Short Story: Arrogance in Distress

It was balmy in the University courtyard, the fringed shadow of the palm trees standing like unmoving sentinels over the driveway. The warm grey stone of the old University building glowed under the electric lights strategically aimed at it’s heritage façade. Maya got out of her car, and walked towards the forlorn notice board in the middle of the courtyard, lit up by halogen lamps. Her Doc Martins crunched on the gravel, sounding louder than usual in the stillness of the night, a steady counterpoint to the tinkling of the jhumkas dangling from her ears. She strode past the night watchman’s empty chair, and a few more steps brought her into the bright circle of light around the notice board. A lone figure, faded jeans clinging to her coltish legs, a plain white man’s work shirt, knotted at the waist, the sleeves rolled up revealing a collection of leather thongs, friendship bands and a smattering of silver bangles. Her streaked mane, held together by a tortoise comb, formed a halo under the bright light. She spent a few minutes in front of the notice board orienting herself to its layout and the information provided, and then began looking for her roll number in the results of the University’s Bachelor’s of Arts degree.

Maya’s body tensed, and she desperately ran her eyes over the typewritten numbers on the A4 sheets innocuously pinned to the board. All the numbers possible, except 268. Twice, thrice – the distinction list wasn’t that long. She could feel a sickly hollow sensation starting in her stomach, pushing its way up. It had to be a mistake. She was good. The best in her class. Could the incompetent fools at the degree board have marked her down to 1st class? Frantically, she scanned the 1st class list. A lot longer. But still no 268.

Disoriented, she started walking away heavily, the darkness of the evening punctuated only by the distant thrum of Bombay’s late night traffic and the thudding of her heart. She hesitated – maybe she’d hadn’t looked carefully enough. Back again, anxious eyes following the now familiar trail, when the thought came – maybe they’d accidentally thrown her in with the ‘pass’ class. She’d heard all the horror stories about the callousness of the exam board evaluation process. Shuddering, she scanned the lowest section of pages, but 268 remained as elusive as a cool breeze in May. Down the column, next column, down again…..like an automaton. Rows of numbers, but all the wrong ones. Inadvertently, her eyes tarried on the long ignored middle section – 2nd class. She hesitated – it wasn’t even a remote possibility….. was it? Down the row, up to the next one, and down again…. And then almost absently, her brain processed a blip – was that a 258? She blinked. Her eyes grudgingly refocused on the offending sheet of paper so casually, almost indifferently, pinned to the notice board. She reached out and touched it – no illusion. 268. Sitting there like it belonged. 2nd class.