Cheat Code: Test Of Friendship In Kashmir

By Aisha Hasnain

“I am not prepared for anything for tomorrow's paper. I need to hurry home,” said an uneasy Arsalan as he and his below-average friend, Haris, walked back home from school.

“You know I solely count on you, Arsalan. Otherwise, I'll fail.”

There was a pause before Haris added,“But we can make a deal. I'll learn one of the four chapters and you learn the remaining...”

“Thanks a million, but I reject an offer that is nearly fatal.”

“Okay, fine.” Haris quietly took his deal back.

Arsalan vividly remembers the first time Haris offered this kind of help to him.

Two years ago, in 7th standard, they were supposed to prepare a daunting volume of six chapters from their social studies subject for the mid-term exam. Haris came up with a plan: he would cover the first two chapters, Arsalan the last four, and then they would help each other copy in the exams.

For every term exam, five students from each class were intermixed and seated together to reduce the chance of cheating. Unit exams, however, were given without shuffling.

Haris felt lucky for this exam because their seating arrangements happened to be in the same classroom. Arsalan was hesitant and asked Haris if he could really learn the two chapters.“I already know a part,” said Haris.

Every time there was a class test-first chapter, first two chapters, first three and so on-Haris would begin from the first chapter and never reach the end. He told his class topper best friend, Arsalan, that he would study till 11 PM and ask Abba for his phone so he could set an alarm to rise early the next morning to revise.

The exam day arrived. When they met in the morning, Arsalan failed to notice the horror in Haris' eyes, as it was always the same for Haris on exam mornings. As they reached the exam hall, something clicked in Arsalan's mind.

He asked Haris if he had really prepared anything and pleaded with him not to lie. Haris, with a terrified look, barely managed to shake his head. This was the first surprise to Arsalan. Then came the senior ragging.

Arsalan and Haris were seated nearby, but two seniors in the class had to copy from each other on the same fateful day. There were three columns of desks in the room. The seniors moved Arsalan to the corner-most seat in the first column, while Haris sat in his usual second seat in the last column. Haris lost all hope.

The examiner, a new teacher at the school, came to the class. The exam began and the question papers were handed out. The paper looked like a death sentence to Haris.

Time and again, he looked toward Arsalan, who was writing his paper. Arsalan signaled subtly with his hand to wait for his help. Time ran out, and at one point, when Arsalan looked at Haris, his eyes were full of tears.

Arsalan hastened to finish his paper and waited for the examiner's attention to be diverted. And the diversion came: a student sent by the examiner to the other room.“Sir, Mushtaq Sir asks if you have extra answer sheets?”

While the teacher was busy with this student, Arsalan managed to exchange his answer paper with Haris' through the help of a student sitting beside him. Arsalan barely had half an hour to write Haris' paper. With his heart pounding, Arsalan filled the paper with answers to short questions only and simultaneously tried to mimic Haris' handwriting.

The teacher began collecting the papers. He took Arsalan's and read aloud:“Haris Bashir, class 7th. Okay!”

The entire class looked on in surprise. They knew it was not Haris' paper. Arsalan nearly had a heart attack. But the teacher proceeded. He did not know either Arsalan or Haris.

Everyone left the hall, and Haris thanked Arsalan.

“You are a traitor, Haris! I am very angry with you! You didn't just ensure our dismissal, you risked my life. I nearly had a heart attack!” Arsalan was fuming.“I thought someone would just yell that the paper didn't belong to me-and God knows what would have happened after that.”

“I swear, I tried my best to study, but it seems as if it isn't meant for me. C'mon, calm down now. I wasn't doing any better. I nearly cried when the time was running out and I hadn't written anything,” Haris tried to contain his friend's disappointment.“Shakir, as well, is a dummy. He was sitting in front of me and it seemed like he was writing back the question paper on his answer sheet.”

“I had to try hard to make it look like your hand... My God, my hands are still sweaty.” Arsalan looked at his bare hands.

“The teacher will know I cheated anyway.”

“Not at least that some other person wrote it! You'll have me killed one day. The way the entire class looked at me when Sir took the paper and read your name- as if I had robbed those jerks of something!”

“They looked the same way toward me as well. My heart nearly stopped.” Haris was calmer than Arsalan.

“What were you doing yesterday? Were you not going to set an alarm?” asked Arsalan, frowning.

“I reached home at 4, unwound, and took the notebook in my hands. I counted the number of pages I had to cover and suddenly felt tired, realizing I should rest before starting to study. I slept and woke up at 7, though I hadn't planned to sleep that long. I washed my face, ran to the kitchen, and had a quick cup of tea. By 7:30, I restarted but in vain, repeating line by line until 8:30 and not even completing one side of the page. Then mother called me for dinner. Abba was happy to lend me his phone. I set the alarm to 6 AM and chose my favorite tune as the alarm. At 9 PM, I took the notebook and resumed. That's the last thing I remember before I opened my eyes at 8:30 the next morning.”

Arsalan was dumbfounded.“And what about the alarm?”

“Yes. When it rang in the morning, the tune was so soothing that it lured me back to sleep. You should never set your favorite tune as your alarm.”

“Sleep, sleep, and more sleep! Did you do anything else?”

“Please don't say that. I know you can't relate to it, but it was the hardest I have ever tried. That's why I was so tired. Otherwise, I don't normally sleep by 9.”

“I still can't understand what it was after all that made you so tired. Huh.”

“The thought that I had to study was enough. I told you, ever since the day I ate that pastry cake for the first time, I can't memorize anything. Something was off about that cream.”

• Aisha Hasnain writes coming-of-age tales rooted in everyday moments of youth, exploring themes of friendship, fear, and fortitude. She can be reached at [email protected]

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