The Final Test

“The final test for LKG students will be on the 22nd of March. You will be asked questions on what you have been taught.” Sister Alphonse’s voice boomed through the classroom like a thunderclap. Half of the students stared back at her, their eyes wide and unblinking. The other half were lost in their own worlds, gazing at the walls, the ceiling, or each otheranywhere but the stern face of their teacher.

Kittu was one of the dreamers. He was busy tracing the path of a sunbeam as it danced across the room, inching closer to the blackboard. The light captivated him; it was more interesting than anything Sister Alphonse could ever say.

“What are the questions we will be asked?” Laxmi, the class star and Sister Alphonse’s clear favorite, asked with earnest eyes. She was the only one truly listening, her notebook perfectly neat, her pencil always sharpened.

“You will be asked to recite the first four alphabetsA, B, C, Dand numbers from 1 to 10,” Sister Alphonse said, her voice softer, almost fond, when she spoke to Laxmi.

“Do we have to write them as well?” Laxmi asked.

“Yes, you will have to write them too,” Sister Alphonse replied, her gaze scanning the class.

“Without the help of the dots?” Laxmi pressed on, her voice tinged with concern.

The LKG students’ books were filled with dotted outlines of letters, guiding their tiny hands. Kittu found connecting those dots tedious. His lines wandered and twisted, creating shapes that looked more like creatures than letters. He liked his accidental drawings betterthey were like secret worlds on paper.

“Yes, without the dots,” Sister Alphonse confirmed, her patience thinning.

“What will happen after we give our final test?” Laxmi’s questions were endless.

“Your vacations will start! Two months of holiday,” Sister Alphonse announced.

Kittu’s ears perked up. Holidays. The word pierced through his thoughts, instantly pulling him away from the sunbeam. His face lit up.

“Holiday? Does that mean no school?” Kittu asked, his voice breaking the spell of his usual silence.

“He speaks,” Sister Alphonse said, half-amused, half-exasperated. “One whole year he’s been in this class, and today he finally speaks without being asked.”

Kittu missed the sarcasm completely. His mind was too focused on the promise of freedom.

“During the holiday, do we have to come to school?” he asked again, still unsure.

“No, Kittu. Holiday means you get to stay at home, and I get to rest from trying to teach you.” Sister Alphonse’s words were sharp, but Kittu remained blissfully unaware, his thoughts already drifting to the days of no school.

At home, Kittu’s excitement was overflowing. He chased his mother, Shyamala, around as she folded clothes from the line.

“What will we do during the holiday?” he asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

“We’ll visit your grandparents,” Shyamala said, smiling as she stacked the dry clothes.

Kittu loved his grandparents. They were funny and sneaky, always slipping him sweets when his parents weren’t looking.

“Which grandparents’ house?” Kittu asked eagerly.

“Both. We’ll spend time at my parents’ house and then go to your father’s parents’ house.”

“Will Papa also come for the vacation?”

“Of course, he will. Why do you ask?”

“He’s never at home. He’s always busy with office work.”

“He has a lot of work to do. He’s an important person,” Shyamala said, but her voice faltered.

“Why don’t you go to the office?” Kittu asked, his innocent question cutting deeper than he knew.

Shyamala paused, her hands still on the clothes. She had dreams of her own, dreams she had set aside to take care of Kittu and his sister. For a moment, she stared into the distance, lost in thoughts of what could have been. Kittu, unaware of the weight of his question, was now lying on the grass, finding shapes in the clouds.

“That one looks like a dog, but it has no ears. This one looks like a fish, but it has wings,” he mumbled, lost in his own little universe. “Yes, it’s a flying fish.”

As the days passed, Kittu forgot all about the exam. On the 22nd of March, he strolled into class as usual, carefree and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. The clock struck ten, and Sister Alphonse began calling names.

“Krishna Prasad Naidu, come here,” she said sternly, her eyes scanning the classroom.

Kittu froze. His name echoed in his ears. He hadn’t expected to be called so soon. Slowly, he shuffled to the front of the class, his heart pounding.

“Are you ready for the exam?” Sister Alphonse asked, staring down at him.

“Exam?” Kittu whispered, his mind blank.

“Recite the alphabets you were taught,” she commanded.

Kittu stared at the floor. Sister Alphonse waited, her patience thinning with each passing second.

“Recite the numbers,” she tried again, her voice more insistent this time.

Silence.

“Have you learned anything in this class, Kittu?” she asked, her frustration bubbling over. She handed him a piece of chalk. “Can you at least write the alphabets or numbers on the blackboard?”

Kittu took the chalk, his fingers trembling slightly. An idea sparked in his mind. “Can I draw a picture of a cat instead?”

Sister Alphonse sighed deeply, her exasperation palpable. “Go back to your seat. You have failed. You will have to repeat this year. Luckily, I won’t be teaching LKG students next year. Some other teacher will have to deal with you.”

Kittu returned to his desk, unbothered. The sunbeam had returned, now halfway across the room, and he watched it with quiet fascination. In his world, the sunbeam’s journey was more important than the letters and numbers he couldn’t quite grasp. And as long as there were rays of light to follow, Kittu was perfectly content.