Chapter 5: The Drawer’s Rules

'Should we try it? See if the drawer will produce another answer sheet?' someone suggested, half in awe, half in hope. There was a buzz, like when someone in the colony claims their house is haunted.

'Let's try.' Dr. Mukherjee gestured for everyone to follow him. Some teachers clutched dupattas or straightened ties nervously as they returned to the hall.

The professor sat in my seat, adjusting his kurta, clearing his throat, looking around as if the desk would obey him. Even the school’s stray cat watched from the door. But after more than ten minutes, the drawer remained empty. The group’s excitement fizzled. The principal looked at his watch, mumbling about 'wasting precious time.'

'How about I try?' I suggested quietly. Every head turned. The hush was broken only by the ticking clock and the distant ring of a bicycle outside.

The professor nodded and gave me the seat. I took it, head high, refusing to let embarrassment show. Still, the drawer was empty.

'Maybe it only works during the exam,' I guessed. 'Sir, can you give me a test paper? A mock exam will do.' My heart pounded as teachers exchanged glances. In India, anything can happen during exams—power cuts, leaky roofs, now magical answer sheets.

The invigilator rushed to the staffroom, returned with a mock test still smelling of fresh ink and carbon. The teachers gathered around, holding their breath.

'Let’s do it properly, just like a real exam. Everyone else, please go to the surveillance room and watch,' the professor instructed. The group filed out, murmuring like children at a magic show. Only the invigilator and I remained, the room quiet except for the fan and a distant hawker’s call.

The invigilator checked the clock, eyes darting between me and the drawer. The suspense was unbearable.

'Ahem... Now announcing the exam rules...' He recited the instructions with official gravity: 'No talking, no cheating, no looking at others’ papers.' I tried not to smile at the formality.

I settled in, reading the questions, pretending not to care about the drawer. The invigilator’s gaze was heavy on me as I gripped my pen, heart racing.

I had just finished the first question when the door swung open. The professor hurried in, slippers slapping, face alight with excitement. He motioned for me to check the drawer.

My hands trembled as I reached in. Sure enough, a sheet filled with answers had appeared. My pulse thudded in my ears as I handed it to the professor. He scanned it, lips moving, eyebrows climbing higher with every correct answer.

'Every answer is correct,' he whispered, voice trembling. The invigilator clapped softly, eyes wide with awe.

After that, the school was sealed off for 'reconstruction planning.' Security guards replaced the usual buzz. Rumours flew—some said snake, some said treasure.

Soon, scientists began arriving. One wore a faded IIT Bombay T-shirt, scribbling equations on the back of a used attendance sheet. The staffroom buzzed with theories, fueled by sugary chai and half-eaten samosas. Someone snapped a photo of the whiteboard and shared it on the teachers’ WhatsApp group, where theories flew faster than the latest exam meme.

After countless experiments, the scientists summarized the rules:

1. The examinee must be me.

2. No more than three invigilators during the exam.

3. The test paper must be in the correct format, with a total score not exceeding 150 marks.

4. The exam must follow official board procedures.

5. No answer sheets appear after the exam ends.

My name became a sort of password among the researchers.