The Great Biri Investigation of Wamrong Junior High

 

Weekends in Wamrong Junior High School had a way of leading to trouble.

While respectable students washed clothes, wrote letters home, or revised mathematics or Science under dim hostel lights, our hero and his loyal followers disappeared into the hills like a small outlaw gang.

They built crooked tree houses deep in the forest that could barely hold two boys at once. They practiced kung fu moves learned from badly dubbed VHS action movies, throwing kicks at invisible enemies and occasionally at each other. They stole rice, eggs and potatoes from the school mess with military precision and cooked them below the tree houses using stolen matchboxes.

But their greatest adventure lay on the hill within the school grounds.

Up the volleyball court and on the hill were the temporary sheds of workers from India since some part of the school was still under construction. The labourers found the boys amusing — half wild, always hungry, always curious.

The boys would sit on overturned buckets listening to stories from distant places while sharing hot rotis fresh from blackened pans. Sometimes someone would pass around cheap biris.

And like all foolish boys trying to become men too early, they smoked them while coughing violently after every puff.

Our hero pretended he was already an expert.

In truth, the smoke nearly killed him every single time.

One unfortunate Sunday evening, disaster struck.

Someone had informed the teachers.

Before dinner, hostel wardens stormed into the dormitories like police raiding a criminal hideout. One by one, boys were dragged toward the staff room. Faces and hands were smelled. Pockets were searched. Terrified students stood in lines like captured rebels.

But our hero had instincts sharper than a hunted fox.

The moment whispers of “teachers are coming” reached him, he slipped away unnoticed, sprinted behind the hostel water tank, washed his hands repeatedly with cold water, rubbed dirt and leaves over his fingers, and returned wearing the face of an innocent saint.

Still, his reputation betrayed him.

Of course he was summoned to the staff room.

The teachers already knew the pattern of the universe:
If something terrible had happened in Wamrong Junior High School, there was a high probability our hero had either started it, supervised it, or at minimum provided emotional support.

Inside the staff room sat his captured followers with lowered heads.

The air smelled of fear, sweat, and biri after-smell.

One teacher narrowed his eyes immediately.

“You smoke too, don’t you?”

Our hero looked genuinely offended.

“Sir, no sir.”

Another teacher leaned forward.

“Don’t lie. We know your type.”

Now, this was not entirely unfair.

He was indeed very much “that type.”

But unfortunately for the teachers, suspicion alone was not evidence.

No biri was found on him.
No smell remained on his hands.
No witness spoke.

The teachers turned toward the captured boys.

“Tell the truth. Does he smoke with you?”

A dangerous silence filled the room.

Our hero stared at the wall calmly as if the entire interrogation was a minor inconvenience and not his problem at all.

One by one, the boys shook their heads.

“No sir.”

“Never saw him smoke sir.”

“Maybe he just came to eat roti.”

That final statement was technically true.

The teachers looked deeply unconvinced.

Every instinct in their bodies screamed that this boy was guilty. The problem was that Wamrong Junior High School, despite appearances, still required proof before punishment.

And somehow, impossibly, the naughtiest boy in the entire school walked out free.

The others were not so lucky.

Parents were summoned from distant villages.
Lectures were delivered.
Suspensions were announced.

For one full week, the hostel felt strangely quiet without the gang.

Meanwhile, our hero moved through campus with the mysterious confidence of a man who had escaped a great political conspiracy.

But for months afterward, whenever teachers saw him laughing too hard or gathering boys around suspiciously, one of them would mutter:

“We still know you smoked.”