A classroom for 55 is reduced to two students during the first period of Class 5A at Sahapur Mathuranath Vidyapeeth on Friday morning; (above) a third student who came in late joins the duo for the second period. (Tamaghna Banerjee)

The adults guilty of turning schoolchildren into rally cattle may show little remorse, but little Shankha and teenaged Rajat (names changed) blame themselves for their parents spending several hours worrying over their rumoured abduction on Thursday.

The duo were part of the group of 45 from New Alipore’s Sahapur Mathuranath Vidyapeeth who were herded into a Matador van and taken to central Calcutta to make up the numbers at a rally organised by the All India Democratic Students’ Organisation.

Rajat and Shankha narrate to Metro how they were spirited away from school with a threat and a bait and made to march to Esplanade for a cause they knew nothing about.

Rajat

I reached school around 10.50am and had barely taken my seat in the classroom on the second floor when two young men came in.

One of them asked us why we were still in the classroom when there was a students’ rally at Esplanade. The other youth grabbed me by an arm and ordered that all of us should get up to leave, lest we be late for the event. I protested, saying we should wait till our teachers arrived so that we wouldn’t be accused of bunking class.

The two youths, whom I had seen visiting our school several times earlier, were furious.“Don’t you feel the need for permission when you bunk school to watch a film or gossip by the lake? Come with us silently,” one of them shot back.

The other youth said: “The rally is for your good. We will give you Rs 50 each for your participation.”

The duo claimed they had already had a talk with our teachers about taking us for the rally. We quietly followed them and found a Matador waiting for us beyond the gate. The guard and the sweeper saw us being taken away, but neither raised a voice.

When we boarded the vehicle, a few more boys from our school were already seated. Around half an hour later, we found ourselves in College Square. The two youths who took us there walked away and didn’t return.

Another hour went by before 50 of us were divided into four groups and asked to march towards Rani Rashmoni Avenue. We were thirsty and hungry, but the organisers did not bother giving us anything. Luckily for us, a few friends were carrying their tiffin boxes and 14 of us shared whatever they had brought from home.

What happened next filled me with disgust. One of us had lowered the placard he was holding to read a slogan when an organiser slapped him on the head. “Stay steady,” he barked.

By the time we reached Esplanade, all of us were so tired we could barely stand. We sat on the pavement, hoping someone would take pity on us. Just then one of our seniors in Class XI received a call from his father on his cellphone. He said a rumour had spread about some students from our school being kidnapped and that we should return immediately.

We approached one of the rally organisers for permission to leave, only to be shooed away. A colleague of his was, however, helpful. He said a car would drop us till Sealdah station. One of the class XI students knew the route back home from Sealdah; so we agreed.

We boarded a train to New Alipore station. I travelled without a ticket as I didn’t have money to buy one.

On reaching school around 5pm, we found our teachers and parents arguing over who was responsible for our plight. I had never bunked class to watch a film or gossip by the lake, but I felt guilty for leaving school without permission on Thursday. Even if it wasn’t my choice.

Shankha

I was walking towards school along with a friend when I spotted some of our classmates getting into a Matador. I asked them where they were going and the reply came from a stranger standing beside the vehicle. He said classes wouldn’t be held on Thursday and that all students were free to participate in a game of cricket being organised at a nearby ground.

He invited me and my friend to join the group, saying food would be served as well. We fell for the bait.

The van took us to KFR Ground at James Long Sarani in Behala, where a few more boys from Harendranath School got into the vehicle. I asked the man where we were going and he replied that we were headed for a “big field”. I was hoping it would be the Maidan, where I had once gone with my parents and enjoyed a ride on a horse-drawn carriage.

The van stopped again and we were asked to get off. To my chagrin, I discovered that our destination was not a ground but a road teeming with people, including hordes of schoolchildren. A rally organiser herded us to the front of the gathering and handed two of us a big banner to hold. Then we were asked to march. Five of us held hands and started walking to the accompaniment of slogans we couldn’t understand.

I felt hunger gnawing at my stomach after some time and wished for a tiffin break. At the back of my mind was the fear of being lost in the crowd and not being able to find our way back home.

On reaching Esplanade, one of my friends asked a woman who was escorting us if she could lend her cellphone for him to call home. She not only gave us her cellphone, but also bought us a glass of lemonade each.

My friend called his father to inform him that we were forced to join a rally. He was angry to hear that and ordered that we return immediately.

The woman escorting us spoke to some of her colleagues and we were soon put in a van with instructions to the driver to drop us home. There were around 15 of us huddled in that small vehicle.

Once we crossed Majerhat bridge, the driver asked us to get off and walk back to school. A few Class VIII students objected and asked the driver to drop us at least till the New Alipore petrol pump, around 400 metres from our school. The driver reluctantly did so.

My parents were waiting at the crossing when we reached. My mother was in tears and she continued crying till evening, saying she thought I had been abducted. I felt embarrassed at falling for the lure of a cricket match and guilty for my Ma’s tears.

I have promised my mother never to bite the bait again.