Dangerous Species Chapter-8

Every day, school gets over by 1:30 p.m., and there’s a happy rush at the gate. No matter how bad the day was, both teachers and students feel the same joy. (Who says nothing is constant in life?)

Papa usually arrives even before the time to pick us up. He likes to wait outside the school gate. But today, Papa is late. My siblings and I are standing near the gate, waiting. The entire school has emptied out—only the five of us remain, along with a sleepy watchman.

I figured it was the perfect time to enjoy the swings. The whole playground was ours now—no waiting, no sharing, no fighting for a turn. But after 10 minutes of nonstop riding, I realized it’s actually more fun when you have to wait a little for your turn. (But not too long.)

Soon, the empty school began to feel like a haunted castle.
The wind creaked the swing back and forth, as if some invisible ghost had taken a seat.

Gauri said, “I want to go to the toilet.”

I said, “Then go.”

Gauri replied, “Maybe you also want to go to the toilet.”

I said, “Not really.”

She looked uneasy. “Can you come with me?”
(Ah, now she needs me.)

As we crossed the hallway, a strange noise echoed from the empty classrooms. The toilet had never seemed so far away.

To distract myself, I started talking.
I said to Gauri, “You were scared to come alone, weren’t you?”

She just gave me a sharp look that said, “Let’s survive first. Then we’ll talk about bravery.”

I asked again, “So you are scared?”

Gauri quickly denied, “No, I’m not afraid of anything.”

I said, “Okay then, I’ll go back to the gate.”

She panicked, “No… no… come with me, please.”
(It sounded so nice, that ‘please’.)

The hallway stretched on forever. Our footsteps echoed like we were in a suspense movie.
I whispered, “Did you hear that?”

Gauri froze. “No. What?”

Exactly. Nothing.
Just then, a door creaked.
We both jumped. Gauri grabbed my hand like I was a shield made of iron.

We turned the corner, and there it was—the toilet.

I told her, “You can go first. I’ll wait here for you in the hallway.”

She said, “Can you stand just outside the toilet gate and keep talking to me?”
(How can she even pee like that?)

I assured her, “I’m not going anywhere. Just go.”

Then she said, “I’ll leave the toilet door a little open so I can see you.”
I said, “I’m also a little scared, but seriously… how can you pee with someone standing right on your head?”

She said, “I’m okay with it.”

I can’t imagine doing that. If someone is even standing outside the door, I get so stressed, I forget how to pee.

Well, now it’s my turn.

I said to her, “You don’t have to stand right outside the door. Go wait in the hallway.”

She walked off, and I stepped in.

That’s when I heard a strange sound coming from one of the empty toilets.
It wasn’t loud—but just the kind of sound that makes your ears stand up.

I called out, “Gauri? Was that you making noise?”

No reply.

“Are you still there?” I asked.

Still nothing.

Now even the sound of the tube light buzzing felt like a warning sign.

Now I was sure something was wrong.
Papa must have gone home by now, thinking I’d been taken by aliens or a ghost—and that nothing could be done anymore.

I had no time to waste. I could pee at home.
I rushed out of the toilet.

As expected—Gauri was gone.

I ran as fast as I could, past the empty classrooms.
I could still hear strange noises from inside them.
If I stop, the ghost might catch me. Run, run, RUN!

Huffing and puffing, I finally reached my siblings near the school gate.
Papa hadn’t come yet.

Gauri was there, standing and chatting with my other siblings. 

I yelled at Gauri, “I waited for you! Why did you leave me like that?”

Gauri replied, “There were strange noises in the hallway. It was scary!”
(I could understand that.)

I said, “But I still waited for you!”

She ignored me.
Fine. I’ll also not talk to her.

It’s funny—how the same school looks so bright and happy in the morning with teachers and students everywhere… but now, it feels like a ghost movie set.
And the watchman? I don’t know how he manages to stay here alone after school hours.

Anyway, being the elder and the smart one (I have many such misconceptions about myself), 

I decided we should all wait just outside the school gate.
We were getting anxious now.

The watchman was walking in and out, clearly waiting to get rid of us.

He asked, “When will your parents come to pick you up? I have to eat lunch too. Have they forgotten you?”
(How am I supposed to know that!)

I gave him a difficult smile.

He was giving me annoyed looks.
(That’s when I realised—I can easily feel guilty for other people’s mistakes too.)

So I told him, “Don’t worry about us. Papa will be here soon. You go and have your lunch.”

I expected him to feel sorry for us and stay.
He actually left.
(My fake humbleness failed.)

Ten minutes later, the lonely road outside the school started to feel even scarier.
The watchman was gone—for real.

He had taken my words seriously
I was just being polite!

All kinds of thoughts started popping into my head—
What if some child-picker kidnaps us in a dark van and demands a ransom?
Granny wouldn’t pay even a single rupee!
(I really should stop watching movies… and watch more kids’ channels.)

I turned to my siblings and said,
“Let’s walk a little towards the main road. It’s better to be around people. We’ll wait at the public bus stand. That way, papa can see us—and we’ll see him too.”

My siblings agreed.

After walking for a while, we reached the bus stand.
I felt safe there.
No more tension.
No more scary thoughts.
Just a little peace and quiet—for now.

We were all standing quietly, waiting for Papa, our eyes glued to the road.
Suddenly, God knows what happened to Gauri.
She panicked and screamed, “Donkey… Donkey!”

Everyone at the bus stop turned to look around, but there was no donkey or any other animal.
Gauri started crying loudly.
People around us looked at her, but she didn’t seem to care.
(Stupid kids—reputation doesn’t matter to them.) She kept crying.
The only one who felt embarrassed was me.
People around us gave me that look—“Do something about your stupid little sister!”
But I didn’t know how to handle the situation.

After a while, people just ignored us.
I felt even more embarrassed.
They should help me!

I turned to Gauri and said, “Stop crying like a fool. There’s no donkey here.”
But Gauri ignored me and started crying her lungs out as if she had seen a ghost (which only she can see). Suddenly, she started running – not sure where….

Until then, Teepu, Manu, and Saku had been standing confused but when they saw Gauri running, they were sure something terrible had happened.
So, they started crying and running too.
I had no idea what was going on, or why.

The situation quickly got out of my control.
All my siblings were crying and running in different directions.
I got so worried. I ran after them, but I didn’t know which one to catch first.

Then I remembered—when we play games, my youngest sibling, Suku, is always the easiest to catch.
It worked! I grabbed her hand and tried to catch Manu.
In the game, when you hold another player’s hand, they usually help you out, but Suku was reluctant to run with me.
I lost my grip on her, and she ran off again.

In the midst of all this uncontrollable chaos, I finally saw Papa coming on his scooter.
What a relief!

We all ran towards him.
He hugged us, apologized for being late, and then asked, “Why are you all here? And why are you crying and running around like this?”

Gauri said, “We were standing close to the school but Lolo made us come here, and then I saw a donkey.”
(Before I could even react, she made me look like a fool.)

Papa, completely relaxed, asked Gauri, “Where is the donkey?”

Gauri pointed far, far away—four lanes across, on the other side of the street.
There it was: a donkey peacefully eating grass.
(Somebody please hand me a pair of binoculars.)

I couldn’t figure out how she even spotted it from that distance—and more importantly, why it bothered her so much. And why on earth did my siblings follow her panic?

Papa smiled and said, “It’s okay, I’m here now. Donkeys don’t harm anyone.”
(Not from a hundred miles away.)

Gauri said, “What if it eats me?”
Papa replied, “It only likes to eat green grass.”
Gauri said, “What if it kicks me or pushes me?”
Papa said, “It only harms when someone tries to harm it.”
Gauri began crying again.

Papa hugged her and said, “Let’s go home now.”

On the way back on the scooter, I looked back at the donkey.
It was still calmly munching grass with its head down—completely unaware that it had just been declared part of the dangerous species.

At home, Granny made a big issue out of it. Guess who got blamed?
(Me.)

Granny said, “You’re the eldest! It’s entirely your fault. You should never have left the school premises. What if something had happened? Who would take responsibility?”

Grandfather stepped in, “You can’t blame her alone. Papa also reached school very late.”

He turned to Papa and asked, “Why were you so late today?”

Papa, looking innocent, replied, “Granny gave me some work just before I was about to leave for school to pickup the kids.”
(Granny shot him a hard look.)

Grandfather quickly changed the topic and asked, “Gauri, what made you think that a donkey eating grass across the road could ever harm you?”

Everyone burst into laughter—and I laughed the most.
Gauri didn’t like that one bit.
She gave me the look… and I ignored her, as if I cared.