She counted them three times.
The first count was a physical count — moving down the aisle, touching each child on the shoulder, confirming they were present and their eyes were open. Thirty-two. All thirty-two, which was both a relief and a complication, because thirty-two children on a tilted bus on a rock shelf was thirty-two problems to manage simultaneously, and she did not have thirty-two solutions. She had a teacher's voice and a Class 9 boy named Vikram and whatever was in her bag and the bus's own resources, which she had not yet inventoried.
The second count was injuries. This took longer. She went through the bus with Vikram at the back and herself at the front, meeting in the middle, assessing each child: alert or not alert, injury or no injury, if injury what kind. She had basic first aid knowledge — the B.Ed program had included a two-day module on school emergencies, which she had taken three years ago and which now returned to her in fragments, the way knowledge returned when you needed it, not in the organised sequences of the original presentation but in the specific pieces that were relevant.
