episode 6 of bodmaish polapain
Bodmaish Polapain: Episode 6 – The Day the College Lost Its Mind
The first timid light of dawn stretched over Sonargaon College, casting a lazy orange glow on the worn bricks and the ancient banyan tree whose roots curled like sleeping serpents. The morning air, thick with the smell of damp earth and fresh hopes (and maybe a little too much dust), carried with it the unmistakable hum of everyday chaos waiting to unfold. Somewhere near the dormitories, a mosquito buzzed around, oblivious to the bigger dramas soon to engulf the campus—a tiny, persistent annoyance that seemed to have taken up full-time residency.
Through the college gates, a ragtag group of students shuffled in, blinking away sleep and dragging backpacks weighed down by both books and bad decisions. Among them was Shekhor, known to his friends as Ghaura—a lanky figure with a permanent crooked smile and hair that looked like it had lost a battle with a ceiling fan the night before. He bounced along with the kind of energy that made it obvious he hadn't slept much but was still ready to cause some trouble.
Trailing behind was Biri, whose real name was Montu but who carried himself with all the casual swagger of someone who believed the universe owed him a favor. Biri's steps were slow, almost as if he was in no hurry to face the day—or maybe he was just trying to avoid the inevitable embarrassment of running into the principal before coffee.
"Ghaura, you look like a zombie auditioning for a horror movie," Biri teased, dropping his bag with a thud that rattled the ground. His voice carried that lazy, half-amused tone reserved for best friends who know all your secrets but love you anyway.
Shekhor shot him a sideways glance, eyebrows raised like a mischievous cat caught in the cookie jar. "And you look like you're still trying to figure out which side of the bed you got up on," he shot back with a grin. "But hey, you're still breathing, so that's progress."
The sharp clang of the old college bell sliced through the morning haze, a sound that had announced countless days of academic suffering but somehow never managed to get old. Students scrambled to their classrooms, their footsteps a clumsy symphony of hurried footsteps and whispered curses.
Inside one of the larger classrooms, Miss Laila—the eternal tormentor disguised as a professor—stood poised at the front, a stack of papers in hand. Her gaze swept over the restless faces, many of which were already plotting escape routes or planning which friend to blame when the inevitable failed quiz arrived.
"Quiet down, everyone," she said, her voice calm but firm, the kind that made you feel you had no choice but to obey even if you wanted to scream. "There's going to be a surprise quiz today."
The reaction was almost poetic in its synchronicity. Groans exploded like fireworks, and the room filled with the kind of panic usually reserved for natural disasters or realizing you left your phone at home. Shekhor exchanged a glance with Biri, who was already slouching, as if the news was just another weight added to his invisible burden of "Why bother?"
As the quiz began, the classroom transformed into a battlefield of desperation. Some students furiously scribbled answers, hoping their handwriting would somehow convey intelligence. Others attempted a more covert strategy—stealing furtive glances at neighbors' papers, whispering nonsensical advice, or praying to whichever deity might be listening. Shekhor, of course, leaned back with a smirk, confident that his charm would carry him through, or at least that he could bluff his way out of any fallout.
Meanwhile, the courtyard outside was far from calm. Biri, now with a phone in hand, sat with Sohan and Ryan, who were engaged in their favorite pastime: gossiping about the latest ridiculous scandal to plague Sonargaon College. The weathered wooden table they occupied seemed to absorb the energy of their animated conversation, while the sun flickered through the leaves like a spotlight on their secret little world.
"Did you hear about what happened in the library yesterday?" Sohan whispered, eyes wide with mock seriousness. "Someone tried smuggling notes inside a banana peel. Like, a whole banana peel!"
Ryan burst out laughing, a deep, hearty sound that echoed off the walls. "Only Bodmaish Polapain could come up with something that crazy. Who thinks of banana peel cheating anyway?"
Biri's grin grew wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Seriously, that's next-level desperation. Like, what's next? Hiding cheat sheets inside samosas?"
Their laughter was loud enough to attract a few curious stares, but before the moment could settle, Shekhor stormed over, clutching a crumpled sheet of paper like a trophy.
"Guess who just aced the quiz without even cracking a book?" he announced, puffing out his chest as if he'd just won an Olympic medal.
Biri raised an eyebrow, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let me guess… someone who's allergic to studying?"
Shekhor winked with the pride of a fox who'd stolen the farmer's chickens. "You got it."
The group exploded into laughter again, their joy a temporary escape from the relentless grind of exams and lectures. For a brief moment, the worries melted away, replaced by the warm glow of friendship and shared absurdities.
But not all corners of the college were soaked in laughter. In the quiet gloom of the faculty lounge, Prottoy sat silently, his eyes dark with thoughts that refused to be tamed. He sipped his bitter tea slowly, watching the students from afar with a mixture of pride and concern. His role as a mentor was often thankless, battling not just the chaos of youthful mischief but also the weight of responsibility for guiding lost souls.
Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip low, casting long shadows across the campus, the gang gathered on the rooftop—their fortress above the madness. The sky was painted with strokes of gold, pink, and lavender, a canvas as unpredictable as their lives.
They sat close, exchanging stories, dreams, and moments of vulnerability that felt as rare as a quiet day at Sonargaon College.
"Sometimes," Biri said quietly, "I wonder what it would be like if we actually took things seriously for once."
Shekhor shook his head, laughing softly. "And miss all this madness? Not a chance."
The rooftop was alive with the sound of their laughter, echoing over the city below. The future felt like a distant, blurry horizon—irrelevant for now. What mattered was this moment, this chaotic, beautiful mess of youth and friendship, tangled together like the roots of the ancient banyan tree.
And as the twilight deepened and the first stars began to wink awake, the boys sat there—unfinished stories, reckless hearts, and all the silly, painful glory of being young.