Pointer Games

A midnight call from a legendary dropout, a conspiracy in the exam schedule, and the boogeyman of MANIT.

"Kabhi kabhi lagta hai apun hi badkismat hai."
~Hitesh Backtonde

"Hello? Who's speaking? Cat got your tongue?", Dartaj asked in an annoyed voice. 
It had been a couple of days since he last slept. He had a 20 page assignment due tomorrow and not a clue on how to begin. His jovial approach towards his classes hadn't helped him at all. He desperately needed these assignment marks and a good final grade to pass this semester. 
"Anyone there? Speak up or get lost.”
All he could hear was the faint breathing of the unknown caller on the other line. Just as he was about to end the call and get back to the torturous monotony of Solid Mech, his mysterious caller finally uttered his first words. "Arrey bhai. Do you believe in God?"
Flummoxed, he replied, "How does that concern you? Just tell me what's the matter or get lost. Stop wasting my time."
Losing his temper with all this mumbo jumbo, he yelled, "How many times do I tell you? I don't have time to waste on this."
"Where have you ended up, Dartaj Singh. You came to MANIT with hopes of acing in studies and now look at you. Started out to be Rancho and now you’re nothing but a Raju."
Startled by the fact that this stranger knew such details about him, Dartaj was at a loss of words. He checked the name of the number on Truecaller, and found.......nothing. 
"Who are you? How do you know such things about me?", he asked.
"Doesn’t matter who I am bro. All you need to know is that I'm about to change your life. I've heard that you're one of those very few, who actually loves this campus. Wouldn't you like to save this campus, Dartaj? And the people in it? You've got 25 days."
Saying this, his mysterious caller ended his call, leaving an extremely confused Dartaj and an equally incomplete project.
The next day, after submitting his roughly done project(mostly by copying off his roommate, Latekar's work), Dartaj was puzzling over the mysterious words of his late night correspondent. 
As if his very thoughts summoned him, the enigma that haunted him called him up again.
"Who are you? What do you want? What is going to happen in 25 days?", he demanded from his mysterious caller. "Why so scared, Dartaj? It's okay. We're all going to fail anyway. Only Divedi will be saved." "Who's Divedi? What's this about failing? Why are you being so spineless, hiding behind a nameless facade?", he shouted at his phone.
The voice on the other end, as if insulted by his accusations, became deeper and more dominating.
"Scholar No. 121113378. The reason why they still haven't repaired the transformer statue. Check the records and then decide, whether I'm a human or a God."
Dartaj barely heard the beep signifying the end of the call. Sweat rolled down his cheek as his mind slowly came in terms with whom he had just been speaking to. 
Scholar No. 121113378. An infamous scholar number, whispered amongst students even now.
Hitesh Baktonde. 
Also known as "Backtonde", for his numerous subject and year backs, he was the boogeyman to every 1st year who joined the college. A student of a bygone era, everything that went wrong at MANIT usually could be traced back to him. His very first act of tomfoolery could be best described as the fall of the transformer near the main porch, with his number carved on it. The college still hadn't repaired the damage caused by him and it remained as a tribute to the first of his many endeavors on this campus.
Backtonde. Oh Lord. Backtonde had been on the phone with him. And he'd talked like that to a senior. He was so dead. RIP Dartaj.
So it was no surprise that when he received a call again from him at night, he answered the call with a lot of misgivings and a lot of respect.
"Excuse me sir, Good evening sir, excuse me sir."
"Arrey bhai bhai bhai. Till now, not even an ounce of respect and the moment I give you my scholar id, you start remembering everything? A useless gesture.", the voice on the other line taunted.
"Excuse me sir, Good evening sir, excuse me sir, sorry sir."
"Abbey chup. Are you ready to listen to my story? Ready to change your life? And hopefully save this college?"
"Tell me sir. What can I do?"
Now you readers might be wondering. Who exactly am I? Hitesh "Backtonde". What could be so scary about me? In simple words, if there was a King at MANIT, I would be above him. Bhagwan. God.
But every being has an origin story. Here's mine.
The only child born to a couple in the streets of Andheri, Mumbai, you could say I always had all the attention I needed right at home. You could say that, but it wouldn't be true. My parents were too busy running a small, road side restaurant to give even a moment's attention to me. Nor did they care about the other kids bullying me. Acting like they were my boss. Little did little me know, but one day, I would be the Boss of many. Feared and respected by all. But I'm getting ahead of myself. In such an environment, any kid would dream what I did. To get away from it all.
I slogged and slogged to clear the Mains. And my ticket of freedom arrived. In the form of Mechanical Engineering at MANIT, Bhopal. Bho-ohnowherehaveIendedup-pal. 
To newcomers, the college you've witnessed, is a different being. What you've gone through, the fundae , are akin to the discounts you get after applying a coupon on Ola these days. Worthless. 
I am a bridge. A time capsule. For I am the only one left, who knows how it was then and how it is now. Seen the brutality and the change. Change is our villain here. And the changes coming now is going to change this college forever. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's jump right into my first year. Especially to me hanging onto the roof of the hostel during a call, because a senior had pushed me there. Just because I didn't have a "dad" yet. 
Enter my savior. My 2nd father. My Tech-Dad. Mr. Afraad Uhf Yuh sir. I owe everything to him. From rescuing me that day, to showing me around campus. Showing me the true life here at MANIT. From my first drink, to my first cig. He was there for it all.

Heard of the Playing XIII? That was all me. You kids can walk around at night these days without a worry in your head. And the guards actually seem to be doing their job and keeping the seniors away from y'all. But in those days? It was the Wild West here. Where juniors were just free real estate to be trodden upon by seniors.
I've seen Directors come and I've seen them go. Seen faculty rise and fall and change, like a game of musical chairs, with the seat in question being the HOD's chair. You thought 75% was bad? You think you're prepared for the change that's coming? I assure you, you're not. 
Welcome to Narak, my young friend. Also known as Maulana Azad, Rashtriya Proudyogiki Sansthan.
Wouldn't you like to know what's coming? Come a bit closer while I whisper it to you.
I promise you, it's quite scandalous.
(10 days after Backtonde's call to Dartaj)
Dartaj tripped against the steps of NTB and fell down, banging his head on the floor. He slowly got up, his head spinning. It wasn't spinning because of the concussion he just suffered (though it might have played a minor role), nor was it spinning due to the delirious hunger he was experiencing from having gone without food for more than a day(Food becomes a trivial matter when your mess is closed and you're too poor to have even a samosa from Mata).
Nope. His mind was reeling from the news he'd just uncovered. 
After Backtonde told him about the formation of Playing XIII(whose members were well known for their infamy), he’d hung up on him. And the next day he found out that Backtonde sir had dropped out of college. There had been a letter addressed to the college in his room. Stating how it's better to get his back out while he still had a chance rather than stay and be buried by "backs". A statement that made much more sense to him now than it did then. 
"This is what he was referring to. The faculty's nefarious plan. Two end sem exams in a day. All exams back to back. The entire end semester exams will end in three days. This will give them more classes in the academic calendar."
Divedi's shocking words still rung in his ears. Already, people struggled to score well in the end sems. Even he was counting on the end sem exams to pass himself. With this new scheme, the load would be immense. People's grades would be affected. Students would fail. Pandemonium.
He sank to the floor, his throbbing head clutched between his hands. The worst part about the revelation that Divedi had thrown at him was that very few people knew about this. The CRs and the Student Council were in on it as well. And all had their mouths shut for their own agendas. The rest of the college would find out about their cruel fate a couple of days before ends, leaving them no time to protest or discuss. The change would basically be forced upon them.
Feeling helpless, he didn't know what to do. All he had was a choice in front of him. To quietly take advantage of this fact that the others were oblivious to. Or to inform the general consensus and allow them to make their choice. Whether they wished to protest and stop this change, or accept and change with the times. Doing this would be risky and could end up making him the target of everyone involved in this plot.
He had to make a decision. To change or to not change? 
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breathe, he came to a conclusion. Nodding to himself, he got up and walked.
And kept on walking. A storm was coming.