Anup could barely contain his excitement; it was a heady feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. He was sitting, awkwardly balanced on the front bar of his father, Vipul's bicycle as he struggled to pedal an uphill road. It was the first day at his new, expensive private school, where people dropped off their children in cars. It was the first time Anup was wearing a uniform, and it was new. The stiffness of the extra starch didn't bother him the least.

His father was a farmer who owned a small piece of land in a tiny village in India, where they grew millets. Millets had suddenly become a culinary fad, and the future looked bright. That had given his father the confidence to take a loan with their land as collateral to enable him to send his only son to the expensive high school on the outskirts of the village. Their tiny mud house didn't even have electricity, but that never deterred Anup from studying hard by the kerosene lamp, in between taking care of his ailing mother, who had suffered a stroke and was now bedridden. Sometimes he even put some kerosene drops in his eyes when he felt tired and sleepy, as the burning sensation would keep him awake. He had studied in the Pathshaala (the free village school) till standard 10 and had always excelled. Vipul knew that his son was destined for greater things and had staked all his money and land for his high school education.

They had started much earlier than required because his father insisted on stopping at the village temple to offer a hefty sum to the priest for a special puja (religious ceremony) in his son's name. His father was a devout person who visited the temple at least a couple of times a week to offer flowers to the Goddess that he plucked and collected on the way. But this time, it was a more elaborate ritual that required payment.

Once his father had dropped him off at the gate, Anup walked in with an unsteady gait. He could hardly digest the fact that he was here, and the environment seemed too alien to him. He saw all the rich kids walking along in groups, smiling, laughing, and taking pictures with their mobile phones. Anup had never even held one in his life, and he felt like a vestigial organ in the belly of an expansive beast, imagining that everybody was giving him the stink eye.

Even though his books were new, his bag had been handmade by his father from pieces of old fabric. Although Anup had been delighted when he saw it first, it now stood out like a sore thumb and actually drew disgusting glances. He kept his eyes on the ground and walked on. Once inside the classroom, all his disconcert faded away as he immersed himself, heart and soul, into the lessons. During the first week, whenever any of the teachers asked questions in any of the subjects, only a few students could answer them, and that too only a few of the times. Anup always knew the answers but never had the confidence to raise his hand. Better to keep a low profile, he thought.

As the weeks went by, he studied harder than he had ever before and always scored the highest in his homework and class tests. And in the first semester examinations, he managed to secure second place. Some of the students who were poorer in their studies started cozying up to him, and he always helped them with their lessons. He was just glad that he finally had a few friends to talk to and play with. Working on the fields with his father all through his childhood had made Anup physically strong, and he started excelling in sports too. But besides his few friends, most were rude to him, and the rest avoided him entirely. But he didn't mind, just like he didn't mind the 3 kilometer walk each way from and back to his village every day, as his father was always busy in the fields or busy attending to his ailing wife.

But what Anup was most uncomfortable with was talking to girls. His village school had hardly had any, and now he was always perplexed as to how to behave in their presence. So he kept as far a distance from them as possible. One day, his father had forgotten to pack his meagre lunch, and as he sat alone in the classroom, his stomach growling, he almost pinched himself when the most popular and pretty girl in the high school approached him, sat next to him, and offered him her lunch. Words escaped his otherwise sharp mind, inundated with thoughts that he couldn't comprehend fully, and he kept looking at her with an open mouth and almost popping eyes. He kept staring at her cherubic face, flawless white skin, her perfect hair with not a strand out of place, and her redolence almost intoxicated him. She let out the sweetest laugh, music to his ears, and took a spoonful of her lunch and offered it to him. He was reluctant to eat from it, as he was from the lowest caste in the village, considered untouchables by the higher castes, and wondered if it was all part of a grand joke. Instead, he took it in his hand and put it in his mouth, realizing that it made him look a lot more unsophisticated, and gulped it down. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted—biriyani, a royal Mughal dish that was a staple for the elites. After a few more spoonfuls, he finally managed to blurt out, 'Thank you'. She tilted her head slightly, smiled again, ruffled his hair, got up, and walked away, leaving in his mind a hurricane of thoughts that was sweet, puzzling, and slightly terrifying, all at once. Terrifying because he knew who she was; everyone knew. She was the daughter of the village Zamindar (largest landowner), Ankit, practically the village head, who was a politician too. He tried hard to gather the dispersed melee of his thoughts until the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch break, and his mental turmoil was dissolved by the banter of the boisterous crowd of students returning to class.

Over the next few weeks, she started sharing her lunch with him, and he dared never to open his lunchbox of bland millet khichdi (a dish of pulses, rice, and millets, with just a hint of basic spices). He told his father that he didn't need to prepare his lunch anymore, as the school had started providing the students with mid-day meals. It was the first time he had lied to his father, but his father was just glad that he didn't have to get up an hour earlier to prepare his son's meal.

Soon everyone in the school started recognizing him and Lila, as a couple, the most unlikeliest of one, and his few friends started teasing him to no end, and all he could do was blush and try to mask his smile. Lila was a smart girl, but she had a little problem with economics. Anup was more than happy to tutor her, and she in turn helped him with his only weakness, English, especially verbal. Anup didn't know if their relationship was romantic, symbiotic, or simply friendship. But that was immaterial; the stars were aligning, and he felt like he was walking on air.

Lila had studied at the private school since kindergarten and had always secured first place. But the high school final examinations came and went, and a week later, the results were up on the school notice board. After the throng of students had cleared, Anup went over to the board and was overjoyed to see his name at the top. Lila was a close second. During the lunch break that day, as Anup waited in class, Lila didn't show up. He went looking for her, but she was surrounded by her group of female friends. They were consoling a weeping Lila, and Anup knew that it was due to her slipping to second place in the examinations. He looked from afar and retreated to the classroom. He had to go hungry that day.

But the next day, as he was sitting alone in the classroom, counting his loose change to go to the school cafeteria to get himself a couple of biscuits, Lila approached as usual, and her smile lit up his world once more. She congratulated him on securing first place, shared her lunch as usual, and all seemed well again. But there was a slight change in her demeanor; she didn't sit as close to him as before, or was it his imagination playing tricks on him? He shrugged it off, just glad that things were back to normal. This time, before the bell rang, she planted a light kiss on his forehead. And he imagined that's how education could eliminate bigotry. If there were more people like Lila, the world would surely be a better place.

Anup loved playing football, but his only pair of shoes, which he maintained meticulously, was already almost three years old and was now coming apart at the front seams. Friction, it gives, but not without taking. His father Vipul noticed and offered him a sum of three hundred rupees, almost half of Vipul's monthly income, to get a new pair. Anup was overjoyed but felt guilty at the same time, but he took it nonetheless. He couldn't afford to wear a tattered pair, especially with Lila around.

But there was a big dilemma to confront. Lila had invited him to her birthday celebrations at her mansion, and he couldn't ask his father for any more money for a gift. After spending an almost sleepless night, he came up with what he thought was the perfect solution. On Sunday, Lila's birthday, he went to the local cobbler and mended his shoes. There was an industrial chemical plant nearby that was sure to be closed on the weekend. He snuck in, found a vat of black industrial paint, and dipped his white sneakers in. That would hide any deformities, and he hoped it would fool his father into thinking it was a new pair. The guilt didn't weigh on him as much as his first lie to his father. In fact, he was kind of proud of his ingenious solution. After waiting for an hour for it to dry, he put them on and sneaked out. Then he made his way to the cheapest saloon he could find and got himself a haircut. The place still had plush leather seats, and a regal feeling surged through him. All these years, his father had cut his hair. After the complimentary facial, he felt grown up for the first time, ready to take on the world.

He next made his way to the bakery. He still had about two hundred and fifty bucks and bought the fanciest cake he could afford. He was a little disappointed by its look and size, but it would have to do. The one he eyed was double the price. But they packed it fancy, and he held it delicately while walking all the way to Lila's mansion. His tread still felt a bit sticky but was gone by the time he reached the venue.

The opulence of the celebrations was way more than he had imagined, and his confident gait stooped slightly. But he steadied himself and went in. He saw his few friends; they beckoned him, and he felt relaxed again. Lila was decked up like a princess, sitting on a stage, surrounded by her friends, and behind her stood armed policemen. Anup meekly walked up to her and offered her the gift that had cost him his new pair of shoes. She accepted her gift and thanked him, but without a smile and without even looking him in the eye. Anup felt more inept at his social etiquette and returned to his friends. They went over for a lavish dinner, but Anup's mind was racing, and he could hardly enjoy the delectable delicacies. Slowly, the crowd thinned out, and as he was about to leave with his friends, Lila called him from behind. She took him by the hand and led him away, saying she had something to show him. Leaving his friends at the gate, he walked back. She took him to meet her father, the Zamindar, practically dragging him along. The mere sight of the giant man with a grandiose mustache, a gun in his holster, and even scarier-looking bodyguards terrified Anup.

Somehow managing to keep his composure, Anup greeted him with folded hands, barely able to even look him in the face. She introduced Anup as the school topper. The Zamnindar got up and, with a huge grin, patted Anup in the back so hard that he had to struggle to keep his balance. He then offered him a glass to drink, and Anup could immediately smell the alcohol in it. He was quite used to the smell, passing to and from his school every day by the hooch factory that was on his daily route. But there was no way he could refuse the Zamindar's offer, and he gulped it down in one go. Although it was obviously top-shelf liquor, it was Anup's first time, and he hated it. He felt a burning sensation, and, within a minute, it went straight to his head. The Zamindar laughed mightily and slapped him on the back again, saying, 'My man!', and Anup barely managed to keep himself from throwing up. He folded his hands humbly again, bowed, and took his leave. Turning around, he tried to walk back quickly, but there was a rift in his mind and body that he had never experienced before. He sat down on the first chair he could find and closed his eyes. But that made his mind spin more, and the pukey sensation increased. So he got up and walked about unsteadily. That ameliorated the queasy sensation significantly, replacing it with a pleasant high. As he was contemplating whether to visit the open bar again, Lila arrived with two cocktails and offered him one. As Anup took his first sip, he was pleasantly surprised at how good it tasted, and both of them kept on taking small sips, laughing, joking, and even giggling without conversation or reason. As they went on to consume four cocktails each, Lila kept closing the distance between them and put her arms around his shoulder. All they had done before was hold hands, and Anup felt something for the first time—a new sensation, lust. But he refrained from returning her advances.

Realizing this, Lila got up, pulling Anup with her, and led him to the back garden of the mansion. There wasn't a soul around there, or at least Anup couldn't see any. This time, she pushed him against the wall, and their lips met for the first time. And for the first time, he could really feel the contours and curves of her body. She kept on pushing her tongue into his mouth, and he just followed her cues. She undid the top two buttons of her blouse, pulled his hand, and placed it on the bottom of her neck. Anup froze, not sure what to do next, and unsure what she expected him to do. Things were moving way too fast for him; his muscles stiffened, and his mind seemed to be swirling and frozen at the same time, even as his instincts turned turtle. He felt hot, even as a chill crawled up his spine. Time seemed to stand still, and he felt a little embarrassed about his inept making-out skills, but that was minuscule compared to all the other thoughts, emotions, and hormones running rampant. He sensed a bright flash from the darkness around, but the fireworks went off immediately, and he attributed it to that. Finally, after a time that felt too long and too short at the same time, Lila stopped kissing, planted a final short one on his lips, turned around, and ran away gleefully.

All through the walk back home, he couldn't keep a composed mind other than savouring the sweet taste in his mouth. Under a full moon, he plucked as many flowers as he could, entered the temple, and laid them at the feet of the idol of the Goddess. When he finally reached home, he was still quite inebriated. But luckily, his parents were asleep. He went straight to bed, silent like a lizard on ice. After all, only his primitive reptilian brain was the most active. Although he felt quite tired, sleep eluded him, and the events and sensations of the evening ticked him and played on and on in his mind till he was liberated by sweet slumber. When he awoke the next morning, he felt queasy from his first hangover. He didn't feel like going to school, but he had to see Lila. After the 3-kilometer walk that day, which was way more difficult than usual, he reached school and went straight to the classroom, trying hard to keep up his normal visage. But he was immediately dejected to find that Lila had skipped school that day. All through the classes, he couldn't pay an iota of attention to the lessons and kept looking at Lila's empty chair, even as doubt and longing kept ravaging his entire mind, body, and soul, like waves crashing against jagged rocks.,

Suddenly, he was jolted out of his stupor as everybody stood up as the school Principal entered. It was immediately clear that he was fuming. After scanning the classroom, he pointed straight at Anup, commanding him to follow him to the office and stormed out. Petrified, Anup followed. Once he entered the Principal's chambers, he could recognize one of the Zamindar's bodyguards. Without speaking, the Principal opened the envelope on his desk and handed over a photo to Anup. The picture was of him and Lila in a compromising position. He remembered the flash just before the fireworks. On the reverse side was a paragraph, which he could see was in Lila's handwriting, accusing Anup of forcing himself on her under the influence. While his eyes were closed when they had kissed, her face was contorted in a grimace. Lila was holding his hand when it was at the base of her neck, which looked like, or could be construed as, she was trying to resist.

Anup stood paralyzed in shock. The ground under him seemed to be caving in, and he still couldn't comprehend the matter fully or look up and come up with a response. The Zamindar's man walked over to him and slapped him so hard that he crashed onto the floor, and blood started oozing out of his mouth. Another kick to the head followed, and then the man hoisted Anup up forcefully by his hair and shoved him down on a chair. The Principal then got up and handed Anup another envelope. He was still too aghast to open it, so the Principal took out the paper from inside and threw it on Anup's lap. With great trepidation, Anup read his rustication letter while his tears, blood, and mucus dripped on it. The Zamindar's goon clutched his ear and, jerking hard at it the whole time, led him through the corridor, even as all the other students were made to line up to watch the proceedings. Some looked away, some clapped, while the majority hooted. One of his closest friends spat on his face, while a few others emptied their lunch boxes all over him.

Anup wasn't even given the opportunity to retrieve his bag and his precious books. Dragging him by the ear the whole way up to the school gate, he was thrown out onto the road. Anup lay there on the ground, shrieking at first and then just sobbing on. After about half an hour, he picked himself up. He contemplated throwing himself in front of one of the buses that plied on the road, but the thought of his parents deterred him. In his mind, he still just wanted to vanish, dissolve, dissipate, or sublimate; erase his existence entirely. But he somehow managed to trudge his way home. The tears wouldn't stop streaming down, and in his mind kept on flashing the images of his father alone in his fields, his mother lying on the bed, and Lila's face. After a 2-kilometre zombified walk, he could see smoke emanating from his cottage, and he started running as fast as he could. He reached just in time to see about ten of the Zamindar's henchmen, two cops in uniform among them, tie up his battered, bleeding father, and shove him into the engulfing flames of his cottage. Through the window, he could already see the bed of his mother burning, with her on it. She wasn't moving. As Anup tried to race inside, the henchmen caught hold of him. But they didn't land a single blow on him. They just held him down on his knees, pulled his hair back, and made him watch while he wailed like a banshee, looking at what was now essentially a crematorium. He saw his charred father trying to crawl out slowly until the thatched roof on fire crashed down on him. After about half an hour, they tied Anup to a nearby tree and left. Anup lay tied to the tree throughout the night, oscillating between unconsciousness and a waking nightmare. The whole village gathered and watched from a distance, but no one dared approach, let alone intervene.

By the time dawn broke, the main fire had died down, leaving pockets of smoldering embers, and smoke still emanated from the collapsed cottage. Wriggling violently throughout the night, his hand restraints had finally come off loose, and Anup managed to free the rope from his profusely bleeding wrists. He didn't have it in him to go inside. Nothing but ashes were left, and his parents, his soul, and his spirit had been burned alive.

He just kept kneeling in front of the house till midday. The never-ending stream of tears had finally dried out, and he sat there without an expression on his face. He went to the well beside the cottage and jumped in. But the well wasn't very deep, and even the water was too shallow to drown. The thick rope with the bucket was still dangling, and it took him almost an hour to climb out of it.

A sudden surge of adrenaline pervaded through his now hollowed-out shell, and he ran as fast as he could to the temple that used to be so sacrosanct to him and his father. The priest wasn't around, and the temple was empty. He went straight to the idol of the Goddess. His father had taught him to always enter the temple barefoot and never touch anything holy with his feet. He honoured his father's wishes. But he had never been told anything about hand protocols, so he started to punch the clay idol with his bare, clenched fists. He kept on punching furiously for about twenty minutes. He could hear the crunching sound of his bones and bits and pieces of the clay embedded into both his hands, but he was numb to the pain. Finally, the clay idol shattered and crumbled into hundreds of pieces, and the trident in the hands of the deity crashed onto the floor. The trident was solid metal and hefty.

Anup picked the trident up and exited the temple. He didn't even put his shoes back on. He was in no hurry and slowly made his way to the Zamindar's mansion. He knew he wouldn't return. Besides, there was nothing left to return to.

.    .    .