Fiction “MY prayer for today,” he would begin the morning assembly every day with those words. My, I, mine – his vocabulary went little beyond that. “My school,” he was referring to his previous school which was supposed to have some fame because it was situated within a dead king’s renovated fort. And his new school had a living wall, a wall that he constantly built anew by raising its height. He never felt secure outside a dead king’s fort. “Why did he become a Principal?” Wondered Manmohan, an average teacher with average brains. “Dead kings’ forts stimulate royal ambitions,” consoled Mrs Manmohan, an average teacher with average brains. The Principal’s favourite team lost the cricket match. The Principal was furious. “How can MY team lose?” He thundered. He galloped towards his car, pulled the door open, sat in the driver’s seat and drove the car backward. As far as the backward ride was possible. Then he felt at ease.