It was the third period, and Soumen Sir’s class was going on, Mathematics for Class 8. He was explaining algebraic expressions on the blackboard, solving complicated equations.
Soumen Sir was trying his best to help the students understand the problems involving algebraic variables. According to the disciplined routine of Hariharpur High School, the place was busy as usual. The playground was empty. A few vehicles moved lazily down the road beside the school. In the western fields, farmers were busily transplanting paddy saplings.
After two periods and a short tiffin break for water and toilet, everyone had returned to class, trying to focus. But Tubai, a student of Class 8, wasn’t paying attention. He sat by the window, staring at the fields. Rows of workers, including Shyamal Uncle, were bent over, planting paddy without pause or sign of fatigue.
Tubai’s home was in the nearby village of Vasudevpur Majhipara. A small river flowed past their house. Most of the people there used to make a living by rowing boats. But now there’s a concrete bridge, boats are no longer needed to carry passengers. Still, for most of the year, people go fishing all night in their boats. Tubai’s father too catches fish, and during the sowing season, he works in the fields. Their family somehow makes ends meet. Sometimes, Tubai goes with his father on long boat rides. He listens to his father’s stories of the old days, tales of struggle, hardship, and survival. Fishing is how Tubai’s father’s generation built their lives and even bought a small piece of land near the river. Truly, the river is what keeps life flowing for Tubai’s family.
Suddenly, a small piece of chalk flew and hit Tubai on the head. He turned his gaze from the window and froze under Soumen Sir’s sharp stare. Everyone looked at him. Some snickered mockingly. Announcing the marks of the first evaluation test, Soumen Sir said, “So, are you going to submit a blank answer sheet again this time?”
Tubai stayed silent. He had no reply. The absent-minded boy often got scolded by teachers, insulted, shouted at, but he never said much. He simply couldn’t concentrate on studies. He loved rowing boats, cycling along the riverbank, and catching fish while bathing.
After being scolded, Tubai quietly sat down. In front of him lay a blank notebook and a math book filled with the chaos of Xs, Ys, and numbers. Everything looked confusing. Though he could manage a bit of science, topics like force, pressure, vitamins, nutrition, and ecosystems, Math seemed to have made enemies with him.
After school, Tubai would ride his bicycle home with friends. Their house was on the left side of the bridge in Vasudevpur Majhipara. Some children crossed the bridge to reach Akandpur. Tubai often went there too, either on his bicycle or rowing a boat.
Growing up along the river shaped Tubai’s life. Cycling, rowing, going to school, fishing with his father, and daydreaming through his lessons, the boy moved at his own rhythm.
Floods were nothing new to them, but this year’s flood was terrifying. The river overflowed, water rushing into the village, submerging fields and roads. Their farmland went underwater; the family boat was now tied up in their flooded yard.
At night, the water kept rising fast. It entered their small, unplastered one-storey house. Tubai helped his family lift their furniture to the roof and cover it with a tarpaulin. There was no electricity. The dim light of a hurricane lamp barely pierced the thick darkness. Fear and tension filled the air.
Then news came, Ankur’s aunt was in labor, and Shyamal Uncle had been bitten by a snake. Both were writhing in pain and needed to be taken to the hospital immediately. It was eleven at night. People were talking over mobile phones from rooftop to rooftop.
It was decided that Ankur’s aunt and Shyamal Uncle would be taken by boat, along with Tubai, his father, Sanatan Uncle, and Ankur’s parents. Some objected to Tubai going, but he wouldn’t listen. They all quickly boarded the boat. With the skillful coordination of oars and rudder, the boat moved forward. Tubai had rowed many nights before with his father on this same river but now, that familiar river had turned monstrous.
Crossing a canal, they entered the main current. Everyone sat tense and silent, two lives hung in the balance. Tubai, his father, and Sanatan Uncle gritted their teeth, using the force of the water to move ahead. All eyes stayed fixed ahead waiting to turn the boat into the left canal of Akandbari.
After an hour and a half of rowing, they reached near the highway. Leaving the boat, they walked to the road, hired a car, and within fifteen minutes, reached the subdivision hospital.
Three days later, the floodwaters began to recede. Gradually, life returned to normal. Crops were damaged, a few mud houses collapsed but Ankur’s mother recovered. His baby sister Ananya and Shyamal Uncle also survived.
Tubai, once the inattentive student and the class’s laughingstock, was now everyone’s hero. The scribbles within four walls had never attracted him. But in the moment of crisis, he stepped forward and saved three lives.
From the window seat, where he used to gaze at the sky and the fields, the backbencher Tubai had already become a true topper in life.