The Glen by Parvathi Ramkumar

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‘You look ridiculous!' Tanya shouted, staring as Saraswathi stepped out of the crowded classroom. School was over, it was 4 o'clock. The children were relieved, another day had come to an end. They pushed each other in their hurry to leave their classrooms, and the clamour of voices rent the air.

Saraswathi stopped, pulling at her ponytails. They were a little messy, she knew, but was that anything to complain about? At eleven, she was a slight, slender girl, with large almond eyes and a short, straight nose. She wasn't pretty, but her eyes were striking, with their rich shade of brown, and her mouth was small and girlish, always ready to smile.

But now, she didn't smile. She felt easy tears prick her eyes, and she swallowed before speaking to Tanya.

‘What's wrong with...'

‘What's wrong?' Tanya mimicked. ‘What's wrong? What's wrong?' she doubled up, laughing, and some of the other girls, who were listening, chuckled as well. ‘You look like an urchin.'

Saraswathi swallowed again, and smoothed her white uniform, and tugged her red chequered sleeves straight. Her face felt hot and flushed, and her voice caught in her throat.

She pushed her way through the laughing girls, and walked towards the school bus on the grounds. At other times, she would have noticed the glittering green trees that surrounded the classrooms, and the blazing blue sky dotted with white, soft clouds.

Today, thoroughly disillusioned, she just wanted to get home.

She jumped into the bus, and found a seat. Clutching her backpack close to her, she sat down, trying to steady her breathing and the pain that was constricting her throat. She had no parents, and she did not remember them, for they had died when she was three. She lived with her grandmother near the school, and as the bus jerked forward, hoped that the usual ten minutes it took to get home would be reduced to three.

‘Are you crying?'

Saraswathi started, and turned. A group of teachers were sitting behind her, smiling.

‘Er...no,' she managed. The teacher who had spoken, a tall, prim woman in a red cotton sari, eyed her conspicuously.

‘You are such a little prude,' she said. ‘Sensitive to the core. Why take Tanya's words to heart?' she swallowed a laugh, as if controlling herself, as if she herself believed Tanya's words.

‘I wasn't...' Saraswathi paused, and then continued, ‘She was teasing me, and I couldn't...'

‘She couldn't', the teacher clicked her tongue. ‘Poor you.'

Feeling sick, the girl sat back. Why was she always at fault?

She was delighted when the bus finally stopped. Without looking about her, she dismounted, and looked with relief at the narrow lane that led to her house.

The giant trees on both sides swayed gently with the wind, and it was a cool afternoon. Saraswathi began to run.

She tugged at the gate to her house, and winced as it creaked open. She ran past the garden, with its blooming jasmine flowers and sweet smelling roses, and flung herself at her grandmother, who was in the cramped kitchen.

One look at the girl and the wise old woman knew.

‘I hate her!' Saraswathi cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘Now come,' her grandmother said, handing her a plate of cupcakes and samosas.