Jasmine

The world outside was grey, and the air hung heavy with rain. I stood on the veranda, gazing out at the rising intensity of rain, wishing it would never cease, but continue for hours, perhaps even days.

It had been raining relentlessly for three days. Our morning tuition had already been cancelled. Ashish sir our tuition teacher who usually cycled four kilometres to our house, couldn’t make it through the storm. About an hour later, we got the news that School had declared holiday due to the heavy downpour. With that unexpected holiday, my joy soared with the rain and happiness echoed amidst the clouds.

I stood still at the edge of the veranda, letting the rain grace my face. A cool breeze brushed against my skin, carrying the earthy smell of rain drenched soil and the redolent breath of jasmine, and white roses. From a far I could hear the chorus of birds, croaking of frogs, with clatter of thunderous clouds above my head.

A delicate mist pearled across my forehead, the droplets adorned my face before tracing their paths down to my chin. My feet were already soaked, and the bottoms of my trousers had darkened with water. Splashes of water, from veranda’s eaves struck my ankles, sending a pleasant chill through me.

As happy as I was, there were three others, who also thrilled, with the sudden holiday message. The message came from a village student’s father, who got the news from school peon, Khyama. Brimming with excitement, the four of us gathered in our room beside the veranda and discussed how to fill our bonus time. We decided first to play ChorPolice, planning to play until the rain stopped and after that venturing out, perhaps along the riverside or up the mountain roads. Though I never wanted the rain stopped.

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Chor-Police, a simple paper game. Four folded chits—King, Queen, Police, and Chor—were shuffled and picked at random. The player with the Police chit had to identify the Chor. If the Police guessed correctly, they got points; If it was wrong, the Chor received the Police’s share instead. The King always received the highest points, the Queen the second highest. In truth, the real battle was between the Police and the Chor. The King and Queen merely sat back as audience and enjoyed the chaos. We busied ourselves with the game preparation and setup. Tasks were divided: one person cut paper into identical pieces, another assigned roles and points (King: 10,000 pts, Queen: 5,000 pts, Police: 500 pts, Chor: 0 pts). To ensure fairness, a third person folded the chits perfectly, and a fourth was ready to track scores. The four players’ names were written on the blank sheet.

Shikha. Barsha. Samit. and Seema.

Shikha insisted that her score be noted in the first column, as we believed the player in the first column usually won. We had to concede, as she had the advantage of being smallest, a ‘six-year-old’ stubborn child often cried and called out to Mama if things didn't go her way.

The game began. As the tossed up chits landed, we each grabbed one. A nervous excitement prickled through me as I unfolded mine.

Police.

Now I got the very unwanted role. My job was to find the face of Chor among the face of Kings. I prepared myself for the tough moment and cracked a joke, hoping to spot a less smiley face with hiding eyes, which must be the Chor. But it never worked; they were all too familiar with my tricks. I switched to my next strategy: reading minds, like Bond reading his adversaries across a highstakes poker table. I observed keenly, every frantic movement, every misplaced smile, every pattern that might drag me towards a clue. Then, I spotted something unusual in Barsha. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine for long, and an escalating tension seemed to ripple beneath her sudden, unexpected smile. Aligning all my observations I cast my final die. I raised my accusing finger towards Barsha and made my final accusation pointing her, “You’re the Chor!”.

Silence settled over the room. For a brief moment, the only sounds were raindrops dripping from the broken thatch onto a overflowing pot outside and the faint buzz of a wasp flying in the room. Then a thunderous voice erupted from my left.

“I am the CHORRR!!” It was Seema. Barsha burst into laughter and revealed her Queen chit. A moment later, she carefully entered everyone’s points onto the scoreboard with a magnificent zero beside my name.

The next time, I prayed to God a little for the better fortune. Then I picked one and started unfolding it slowly. Midway, I saw the letters ‘Ch-‘ and again folded it fully. I smiled with a heavy heart and drowned fate. Barsha, now the Police, began looking for the Chor. Her gaze moved from Seema to Shikha and back again. Meanwhile, I did everything I could to appear innocent. I also began asking counter-questions to both of them, attempting to show my confidence and assure Barsha I was certainly not the Chor. After a while, Barsha made her accusation: “Samit is the Chor!”. The gripping silence was filled by cheer and laughter. After two rounds of the game, I had got two consecutive zeros.

Just then, a phone buzzed over our shoulder. Interrupting the game, Shikha scrambled up in hurry to answer it. Her little hands fumbled with the receiver. She finally lifted it to her ear with both the hands.

“Hallooo…”, she chirped into the mouthpiece.

“Yes, we are playing”, she giggled listening to the voice on the other hand.

“Sure come along!”

More giggles followed.

“Okay, I’ll tell them.”

She finally put the receiver down and turned towards us.

“That was Ashish sir, he has some fever.”

“And?” Seema asked impatiently, while the three of us waited for the rest of the message.

“He says he isn’t coming today. But both of you must complete all your homework by tomorrow morning. Otherwise you two will be sentenced to the zoo in replacement for monkey and donkey, where I’ll be in charge of yours.” Shikha expressed.

A little later, Mama came up with some golden, entangled snacks, the kind with a name I could never quite pronounce. Once we had finished every crunchy bit, we dove back into our game. I glanced at the scoresheet once before we started, there was a bleak sequence of zeros in my column, while the first column had countless zeros trailing behind a single winning digit.

The game began with the third round , Barsha tossed all the chits into the air. All chits were picked up after they landed, there remained one. Before I could unfold it, Shikha exclaimed that she was the Police and, the very next moment, declared me the Chor. I shifted my gaze towards Seema and Barsha, hoping one of them would reveal they were the Chor, but both remained seated, looking towards me. I had accepted my fate and opened the chit.

Rows of zeros appeared before my eyes.

Then I saw the one.

The glorious one.

I was the King.

“Nooo!” Shikha cried and shrunk her face like a shrew. I jumped up, and the other two chuckled.

The chits were gathered again for one final round. Barsha shuffled them carefully before tossing them into the air. The folded slips spun briefly before falling into eager hands. And once again, Shikha got the Police chit. Mama was observing our game for a while, “This is brutally unfair to my baby girl” she remarked, striding towards the kitchen. Barsha fought to mask her predatory smile, but Seema exposed it with a wince.

Shikha became pale.

A train of tears came silently down the side walls of her nose, accompanied by a whistling sniff.

She threw the chit and strode towards the corner of the room where an air cooler was placed. She sat herself behind it, silently facing downward, both hands cupping the unstoppable current of tears. I went to her and asked her to come play. When she didn’t respond, I hauled her to the game by dragging one of her hand. It was then her sobbing transformed into a high-pitched wail, getting fiercely louder. Mama ran out of the kitchen and took her obstinate child after scolding me. Whenever I encountered children like these, I thought that, these are the ‘tiny demons’ of our world.

Seema and Barsha watched all this, sitting there like the King and Queen of ChorPolice.

I stepped back onto the veranda. The rain had softened into a gentle drizzle. Tiny droplets struck the water collected in the courtyard, sending delicate rings rippling across its surface. The clouds were drifting swiftly across the sky. Rays from a distant sun pierced through them, casting a bluish-orange hue over the horizon.

Nani entered the room, announcing she’d heard from Khyama that, “The school would open, and there would be no holiday today.”

The world shed its grey and the air was clear. Everything had changed, there remained only the intoxicating fragrance of Jasmine, keeping the very moment alive.