Chapter 11: The IX Grade Finals
The play season was drawing to a close as the examinations approached, and everyone's attention gradually shifted towards studies, particularly those who had spent most of the year taking academics lightly. At this stage, notes suddenly became precious commodities, and their exchange was already in full swing.
I had cultivated the habit of making detailed notes from the very beginning of the session, so I became one of the students most frequently approached by my classmates. Others in demand were Rajhans, Umesh and Kaushal, whose neat handwriting made their notebooks exceptionally attractive. They never missed a single class, so their notes were always complete. During free periods, one could often see the less studious boys sitting quietly in corners, hurriedly updating their notebooks in preparation for the examinations.
The girls, too, were sought after for their meticulous notes and for discussions on important questions. Many of my friends approached me for Mathematics because my father's persistent coaching had made me reasonably good at the subject. Some also borrowed my History notebook, which was filled with 'Good' and 'Very Good' remarks from DV Sir. However, this demand was limited to those who had opted for Social Studies in English, mainly the back-bencher girls, John and Vohra.
Ironically, while others sought my help in some subjects, I found myself trailing behind them in Sanskrit. I had taken the subject lightly in the beginning, assuming that it was unimportant. Later, however, it turned into a major obstacle. Passing Sanskrit became an uphill task, and I had to move heaven and earth merely to clear the examination.
I had never studied Sanskrit before and was completely clueless about it. While the rest of the class had already spent three years learning the language and were fairly proficient, I had to start from scratch, beginning with the very basics.
Frequent transfers over the previous seven years had forced me to change schools repeatedly, which meant adapting to new syllabi, uniforms, academic sessions and several other adjustments. Fortunately, I had educated parents who ensured that my studies did not suffer. My mother, in particular, played a crucial role. After our move, my father took responsibility for teaching me Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics, while my mother continued to guide me in the remaining subjects. Sanskrit, however, remained a problem because no one in our family knew even a single word of the language.
I would sit in class and watch my classmates confidently answer the teacher's questions. Whenever my turn came, I would look around helplessly because even the questions were beyond my comprehension. Gradually, I began understanding a few words, but it was merely a drop in the ocean and made little difference.
Initially, I believed that failing in Sanskrit would only affect my overall position in class and not my promotion to the next grade. I assumed that the subject would merely be marked in red on my report card and that the problem would disappear in Class X, where Sanskrit was no longer compulsory.
One day, however, I learnt from a teacher that failing even a single subject would mean detention and the loss of an entire academic year. The news devastated me. I immediately confirmed it with the school clerical staff before gathering the courage to inform my father. The revelation created tension at home because the syllabus was extensive and I was a complete beginner.
After several unsuccessful attempts to master the language on our own, it was decided that I should take private tuition. The search for a tutor began immediately. Since a teacher from the school would be familiar with the syllabus and examination pattern, preference was given to one of them.
Our first choice was our own Sanskrit teacher, but he declined because he was due for transfer. We then approached Mr Hareshyam, a teacher from the junior section. He agreed to teach me, but on the condition that I travelled to his house in Udhampur city, nearly ten kilometres from the school and in the opposite direction from my home. This meant that after school I would have to travel another fourteen kilometres back home. In addition, he charged substantial fees. With no other alternative, it was decided that I would attend tuition classes every evening.
Thus began my daily journey to Udhampur city in overcrowded buses packed with students and teachers. The bus ride itself took nearly forty-five minutes, followed by a walk of about a kilometre through the narrow streets before I finally reached the tutor's house.
I would often wait outside until he arrived, unlocked the house and went upstairs. He usually spent half an hour freshening up before beginning my lesson. Since my classmates already had a three-year head start, I had to progress rapidly despite beginning with the alphabet.
Although Sanskrit was considered a high-scoring subject, it demanded extensive memorisation. Given the shortage of time, I resorted to rote learning without bothering much about meanings. The tutor would dictate two lines and then ask me to copy them repeatedly, which consumed considerable time. Nevertheless, I had no option but to comply. This routine consumed almost three hours every day and significantly reduced the time available for other subjects. Fatigue became a constant companion, particularly after the exhausting bus journeys.
Gradually, I improved, but my confidence remained dangerously low.
During one of the unit tests, uncertain of passing, I deliberately sat next to my friend Balli, who knew a little more Sanskrit than I did. Although he was only an average student, he was always willing to help. Once the test began, the paper still appeared completely alien to me.
The Sanskrit teacher was strict and notorious for catching even the slightest movement. Having never felt the need to cheat before, I was inexperienced. Yet necessity, as they say, is the mother of invention. Observing how some seasoned experts managed to copy, I adopted a similar technique. Resting my forehead on my left hand, with my elbow on the desk, I turned only my eyeballs towards Balli's answer sheet, which he thoughtfully aligned for my convenience. I quickly copied the answers, changing their sequence slightly to avoid suspicion.
Ironically, Balli himself was copying from the boy seated in front of him, who in turn had concealed the textbook beneath his desk. Thus, knowledge travelled through an entire chain before finally reaching me.
The next day, when the answer sheets were returned, I was astonished to discover that I had scored seven out of ten, while Balli had scored only six. Perhaps my handwriting had impressed the teacher.
The days passed in this manner. Soon another unit test was announced, but I could not appear for it because I had fallen ill. When I returned to school, the teacher informed me that a re-test would be conducted the following day for those who had missed the original examination.
The news increased my anxiety because this time I would be on my own. I enquired who else would be taking the test and learnt that two other students, Sonia and Rajhans, would also be appearing. Both were among the brightest students in the class and regularly figured among the top five.
Rajhans was a quiet and introverted boy who usually sat in the front row and rarely interacted with us backbenchers. Approaching him for help was out of the question. The thought of seeking assistance from Sonia was even more daunting. I was extremely shy around girls and worried about the impression she might form of me. Asking for help during an examination seemed far too embarrassing. Although Balli encouraged me, saying that there was no harm in asking, I simply could not gather the courage.
Determined to manage on my own, I memorised as much as I could, especially the shlokas and antonyms, which carried substantial marks. Some classmates, experts in surviving examinations by unconventional means, offered various suggestions, but I lacked both the confidence and the temperament to follow their methods. Left with no alternative, I resolved to rely on hard work and whatever little I had managed to learn.
On the day of the re-test, the teacher instructed the three of us to sit separately at different corners of the cemented stage used for the morning assembly so that the regular class would not be disturbed.
As the question papers were distributed, Rajhans settled down quietly and began writing in his neat, methodical manner. Sonia, too, started writing confidently and at great speed. I, on the other hand, soon exhausted whatever little I knew and found myself staring helplessly at the paper.
After considerable hesitation, I finally gathered the courage to whisper to Sonia, asking if she could help me recall a few answers. She looked at me briefly, smiled, and continued writing. When I repeated my request, she jokingly asked me to show her the shloka I had written. Taking it as a positive sign, I readily obliged. She glanced at my answer sheet, smiled again and resumed her work.
I waited expectantly, but she remained absorbed in her own paper. Perhaps she had only intended to encourage me, or perhaps she did not wish to take any risks. Even today, I do not know the real reason.
A little later, she sought permission to drink some water and left her answer sheet on the stage. Frustrated and desperate, I was momentarily tempted to take advantage of the opportunity and look at her work. Just then, Sonia returned and firmly called out, "Rajinder, stop it."
Startled and embarrassed, I immediately returned to my seat. Surprisingly, she neither complained to the teacher nor mentioned the incident again. The mystery of her reaction has remained unresolved ever since. Perhaps one day, if she ever reads this account, she may reveal what she had been thinking.
Fortunately, I managed to clear the test with modest marks, and the final examination loomed ahead.
I calculated that I would need around thirty-five percent marks in the final examination to secure an overall pass. The situation was becoming increasingly serious. I worked hard, but I also realised that success in life often requires not merely effort but also thoughtful planning.
One afternoon, while sitting alone in the classroom during recess, worrying about the possibility of losing an entire academic year because of a single subject, my eyes drifted towards the slowly rotating ceiling fan. An unusual idea suddenly occurred to me. Since students and teachers rarely looked towards the ceiling, perhaps it could serve as an unlikely aid for recalling a few important points during the examination.
The thought remained my closely guarded secret.
The final examinations began in March 1979. I sought advice from bright students regarding important topics. Nalini regularly lent me her notes and marked crucial portions for revision. Balli encouraged me constantly, Sonia shared useful tips for forming antonyms, and Raina lightened my anxiety with his humour and practical suggestions. Despite all this support, the responsibility of passing ultimately rested on my shoulders.
Two days before the Sanskrit examination, after everyone had left following the English paper, I quietly remained behind in the classroom. Once it was empty, I implemented the plan that had occupied my thoughts for days. Having ensured that nobody was around, I noted down a few important lines at a place from where they might help me refresh my memory during the examination.
The following day, after the Science paper, I discreetly checked that everything remained undisturbed. I also carefully observed the invigilators and noticed that they seldom looked upwards. The plan appeared feasible, though certainly risky.
Finally, the day of reckoning arrived.
The invigilator distributed the question papers after issuing the customary warnings. Nervous but determined, I first attempted all the questions I genuinely knew. To my surprise, my preparation proved better than I had expected. As the examination progressed, I occasionally glanced upwards, pretending to recollect information. This helped me confirm certain details and correct a few minor mistakes.
By then, I was convinced that I had done enough to pass.
Suddenly, the Sanskrit teacher remarked to a student seated ahead of me, "Pratap, please inform the supervisor after the examination that this fan is making too much noise."
"Which fan, Ma'am?" he asked.
"The one above your head," she replied.
For a brief moment, a chill ran down my spine. I remained absolutely still, concentrating on my answer sheet and silently praying that my secret would remain undiscovered.
Thankfully, nothing happened.
Soon, the examination ended. The answer sheets were collected and the students streamed out of the classroom. I finished my entire water bottle in one go. The ordeal that had haunted me for months was finally over. Now, all that remained was to wait for the results and discover whether my struggle had been enough to save an academic year.
A few weeks later, the results were declared. With trembling hands, I opened my report card and immediately searched for only one subject—Sanskrit. I could hardly believe my eyes. I had scored 55 per cent marks.
For a few moments, I could see nothing else. My eyes filled with tears of relief and joy. Months of anxiety, endless bus journeys, extra classes, sleepless nights and constant fear had finally come to an end. After wiping my tears, I looked at my marks in the other subjects, which were more or less as expected.
That experience taught me an important lesson: every student fights battles that others seldom notice. While my classmates saw a cheerful and carefree boy, very few knew about the trauma and pressure I had endured throughout the year. Looking back, I realise that I could never have crossed that hurdle alone.
Nalini's notes, Balli's unwavering support, Sonia's guidance, Raina's humour and encouragement, and the goodwill of many other friends helped me survive one of the most difficult academic challenges of my school life. Had they not stood by me, I do not know what direction my life might have taken. Through this story, I thank all of them, wherever they may be today.
With the examinations over, the long-awaited holidays finally arrived. Like many others, I too left town with my parents and spent the vacation at my grandmother's house in Allahabad. The break was enjoyable, yet I often found myself missing my friends and the lively atmosphere of school.
Soon the holidays came to an end and we returned to begin a new academic session. We were now promoted to Class X-B, located towards the rear of the school, away from the Principal's office. A new classroom, new challenges and fresh adventures awaited us, and little did I know that Class X would prove to be one of the most memorable years of my school life.
