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  Samantha had called me on Monday morning, a day before Gates’s visit.

  ‘I’m sorry, Madhav. It’s a really tight schedule for Mr Gates. Maybe you can cut down on a few things.’

  ‘But the kids have been preparing for months.’

  ‘My apologies. Trust me, we have actually cancelled a few places. But there’s no question of cancelling your school.’

  ‘Fine. What time?’

  ‘10.30 sharp. See you.’

  I went with Tarachand ji to inspect the empty field being converted into a parking lot. From a distance, I could hear the sound of students practising the welcome song.

  We had stopped classes for a week to focus on the annual day. Students had planned the cultural programme, scrubbed the floors and walls of the school, drawn new charts and made props for the stage. I went to the staffroom and told my mother about the shortened length of the visit.

  She said, ‘It was a stupid idea to call these moody goras to school. We’ve been going mad for the past few weeks for them, and now see.’

  31

  At 10.15 on Tuesday morning, my phone rang.

  ‘We are entering Dumraon. Ten more minutes,’ Samantha said.

  I rushed to the school entrance. Twenty kids assigned to be the welcome party formed two lines facing each other. Each held a plate with rose petals to be showered on the guests. A girl from class V would apply the tika.

  Parents had already arrived. Over a thousand guests sat on red plastic chairs under the tent set up for the occasion. Dignitaries and special invitees sat in the front VIP rows.

  The fleet of eight cars became visible. The kids in the welcome team squealed in excitement. They started to throw flower petals at each other.

  ‘Stop it,’ I said to them.

  Mr Gates stepped out of his car. Media persons surrounded him, taking pictures non-stop. A team of ten Americans, including Samantha, and five Indians from the Foundation, stood behind Mr Gates.

  ‘Hi,’ Riya’s voice startled me. I turned to face her. She wore a baby-pink saree with little silver dots all over. She resembled the rose petals on the kids’ plates.

  ‘Saree?’ I said.

  She spread her arms. Just seeing her lean body, subtle curves and the pink chiffon fabric draped around her, made me feel richer than the richest man in the world who waited for me.

  ‘How do I look?’ she said.

  ‘Like Miss India,’ I said. She laughed.

  ‘Now attend to your guests. I’ll find a place inside.’

  ‘But Riya. . .’

  ‘Shh. . . Focus on them. All the best.’

  She gave me a quick hug and hurried inside.

  ‘Mr Gates, this is Madhav, one of the founders of the school, from the royal family,’ Samantha said. ‘Madhav, Mr Gates.’

  I shook hands with the richest man in the world. They say Mr Gates is so rich, he would not pick up a hundred dollars lying on the road. He makes more money than that in the time it takes to pick up the hundred-dollar bill. He shook hands with me for about five seconds. I wondered how many thousands of dollars he could have earned in that time.

  ‘Good to see you, Madhav,’ Mr Gates said. He spoke like an old friend. Students threw petals on him. Samantha made urgent motions that we start the function soon.

  A mini-stampede occurred on stage. The welcome-song kids bumped into the dance kids, both sets unprepared for the merger of their programmes. The welcome song, a Saraswati Vandana, had not even ended when Bollywood music took over. The mash-up sounded odd but the audience clapped energetically.

  I sat next to my mother on a sofa in the front row. My eyes hunted for Riya; she sat ten seats away on my left. I gestured for her to come sit next to me. She smiled and declined from a distance.

  The dance ended with kids dancing to Salman Khan’s hit number ‘O, O Jaane Jaana’. My mother went up on stage and the music faded. She spoke in Hindi. ‘Thank you, children. Can we have a big round of applause for the children, please?’

  The crowd clapped hard.

  ‘Let’s also welcome Mr Gates and his team, who have come all the way from America,’ she said. The crowd responded with loud cheers and more applause. Mr Gates turned around in his seat and waved.

  ‘And now, I understand we have little time. So can I invite Prince Madhav Jha to give the welcome speech?’

  The crowd cheered. My heart started to beat fast. I stood up and walked to the stage, passing Riya, who gave me a thumbs-up. I sprinted up to the stage.

  I scanned the crowd of over a thousand people from left to right, right to left. The crowd had stopped clapping and were now waiting for me to speak.

  I took the mic in my hand. It slipped a little in my palm, which was sweaty with nervousness.

  Not a word came out of me. Nothing. I saw the sea of people. Even though I had practised the speech a million times, I couldn’t say a thing.

  People were beginning to look a little puzzled. Was it a mic problem? they wondered.

  I saw Riya in her pink saree in a corner of the front row, her eyes on me. Slowly, she stood up. I felt anxious. What would the crowd think? However, she simply changed her place to come sit right in front of me. I lip-read her.

  ‘One line at a time, go slow,’ she mouthed. Her presence kick-started something within me. I blurted out:

  ‘Distinguished guests of the Bill Gates Foundation, respected dignitaries, my dear students and parents, welcome to the Dumraon Royal School.’

  The crowd cheered. Most did not understand English, but the mention of Dumraon was enough to set them off. The Foundation delegates looked at me with attention.

  Okay, I can do this, I told myself. Just like at the rehearsals with Riya. Just imagine only she is here.

  I gazed at Riya. She gave me a nod and smiled. Encouraged, I continued:

  ‘Mr Bill Gates is here with us today. He is the richest man in the world. I am sure he is sick of being told that all the time.’

  From a distance, I noticed Bill Gates smile. He is listening to me, I thought.

  ‘Sir, you know that rich in terms of money is not enough to have the richest life. That is why you are here. In my Bihar, which, even though we love it, is one of the most backward places on the planet.’

  Riya was nodding after every line.

  ‘And in this backward Bihar is this extraordinary school. This school with seven hundred kids, three teachers, negligible fees, no proper classrooms, no toilets, no real government support and yet, a lot of riches.’

  Riya gave me two thumbs-ups. Okay, no mistakes so far.

  ‘The real riches here are the kids. I am supposed to teach them. However, they have taught me so much. We grown-ups complain about what is lacking in this school. But these kids, they never complain. Come to our school at any time and you will hear only one thing from them—laughter.’

  The front row, the people who understood me, broke into applause. The subsequent rows followed a minute later, if only to show that they understood as well.

  ‘If you ask these kids, they will say this is the best school in the world. They love their friends. They love whatever they get to learn here. However, I know this school can give them more. I know kids deserving more only.’

  Riya frowned. Damn, I’ve made a mistake. It should be ‘I know the kids deserve more’.

  I was panic-stricken. Riya gestured for me to breathe. I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Composed, I continued, ‘I know the kids deserve more. Because I have seen the value a good education can add. It is not just to get you a job. It is not just about knowledge and the new things you learn either. A good education gives you self-confidence.’

  I paused to consult my notes. I looked up and spoke again.

  ‘Today, I speak to you in English. I didn’t know this language well. I was scared and ashamed. People made fun of me. I spent my whole college life with a complex. I don’t want that to happen to these kids. I don’t want anyone to tell them they are not good enough.’

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