Part 1: The Chase
Arko was a whirlwind, a little storm that could not be tamed. No teacher, no elder, no rule in Nandipur could keep up with him. His energy was endless, his curiosity unstoppable, and his antics… well, they were beyond anyone's understanding.
That morning, Arko had gone to school. He sat through the morning prayers, the headmaster's lecture, and even tried to pay attention in class—but boredom struck him like a lightning bolt. With a dramatic groan, he whispered, "This is too slow… too quiet… too normal!"
And just like that, he bolted out of the classroom, leaving a chalk-covered teacher blinking in disbelief, and ran straight for the rice fields.
From that moment, the fields became Arko's playground. He ran, he tripped, he rolled—and then rolled again, and again, and again—rolling and roll and roll like a little mud tornado. He flopped, somersaulted, twisted, and somehow ended up spinning in the mud, dirt flying over his head, face, and even into his ears. Birds scattered in alarm, cows stared in confusion, and a few goats gave him suspicious looks.
Meanwhile, the headmaster, Mr. Banerjee, was losing what little patience he had left. His comb-over was crooked, spectacles sliding down his nose, and his expression was a mix of horror and disbelief. "Arko Singha… where have you gone this time?!" he shouted, pacing like a man haunted.
Finally, he spotted a little brown shape rolling head over heels in the mud, spinning faster than a wheel. "Arko!" he yelled. "Stop! What are you doing?!"
Arko stopped rolling just long enough to wipe mud from his eyes and reply, "Thinking, Sir. Very important thinking!"
"Thinking?" the headmaster repeated, voice tight. "On the ground? Rolling? Spinning in the mud?!"
"Yes, Sir. Very important!" Arko said, then immediately rolled again, faster this time, sending mud flying over the rice plants like tiny fountains.
Mr. Banerjee pinched the bridge of his nose. "Impossible… completely impossible. No child should exist like this."
Arko jumped up, spun around, and with a cheeky grin, shouted, "I'm special, Sir! Super special!"
"Special… yes, that explains everything," the headmaster muttered under his breath. "Now… at least tell me where you live! My motorcycle won't last chasing you all day!"
Arko's eyes gleamed with mischief. "If I tell you, then it won't be a chase anymore!"
And with that, he darted off again—rolling, tumbling, flipping, and occasionally bouncing like a spring—while the headmaster followed on his motorcycle, wobbling dangerously, waving his arms in despair.
The villagers peered out of their windows and doorways, laughing quietly at the spectacle, shaking their heads, and muttering, "That boy will give the headmaster a heart attack before lunch."
By the time the chase ended—somewhere in the middle of the rice fields—Arko finally tripped over a clump of mud and fell face-first. The headmaster, muddy and panting, quickly grabbed him and took him back to school.
Part 2: The Mid-Day Meal Chaos
When the school bell rang for the Mid-Day Meal, every student rushed to wash their hands and line up with their plates. Every student… except Arko.
He never brought his plate. Not once. Not even by mistake.
The headmaster had scolded him a hundred times, "Arko! How many times will I tell you? Bring your own plate!"
But Arko would grin and reply, "Sir, my plate is on vacation today."
It became such a regular thing that the teachers finally gave up. Now, whenever lunchtime came, they just sighed and handed him one of the staff plates. And Arko, with a proud little smile, would sit among the teachers as if he were one of them, eating calmly while the headmaster looked on in silent defeat.
Sometimes he would even complain, "Sir, today's curry is too watery. Tomorrow please tell them to make it thicker."
The teachers could only exchange looks and chuckle, while Mr. Banerjee rubbed his forehead and muttered, "This boy will be the end of me."
And so, every day followed the same pattern: chase Arko in the morning, catch him by noon, and at lunchtime—feed him with the teachers' plate because he never brought his own.