She sat up slowly, dazed for a heartbeat, then the reality hit. Frustration and embarrassment flooded her face; her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stared at the ruined garment. “Arre yaar… this beautiful saree! Completely kharab ho gaya,” she murmured, voice trembling between anger and disappointment, her fingers brushing futilely at the stains that only spread further. We crowded around her instantly—Pawan and Himashu cursing softly under their breath, me feeling a fierce surge of protective fury tangled with that ever-present, unspoken heat that had been building all night. “It’s okay, Mummy, we’ll clean it,” I said quickly, though my voice sounded thicker than I intended. The lane around us was deserted—no nearby houses with lit windows, no street taps, only the faint flicker of lanterns swaying overhead and the distant, joyous thump of dhol drums calling us forward.
We helped her to her feet with careful hands—Pawan supporting one side, Himashu steadying her lower back, me holding her arm as she limped slightly, the twisted heel making her wince. The smell now clung to all of us, heavy and unpleasant, mixing with the night jasmine and woodsmoke. “Water… we need water fast, before the stains set permanently,” she said urgently, her practical teacher’s tone returning even through the distress. We scanned the darkness: open fields on one side shimmering faintly under moonlight, a few locked compound gates on the other, no villagers in sight at this hour. Then Pawan’s sharp eyes caught it—a low concrete wall with a faded signboard half-visible in the moon’s glow: “Zilla Parishad Primary School,” the gates standing slightly ajar, the campus beyond swallowed in shadow.
As we guided her carefully forward—her weight leaning into us, the warmth of her body noticeable even through the ruined saree—I stepped directly into the same treacherous patch. My foot slid; balance vanished. I went down hard, knees and palms plunging into the soft, reeking muck, the front of my ivory sherwani instantly smeared with dark streaks. “Shit!” I yelped, coming up gasping, clothes and hands coated. Pawan and Himashu, despite the tension, burst into helpless laughter—deep, shoulder-shaking guffaws that echoed down the empty lane. Still on my knees in the mess, I grinned wickedly, scooped a handful of the soft dung, and smeared it deliberately across Pawan’s pristine gold sleeve, then flicked a clump onto Himashu’s maroon pagdi. “Ab sab barabar!” I declared. Mummy, still flustered, cracked a reluctant smile that grew into genuine laughter—the absurd, shared mess shattering the frustration like glass. The mood lightened instantly; giggling and teasing, we trudged the final hundred meters to the school gate, arms linked in a ridiculous, filthy chain.
The campus lay eerily quiet beneath a lone 100-watt bulb dangling from a pole near the entrance, its weak yellow light pooling in uneven circles and stretching long, wavering shadows across the cracked concrete playground. A rusted handpump stood sentinel in one corner, flanked by a small stack of faded plastic buckets left by the daytime cleaner. We attacked the pump with energy—metal handle creaking rhythmically, cold well water gushing out in forceful spurts that splashed our feet and glittered briefly in the dim glow. Mummy dipped her fingers in, testing. “Perfect. I need two full buckets… and some privacy, betas. This saree is absolutely filthy.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but beneath the single bulb her eyes held a quiet vulnerability that made my chest tighten.
I understood immediately. “We’ll find a spot.” Scanning the single-story row of classrooms, doors yawning open to the night, we chose one at the far end—door half-ajar, no windows facing the playground, interior swallowed in near-total darkness with only the faintest spill of light from the distant bulb. Pawan and Himashu hefted the brimming buckets while I helped Mummy hobble the last steps. We set them down just inside the threshold—bare, dusty walls, a few broken desks shoved into a corner, the lingering scent of chalk and old books hanging in the air. “We’ll wait outside,” I assured her. She nodded gratefully, stepping deeper in and easing the door almost closed behind her, leaving only a thin sliver of shadow.