Chapter 4: Paper Fortresses and Staffroom Storms

When the bell rang and the announcement declared the end of the exam, the commotion finally stopped. No new answer sheets appeared in my drawer. The silence was almost deafening after all the drama. The invigilator let out a huge sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath all day. My hand ached—not from writing, but from repeatedly lifting answer sheets.

By then, the invigilator and I had taken out more than twenty answer sheets from my drawer. The pile beside my desk looked like a mini fort, and the floor was scattered with papers. The invigilator’s hands were smudged with graphite, as though he’d just finished grading a hundred scripts.

He quickly organised the other students to leave, leaving only me behind. He clapped his hands and called, 'Sab log, exam khatam! Please go quietly.' The others shuffled out, eyes darting to me, whispers trailing in their wake. The sound of slippers and shoes echoed across the hall.

Soon, the chief invigilator arrived. He paused in the doorway, eyes widening at the paper carnage, muttering, 'Hai Ram.' He bent to inspect the answer sheets, shaking his head in disbelief.

There was nothing else to do. With a situation like this, he could only report to higher authorities. He dialed the principal, voice tense, peppered with 'Nahi sir, sach mein hua hai!' and 'Yes, please come and see for yourself.'

After repeatedly explaining and swearing he wasn’t mad, the principal and senior teachers finally agreed to send a team to the exam hall. The principal arrived with two senior teachers, faces set like people at a disaster site. The staff peered through the glass, whispering—some guessed prank, others miracle, a few muttered about black magic.

The invigilator and I patiently explained everything, step by step. My mouth was dry, and the invigilator’s voice cracked as he described the endless sheets. One teacher scribbled notes, the principal shook his head throughout.

They remained skeptical. Even after seeing the correct answers, some muttered, 'This must be some coaching class trick.' Another frowned at the invigilator, as if expecting a confession. The principal compared the answer sheets to the original question paper, eyes narrowed.

But when we said the answer sheets appeared out of nowhere, they looked at us like we were mad. 'You mean to say, these papers just walked into the drawer themselves? Don’t talk nonsense!' snapped one senior teacher. The rest gave me the same look relatives reserve for someone announcing a love marriage at a family wedding.

'Check the CCTV!' the chief invigilator insisted, agitated enough to bang his fist on the table. The teachers, not wanting to look foolish, reluctantly shuffled to the surveillance room.

Sure enough, after watching the footage, their frowns deepened. Each replay left them more shaken. The room was silent but for the ceiling fan and the distant call of a vendor’s bell. Someone coughed, the principal’s pen clattered to the floor.

'Is this... a supernatural phenomenon?' murmured Dr. Mukherjee, the oldest professor, known for quoting Tagore at every staff meeting. Even he looked rattled, his voice trembling: 'Aisa kuch toh kabhi nahi dekha...'