the way up or down—but the children understood and they whooped with joy.
Bhaskar had a twinkle in his eye. The smile, which Maya saw for the first time on his face, made him look different, almost amiable.
Despite the still-persistent doubts in her mind, there wasn’t much she could do.
***
The week after that was complicated. Never before had Maya been faced with such contrary opinions. She knew she didn’t care for Bhaskar, but at the same time she could not deny there was an awe building in her mind. The closeness was spreading its inexplicable kind of magic. When she was with him, she found herself staring at his peculiar face, which seemed intriguing to her at first, and then a weird kind of macho. Maybe it was his ruggedness that appealed to her. He was so different from all the men she had seen—so uncouth, so untrained—that she felt herself being drawn to him. Bit by bit, she began to realize why they say opposites attract.
The feelings weren’t permanent though. Whenever he wasn’t in sight, she would be filled with guilt, which was mainly wrought out of the fact that she had allowed herself to be drawn to him. There was a particular moment once when she was staring at him and he caught her. She immediately lowered her eyes, thoroughly embarrassed, and pretended to talk to someone else in an exaggerated voice. However, the damage was done. He resumed slicing the board with a wry smile on his face.
And, when a similar staring accident happened a second time the next day, Maya wanted to kill herself.
Maya had a lot to feel guilty for. She hadn’t overcome Samar yet, and here she was developing feelings—were they indeed feelings?—for someone else, who was evidently a most undeserving candidate. Should she succumb to those feelings, if they were that? She didn’t understand it; until a week ago she despised him, even felt repulsed by him, but was that only because she didn’t know him as a person? Why was this repulsion transforming into attraction?
Into lust?
Perhaps, it was due to the happiness within him. His clothes were almost in tatters, his face haggard, but underneath those superficies, she could sense his contentment. Maybe, it was this inner happiness in him that appealed to her inner sorrow. Maybe, she thought, these were the opposites that had really connected.
The strangest thing was that Maya didn’t find Bhaskar repulsive anymore. She had always disliked him less than the others did. His body odor, which Padma used to keep talking about, was never much of a sore point for her. Yes, she could sense it—a strong body scent—but she didn’t mind it the way others did. In fact, she felt drawn to it. Whenever she was engrossed in some work, and the odor found its way into her nostrils, she would perk up to attention. For a few days, she managed a stoic no-fun-only-business face, but as the days passed, she found herself returning his smiles. Just a slight quivering of the lips at first, which gradually increased into more and more generous smiles, much like the waxing of a New Moon to a Full Moon.
There was no explanation, no justification.
Why was this happening? Was this some secret magic?
People say when you fall for someone, even their negatives turn int
o positives. Lovers become blind to each other’s traits, though they may despise those very same traits in others. So, was this it? Was this converting into the lofty L-word?
Maya shuddered at the thought.
She thought of Samar. In their early days together, she had hated a few things about him too. She had abhorred the way he used to taunt her at the slightest opportunity. There were several things he had ridiculed her about—her simple attire, her strictly vegetarian food habits, her aversion to makeup. The mockery made Maya fume. But then, as their love grew, she got used to his taunting. In fact, a moment arrived when she wanted him to mock her. It was her way of staying assured that she was still the center of his attention.
Was it the same thing now? Was she growing fond of this man’s barmy behavior just as she had grown accustomed to Samar’s taunts?
Perhaps familiarity doesn’t breed contempt all the time.
Another week later, Maya stood proud as the recipient of the Best Science Exhibit Award at the ward-level competitions on behalf of her school. Sharing the stage with her were her winning students and Bhaskar Sadachari, the master craftsman who everyone was now raving about.
She did not mind standing next to him for the photograph, so close that their arms almost rubbed against each other.
No, definitely, there was no strong odor anymore. Just an appealing musky scent that titillated her erotic passions.
When the prize distribution ceremony was over, the students waited in queue for their school bus to arrive and to ferry them back to their homes. Maya and Bhaskar lingered on, and Maya found herself staring at his face once again.
“Congratulations,” he said in such a low voice that it was almost a whisper. She had been looking at his face closely, and the sudden word from his lips startled her.
“Congratulations to you too,” she said. “Your artwork won us the prize.” The praise left her lips freely, but the instant she said it, she felt it was too much praise and bit her lip.