Open Sesame | The classroom collapse

The students of class 8 had two periods of math in the afternoon. Nobody was in the mood to concentrate on trains that kept crossing each other, or cisterns being filled and emptied. While there were a freakish few who found such senseless situations interesting, the majority longed for relief.

They turned to clever Dilip for help. Megha, especially, who had not done her homework, was desperate and glanced at him appealingly. As Dilip set off in the direction of the school office, his classmates relaxed. He had rescued them on numerous occasions, and could be relied on to do so again.

They remembered how, just before a history test, Dilip had asked a question about Maharana Pratap’s horse. Mr Sharma, who was as attached to Chetak as if he had owned and ridden that noble animal, had launched into a long and emotional account of the Battle of Haldighati. As the brave beast breathed its last, Mr Sharma’s listeners were overjoyed, for they were saved by the bell.

Now, Dilip’s classmates watched from a distance as he spoke to Megha, and she nodded in response. Evidently, the genius required an accomplice for his scheme. The others had no wish to learn more. They were content to know that they would escape the lesson.

Escape, however, was not what their math teacher had in mind. “I hope you have attempted the exercises on Page 57,” said Mr Murthy, looking around grimly. “Megha, can you solve the first problem? I assume you worked on it yesterday.”

Megha, who had watched TV, chatted with friends and visited a mall, had done nothing of the sort. She had remembered her assignment only in the morning, but woken up much too late to tackle it.

“Stand up!” snapped Mr Murthy, as Megha sat strangely still. The girl stood up slowly, but did not move. “Megha!” exclaimed Mr Murthy angrily. The class stared at the two of them in fascination. Dilip must have foreseen that Mr Murthy would pick on Megha, as he frequently did, but what had he told the girl to do?

Megha leaned over her desk, gripping it tightly. Then, she began to sway. She gently rocked forward and backward, and forward and backward again. “Megha!” yelled Mr Murthy, “is this a joke?” Megha seemed unaware of the teacher’s rage.

The class was in shock. Dilip was certainly pulling a daring stunt. The boys and girls gazed at him admiringly, not realising that his face showed surprise rather than satisfaction.

All of a sudden, Megha fell to the floor. Mr Murthy rushed to where she lay in a heap. Sinking down beside the unconscious girl, he cradled her head in his lap. “Megha! Megha!” he called anxiously, annoyance replaced by alarm. Never had anyone at school seen Mr Murthy’s face wear such a tender expression.

“Water! Someone bring water,” shouted the teacher, but nobody stirred. Megha’s performance was too good to miss. What an actor she was, lying motionless as Mr Murthy hovered over her. “Water!” screamed Mr Murthy again. Dilip dashed out of the room, returning with the nurse. A brilliant touch, thought his classmates, but risky since the latter was sure to detect deception.

The nurse sprinkled a few drops of water on Megha’s pale face and checked her pulse. “Nothing to worry about,” she announced briskly, as Megha slowly opened her eyes. “This young lady has been missing her sleep and meals,” she added disapprovingly. The nurse went out with the patient, and Mr Murthy, who was feeling rather ill himself, left with them.

Dilip was mobbed by his delighted classmates who showered congratulations on him. He had been wonderful, they told him. The drama had seemed so real, and Megha had played her part to perfection. The nurse had been a masterstroke, but how had Megha convinced everyone that she was sick?

When Dilip could make himself heard over the clamour, he addressed his classmates. “I had nothing to do with what happened right now,” he said. “I only told Megha to inform Mr Murthy that there was someone to meet him. I had phoned my prank-loving cousin Ramesh to come here and ask for Mr Murthy. I knew I could count on him to engage Mr Murthy in conversation.”

Dilip’s classmates were stunned. “Are you saying that Megha was really unwell?”

“Exactly,” admitted Dilip. “We got out of math, of course, but the joke is as much on us as it is on Mr Murthy. Megha’s fainting fit has made non-April fools of us all.”