The Poet in Our School

One day the clerk of the school who used to double up as Hindi teacher came along with a person in our class and introduced him to us – “This is Mr. (unable to recollect the name now). He studied from this school and was a very bright student. He has done M.A in Hindi and these days he writes poems. We are fortunate that, tomorrow after lunch break he is going to recite his few poems for us. I want him to address you all now “. Saying so, he told the Poet who was standing behind him, to come forward and speak to us. The poet was around thirty-five years old, tall &thin, wearing white pajama and long white but almost dirty khadi kurta. At first sight, he was looking malnourished and disorganized.  He folded his hands to greet us and for few seconds stood in that position only. We answered his greeting in unison. Then he looked around the place where he was standing, then reached to the table and chair and instead of seating on chair, he jumped and sat on the table. By that time, our clerk cum teacher had gone out of the class. We had corpulent headmaster who used to feel problem in sitting on chair, so he would sit on table. Our poet had no such compulsion with chair, but he preferred table. His action made few of us laugh/ giggle but he looked unaffected by our act.

After settling on the table, he commanded us to close our eyes and fold the hands. He spoke in very authoritative voice and we obeyed him immediately. Without giving any further instruction, he started a Sarswati bandna (prayer song for goddess saraswati) in very loud and hoarse voice. When he was singing, few students tried to sing along with him. He was irritated and ordered us not to sing, just keep eyes closed and hand folded. When prayer was over, he told us to open our eyes that we had already opened long back. He looked satisfied with his prayer act and asked feedback from us. “How was the prayer”- he asked smilingly.
“Oh! It was great. It was awesome. We have never heard such prayer earlier.” – even though we did not like his prayer and singing but We praised him to please him. He looked delighted with our praises. Then he started – “I am the alumnus of this school. I have done M.A. in Hindi literature. I want to bring glory to the school for that I have decided to become poet. I have already written hundred poems. I ---“
“How will bring glory to this school, sir?”- I was amazed to hear his plan so I interrupted him.
“The same I was to tell you all. As I have already written hundred poems, I want to get it published in a book. In book, I would mention the name of the school and not only that on the cover page of the book, with my passport size photograph, the photograph of our school will also appear. Do not you think it will bring glory to our school?”
We spoke yes in unison and he looked happy and more confident.  He started again – “The book publishing requires some money. I do not have enough money. I request you all to bring not less than ten rupees tomorrow. Those who will contribute more than hundred rupees, their names will also appear at the last page of the book. They will share the fame with the school and me “. After saying so, he did not wait for our response and left the class.

He was looking funny and interesting but his request for money dampened our spirit. Many of our batch mates decide not to attend the school next day. I had ten rupees at that time, so I attended the class.  As per the schedule, he started reciting the poem just after the lunch break and it lasted almost an hour. We did not understand his poems and story that he was telling before every poem but we clapped when our teacher clapped. He looked satisfied after the programme and the teacher handed over the money that was collected from students.

After that, three months passed but we did not hear about the poet and his book. One day I went to Kirani Babu (our clerk cum teacher) and asked about poet and his book, instead of giving information, he admonished me. He advised me to concentrate on study rather than thinking of poem and the poet.

One day I saw the poet in the market. I felt very happy to see him. I went to him and asked about the book. He informed that the work was in progress and very soon, book would be published. He took my postal address and assured me that when the book would publish, he would send me a letter about it. I also took his postal address.

Six month passed, I did not receive any letter from the poet. Meanwhile, I wrote four to five letters to him asking about the progress of the book. I did not receive any reply from him and I was disappointed. One day, I saw him in bus stand premises, reading newspaper at a magazine shop. He noticed me coming towards him. He suddenly got up, put that newspaper at the counter of the magazine shop, rode a bicycle and sped off. I was shocked to see his behavior. After that, I never enquired about his book. Sometimes, I still wonder, whether he got his book published or not.

~~~ Ramanuj Dubey