The Black Peacock

Part 3

We started walking along a dusty, brown road. Qhira said we were on the southern edge of the village.

“So the village is basically a bunch of houses to the east side of the main road, and on the west side, there’re some more houses, the market, village hall, Judarya, and school,” she said.

A Judarya is the place of worship for those who follow the religion Sajyaanism (like me). It is the main religion of Jafaha and one of the main religions of Qhassara.

We walked for a few minutes, and we reached a small one-story building. It looked very run down, with paint peeling off the walls, exposing the dirty gray concrete underneath the yellow paint. There were dirty brown stains all over the walls. The building was flat and long. Next to the building was another, much smaller building, equally as run down. In front of the buildings was a dusty courtyard, with a few yellow grasses here and there, but mostly covered with dust and dirt. In the middle was a statue of a man, beneath which was a plaque with some Asarambia characters on it.

“What’s that say?” I asked, staring at the round, curvy characters of the Asarambia script. I hoped to quickly be able to learn the language.

“That says ‘Zamaya Salajika, dara yangaashira taha shutaraabhara shavsaramaadhi.’ Which means ‘Zamaya Salajika, the respected founder of this school.”

“Wow. It flows so nicely.”

“I know.” Qhira laughed. She laughed a lot. “So, this is the only school in Jaushara. Zamaya Salajika School. Or ZSS for short. It serves as a school for grades 1 to 12. There’re 6 classrooms, so each grade gets one classroom for half of the day. There are about 40 students per grade, so around 500 students total. The classrooms get pretty crowded. That little building over there is the main office for the principal. The principal’s the same from when I went here when I was little. Let’s go in.”

We entered the principal’s office. It was very small and cramped, but looked much better on the inside than it did on the outside. On one side of the room was a desk with a plaque that said “Principal Jhamara” on it. Beside the desk was a small black bookshelf filled with books and papers. There was a window overlooking the dusty courtyard. Behind the desk sat a small man with graying hair and square, black-rimmed glasses. He wore a gray suit and a red tie. He was looking at some papers until he noticed us enter his office.

He spoke to us in English.

“Oh, Qhira! What a pleasant surprise. Who is this you have brought along?

“Mr. Jhamara, this is Sansaar. He’s that student from Qhassara I was telling you that I would be a guide for.

“Ah, yes, I remember. So Sansaar is it? I am Principal Jhamara. Nice to meet you,” he said, holding his hand out for me to shake. “So how are you? What brings you to Jaushara?”

I shook his hand and explained to him my project.

“Ah, quite interesting. I would be very happy to help you if you need any. But I do have a small favor to ask of you. Would you mind perhaps going into the classes sometime whenever you’re free and telling them stories about Qhassara and wherever you’ve been? It would be great for them. Living here in the small village with little connection to the outside world, they don’t have any money to travel so we would all greatly appreciate it if you could do us this small favor.”

I hate kids. I cannot stand them. I have absolutely no patience for their nonsense. But how could I refuse this small favor? These kids would probably never get to leave Jaushara.  I couldn’t be so selfish.

“Oh of course! I’d be very happy to speak with these children,” I forced myself to say. Maybe I could learn something from them. Maybe I could interview them. I guessed it wouldn’t be too bad. And I didn’t have to go to the younger classes if I didn’t want to. I could stick with the 12th graders. But what would they care about my stories. It’s the little ones that might care. Oh well. I’d sort this out later.