The Shadow Runner 9789389449488, 9789389449495

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BLOOMSBURY INDIA Bloomsbury Publishing India Pvt. Ltd Second Floor, LSC Building No. 4, DDA Complex, Pocket C – 6 & 7, Vasant Kunj New Delhi 110070 BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY INDIA and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc This edition published 2020 Copyright © Vishal Bahukhandi Pictures © Vishal Bahukhandi Vishal Bahukhandi has asserted his right under the Indian Copyright Act to be identified as the Author of this work All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the publishers Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes ISBN: PB: 978-9-3894-4948-8; eBook: 978-9-3894-4949-5 2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1 Created by Manipal Digital Systems Printed and bound in India Bloomsbury Publishing Plc makes every effort to ensure that the papers used in the manufacture of our books are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in well-managed forests. Our manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters

CONTENTS 1 The Voice 2 Botched Beginnings 3 The Nervous Bride 4 Meeting Govind 5 The Tests 6 The Reason 7 The Proxy 8 The Dream 9 The Proxy—2 10 Disappointments 11 The Camp 12 Candid Confessions 13 The Last Run 14 Dark Disclosure 15 Stars of Despair Epilogue: The Shadow Runner Acknowledgments About the Author

ONE

The Voice August 2004: Sopore, a small village in Kashmir Crossing that distance of 20 metres could lead to one, and only one, thing— death. Cold wind from the valley whistled sharply in his ears as Virender clenched his rifle tighter against his cheek—and waited. Seconds morphed into hours. That was when he realised that the time to settle his dues with God had come because what he would do next, regardless of whether it was right or wrong, could have resulted in death knocking at his door. But this thought came with an overriding conviction—an uplifting belief that had kept him alive till then—that somewhere deep within his heart, Govind, his brother, was with him. If he listens to Govind, he thought, if only he lets him be his guide, he might just come out alive from that dhok—that small house in front of him. Taking a series of swift, deep breaths, Virender closed his eyes. Fragments of the last few hours, just like a million shooting stars colliding with each other appeared in his vision. This was Sopore, a notoriously infested hamlet in the Baramulla district of Kashmir. The town had been cordoned off and eight para commandos, each a killing machine, together an indomitable squad, was out to hunt down four Hizb-ul-Mujahideen terrorists hiding in one of the houses for the last 24 hours. One of the terrorists was Abu Safzar, alias Musa, the divisional commander of the tanzeem. For a long time, Virender had been yearning to send Musa back to his Maker but the man had been playing hide-and-seek with him until Mahmood, Virender’s informer, had come running to the company headquarters that morning and informed him about the location

where Musa was last seen hiding with two other members of his group. In a matter of minutes, the commandos were rushed to the location. Mahmood had never been wrong. The first four houses were cleared but they had found no one inside. It seemed like the militants were holed up in the fifth one. The squad zigzagged tactically and closed in outside the door. An eagle sat on the porch, staring at them with cold, blue eyes, as one after the other, the commandos entered the house silently—yet, a thousand voices of each of the terrorists they had killed in the past screamed inside their heads. There were two small rooms on the right and a narrow passage, which was connected to a wooden staircase, led to a bigger room above. The thatched roof sagged terribly at the edges over the derelict clay walls. The air felt stale and still, as if it did not exist at all. The commandos looked at each other and nodded. The lead scout, Basheer, gestured by moving his fingers in a circular motion, signalling everyone to take position near the stairway. They moved, quietly, like a pack of tigers stealthily approaching its prey. Basheer had barely put his foot on the third step when a sudden burst of bullets was fired from above. He had only a moment to see a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s, come charging down the stairs, firing indiscriminately at them. Basheer could not even shout. He dived in front of Virender, who stood right behind him, and pushed him further back as the bullets pierced his own chest. ‘Out! Everyone, out. Now!’ Major Rai, the leader, shouted and the commandos quickly pulled themselves out of the house. At the same time, two of them, like a drill, dragging against the wall, crept into the backyard to shoot the terrorists down if they tried to escape into the flanking jungle. Before moving out, Virender had caught a glimpse Basheer hauling himself into the room near the front door to take cover. Then something happened, and it happened in a split second—clutching his wounded side, crawling towards the room, Basheer turned and caught Virender’s eyes just before he collapsed in a dead faint. Virender shrunk at the sight of those pained eyes, as if wanting to talk to him one last time, but what he did not know was that

Basheer’s vision was nothing but a blur. Virender darted out of the door—quickly distancing from the house that had started to rain bullets—and took position behind the rocks with the others, some 20 metres away, ready for their next move. Leaning his back against a rock, Virender drank a quick gulp of water from his bottle. He tilted his head to look at the dhok. Basheer, his buddy, was inside—perhaps, already dead or battling for his last lingering breaths. He couldn’t bear the horror of that thought. He looked up at the sky. In a flash, a montage of everything about Basheer began playing in front of Virender’s eyes. Twenty-nine-year-old Lance Naik Basheer Ahmad, his gaptoothed smile, light brown eyes, a weather-beaten yet pleasant face, his steadfast love and concern for his ‘Virender saabji’, and everything that Basheer had done for him in the last four years—he could visualise it all, he could see Basheer’s face clearly. Virender valued Basheer more than a subordinate, or as a mentor at times, because it was from Basheer that he had learnt the art of survival, and understood the convolutions and frustrations of ground tactics. Once, about almost four years ago, when Virender had just joined the paltan, he had recklessly rushed to a bridge near the border with his team—an ambush he was going to lay on a small group of infiltrating militants. Basheer, who had analysed the tape recordings of the conversations caught on the radio-interceptor, had rushed to stop Virender to warn him that it was a trap and that the team was about to be counter ambushed. The informer had turned out to be a double agent. Basheer had made it just in time to the ambush site—even then, he had saved Virender’s life and stood in front of him; even then, a bullet had grazed his left calf, leaving him bedridden for weeks. Since then, Virender had begun to involve Basheer in all the operations, so much so that everyone in the paltan had started addressing Basheer as the 2IC—second-in-command. Virender owed him too many favours. Basheer had been with Virender for about four years though Virender wouldn’t talk much to him initially. It took Virender more than two years to confide in Basheer about something from the past, something that had been troubling him every passing moment of each day—the story of Govind,

Virender’s best friend in the academy, and what had happened to him during their training. Basheer had listened patiently to him. ‘Saabji, don’t feel guilty, please. It was not your fault, trust me,’ he had said at the end. And he would repeat those words every time he would find Virender trapped in the past, his memories stirring the depths of his mind like deep ocean currents, waiting to surface in a sudden fit of rage. Virender would tell Basheer, sometimes waking him up during odd hours, that he could see and even talk to Govind, and that it was not a dream—it seemed all so real. Basheer would simply smile in return. No, he could not—would not—just sit by and let Basheer die. He would not, once again, hold a friend’s head in his lap, watch him gasp for his last breath. It was time—time to settle his dues with God. Rai could sense that Virender was upset, and quite understandably so. He had himself seen the bullets hit Basheer, blood spurting out from his shoulder and arm. ‘I need your permission, sir,’ Virender turned to Rai, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the intermittent firing that arose from both sides. Rai turned his gaze from the dhok to him. He knew what Virender was up to. ‘Not now. We will have to wait till they run out of ammunition. We have no other choice.’ ‘Wait sir? Then he will surely die! Basheer will die, sir!’ Virender screamed without a hint of emotion in his voice, yet the words gave away the turbulence he was experiencing inside. ‘What if he is already dead?’ Rai looked into his eyes and replied loudly, clearly detesting his own words, as if trapped in his own psychosis with so much going on around him at once. ‘I cannot allow you, or anyone else, to go inside and get killed!’ His voice was firm, as if he was trying to hide the fear of the inevitable. He knew how reckless this young man was, but how could he bear to risk Virender’s life? If Basheer was dead already, wouldn’t it then be a mistake to unnecessarily put another life at stake? Experience of more than 10 years in the valley and myriad of such operations had taught Rai how a task at hand mattered more than emotions. He focused on the dhok again, answering back to each bullet from the house in equal measure. He could feel

Virender’s deadpan stare stuck on his face. Virender mumbled something, surely swallowing his disappointment—he couldn’t act against Rai’s orders, that’s not how he was trained. He held his rifle tight and began shooting at the dhok—the action clearly arising from the muddle of rebellion and helplessness. It was hard for him to focus. He felt as if he could hear Basheer’s horribly painful wails—almost as clearly as he would hear Govind’s in the dead of night. Night after night, Basheer would be haunting him like Govind, forever. It was impossible to wait any longer. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a gap between the rocks through which he looked at the leaf-carpeted stretch leading to the dhok. A grove of chinar trees of a uniform size and shape stretched along the path. Fiery red and gold leaves dropping one by one to the ground, slowly, but surely, denuding the trees. Behind the dhok, at a distance, were hillocks with peaks that looked forbidding as a demon’s teeth. Would he even reach the dhok if he tried? Was he really up for it? Virender closed his eyes shut. Just then, with another deep breath, he heard a voice inside his head, ‘Brother, you go ahead, I will handle God.’ His eyes shot open, his heart roared like a machine gun. This was a familiar voice goading him, like it would do all the time. It was the same voice that had always helped him make a decision. Every time. It was Govind’s voice! ‘Basheer, look, Govind is here. I can hear him, he is talking to me. Basheer!’ Virender clung to his rifle and sprang to his feet. Rai turned once again to find Virender looking at him with a compelling look in his eyes, as if begging for permission, as if telling Rai—‘I know exactly what I am going to do, and how I am going to do it. You have to trust me with my decision.’ Rai continued looking at Virender, longer than usual, as if granting him his wish, as if silently telling him—‘Do whatever you feel is right. Go, get him.’ Virender shook his head in a final assurance, turned and when there was a fleeting pause in the firing, broke into a run. Dragging against the rock, Rai signalled his men to provide cover fire, even as he kept his gaze fixed on Virender. Virender continued running at top speed. Skirting the dell, he made his way to the house, taking quick, sharp turns, while crushing the leaves under

his feet. He knew precisely what he was going to do and how he was going to get there. When he neared the compound, he dropped to the ground on his belly and taking cover of the bushes, crawled towards the left wall of the dhok, holding the rifle in one hand, while his elbows and knees propelled him as fast as he could move. In a tick of the clock, Virender was at the door. There was a window with broken glass and rotting wooden frame towards the left. He pulled out a tactical mirror from his gear and moved closer to the window. He held the mirror close to the ledge so that in its reflection he could see the inside of the room. He noticed an average built man of a complexion white as milk, with an unkempt stubble, wearing ragtag clothes, standing on the stairs shouting out instructions to two of his colleagues crouched over the spot where Basheer had fallen. Musa. In the fraction of a second, Virender recognised the repulsive face he had seen in numerous photographs. He kept the mirror on the ledge and continued shifting closer to the door, crouched, butt of the rifle pressed against the shoulder, cheek welded to the stock, right hand gripping it tight with one finger on the trigger. He kicked the door open and entered the house. The pregnant silence that filled the air was soon broken by the groans and cries of the men as they turned at the door in shock, reaching for the triggers of their AK-47s. Virender cocked his rifle, first targeting Musa, who was right in front of him. Time seemed to have reduced its pace as nearly everything seemed to move in slow motion for Virender. He pressed the trigger and started a demented fire, with Govind’s voice echoing in his head—‘Shoot them, shoot them brother, kill them!’ Before the man could even react, his body was lying on the stairs, quivering like a fish in the open. Shooting at Virender, the other two men ran into a room that had no exit door. With nowhere to escape, it was hard for them to defend themselves. They retaliated. Virender got shot on his right shoulder but he repositioned his rifle and loped ahead, shouting and pouring fire on them, without even realising that he’d been shot. The second man fell on the ground. Virender pulled the dagger out and lunged at him. Piercing it through the man’s flesh, bones, Virender penetrated the dagger deep inside his chest. He twisted it with all his strength and kicked the man’s throbbing face with

his boot. That silenced him immediately. The third man renewed his attack, screaming with rage and firing a burst at Virender from close quarters. Being hit yet again, below the chest, Virender flung himself at him in a fierce motion. He caught him under the jaw and both of them hit the floor with Virender on top. Virender recognised that face, those debauched eyes. It was the man who had come running down the stairs, the man who had shot Basheer. His dagger was already out, ready for its next kill; it swung in a flash, slicing off the man’s throat and separating his body from the head. For Rai and his team outside, a scary silence had followed three sudden bursts of fire inside the house. Within a matter of minutes, Rai saw Virender walking out through the open door. Emerging from the cloud of smoke, stooped with the weight of Basheer’s body lifted on his shoulders, he staggered forward for a few feet and then collapsed. Basheer fell next to him. Rai dashed towards the spot with the others. The sight shook his insides when he reached where the two men had fallen—Virender’s dungaree was soaked with blood running down in rivulets from the body like long bloody channels criss-crossed over one another creating a web. Rai crouched over him, scanning the grisly damage inflicted to his body. He had received multiple gunshot wounds—one of the bullets having hit through the side of the bulletproof jacket, injuring him just below the chest. ‘Still running,’ a man examined Basheer’s pulse and said. Rai looked at Basheer. He too had lost a lot of blood. He had been hit on his left shoulder and arm and both legs. Rai guessed they would’ve later shot his legs. The bulletproof jackets were removed from their bodies and a ‘casualty evacuation’ message was immediately sent out on the radio. Virender was slowly losing his consciousness, his heart acted as if it was beating its last as his body was slowly turning cold. Rai shook him by his shoulder to revive him, pressing against the wound on his chest to stem the blood flow. The unpredictability of life scared him yet again. ‘Get up, Rambo, open your eyes,’ he embraced Virender tightly in his arms, as if to absorb his evaporating spirit. Virender stirred. His fingers quivered, his eyes —as if somebody had removed the blindfold covering them—opened slowly. He seemed to be sickened by the taste of his own blood. Rai gasped a sigh of

relief, getting out of the way for the men who had arrived with two stretchers. As they shifted both the men onto them, he noticed Virender struggling to focus his gaze on him, evidently in an attempt to say something. They say in your final moments, life flashes in front of your eyes, like neurons firing in your brain, and Virender was probably experiencing exactly the same. A cinema screen in his head played back the life that he had lived. Like a flickering kaleidoscope of light, time was crawling backwards in his vision. Yet, there was one thing that remained constant throughout in almost every scene—a face, a name—of his buddy, his best friend. Govind. He could see that reassuring smile in almost every memorable extract from his existence, starting from his early memories when Govind was with him. A series of those moments shimmered in front of his eyes like chapters of a book, unfolding one after the other, each one distinctly reminding him of the time that he had spent with Govind at the academy. A cloud of dust appeared and he saw Govind running beside him, shouting at him, to help him cross the finish line, to help pass the final run. Yet, what played at the last ripple of his life, in the nanosecond of his final thought, was Basheer telling him that his little son was becoming more mischievous with each passing day and that he missed him terribly. A thought shook him up. Thought of a young woman, her palms covering her eyes, praying to her God for her husband’s safety, and a four-year-old waiting for his father to come back home. If Basheer died now, what would he tell his wife? That she was left a widow, doomed to live her entire life bereaved of her husband and that her son was an orphan? He looked at Rai and slowly lifted his arms, as his lower lip moved. Hoping it wasn’t something like a last wish, Rai bent closer and instantly grasped Virender’s hand in an attempt to provide him strength, trying not to let the tremors in his own hands betray him. ‘Save him, h-he is n-not dead,’ Virender groaned, his voice broke with every word. A thick drop of tear slid from the corner of his eye and fused with the blood oozing from his temples. ‘Don’t worry my boy, we will save both of you,’ Rai responded, as he turned towards the radio-operator standing behind. ‘How long will these

goddamn choppers take to reach here?’ he shouted. Virender closed his eyes as a faint smile appeared on his face. The dreadful silence that ensued was soon shattered by the noise of a chopper landing on the open patch in the field.

TWO

Botched Beginnings July 1999: Dehradun ‘Bhaiyaji, who on earth sleeps like that?’ The coolie yelled in his hoarse voice. Stooped over a steel-grey box, he dragged it out of the train that had left its siding and was moving backwards in the direction from which it had arrived. The train was vacant, the platform was almost empty and the constant activity of the shopkeepers, chaiwalas and the betel leaf stalls, when a train halts at any station, had died down. ‘Get it down fast!’ Virender shouted in panic, pushing the box from inside as the train began its rapidly accelerating chug. Emitting sparks of disgust, the coolie jumped out on the platform and pulled the handle with full force. The box made a loud clunking sound before it bumped to a halt. ‘Koodiye maharaaj, jaldi!’ Dabbing his sweaty face with the white cloth wrapped around his neck, the coolie was now running with the train. Virender threw his rucksack down. It fell in front of the porter, between his frail legs, almost letting him trip over on his face. He caught his dhoti and did a hurdle-jump over the bag in order to save his life. He could have given two tight slaps to Virender for that. ‘Jump! The train will take you back home otherwise!’ Virender shifted closer to the edge, with his fingers curled around the iron bars of the door. It was absolutely freaking him out. He looked down—the distance of mere four steps seemed like an interminable fall without a parachute. A direct landing on the concrete floor could kill him, or render his ribs fractured at the least, he dreaded. He looked at the last lamp post on the platform moving away from him. He turned his head right to see that the platform was just about to end, beyond which there were several sidings

branching out from the main track, and a locomotive engine was parked on a refuge siding at a distance. He then saw the man running with the train, shouting at him to get it off quickly. He scanned him from head to toe, the disorderly mess of hair, the craggy features softly illuminated by the sun, the lean muscles and bronzed leathery skin on his flimsy arms. Their eyes met. ‘Oh no, please, NO!’ The poor man’s eyes widened with horror, while opening his arms in a bear hug Virender leapt. And then a scream. As though, somehow, that coolie had screamed with all his might. It was that kind of a scream which makes your blood run cold. Together, cosy, wrapped up in a warm hug, cuddled up and rolling on the concrete floor, they both were like two bodies that had moulded into one unified being. They rolled away from the train, like Jitender and Sridevi clasping each other in a warm, slow and luxurious hug, feeling a gush of warm blood in each other’s embrace. Soon Virender walked out of the station. With that moment replaying in his head, that pain-filled scream continuing to pierce his ears, he took the last window seat of the military bus standing outside. He could not believe that he had jumped on that poor man to avoid getting hurt. He had to pay 300 rupees for the luggage and, on top of that, 1,000 for the multiple injuries that the coolie had suffered, while he himself had accrued heavy bruises on his right arm and leg. The driver started the bus. Just then, a voice accompanied by a tap on his right shoulder pulled Virender out of his stupor. ‘Arre Pandeyji? Prince of Raebareli.’ A lean, tall, dark-brown-haired boy was standing in front of Virender with his eyebrows raised in an evident surprise. ‘Turbo!’ Virender practically matched the animation, shrill enough to turn heads, silencing all other conversations. ‘Shhh, quiet!’ Turbo said, squeezing himself into the seat next to him. Virender shifted to make space for him. The conductor rose from his seat to find out the ground zero of the shout. He found everybody seated normally and accordingly followed suit. ‘Bless the rucksack or I wouldn’t have recognised you.’ Turbo moved his fingers over the rucksack, ‘still the same—tattered—as if you stole it from a

poor Afghani kid. So familiar.’ With a twitch of his nose, he added, ‘and this...this smell...like used, well-preserved, soggy football socks.’ He paused, as if dedicating a few seconds of silence to the rucksack which was clearly past its expiration date. ‘I thought I was never going to see you again. I could have bet my offer letter on you clearing the medical,’ Turbo took a good, hard look at Virender, as he shoved his bag under the seat. ‘Gujjus, I tell you, but you are next level.’ ‘Ah, voice! You have a voice. Good. Where did your voice go in Allahabad? It was as if somebody had glued your lips shut. When I first saw you, I felt so sorry for you. I thought you were deaf, you know. And mute.’ Turbo looked at Virender’s feet, ‘You could not even walk properly.’ ‘Oh come on!’ Virender replied with a feeble protest. ‘I did not feel like talking to anyone.’ ‘Look at you now. From a juicy fat grape, you have shrunk to a raisin! This was what, in forty-five days? God, I am going to miss that funny fat guy so much.’ Turbo laughed. ‘Forty-two.’ Ignoring the annotations, Virender’s chest came out and paunch went in, almost in a reflex action. He looked at Turbo with a straight face for a few seconds and broke into a wholehearted laughter. Virender and Turbo had met at the dormitory of the 19th Services Selection Board (SSB) interview centre at Allahabad. Their beds were next to each other. A shy and reticent person, Virender always was uncomfortable around too many people. Turbo, however, was just the opposite. Every evening after dinner, Turbo would just walk up to the boys in the dormitory, greet them with a fist bump and shout at the top of his voice, ‘How’s the josh?’ He almost always received a meek smile or a blank stare in return. The very first time Virender had met Turbo, with a handshake, he didn’t like him much, though he did have a history of not liking anyone in the first meeting. Giving way to Turbo’s relentless probing, he had finally opened up to him on the third day. Not revealing much through his laconic replies, he had given Turbo a hint about something that had been bothering him from the past few weeks—about a girl back home for whom he had developed feelings over the course of the preceding years, and how things were not going well

between the two of them. Turbo came from an affluent Gujarati family in Ahmedabad. Neither his widowed mother nor his maternal siblings were supportive of him joining the army. After his father’s death in a car accident five years ago, his mother had decided that he would pick up the baton and take care of their property and the copper factories. On the contrary, Turbo, who was in the 11th grade back then, had other plans for himself. He was never interested in business. Ever since he was a child, he was fascinated with all things military—especially the blood and guts of warfare. That fascination only increased as he grew up watching Hollywood movies, and action series on television, Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan being his favourite. As a result, a part of him was always extremely intrigued by the notion of combat. Naturally, he did not give much room for negotiation to anyone at home when it came to making a career choice. ‘Say hello to FRI on your right. If you see it again in the next six months, consider yourself lucky,’ the conductor’s announcement interrupted their conversation as the bus crossed a magnificent palatial structure on the right side of the road. All the boys looked outside, many not paying heed to the second half of the announcement. The building of the Forest Research Institute was an architectural marvel, a head turner. ‘Did he just say that we will not be stepping out of the academy for the next six months?’ Virender muttered under his breath to Turbo, who like a child, was stuck to the rear glass. ‘The angrez did a fine job. It’s impossible to make something like this today,’ Turbo said admiring the building that slowly ebbed away at a distance. ‘Did you hear him?’ ‘What?’ he turned back. ‘That man said we will not come out for at least six months.’ ‘So what?’ ‘So what?’ ‘Some people just need a high five,’ Turbo raised his hand. Virender did not react. Turbo placed a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Listen brother, if I

have to think of a place closest to the one where the driver is taking us, it would be the temple of Shaolin, and not a medical college of your dreams. You get that?’ Virender froze at once, as if it was an electric eel sitting next to him that just touched him—the current rendered him numb. His eyebrows knitted together, and his lips narrowed. For one brief moment, Turbo acted that he wasn’t aware he had said something he shouldn’t have—from one look of his eyes, Virender understood what this moron was hinting at. His shifty eyes never stayed focused at one place unless a topic interested him but when it did, his eyes would glint like stones. ‘Ouch, did I say something wrong?’ Turbo didn’t even try to hide that cheesy grin. ‘Such a…’ Virender snarled. ‘She is out of my life. I don’t want to think about her anymore,’ he said, turning his head towards the window for a breather. Turbo had clearly struck the wrong chord. His comment had started bothering Virender like an unswatable mosquito flying around his ears. He remembered telling Turbo about that girl, Prerna, and how her ambition to become a doctor and pursue her MBBS from a college in Bangalore had set them states apart. His mind wandered to Raebareli, into the recent past, thinking about her. He tried to divert his mind but it all began flashing in front of his eyes—the secluded lane in front of the highway, the blood on his shirt, his father, the crowd—and he looked at the scar on his forearm and squirmed. It had started to get windy. Virender closed the glass shutter of the window. He remembered what Prerna had done to him. How she had left him broken, like a shattered glass, with no hope of ever putting himself together. ‘Out of your life?’ How could Turbo not get the answers he sought? Virender plainly nodded, thinking of how he had resolved to not dwell in the past and focus on his training instead, but Turbo was set to open the floodgates, letting out the deluge of bitter memories that could sweep him off his feet. He gasped, realising that he would need to put the floaties on, that the floods would come, time and again, and then retreat, leaving behind swamps where there once were lush meadows. But, would it be easy to just let go of those memories and not think of Prerna? Well, she was the reason he

was sitting inside that bus, and even worse, next to an unyielding pest digging into his forfeited love life. Virender secretly considered slitting Turbo’s throat and tossing the body from the bus window. Wasn’t that easier than having to fight the incessant mentions of Prerna? ‘Did you let her leap on you and make love to you? Were you able to take your lustful revenge?’ ‘She had left by the time I could…’ Virender looked down and fiddled with his fingers. ‘Has somebody told her that Pandeyji has now embarked on his quest to bring peace to this world?’ ‘Yes. Mausi knows her mother.’ ‘She told her mother, eh? You did not get to talk to your girl, like face to face, like the pressing of hands, the parting kiss, all of that never happened?’ ‘I said she had already left when I went to her place. I have her hostel’s landline number, which I got from a common friend. I will call her as soon as possible. Can we leave it at that? Please, I beg of you,’ he said, almost on the verge of crying. He had enough time with Virender—satisfied with this consideration, Turbo did not probe him further. He could see how the mere mention of her name had Virender itching like an unwashed pair of underwear. While at the same time, Virender mused that he’d better forget about her because the place he was headed to would certainly not let him survive with any sort of stoical suffering. He dropped all his depressing thoughts as he saw the guards open the big, black, archaic gate while the bus entered the Indian Military Academy.

THREE

The Nervous Bride ith others Virender and Turbo got down at the reception. Virender looked around at the vast tarmac expanse in front of the main red and white building, two cannons positioned at the corners, trees standing in perfect discipline along the road and a few intimidating men in uniform moving around to guide the boys who looked both thrilled and overwhelmed at the same time. Maxed out emotionally, Turbo kept his bag down. Finally, he thought, letting out a pleasant sigh, he was here at the academy. For Virender, that was fine, but the question lingered—what next? He had expected something more. Something grand. But no, there were no fireworks, no trumpets blown, no one came running to him holding a garland amidst ostentatious fanfare. In fact, he felt somewhat disoriented with everybody seemingly engaged in chatting with each other that no one even noticed his presence. Disappointed that his expectation of a grand welcome hadn’t been met, Virender looked at the group of boys closely. They all looked so fit that he could see himself eventually being segregated like a lamb who had enrolled for a training with wolves completely by mistake. When it was his turn, Virender handed over his file to the man sitting at the reception desk. The man, not even bothering to raise his head, asked him his name, ticked it off his list and then made him note down the details of the dormitory which was going to be his address for the next six months. Virender got his room five doors away from Turbo’s and their association from the barrack at Allahabad would continue in the second platoon of Sinhgarh company. IMA, he learnt, was divided into four battalions—each battalion had three companies, each branching out further into four platoons.

W

Sinhgarh, to which they both belonged, was one of the 12 companies. Sinhgarh—Turbo’s temple of Shaolin—was where it would all start for Virender and it began with something that almost instantly transformed him into a monk, a legendary katora-cut hairdo, something that made him forget all his predicaments. Virender came out of the barber shop and looked at the fellow monks standing outside. The art, as it poured out of the barber, had, as if, created several clones out of the newcomers. He walked a few steps towards his room and then broke into a run. He grabbed his clothes and dashed to the bathroom. There were four mirrors on each side of the entrance in front of four bathing cubicles. He screeched to a halt in front of the first one to stare at himself, or at least the distorted image of himself. Barely able to recognise the boy in the mirror staring back at him, he touched his face and tried to grab the scraps of hair left on his head, when Turbo came and stood next to him in front of the second mirror. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting before you a replica of man-burnedto-death modern art,’ Turbo announced with a swing of his hand towards Virender. ‘Fuck you,’ Virender replied, gaping hard at himself, as if paralysed. He was fixed in front of the washbasin, as if somebody had poured cement all over him. ‘Just like sandpaper,’ Turbo playfully moved his hand over Virender’s head. ‘Don’t do that!’ He flicked his hand away. ‘Listen, don’t look at yourself for too long. It could be fatal. We don’t know how much time the ambulance will take to reach here and then to load you inside could be another challenge.’ ‘Look at your face, dammit.’ Fixedly admiring his reflection in the mirror, Turbo ran his fingers through his jawline, ‘Who do you think I look like, Travolta?’ A befuddled Virender did not respond. ‘You can’t stand my good looks, never mind.’ Turbo tossed his towel over his shoulder and tapped him, ‘Anyway, let’s take a shower and get

ready.’ Virender turned towards the showers to find another disaster waiting for him. ‘W-where are the damn doors… and the curtains?’ he shouted, with his jaw reaching for the tiles. All he could see in front of him were four open cubicles with a shower fixed on the top of each the so-called bath. Wait, he thought, did he miss any ‘under-construction’ sign hung outside? Before Turbo could even react, a boy scuttled inside from behind, as though cutting through them, and giving an elbow-push to Virender, he dived into the first cubicle. ‘Oye, Rajdhani!’ Virender shouted, rubbing his arm in pain. Turbo at once pressed a finger to his lips, to quieten him. To cover up the fiasco, Turbo quickly turned towards the boy and wished him a good morning, sounding like the sincerest newcomer. ‘Shit!’ Virender at once dived into the second cubicle. He wanted to avoid any trouble at that moment. This boy was apparently a senior. The boy took off his gown and threw it over a hook on the wall. He kept his glasses on as he unwrapped a new bar of soap carefully. ‘There is a fall in of the first-termers on the PT field. Are you two not invited?’ Virender heard him question from the other side of the wall. What if the boy came over to say hello or to reprimand him for his remark? He quickly turned back. ‘Of course, we are,’ replied Turbo. ‘Then strip and quickly get in the shower.’ Turbo scurried over to Virender’s cubicle. ‘If he heard what you said... Anyway, now be quick. We don’t have much time.’ Virender ignored him and called out to the boy from behind the wall. ‘Er, sir, do we have to take a bath like this—like together in the open?’ The whole set-up did not seem to be quite convincing to him. He was able to keep track of the boy’s activities through the mirror outside, even as he made sure he could not be seen in return. From a distance, the boy looked very darkskinned and lean, with shoulders that slumped downwards from the neck. The glasses still sitting comfortably on the nose as he worked up the lather from the virgin, white soap he had just stripped naked. ‘Obviously, they will not make a private bathroom just for you, will

they?’ came the reply as the boy took off his undergarments and tossed them like a cloth frisbee over his gown. He stripped down to nothing—bare— exposing his flaccid member so confidently that Virender had no other choice but to steer his gaze away. His face turned red like a swollen beetroot. He wanted to shout at this boy and ask him to have some shame but, wisely, stopped himself. ‘You haven’t ever lived in a hostel, have you? What’s the big deal about being naked, anyway?’ Talking to Virender, Turbo flung his clothes over the wall as well. Then he too got rid off his underwear. That was like shit multiplied by two for Virender. He scowled and on impulse, out of sheer embarrassment, gave a hard punch on Turbo’s nose. Turbo almost passed out but grabbed the tap to save himself from falling down. Blinking at Virender, he smiled groggily. Bare-butt, nude, Turbo probably looked more convincing than a pole dancer shoving nudity in Virender’s face. Virender had no idea how he was going to handle so much of nakedness on his first day. He could not help imagining his nude picture being flashed on television, and his family and friends in Raebareli watching him on DD News. He could see himself pledging suicide. He shouldn’t be doing this, this is horrible, and he moaned. ‘Stop over reacting and hurry. You will get late otherwise,’ Turbo said and turned on the tap. Water gushed out of the shower and on to his head with full force. Virender dabbed at his face and escaped into the third cubicle. ‘But I don’t get this, sir. We don’t bathe like this at home, do we?’ he asked loudly. ‘This is not your home, all right?’ he responded. ‘And listen, eh. Don’t call me sir. I am your course mate. We came in the same bus from the railway station. In fact, I was in the same compartment as you. You looked like a dead body wrapped in a white bed sheet but I heard you snore like a tractor. Everybody had left and I tried to wake you up man, but you sleep like a log. I even dunked your thumb in a cup of hot tea but all I heard was a groan and you just wouldn’t move,’ the boy added as he checked the shower for pressure. ‘Why on earth…’ Virender gritted his teeth and emerged fuming from the

cubicle. Hopping mad, he wanted to kick the naked butt of this con man. He felt cheated by this boy. Why couldn’t he tell that earlier? Anyway, at least now he knew why his thumb was sore. Damn, and what if these guys had witnessed the scene with the coolie? ‘Lo, and all this while he was thinking you are a senior,’ an alleviated Turbo erupted in fake laughter as he massaged his scalp. Virender threw the bar of soap with full force at him, but Turbo ducked this time. The soap hit the wall and took a flight towards the last cubicle, leaving a big, white, sticky blotch on the wall. The boy. Name, Ajay Singh. An IT engineer from Moradabad. Later, Turbo had told Virender that the moment he had looked at Ajay’s face, he had instantly coined a name for him — Chop Suey. ‘Well, I am not insulting him, just describing him. Trust me, not even his mother would have thought of him as a beautiful child even during their most loving moments,’ Turbo had said. Chop Suey, like Turbo and Virender, also belonged to Sinhgarh’s 2nd platoon. Disgusted, Virender turned his back towards the two legends standing unflappably under the shower, ‘I am not bathing like this!’ ‘We have only five minutes,’ Chop Suey warned. Turbo walked out of his shower, uncovered, water dripping from his new hedgehog haircut and trickling down the contours of his chest onto his belly. ‘Baby you are such a drama queen.’ ‘Get Lost!’ Virender shouted, avoiding to look directly at him. Turbo smiled seductively. ‘Am I that bad looking? If there was a girl inside that cubicle, you would not have thought twice. I know you so well by now. You wouldn’t mind a girl under the shower standing next to you, would you? Should I wear my satin panties the next time we shower together, baby?’ Turbo was absolutely enjoying the act of ostensibly getting on someone’s nerves. ‘I will punch you in the face, I am telling you.’ Virender made a solid mental fist. ‘All right, get ready before someone comes and finds you acting like a sissy.’ Turbo returned to his shower and started rubbing his chest.

Maybe these guys were right, this was not his home, he had to accept this truth. Fine! Virender tried to mollify himself. Contemplating his next move, he hadn’t even untied the string of his pyjamas when he turned around to see someone standing at the door in a white vest and lemon coloured boxer shorts, gallantly holding a yellow soap-kit in one hand and a toothbrush with which he was scouring his teeth in the other. This unknown person swept his glance around over three of them. A conceited expression spread across Virender’s face. He had decided he needed to be a little more social to blend in. ‘Come come, join them. Looks strange, doesn’t it? This is the place where you will make your izzat ka faluda. I know they did not mention this in the offer letter, but now you can’t do shit about it.’ He sneered at this stranger as if building empathy with him. Turbo, all this while, was watchful of this unknown person’s activities. The boy dragged the toothbrush out of his mouth and spat with an odd gargling sound in the washbasin. Twisting around the waist, he looked at Virender. ‘How the hell are you still in your clothes?’ he asked dispassionately, staring at Virender whose gestures indicated an obvious reluctance to expose his flesh to the world. ‘Have you ever taken a bath like this before, naked? Ever?’ Virender asked in return, unmindful of the fact that Chop Suey and Turbo had started rubbing the soap faster over their bodies. The boy took two steps towards Virender and was now face to face with him. ‘Though I’m not a typical purveyor of violence but something inside me wants to puncture this big, fat piece of shit. You want to know? All right, I will tell you! Standing in front of you is your baap who has spent the last six months of his life bathing nanga in this place, and trust me he won’t think twice before making you bathe in nagn avastha in front of this whole fucking academy!’ A stumped Virender scanned the boy’s face. He certainly did not look like his course mate. A quick attire check and a deeper anatomical evaluation made Virender relegate him to a below-poverty-line version of the vintage mutant ninja turtle he had seen in comic books. ‘Get in there with him. Move.’ The boy’s gesture resembling the Nazi

salute, directed Virender to get into Chop Suey’s cubicle. Virender made a puppy-face. ‘Did you not hear what I said?’ ‘I-I am just… I-I was…’ Virender stuttered, as his grip on his pyjamas tightened. Act like a toughie, come on, he told himself. ‘Um, sir, I think I am just fine here,’ he said, trying not to act demure anymore, although a complete nervous wreck inside, and started taking off his T-shirt. ‘Stop!’ the boy erupted like a volcano. Virender immediately stopped, his head caught inside the T-shirt. The boy came closer and seemed to have transformed himself into the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He asked Virender, ‘What’s your name, eh?’ ‘Virender P-Pandey,’ Virender’s voice came out garbled from inside his T-shirt. He could sense danger. Turbo crossed his arms across his chest as he looked on while Chop Suey could instinctively understand what was going on two cubicles away. ‘Take that bloody thing off!’ A thunderous grunt made Virender quickly get rid of his T-shirt. One look into those vicious eyes, much like those of a dog crouched over a bone, made Virender flinch. ‘Which part of my order did not get into your fucking head?’ ‘Sir, I... I…’ a sudden loss of awareness struck him. He seemed to have gotten hit with tongue paralysis as he started mumbling words within his mouth. ‘Do you know who I am?’ The brothel owner perhaps, thought Virender, or the pimp, but did not dare to say a word. ‘Of course, you don’t,’ the boy hissed. ‘Remember this face. You will get to see a lot more of this face. Beautiful, isn’t it?’ ‘Very...beautiful...sir…’ Virender found himself tempted to say as beautiful as a pig on whom somebody had applied bright red lipstick. ‘I don’t like to repeat myself but I’ll make an exception for you. Let me see your reaction, unless you want to learn how to get on my nerves. I permit only one fuck-up at a time,’ the boy said. ‘Get in with him. Move!’ And the next thing Virender knew, like a rare excavation of Khajuraho

soaking those erotic stares, he stood buck naked in front of Chop Suey— perhaps, the last human on earth he would have desired to get in the shower with. Chop Suey wiped the droplets from his glasses, put it back on his flat nose and scanned Virender from head to toe with great interest—this was new for him too. At that moment, filled with shameful discomfort, Chop Suey was just a small thing for Virender. He was more tormented by the molester standing outside the cubicle with his hands crossed over his chest waiting for the big moment as he took off his underwear. Turbo, on the other hand, was enjoying every scene of this episode, watching all his feminine gestures in the mirror, while Chop Suey, of course, who was standing so close, he could feel his eyes piercing through his skin. Virender pressed his toes in embarrassment, wishing he could melt and get washed down the drain. If he believed in God’s existence, he would have remembered Lord Krishna right away, the saviour of Draupadi, famous for his endless outfitting service, because here he was with a Dushasana in yellow boxer shorts who had stripped him of his modesty. This whole place seemed like a madhouse. Within an hour, he had lost all his hair and now his self-esteem was being washed away by the cloudburst over his head. Chop Suey was vigorously working up a lather in front of his eyes while Virender simply stood there, like an object of soft-core exhibitionism, struggling to hide his essentials as much as he could in front of the three simpering assholes. ‘Try getting late for the fall in all of you, and I will make your friends witness a threesome outside my cabin tonight.’ As soon as the ninja left asking them not to be late, Virender leapt out of the shower. He dashed to the next cubicle and lunged at Turbo’s towel to quickly wrap it around his waist. Turbo came out; unguarded, in all his glory like a Spartan warrior, with his hands on his hips. Chop Suey, the prime nudist, came out half covered in his untied gown, leaving just about a peeping window for his manhood to stare at whoever might be interested. To Virender, he looked like a human incarnation of a wet mop standing over the puddle of water. ‘You will get used to this,’ Chop Suey told Virender, who was definitely not interested, nor did he want to get used to it. Chop Suey had watched every inch of him and every cell of his body till he was paralysed with

embarrassment. Now it was his manhood watching him. And that could be rated better looking than his face, noted Virender. Shaking the water off his ears, Virender walked out of the bathroom. But he did not speak a word to Turbo as they headed towards the basketball court behind Sinhgarh where all the newcomers had been asked to assemble. The weather seemed pleasantly cool. The grass hadn’t shed the morning dew completely. A swarm of starlings flying in magnificent coordination and the bright blue sky dotted with cottony clouds were adding to the exuberance. Virender and Turbo reached the court. By then, over a 100 boys, who had reported in the last one week, had already arranged themselves in three rows in front of the senior lot standing on the cemented platform under a canopy of eucalyptus overlooking them. They pushed their way through to the middle row. Virender was extremely flustered after the bathroom debacle. ‘Get in formation, clowns!’ someone howled. ‘Information? What information he wants us to get?’ Turbo quipped, making four to five boys giggle like girls. ‘No one talks out here! No one moves, blows his nose, squeaks a fart or digs his butt without my order! Don’t you guys see us standing here?’ someone shouted. Looking at him, Virender felt a tremor of fear. The ninja. It was him. And he was a 2nd termer. Like house captains and prefects in school, the academy had appointments. Duggal, this ninja, was an appointment—the 2nd platoon sergeant. Following Duggal’s warning, an overwhelming silence instantly replaced the soft murmur in the air. ‘Virender, who is Virender?’ Chakro, the junior-under-officer (JUO), scratching around inside his breeches, announced. Virender recoiled. ‘Is he calling you?’ Turbo elbowed Virender. ‘I don’t know. Stand straight,’ he said looking around, just in case some other Virender would raise his hand. ‘Virender Pandey, fall out!’ ‘He is calling you,’ Turbo nudged him again. When no other Virender presented himself, Virender squeezed his way through the first row and moved ahead hesitantly. Duggal whispered

something to Chakro as they noticed their bewildered prey approaching. ‘ Move up here, you,’ Chakro ordered. Virender climbed up the platform, he could feel the collective stares of the first-termers hitting his back. Observing an excited bunch of second-termers forming a semicircle around him, he crossed his fingers. All that ogling made him experience instant palpitations. ‘What is the meaning of your name?’ Chakro went closer to Virender’s face and asked. Duggal warmed up in the meantime, rubbing his hands, desperate to munch on his flesh. ‘It means a brave, noble person,’ Virender replied, and was immediately reminded of an annoying reality. His name. Its meaning. The biggest tragedy and irony of his life was his name. He hated the virility in his name. Virender was a great name, definitely, but for someone else. The problem was it just didn’t suit him. It conjured images of an Indian variant of perhaps a Spartan king, such as Leonidas. Kudos to the parents who thought ten times about whether the name they had chosen would suit their child or not before tagging the rest of little infant’s life. He had no clue what his parents had in their minds before they zeroed in on this name for him. ‘Brave, eh? What is the bravest thing you have done in your life?’ Chakro took yet another shot at him, making him immediately regret replying to his first question. However, his mind wrestled with his mouth to utter anything, but no answer came to him. ‘Ah, let me take that one. Today, Her Majesty took a bath in front of her friends. Wearing only a smile. Boys, can we have a show of hands who all think this was a daring act?’ Duggal said, displaying his teeth like a baboon. The other monkeys guffawed, making fun of Virender. A handful of boys raised their hands from the first row. Cut his tongue and slit his throat, somebody was telling Virender inside his head, but he dared not reveal that he was getting irritated. Duggal had taken over from Chakro. ‘Do not worry. We will soon give you a chance to prove how brave you are.’ He turned towards the firsttermers. ‘This goes for all of you. Now listen carefully. I am sure it would be the first time for most of you. There is this boxing training scheduled next

week for you all jokers, and your friend here has just opted to give a demo to everyone,’ he aired something unexpected. ‘With me,’ he added softly as he bent over Virender. Surprised, Virender looked at him. ‘I hope you won’t mind if I ask you to play with me?’ Duggal said in a coquettish tone. ‘What are we playing?’ ‘Boxing.’ What nonsense, Virender thought. What was this guy talking about? He had never even seen a boxing ring in his life, save for the few he saw at the stadium in Raebareli when he had gone for his pre-medical runs, or the ones he had mistakenly come across on DD Sports while changing channels. Wait, did he say he wanted to prove something like the aptness of his name? He turned back to see the first-termers were throwing their fists at him like boxing punches. Turbo was staring up at him from the middle row with his eyebrows raised and knitted together in what he regarded as worry. ‘I have never boxed before,’ he submitted politely. All he knew of this sport was that it was unpleasant, unfair at times and not always comfortable. ‘I don’t know why, but something tells me that you are scared. Are you?’ That, and paranoid, and dizzy, and everything else that would allow him to be laughed at if they got into the ring together. This was what Virender wanted to reply. But he simply looked down at his feet. ‘All right, let me make it easy for you. If the word, boxing, scares you, we will call this game…’ he paused and added sickeningly ‘the wedding night? Yeah, how about that? Suhaagraat? I play the husband, you the wife and we make love inside the ring. You like that, don’t you? Don’t worry, I will be a good husband. I will make it less painful for you. By the way, there is always a first time,’ Duggal gave a lecherous look like a creepy, old man would give to a young girl at a bar. He thinks I am a fool, Virender thought to himself and already mentally filed for a divorce. He was quick to comprehend that towards the end of this marriage that Duggal was talking about, he would be left with a swollen lip, blackened eyes and broken limbs. Well, there are good days and there are bad days. It was just a bad day, a

bad start for Virender. While no one ever told him that the routine at the academy would be easy, he found himself ill-prepared for just how hard things could get for he could not connect with anything that Duggal had to tell the freshers in next one hour. ‘But you can never stop trying to weed out bad apples.’ Duggal went on. ‘Prepare yourself mentally, adjust your attitude to the academy’s way of thinking. Here, failure is not an option. But some of you cartoons will fail and like the bad apples, before you spoil the barrel, would be relegated or thrown out.’ He went on to explain that those who fail to clear the basic physical tests would be kicked to the curb, that they would lose six months and would have to repeat the term. And that definitely was not a happy situation to be in. Relegated cadets were sarcastically called Brigadiers, or Brigs. Freshers later learnt that there were three Brigs from Sinhgarh, all three had joined IMA with Duggal six months back, could have been in their second term, but were technically now their batchmate. This whole relegation thing tossed Virender into depression because from whatever little time he had survived here, repeating a term seemed worse than suffering six months in labour pain. He could not help imagining himself moving around Sinhgarh with his swollen belly carrying Duggal’s curse inside for six more months. Before he dismissed them, Duggal assured Virender that he would pay personal attention to him. If only somebody could tell him what he had done to deserve this treatment?

FOUR

Meeting Govind itting inside the classroom, attending Capt Wadhera’s class, both Virender and Chop Suey were unaware of the impending storm raging their way. It was the captain’s first lecture and the boys were introducing themselves to him one by one, mechanically like clockwork. The classroom was packed and yet, downright silent—unless it was Wadhera himself talking, or somebody happened to be talking to him. Not a single chair was vacant. To Virender, this seemed weird because in his four years of engineering he had never attended a lecture that had even half the number of students present. All the students would leave their homes and hostels religiously each morning for college but obviously never really reached there. Attendance was definitely the last thing on their mind, first was Miss Lo—My Butterfly, a soft porn cinematic masterpiece at Capitol, the only B-grade picture hall in the Gopi market. Miss Lo—My Butterfly ran for four years straight while Virender was in college. Alumni said, Capitol was built on a low-lying plot of land and used to get flooded in every monsoon. On such days, when the water was expected to enter Capitol and flood its floors, there would be an announcement in the theatre and a message on the screen instructing the audience to raise their feet and keep them on their seats to avoid getting their shoes wet. And the show went on! Alumni also said, Miss Lo—My Butterfly had never missed a day in the last nine years of its screening. But here at the academy, in this humour-deprived, uncompromising world, missing a lecture seemed impossible to Virender. Finally, it was Virender’s turn to introduce himself. He got up and quickly presented himself to Wadhera.

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Wadhera seemed unusually interested in him. ‘Boys let me make this clear,’ he said in a voice like bottled thunder, as his gaze panned across the room, with one eye sceptically still at Virender, while he gradually advanced through the aisle between the seats like a tiger treading towards him. ‘Is he coming this side?’ mumbled Turbo sitting next to Virender. Virender nodded nervously, having an inkling that Wadhera prowling in his direction had something to do with him. He was already feeling a bit awkward because of the extra tight uniform he was wearing. He thanked the tailoring skills of Kapoor, the only tailor in the IMA shopping complex, who had stitched such a form-fitting uniform for him that it appeared he was deliberately flaunting his curves. Wadhera continued to talk while walking. ‘IMA, this is where you belong now. You should forget where you came from, or what you did before you landed here. You’re all going to start a fresh chapter in your lives. So, I want you to let go of your past baggage and you’d better do it well. We’re all going to work together as a team and we’re going to,’ he stopped in front of Virender who was timidly nodding his head. Turbo straightened his back. Wadhera lightly patted Virender’s paunch with the back of his hand. ‘And along with the other baggage I was telling you about, we’re going to lose some of this too,’ he said. Damn, a deep, red flash of humiliation streaked across Virender’s face. He could hear a ripple of laughter spread across the room. Turbo was the loudest, of course. Virender noticed Wadhera’s marine haircut and deep-brown eyes. Bushy eyebrows were affixed to an otherwise aesthetic face. A sharp nose with a crooked bridge and half-dome shaped cheekbones sat firmly above a granite jaw. He wore the olive-green uniform, and each shoulder had three brass stars signalling his rank. Two rows of colourful ribbons above the left pocket indicated the places where he had served during his tenure in the army. Wadhera had introduced himself to the class as the commander of the second platoon, who would also be lecturing them on Military Tactics and History. ‘What plans do you have for earning your bread and butter?’ he asked Virender. ‘Bread and butter? Sir will that not be free at the mess?’ Virender asked

with genuine concern, and then noticed that everybody was laughing at him again. What was the punchline? He was confused. His innocent query made Wadhera smile. ‘That’s not what I meant, son. Well, I am sure second-termers have told you about all the tests you will have this term?’ Wadhera said gently. Virender did not reply. He had no clue what the damn tests were and how he was going to deal with that shit. He remembered Duggal saying something about something but his mind had already gone blank by then, as he had been busy counting the number of days he had left in this world, the last one being the day of the boxing match with that freak. ‘Anyhow, you seem to be a little... overweight? Correct me if I am wrong, a boy of your height should not weigh more than fifty-five to fiftyeight kilogrammes,’ Wadhera said. Wait a minute, is this man referring to Somalian scales here, Virender wondered. If only Wadhera had the faintest idea that he had gone through hell to clear the medicals! Puzzled, he tried to calculate by how many kilogrammes he would still be considered overweight going by his platoon commander’s standards. He wanted to tell Wadhera it was just the outward appearance that made him look fat, otherwise his weight was at the threshold of normal. While Virender was busy rationalising his weight to himself, Wadhera was ready with a teaser for him. ‘Moving on, let me test your presence of mind. Tell me what steps you will take if a man comes charging at you. He is a jihadi and he has a rifle with a big sharp bayonet fixed on it. Do I have to tell you what a bayonet is?’ Picturing a man with a dark, bushy beard, running towards him yelling Islamic fundamentalist cries, Virender replied, ‘Um... it’s l-like a large vegetable knife.’ ‘Vegetable knife?’ Wadhera shook his head and the room burst into laughter once again. Wadhera moved back to the board. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a bayonet, explaining just what it was. Virender tilted his head to one side. That’s a bayonet? Not very interested in tactics, he began fancying himself flying in the air like a samurai, chopping the hands and legs

of those four men back in Raebareli. They were four, he was alone, and if only he had a bayonet with him that day, none of them would have been alive, he thought looking absent-mindedly. ‘Now tell me, what will your reaction be in this case?’ Wadhera reiterated. Virender had been so engrossed in his fantasy of vengeance that he could barely remember the scenario being referred to by Wadhera. He looked blankly at the captain. Realising it couldn’t be funny with Wadhera, he pulled a solemn face. ‘Pay attention in my class. Tell me, what steps will you take if someone comes charging at you with a bayonet? What will you do in the suggested scenario? Speak whatever comes to your mind. Tactics is all about how you apply yourself on the ground. There is no right or wrong here, all that matters is execution.’ Forgetting about the jihadi, and those men, Virender was now mentally fighting Wadhera with a bayonet. ‘I would take big steps sir, or rather, really fast ones. Away from him, of course,’ he did not know exactly what made him say that. He looked around to see how many boys had got the joke. Looked like it was funny only to him, and the actual joke had fallen flat. ‘Fall out!’ Wadhera’s lion-like roar made Virender step out at once. ‘Go behind and get on your hands. Start doing push-ups!’ Does shivering count as exercise, Virender wanted to ask Wadhera, but he brisk walked towards the rear wall, got on his hands and stuck his butt up in the air. He could hear the faint whispering of the class. ‘You have come to a place where you are trained to deal with life and death. And that is not a joke!’ Shuttling across the platform furiously, Wadhera was now throwing his verbal flares. Virender lowered his body to avoid meeting his eyes. ‘Virender Pandey, bloody fool, tomorrow you will get yourself and your men killed. Look at him, he cannot even do push-ups properly!’ The words fell like a gob of spit on him. Hurling silent abuses, he forced his arms to get his chest off the floor. Five, he counted, almost breathless. He felt he would spew right back out the bread and butter along

with the porridge and cutlets he had for breakfast. First Duggal and now Wadhera, he had inadvertently rubbed two nasty guys up the wrong way in less than a day, Virender thought, somehow still managing to hold his upper body weight on his hands. He wondered if coming here was a good choice in the first place, as he realised that his notion of the academy when he had applied was clearly not in sync with his experience. His mind went back to that newspaper advertisement —‘Applications are invited for unmarried engineering students studying in the pre-final year (III year) in the academic session 1999–2000 for the grant of a permanent commission in the Army.’ He had saved the cutting of the advertisement, deliberated on it for a day and then sent in his application without telling anyone. He got through the campus selection. Soon, a letter had arrived for his interview at the Service Selection Board, Allahabad. He hadn’t spoken a word about it at home. He plotted a friend’s wedding and left for Allahabad. The unrelenting five-day-long interview began. This was not going to be easy, he was aware. Out of the 600 odd boys who had reported to the Allahabad centre on the first day, only 14 per cent had stayed back; the rest were sent back home that day itself. Finally, only six were recommended, and Virender surprised himself by being one of them. The interviewer had proffered a strong recommendation for him, no one knew why. Unfortunately, in the medical examination, he was given a temporary rejection for being overweight. He was given 45 days to reduce his weight by 18 kilogrammes. Well, Virender had always been a fat child, and the boys in the colony used to call him a dhol, a percussion instrument. He had no other option but to fiercely cut down on his meals. A lot was at stake. He started running every day, changed his eating habits, turned a blind eye to sweets and curbed his cravings. He eventually made it through the re-medicals. At the sixth count, struggling to get himself off the floor, Virender then recalled his father’s words to his mother when along with his relatives they had come to see him off at the railway station. ‘He is going only for the training, not to some war. For God’s sake, stop crying,’ his father had said and turned from his wife to his son. ‘As it is, he is going to come back in a few weeks,’ he had looked at Virender and said, showing his red-stained

teeth, with gaps in the front wide enough to swipe five different credit cards through each slot. ‘You wish,’ Virender had said without meeting his father’s eyes. ‘Gentlemen!’ Wadhera pulled his attention, as he then put across something to the class that Virender found was not necessary, but then he admitted he was least qualified to know what was appropriate. With another stretch of his hands, he locked his elbows to listen to Wadhera. ‘Those who think they have good fitness standards, stand up. Gentlemen, by good, I mean really good. Be honest, don’t just flatter yourselves.’ Seven boys stood up in various corners of the room, almost in sync like a team. Wait, Chop Suey? What did he have to do with that question, why did he get up? Virender could see Chop Suey standing closest to Wadhera, acting fidgety almost as if to grab his attention. So, here were these seven samurais looking around like warriors, the other boys, however, were either like Turbo, who knew it was safe to avoid the risk, or like Virender, who were actually miserable at this and wouldn’t even try. Just then a boy standing two rows ahead caught Virender’s attention. Curious, he craned his neck to have a better glimpse of him. He faintly remembered having seen this boy before but couldn’t recollect where. A conversation with him, a fleeting ‘hello’ or a passing glance maybe? He couldn’t remember exactly. The boy was tall and attractive, with a broad, mannequin frame. His Atlas-like shoulders over a barrel chest, gym-honed physique and muscles as if wrought in iron, made him look like someone who had taken a sabbatical from Navy Seals to know what Indian Army training was all about. Virender had seen boys like him either on an athletic track or on a fashion ramp. Genetic jealousy hit him—he knew if he stared at this boy too long, it could lead to him having a poor self-image and even going into depression. Or could he fall in love with him? Virender had never explored that side of him and he wanted to keep it that way. He had to admit though, that this boy seemed justified in responding to Wadhera. ‘How good you think you are?’ Wadhera picked Chop Suey out of the seven, who, like a charged up racehorse behind the starting gate, pumped a mental fist. Virender imagined him prompting the rest of the class to cheer

for him, by throwing his hands in the air, like a wrestler would demand of his audience. Casting aside the realisation that not a single soul would oblige, he smirked within. ‘I am comfortable with my physical standards, sir. Eleven chin-ups, 2.4 km in nine and a half minutes, thirty sit-ups along with some shuttles, eight chest-touch. I can do that.’ All eyes were on Chop Suey. Wadhera, of course, had that you-were-the-one-I-was-looking-for spark in his eyes like a butcher at a meat shop. Chop Suey, however, thought he had nailed the first impression and seemed pleased by the detailed description of his abilities. ‘Good, you have done the ground work,’ Wadhera controlled his enthusiasm on catching an easy prey. ‘Thank you, sir.’ ‘Now listen up, there is something called a buddy system followed here. I am making you Virender’s buddy, which means from now on, he is your responsibility. You are his buddy and he is yours. You have to make sure that he clears all his PT tests in time. Make him work hard because…,’ he looked at Virender, ‘...going by the way he is doing those push-ups, I can tell he is going to have a tough time here. He is your buddy from today, do you understand?’ ‘Y-Yes, I understand, sir,’ Virender stopped mid-way and bent his hemispherical body to look from Wadhera to Chop Suey. If Chop Suey knew already what was coming his way, he would have saved himself a lot of suffering by probably shooting himself in the head to bunk Wadhera’s lecture. That seemed like a better idea at that moment. Chop Suey looked at Virender. Virender gave him a self-effacing smile. Wadhera continued. ‘Finally, gentlemen, I hope you all know that novice boxing is the first major event coming up for the first-termers and the PT tests are scheduled in the fourth week.’ Boxing? Duggal leapt in Virender’s mind. And that demo with him? He gulped a small amount of saliva. He could only hope that Duggal had forgotten whatever he had said the other day. When Wadhera walked out of the hall with his file, Virender collapsed on the floor. Gravity consumed all his strength when he pushed himself to get

up. Apparently, he was not feeling too great about pushing the buttons of his platoon sergeant and the platoon commander. Trying not to think about them, he brushed the dust off his uniform and promptly walked towards Chop Suey. He had a terrible dream that night. He was running inside a boxing ring and Duggal was chasing him with a big, red hammer in his hand, pounding on his head every time they got close enough. Duggal’s rampage in that nightmare and other associated thoughts continued to haunt Virender until the next evening. The compulsory study period was on in Sinhgarh and crouched under a table lamp, Virender sat at his study table. At six, there was absolute stillness in the platoon outside, as though Sinhgarh was on a high alert, with Wadhera out on his routine rounds to catch the defaulters. Virender had always been a diligent student right from school, and when it came to studies no one had to push him, except for his mother, although she did that rarely. But here, the Nazis weren’t giving him, or anybody for that matter, any choice. Every cadet, junior or senior, had to sit with a book open in front during the study period. Virender was making all conceivable efforts to stay awake. Stretched, splashed water on his face, peered at the table clock several times. When he checked the clock for the 10th time, it showed 50 minutes left for the study period to get over. The emotional stress seemed to have decelerated the speed of his clock. He had already chewed up one-third of the pencil in his hand thinking of the boxing training next morning, and no matter what he thought of this X-rated sport, he knew he had to be present in the ring. Was there a way he could save his life? Just then, he remembered that moment at the railway station. His grandmother, a stooped woman who was barely able to stand, had dragged herself towards him with an unprecedented conviction, clumsily clutching a walking stick with both hands. ‘I have kept a pocketsized Hanuman Chalisa in the left pocket of your bag. Read it on Tuesdays,’ she had said in a shaky voice that trembled like a broken twig vibrating in the wind. ‘Okay dadi,’ Virender gave her a sympathetic nod that stemmed primarily out of respect for the bags under her eyes than for the Hanuman Chalisa. He

did not swear any allegiance to Mister Hanuman. He knew that even in the event of a grave problem or an emergency, he would somehow manage himself and come out stronger. He had seen enough in life already, or so he used to believe. He did not take His help last year when he felt his life was finished. He ignored that thought. He ignored every thought that had a potential of swaying him towards the memories of Prerna. All of a sudden, a bulb lit up inside his head. ‘Sinus! I will tell him I have a sinus problem, and because of that I cannot box. Brilliant,’ he thought, smiling to himself, like the bout had already been won, or avoided at the least.

Next morning, at seven, Sinhgarh’s first-termers entered the boxing hall. Each of them wore a grey-coloured half vest, black shorts and white shoes. A boxing ring—what had been a distant acquaintance in a sports stadium, on DD Sports, and in almost every dream in the last few days—was now finally right there in front of them. The light-blue walls of the hall enclosed three rings, fitted with red, white and blue ropes. Along the perimeter, two spotlights hung from a 20 feet high ceiling. The place smelt of sweat and yet, it looked majestic. Virender looked around. Some first-termers surprisingly seemed to be quite excited, which was apparent from the glow on their faces. Where did these guys think they were? At the screening of Miss Lo—My Butterfly? Well, Virender had his obvious reservations about boxing. Boxing was all about getting hit rather than hitting the opponent. He also recalled what Jimmy Smits tells his sons in Price of Glory—‘Boxing is less about the physical training than about the mental preparation, it’s like a game of chess.’ And Virender knew even less about chess than boxing. ‘Fall in! He is here!’ Yogi came sprinting inside. ‘Get up all of you!’ he alerted everyone and quickly merged with the group. Yogi was at the ‘Observation Post’ planted at the entrance of the hall to give the boys an early warning about Duggal’s arrival. The first-termers, who had quite adeptly almost perfected the art of

arranging themselves in three rows, executed the move effortlessly. Virender pushed his way through to secure himself in the second row. He hid right behind Turbo, who was perhaps the second most nervous boy present in the hall, although he wouldn’t let that panic reflect on his face. He shared the exact sentiment with Virender and both of them were scared out of their wits. They were afraid to even touch the gloves. Duggal, the embodiment of melancholia and Virender’s paradigm of Yamaraja, the lord of death, appeared at the gate in his PT rig. His long arms swung at his sides as he walked inside. ‘Heck, he looks like a gorilla walking upright,’ somebody whispered from behind. Acting fearsome, he clapped his hands, ordering the boys to get into two rows from three so that everyone had a partner. He started the drills. In the next 40 minutes or so, of that 90 minutes long autocracy, he made them do every eccentric move that was possibly associated with his understanding of boxing training—burpees, squat thrusts, skip rope, shadow-punches, crunches, punch-outs, medicine ball throws, etc. By the time he said they were done warming-up, Virender was already praying for death. ‘There is a record your pappa holds,’ Duggal casually announced during the five-minute breather before the next session. ‘No one, I repeat no one, who fought me has ever left the ring on his feet. Yes, you heard that right. I knocked them all out!’ Duggal’s unendorsed claim left everybody gaping at each other. ‘So pay attention to what I tell you. This is how we take guard, cover the face, and bend,’ he instructed as he punched his right hand into the sandbag. ‘Next, the jab, I’ll show you how. Throw your right or left arm in this manner…make a hook…and uppercut,’ he said, moving his left hand this time. Thinking about the guy’s other opponents, Virender had mentally fainted. Several times. ‘Did he say he knocked everyone out? I am sure those baby boxers, poor liddle liddle kids must have wet their knickers,’ Turbo turned back and giggled, a failed attempt at overcoming the nervousness and panic with some humour expecting some sort of validation from Virender. ‘Look in front,’ Virender mumbled. He did not want to get noticed for the next one hour. He tried to fit in behind Turbo’s frame.

‘I could have knocked him out with just one punch I swear,’ Turbo muttered again. ‘Why don’t you shut up?’ he nudged him, punching him hard on his back. The prying eyes of Duggal caught Turbo turning his head and talking to someone. He clapped his hands twice. ‘Folks, let us begin! All of you, pair up! Spread out and find a place for yourself. You there, yes you, showing your teeth, put these on… and make that quick! Let’s give a demo to your friends,’ he said and tossed a pair of red gloves towards Turbo. Turbo is the chosen one! Virender cupped his hands to his mouth and threw a kiss towards the sky. Trusting that something particularly stressful and undesirable has been avoided, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turbo caught the gloves in air. The smile on his face disappeared as his expression turned a different kind of serious. Deep lines of distress appeared on his forehead. Just then, he covered his mouth with his fist and began coughing. ‘What’s wrong, eh?’ questioned Duggal. ‘I-I have sinus problem, sir,’ Turbo tweaked his nose. A shocked Virender wished for the earth to swallow him. ‘Sin what?’ Duggal reacted. ‘Sinusitis, sir. Cannot box,’ he acted as if just the thought of boxing had congestion blooming in his nose. ‘What the fuck! My excuse!’ Virender hissed poisonously at Turbo, giving him a blow on his back. Why the hell did he share his excuse with this backstabber? What a mistake! What a bloody mistake! ‘Sinus?’ Duggal arched his eyebrows. ‘From a long time, sir.’ ‘How long?’ ‘Very long.’ ‘You come outside, I’ll give you a longer one in your backside,’ Virender muttered in disbelief. ‘Such a dummy. Never mind boy, I will cure your sinus…like this,’ Duggal clicked his fingers at Turbo. ‘Move to that wall near the last pillar and keep your nose stuck to it. Tell me if you feel better,’ he scoffed.

With the fastest about-turn of his life, Turbo twirled around to face Virender. ‘Here, God bless you,’ he handed over the pair of gloves to Virender and scooted towards the wall like a child rushing towards the candy store. Virender first looked at the gloves. Then at Duggal. Holy shit! Holding the gloves in his hands, he stood there gawking at Duggal like a deer standing in the headlights of a speeding car. ‘Ohho… Rocky part six!’ Duggal saw Virender and laughed. ‘We had a deal about a boxing demo today, didn’t we?’ The sixth part of the Rocky franchise had not yet been released and Duggal saw the moment opportune to showcase his unique script for the movie. Virender could envision Duggal as an obnoxious version of Stallone, punching the crap out of him in a gory bare-knuckles street brawl. ‘All right, before we start, have you thought of some excuse? Mind you, sinus is already taken.’ Duggal asked throwing a quick glance towards Turbo. Incapable of thinking up a rational alibi, Virender silently shook his head. ‘Damn Turbo’ was the only thought he could manage. ‘Tsk tsk, you can tell me if you too are suffering from an ailment, such as piles or something. Maybe herpes…no?’ Virender shook his head sideways. What’s the point? This man was not going to spare him even if he said he was feeling a brain tumour in his head. He still wanted to give it a shot ‘Brain Tu…n-nothing… n-no problem.’ ‘Brain what? I sense fear in you. Why don’t you just pee in your shorts. That should release it.’ ‘N-No, sir. I am good.’ ‘Sure?’ ‘Y-yea...yes.’ ‘Then stop staring at my bloody face, put these on and get ready. Quick, quick!’ Virender put on the boxing gear while mentally preparing himself for the worst. With great effort, he dragged himself towards the ring. He felt like a new bride walking with a glass of milk towards the drunk groom. He was certain the savage intercourse would last just a few seconds. He could hear

the audience clapping and cheering, the kind he had last heard at the Capitol. He took a deep breath. Seized it. Jammed his eyes shut, then opened them. He lifted the rope with one hand and entered the ring. Lured by the thrill of battle and the roars of the crowd, Duggal was already waiting in the ring for his time on the virginal bed. Virender was sure Duggal would impregnate him in nine seconds! What should he do now? If he warmed up, that would irritate his opponent. If he copied him, the freak would think he was making fun of him. Clueless, he tried to jump on the spot and imitate Duggal who was throwing swift jabs in the air. The referee and timekeeper, Alok, struck the gong. Virender’s heart was a train pounding down the tracks; he felt it would leap right out of his chest any moment. With his fingers crossed inside the gloves, he moved to the centre of the ring. Duggal was waiting for him. They touched their gloves. A red headgear and red boxing gloves made Duggal actually look like Yamaraja. He came charging from his corner and executed a right-hand punch. Oh, shit! Virender escaped the blow by moving his head to the right. He adjusted the head-guard and took a deep, controlled breath. The second time, Duggal pretended to fling his left hand, but just as Virender moved towards the left, the rascal stopped and shot out his right hand. Huh? It landed hard on Virender’s left cheek. Two punches to his head followed. He had nowhere to go but down. Squinting his eyes at the moving ground, he felt as if he actually had a tumour in his head that had now exploded. Come on, get up, you are still alive, he told himself. The teeth on his upper jaw had, as if, come loose. Pushing against his chin with his gloves, he got to his feet again. Watching his vulnerable opponent, Duggal shifted his weight from one foot to the other and punched him on his chest. And his next blow almost broke Virender’s chin. Where’s the fucking referee? Alok, you rat, hit the gong goddammit! He tried to save himself some embarrassment by not falling to the floor. ‘Is everything in order for you, sir?’ Duggal smirked provokingly at him. ‘I don’t think…’ The sound of the gong saved him the humiliation. Virender had clearly lost the first round.

With 60 seconds to recover for the second, he retired to his corner. He sat on the stool and looked at the table below. ‘If only he could pick up that gong and run out of the hall. Heck, how could two minutes be that long?’ He began wheezing like a deflated tyre, while at the same time, he observed Duggal stretching and relaxing with three juniors in the opposite corner. ‘You can knock him down,’ a low-pitched, rough voice made Virender turn his head with surprise. It was that fit boy from Wadhera’s first lecture. The boy entered through the ropes and stood beside him. This was the first time Virender was talking to him. ‘I am Govind,’ he said with a delicate smile. He looked remarkably calm. ‘I have been observing you. I am not able to understand what you are trying to do. How are you trying to tackle him?’ Virender noticed the molten-brown colour of his doe shaped eyes, his high cheekbones and taut skin. I have definitely seen him before, he thought, yet again. He took the guard out of his mouth and tried to focus on this boy. What did he think he was doing? Just then Chop Suey jumped in through the ropes. He squirted water into Virender’s mouth. ‘The job Wadhera has given me, I am going to have a tough time here,’ he said, putting an ice pack to Virender’s neck and other invisible injuries that he had suffered. ‘If you don’t mind…’ Virender evaded Chop Suey and offered his right arm to Govind, who rubbed it and enquired of Chop Suey, ‘What job?’ ‘I am his buddy. I have to make sure he clears his tests.’ ‘Ah yes, that day in class,’ Govind said. ‘By the way, any guess who will win?’ Govind looked at Virender. ‘Well we have two more rounds to go.’ ‘If you say this guy,’ Chopsuey whispered, motioning towards Virender, ‘I promise I will polish his boots for next one month.’ Virender wished to knock out Chop Suey first but he required rest before the next round, so he let it go. Just then the gong rang. Fuck, Virender shuddered to that sonorous death knell that Alok sounded for the second round. Govind stuffed the guard into his mouth again, ‘Now listen, a quick one, I came here to tell you that you have to keep moving.’

‘Keep what?’ ‘You are being an easy target for him by standing at one place, all the best,’ he said and jumped out of the ring along with Chop Suey. Virender struggled to his feet. Virender tried to relax. His jaw was tight, body tense. Duggal looked complacently ready for his next round of entertainment. Virender walked towards the centre of the ring and they touched their gloves again. As they started to circle in the centre looking into each other’s eyes, Duggal asked him to move faster and speed up his reflexes. Both of them threw as many punches as they could in the air. There was no jabbing or weaving and it was like two kids fighting with each other. They were moving in circles at high speed and eventually Virender started to wear out. He was getting breathless. He looked at Govind who beckoned him back with the motion of his hand, asking him to keep moving. With a nod, he got his focus back on Duggal. He tried to slip, duck and dodge as many of his punches as he could but by the end of the second round he was so damn exhausted. The gong echoed thrice and he spat out the mouth-guard as he retreated to his corner. Govind climbed into the ring once again, holding a towel in his hand. ‘I am getting really sick of this chasing and dodging. What should I do?’ Virender asked Govind as he placed a wet towel on his head. ‘You are doing just fine. You saved yourself the punches and now you need to stop chasing him.’ ‘I am chasing him?’ ‘I don’t know who is chasing whom. But you have to move your head. Try to avoid his punches but stay at the centre of the ring and let him come to you. Wait for him to make the first move.’ Ha! That’s easier said than done, Virender contemplated. ‘Will you do me a favour?’ he tried hard to mutter between rapid breaths as Govind rubbed his forearms. ‘What?’ ‘Tell my mother that her son died fighting like a hero,’ he coughed. Govind lightly smacked him on the back of his head. Virender knew Duggal

would not let him walk out alive from that ring. The third round was when he must have planned the kill. ‘First-termers!’ Duggal turned towards the spectators, drawing everybody’s attention to whatever he was coming up with. ‘Have you ever seen a punching bag full of shit?’ He shouted, flaring his nostrils. ‘Yes, sir!’ the boys shouted together. ‘This fat-ass makes a perfect black demo as you all can see. I don’t want these pathetic standards in my company. Do I make myself clear?’ he shouted. The first-termers looked from Duggal to Virender and nodded their heads. Virender wanted to catch Duggal by the waistband of his shorts, lift him up in the air and then throw him out of the ring, head first. ‘I will lick his balls, I am telling you,’ he stammered with the gumshield in his mouth. ‘Lick his balls?’ Govind asked with a straight face. ‘Kick. Kick his balls.’ Virender removed his gumshield to clear his stand and then put it back. ‘Okay champ. Calm yourself down,’ Govind said. ‘He is playing mind games with you. Listen, just stop chasing him and remember—throw, pivot. Throw, duck, pivot,’ he advised and jumped out of the ring. Pivot? Virender was unsure how this tactic was going to work for him. Did he have a choice but to try it? ‘Throw, pivot. Throw, duck, pivot.’ He repeated to himself. ‘Round three!’ Alok, that scoundrel, squealed dispassionately. Virender somehow managed to rise on his shaky legs, connected his gloves imitating Duggal, and moved to the centre of the ring. The boxers spent the next minute trying to scare each other by their moves when suddenly Duggal came charging with full force, throwing his right hand at Virender. Virender took half a step back. Awkward and sloppy but he knew he was on to something. ‘Throw, pivot. Throw, duck, pivot,’ he mumbled the magic words under his breath. Shutting his eyes tight, he tried to focus his mind, tucked his left hand against his jaw and threw the right arm ahead like a projectile with full force, the best he could, in a half uppercut— combination of a wide uppercut and a straight punch. His knuckles connected with something and he heard a groan. He slowly opened his eyes to see that Duggal had lost his balance.

Duggal swung his head twice, experiencing twittering birdies and twinkling stars orbiting his head. His eyes bulged as he walked unsteadily, making a big effort to keep his balance before hard-landing on the floor. Was he hurt? Yes, he was. Virender was merrily surprised to have knocked him down. ‘Did you say “punching-bag full of shit”, you babyhitter? Black demo, eh? This is what you call a perfect black demo, you prick,’ his inner voice jumped up an octave as he looked at Govind. With a foot-broad grin on his face, Govind raised his hands for a silent clap. Turbo tried to get his nose off the wall but it seemed it had gotten stuck to it. A mild buzz ran through the audience who were now tittering quietly in celebration of Virender’s victory, making him feel like a 21-year-old version of Holyfield, who had beaten the who’s-who in the world of boxing. Duggal brushed away the circling cuckoos and stars with a brusque sweep of his hands, and got up pressing his head, apparently in a lot of pain. He slipped through the ropes and surprisingly walked out of the ring—without even looking back. Virender looked at him and wondered if he’d walk out of the hall, and never come back, if he’d go and sit in that gloomy corner with his tail between his legs, and never face him again. He relished the thought of having assaulted his persecutor, vandalising his miserable dignity and sabotaging his pride. But he was surprised to see that instead of walking out of the hall, Duggal walked straight up to Govind. He took him to a corner. ‘Bastard, you told him something, didn’t you? What did you tell him to do?’ He asked him straight. ‘Nothing at all!’ Govind replied firmly. What’s wrong with him, Virender thought. ‘I hate liars!’ ‘I am not lying.’ ‘Get down here you inbred trash,’ he beckoned Virender, hissing like a hurt reptile. Virender quickly stepped down and made a rush to them. ‘What did this guy tell you?’ he asked as Virender closed in. Virender gave a snooping look to Govind. ‘What did you tell me, eh?’ Govind shrugged. ‘Did he not tell you to hit me on my face?’

‘Oh no, sir, he just told me to be careful. What happened in there was nothing but a fluke.’ Virender said, with an urge to laugh at a very wrong time. ‘You think I am a fool? What was he whispering into your ears before this round?’ he growled like an infuriated, chained dog being restrained from jumping on people. ‘He asked me to take guard…’ ‘And?’ ‘And? And to learn the correct technique from you, sir, why would I lie to you?’ While he tried to assuage Duggal, the way Govind passed that shrewd glance at him, it turned almost impossible for him to control his giggle. They pursed their lips but were caught smiling. ‘Bastards! You abandoned puppies!’ turning demonic, Duggal emitted a loud throaty growl that made the unnerved first-termers standing at the other end of the hall adopt a savdhaan—attention—position. Duggal’s reaction was not surprising but unsettling. While Virender chose to ignore whatever was said, the bigger puppy could not take it. Govind’s face turned hard. ‘I would appreciate it if you didn’t use such language,’ he said determinedly. ‘Wh-wh-what did you just say?’ Duggal shifted his entire focus on him. ‘Mind the profanity.’ Virender felt a tumour in his throat. If only he could tell Govind to relax. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, this is going to be so much fun! I am going to have this guy for breakfast,’ Duggal rubbed his hands and moved two steps closer to Govind. He went on to say, ‘All your father’s fault, he should have pulled out earlier that day or drained you in sewage.’ That made Govind’s jaw go stiff. His muscles tightened. Virender wondered if next moment Duggal would turn into a human-javelin, but instead he saw Govind turn around on his heel and walk towards the exit. ‘Where are you going? Come back!’ Duggal shouted after him. Govind was in no mood to stop. ‘Come back here. Now! It’s an order!’ With an athletic grace, he was like a walking middle finger to Duggal.

‘Run...run...fade away...evaporate…’ Virender mumbled looking at Duggal through the corner of his eye. ‘You’re dead boy, you’re dead!’ Duggal flew into a rage, saliva spitting out with each quivering word. Govind turned his walk into a run. Soon he disappeared out of the hall. On his way back to the platoon, Virender couldn’t keep that goofy grin off his face. When he entered his room, he remembered Chop Suey’s words. He picked up his boots and walked across the lawn to keep them outside his room.

FIVE

The Tests t was the day after the fight. A sultry evening had followed a broiling noon. Duggal had made Govind stand in his dungarees—a one-piece camouflage uniform—outside his room. He was carrying a black backpack stuffed with bricks on his back. The front pouches and the small bag dangling on the side were filled with bricks too. Virender was made to stand in savdhaan position next to him in winter PT rig—grey vest, black shorts, with the coarse winter jersey on top. July in Dehradun is soothing but not when the individual is wearing a sweater. Thick drops of sweat were trickling from all the folds of his body. It had been nearly 45 minutes that the two of them had been standing outside Duggal’s room. The lawn outside Duggal’s room was like a kotha, which, within no time, had earned an extremely scandalous reputation amongst the juniors. The defaulter first-termers became the mujrewalis—the courtesans performing mujra—sitting in the middle of the courtyard. The lucky ones, those who hadn’t lost their virginity yet, could be seen peeking from the curtains, wondering if they would be bedded tonight. Duggal was inside his room busily engaged in work and emerged only intermittently to check if Govind hadn’t run away or if Virender hadn’t passed out. Even to stand on his legs was a struggle for Virender. He was in a lot of pain. Following his fight with Duggal, his muscles hadn’t completely set in, which made him feel as if he had been run over by a pickup truck repeatedly. Last night, he had gone to bed with a terrible headache that had now gotten worse than any hangover he could think of. His arms and shoulders hurt from the punishment his body had endured in the ring. They ached so badly that he

I

couldn’t move his hand or curl his fingers into a fist. Turbo had provided him with painkillers when Duggal had sent him to the hospital to report sick for sinus. To add on top of Virender’s misery, Turbo had returned with the prescription of bed rest for two days. ‘Why don’t you too report sick?’ Govind said casually, looking at his miserable state. Taking a gamble that Duggal was not likely to come out of his room for the next few minutes, Virender sat down for a breather. The prickly grass of the lawn felt like silk to him. ‘He will come out,’ Govind warned him. ‘Two minutes. I deserve this little bit of rest,’ he said, lying down on his back, stretching his arms wide. His shoulders, his back, his legs were all sore beyond belief but he was glad he didn’t sport a black eye. ‘Can I ask you something, if you don’t mind?’ Govind looked at him. ‘What?’ ‘Why have you come here?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I am not sure why a person like you would ever want to come to a place like this,’ he said candidly. Virender was on immediate guard. ‘What do you mean a person like me? I want to fight for my country!’ he countered unflinchingly, while at the same time he pondered over the motive behind Govind’s query. His mind took a flight to Raebareli. Rational or irrational, he had not been able to decide upon that, but yes, there was a reason why he had left his hometown and come here. Reason he would not want to tell anyone. The secret would remain buried inside his heart. ‘Fight for the country, eh? Why were you so scared of fighting just one guy?’ Govind pointed at Duggal’s door. Evidently, he was not going to give up so easily. ‘Shh…turn down the loudspeaker,’ Virender said. He did not want Duggal to catch him resting and freak him out. Govind repeated his question. ‘I am not scared or anything, all right? You should know that I was a boxing-virgin up until yesterday, never touched gloves in my entire life, was

never into sports,’ he replied. As if Govind didn’t already know that he had frozen like an ice cube in front of Duggal. ‘Well, I am not sure.’ Govind said as he tugged at the straps and adjusted the weight on his backpack full of bricks. There was a real knack to making the brick-order, as it was called; with the weight of 16 bricks, it was heavy, and he had to constantly move to keep the blood flowing in his arms and to avoid backpack numbness. ‘Why is that?’ ‘Almost everything you do here will be your first. What are you going to do about that?’ ‘I am a fast learner,’ he said while trying to avoid meeting Govind’s eyes. ‘Don’t talk, assholes!’ the blue door conveyed the hurls from the other side. Virender sprang to his feet almost automatically, brushing the dirt off his shorts. He straightaway got into attention. Chin up, chest out, shoulders back. With his arms fixed at the sides, feet together and with his eyes gazing at the wall in front, he was like an antique effigy that Duggal had established outside his room. The pain was unbearable. ‘Sir!’ Virender shouted at the door. ‘May I have your permission to report sick tomorrow? It’s hurting!’ The door opened, Duggal emerged, breaking through the earth’s crust like a demon from hell. He stood there fuming in his bermuda shorts that had little teddy bears printed all over them. Virender instantly froze at his appearance. ‘At least the bears are happy,’ Govind whispered. Duggal fixed his glare on Virender. ‘I am in the middle of completing some very important reports. If I hear your voice again, I’ll plaster you with the bricks and the boys will high jump over you for the rest of the term,’ he said and returned to his room. ‘But,’ Virender tried to appeal to him but the door slammed on his face. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he grumbled, wondering if his passing away would make for an important report in the next morning’s newspaper. The sun was nearly packing up for the day. The clock was ticking towards the study period when, with ringing bells, the platoon orderly Bajirao

entered in a rickshaw trolley. He kept the tea decanter and a big box outside Duggal’s room and left. Evenings called for the tea and eateries from the mess; it was cake that day. The second-termers swarmed like bees around the box. They filled their cups, took a chunk of cake and returned to their rooms, throwing seductive glances at the two courtesans standing outside the sergeant’s room. Then came the first-termers, who took their share one by one. Virender’s gluttonous stare lingered on the hungry jaws chomping up the delicacy. He wished he were a dog who could have snatched the cake from their mouth in one comfortable jump, also plant a few bites on their butt for the fun of it. Turbo came out from his room, holding a cup in his hand and wearing his night robe with a grey coloured gown tied with a red belt around his waist. He saw Virender and Govind standing outside Duggal’s room, filled his cup, picked up three pieces of cake and crept towards them. ‘What are you two doing here?’ he asked as he gave one piece to Virender. The smell wafted through Virender’s nostrils even as he looked at the door quickly, afraid that Duggal would come out and catch Turbo talking to them. ‘What do you think we are doing? Look at your bloody eyes,’ Govind said as Turbo slammed another piece of cake into his hand. Turbo’s eyes had swollen because of excessive sleep. He told them he was tired from sleeping and eating all day; he ended with a burp, apologising at once. ‘He called you out for that boxing thing, is it? Sorry, I was sleeping all day, I’ve missed most news,’ he asked Govind, continuing with the munching. ‘Let me see how long he can call us like this,’ Govind said angrily. ‘Can you explore the option of apologising to him?’ Turbo asked him. ‘I am not saying sorry to him. No one says anything about my parents, all right?’ Govind said as he looked at Virender crossly, who was caught licking his cake, oblivious of the two. ‘Look at this leechad!’ Turbo tapped Govind. They both laughed. Virender, who had momentarily forgotten his misery, suddenly remembered what a great source of tribulation Turbo had been to him. If he

could move a single part of his body without pain, he would have kicked the life out of Turbo for handing over those gloves to him. ‘How is your sinus now?’ he frowned at him raising his voice by several decibels, probably for Duggal to take notice. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Turbo took a reasonably longer sip from his cup and smiled. This was an apt reply. ‘Wait and watch. You will pay for this,’ Virender warned him. Turbo remembered something and brought the cup down. ‘Wait, guys, there’s this news for you two. I just heard some of the second-termers talking about it.’ ‘What news?’ Virender asked. ‘Made me feel pity for you,’ Turbo looked compassionately at Virender. ‘What is the news?’ Virender asked again. ‘PPET, first attempt, coming up on Monday.’ Virender’s eyes nearly popped out. ‘We will get the orders today,’ Turbo said. ‘All right guys, my bed is calling me.’ And he left. Virender checked his pulse. Reverberations of the bomb Turbo had just dropped had rendered him catatonic. At the unexpected news of their first PT test, his blood pressure instantly shot up. ‘What happened to you?’ Govind asked, taking note of the lines of concern on Virender’s forehead. ‘N-nothing,’ Virender managed a weak response. By the third week of training, he had understood what shit this physical proficiency endurance test (PPET) was all about, and hell, he knew that he was not going to pass even a single test in the first attempt. Another reason why anxiety had started to munch on him like termites feeding on timber was that while he was almost experiencing a nervous breakdown, his friends were absolutely relaxed. Turbo, probably the world’s most middling runner, had once told him that he was confident he could clear the tests easily in the second, if not in the first attempt. Govind was anyway like a genetically-engineered metahuman from the world of DC Comics and the Bhagat battalion PT field was going to be the first place where he would

showcase his superhuman abilities. But for Virender, surviving the test seemed as difficult as the jump on the Dehradun platform from the running train. He required a coolie to save him. He was sure to fail, following which Chop Suey would definitely get a mouthful from Wadhera. The cake in his mouth turned into gravel. Duggal came out of his room and found Virender and Govind standing in full compliance with his orders. Somewhat pleased, he ordered them not to be late for the study period, to go back to their rooms and come back again the next day. Turbo was right. The order that the PPET for first-termers would be held after three days, that is, on Monday, was issued that night.

The PPET came knocking at Virender’s door, blowing the trumpets of death and singing songs of sacrilege. That morning, he was up at five, even before the alarm clock that he had set across the room went off. To spare himself some time in the morning, he had slept in the clothes he was going to wear for the test. Like a goat walking itself towards the butcher on the day of Bakra Eid, he walked towards the Somnath stadium. It was a beautiful day, but Virender expected for the worst to happen to him. The endless, neon-blue sky stretching across the stadium, the whirring dragonflies, murmuring winds, blooming flowers in the morning mist, the mountains of Mussoorie situated at a faraway horizon, all of these failed to present a sight that could cheer him up. There was still some time left for Gurung, the PT coach from Nepal, to arrive. Deepak, the observation post for the day, was made to stand near the open shed to warn everybody if the coach was seen cycling towards the stadium. The first-termers had gathered at the junction of the PT field and the road. There was a white line painted there across the road with ‘2.4 km start’ written underneath in bold letters. Not just the test, there was something else troubling Virender since the time he had met Chop Suey that morning and he shared his plight with

Govind and Turbo when he met them at the starting point. ‘Chop Suey told me that Wadhera wants to see me in his office after the test. I am really worried.’ ‘What’s the big deal?’ Govind pulled out a 5 Star from his pocket and took a bite before sharing it with Turbo. He didn’t seem to be excited about the test. ‘Big deal? Wadhera means business. I know I will fail,’ Virender replied in between his rapid bites of the remaining chocolate that Turbo had passed on. ‘That you will. Haven’t you read tomorrow’s newspaper?’ Turbo chipped in. And was ignored. ‘Is Chop Suey even taking Wadhera seriously about being your buddy? I haven’t seen you two practising together,’ Govind said, bending forward for a hamstring stretch. ‘He is on his own. What can I do? I can’t go and tell this to Wadhera. Like first you fail, and then you complain.’ ‘See it’s not that difficult. Try and clear one or two easy tests like shuttles and sit-ups, if you can,’ Govind’s reply was cut short as at that moment Deepak, the OP, came running, yelling, ‘Nepali! Nepali!’ He quickly blended in with the group, seeming happy with himself for a task well accomplished. A black Atlas Goldline with a short, stout man wearing all whites appeared at the road junction. Gurung couldn’t reach the bicycle pedals with both legs at the same time. ‘All of you, line-up, there! Behind that line. Keep jogging on the spot. Warm up!’ he shouted to divert the boys’ attention elsewhere should he fall off the cycle while trying to get off. He knew he was too short for the bike that had an extra raised seat, but he insisted on looking tall at least while cycling. Havaldar Mian Ramsekh Gurung, the PT in-charge, all five feet three inches of him, was always dressed in white—white T-shirt, white shorts, white canvas shoes. The socks, although, that he wore were always red. What’s with the red socks that all PT coaches wear, the boys always wondered. Along with the other boys, Virender walked to the middle of the road and

stood behind the white marker as instructed. He sprung on the spot, in an attempt to imitate other boys who stretched, coiled, twisted and jumped to warm-up their muscles before the run. ‘Come on, babies! Bake up, shake up!’ shouted Gurung as he pulled out a whistle tied to the ribbon wound around his neck. A puerile buzz travelled through the squad. Gurung rattled out the order of the tests—a 2.4-kilometre run followed by rope climbing, chin-ups, chest-touch, sprint, push-ups, sit-ups and finally shuttles. Virender sulked. He wanted to walk up to Gurung and tell him he would wash the toilet, utensils, laundry, anything—any damn thing—if only he would excuse him from the run. Or if he could run at his own pace and, impossible though it seemed, still pass the run. Or, perhaps, if the weather forecast that he had checked last night turned out to be wrong. Staring at Gurung talk to his stopwatch, he wished for a miracle. ‘Ready...steady…’ Gurung alerted them. The butcher sharpened his knife. He blew the shrill whistle. The boys dashed like a herd of cows frantically running towards a pasture of green land. Everybody started at a relatively slower pace but Virender was probably the only one who went out too hard from the start. No sooner had he heard the whistle than he began galloping, flapping his arms and legs, soon reaching the supersonic velocity. Two-point-four meant completing two rounds of running past the battalion mess, Salaria swimming pool, classrooms, equitation cell, basketball court and the stadium. Virender covered one-fourth of this distance, roughly 500 metres, before anybody else could. And then his fuel gauge started dropping rapidly, as if the entire juice had leaked through a big hole in the tank. ‘Fuck!’ He clasped his sides in pain and stopped, feeling as if somebody had put his lungs on fire. He crouched holding his knees, breathing hard, watching the boys overtake him from both sides, as though he was a calf caught in the middle of a juggernaut of cows running away from a tiger to save their lives. He desperately attempted to re-inflate his lungs, he was sure he was dying! ‘I hate this!’ he protested to himself just when Turbo overtook him, chuckling, ‘Yeah, you’re right. You’re dying.’

‘Turbo, brother, please stop!’ Virender looked at him and shouted, exhaling in heavy spurts and pushing himself harder to continue running against the agony brewing inside him. ‘Stop, eh?’ Turbo asked jestingly. ‘Slow down, please,’ Virender implored, his voice turning rasp and sore. ‘If we’re both not going to pass the test, at least let’s stick together.’ By then, the boys who had started off slow had gained speed and were overtaking Turbo and Virender throwing long antelope strides. ‘Why are we doing this?’ Incessant beads of sweat trickled down Virender’s cheeks and a white layer of thick, stringy saliva had formed around his mouth. Turbo was now trotting next to him. ‘Doing what?’ ‘Running, dammit!’ ‘I don’t know. Shut the fuck up.’ ‘I don’t understand how is this training us for war. If a terrorist comes face to face with me tomorrow, what am I supposed to do?’ Virender gasped. ‘Start running around him, climb up a rope to scare him, or…or do a hundred push-ups? Two hundred?’ Turbo could see that the test had gotten the better of Virender. ‘Boy, what did you have for dinner?’ ‘See my whole argument is...why the heck are we doing this?’ ‘Why do you even ask? We do it every day.’ Virender did not take the discussion further. He knew they ran every day. More than three kilometres on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, while on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, there was something else. There was always something else, like the contingent run once in a while; the shortest being as long as five kilometres. The run continued. They crossed the equitation cell and could now see the long trail that the runners ahead of them had formed along the circuit. The first lap was about to end when Turbo asked, ‘What if you don’t pass your tests?’ ‘So what, I will pass the next time,’ Virender replied, looking back at an empty field behind him. They were the foot-draggers, the tailenders of that

run. ‘Not this attempt, I mean if you don’t pass at all. What will you tell Prerna when you go back to Raebareli?’ Virender stopped right there. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted at Turbo. ‘You won’t let me forget her, will you?’ ‘Not until death withers my incredible memory,’ Turbo turned back and beamed at him, he pulled him by his arm, trying to make him resume his jog. ‘She’s not in Raebareli,’ Virender said after a while. ‘Well, wherever she is. What if she comes to know that the man who had been giving her wet dreams of real orgasmic magnitudes every night, her raja babu, has been kicked out of the academy?’ ‘Will you shut up and walk now? I’m exhausted. My lungs need a few more lungs for support.’ Virender was in no mood to ponder over Turbo’s remarks about Prerna and his future. His present was freaking him out. ‘Walk? Nepali will grate our nuts with a cheese grater and feed the shavings to dogs. Keep running slowly. Let’s hit “satisfactory” at least,’ Turbo said, struggling to retie the strings of his shorts. He noticed that Virender was merely walking now, but with a jump in his step, trying to pass that off as a jog. ‘What’s the time for “satisfactory”?’ Virender enquired. ‘Eleven minutes,’ Turbo said, increasing his pace. ‘Wait. Don’t even bother. We cannot do this in eleven minutes.’ ‘I can. And I am going to,’ Turbo sneaked a quick look at his watch and sped off, leaving Virender behind. ‘You will fail! Do whatever you can but you will fail, I am telling you!’ he shouted from behind but Turbo was soon out of his sight. Now, there was no one ahead and no one behind him. He continued his stroll alone for the next one minute. It seemed to stretch for an eternity. He walked. He jogged. He strolled, savouring the morning freshness, almost as if there was not a single worry in this big, beautiful world. Just then, he heard some movement and turned back to see Govind running towards him. He was not surprised to see him leading the second lap. Swift, elegant and aggressive, as if his body had evolved for speed, with

powerful legs and adapted claws to grip the ground. But under no circumstance was Virender going to praise him for that. ‘Faster Azhar faster, Sangeeta is waiting at the finish line to give you a kiss,’ he mocked Govind, stepping aside to make way for him to proceed. ‘Don’t walk, double up, you idiot!’ Govind came alongside him and grabbed his hand tightly. He tried to pull his hand away but the grip on his wrist was firm. ‘No, please…please!’ Virender pleaded. Govind’s pull moved him with a sudden jerk and had him bouncing for the next 30 metres like a jockey who had fallen off his horse with one foot stuck in the stirrup. That 30 metres stretch was the fastest and quickest he’d ever ran. ‘How can you walk during a test?’ Govind yanked Virender as they slowed down. Virender’s right foot had somehow got half out of his shoe. He jerked his hand back. ‘I am not going to pass, then what’s the point in even trying? I will manage, you go,’ he said as he pushed his heel back into the shoe. He did not want Govind to lose out on time because of him. Govind galloped away, but before he got too far ahead, he turned back. ‘You are lucky Wadhera did not make me your buddy that day in class!’ he said and disappeared, firing on all cylinders, throwing long athletic legs towards the finish of the second lap. It took Virender some time to realise what he had said. He bent down to put his foot back into his shoe properly and then continued to walk, which was more of a drag than a walk. During the last 200 metres, already running into the 15th minute, he realised that his mood had rebelliously swung from ‘what the fuck’ to ‘fuck the world’. He had entered into a stress-free zone, where instead of worrying about the result, he decided to relish the weather and revel in the warmth of the sun. ‘Fuck Gurung, fuck Wadhera, fuck Chop Suey, fuck Duggal, fuck the whole academy.’ He morosely kicked a pebble that bounced thrice before it sealed its fate by falling into a sewer. The pebble reminded him of himself, ‘Fuck me!’ As soon as he entered the stadium, from the point where he could see the finishing line, Virender found himself considering the question that Turbo

had asked him about not passing the test at all. For Turbo’s ailing mother back home in Ahmedabad, he was like an insurgent, a mutinous rebel, who had joined the academy against her will. At his home, there would probably be a series of drunken revelries in case he failed or was thrown out of the academy. But Virender’s case was a tad bit different. He remembered how his mother had broken down at the news of his selection and that emotion had stayed with her in the form of her restrained sobbing at the railway station, but he could tell that she was proud. Proud of her son to have made such a choice. He remembered how she had run from door to door to grandiosely announce it to entire Raebareli that her son was going to join the Indian Army, and within the next 24 hours this news had travelled to his relatives nestling in different corners of the country. Any news travelled faster than a nuclear fission reaction in the Pandey family. Today, he believed that albeit his parents wouldn’t mind him leaving the military training and coming back in just a few months—his father had already predicted his homecoming from IMA in a matter of weeks to anybody who had come to congratulate him at home—if he did fail, or if he didn’t get his commission, that would come as a disgrace to them. ‘Look, look, that’s Hiralal’s son. He came back from IMA.’ And Prerna? Yes, Turbo was right. What would she think? That girl didn’t even know that he had joined the academy. He, of course, would tell her someday but what if he failed? His mind drifted back to Raebareli. He finally walked across to the finish line. He found the boys cooling down inside their enclosures, stretching their arms, legs, spine and every other body part that Virender had used in the ring the other day but not today. Gurung was busy registering the names of those who made it to ‘Good’ when Virender discreetly tiptoed to the enclosure with ‘Fail’ pasted over the thick white tape. Gurung did not notice him. ‘Fist bump!’ Ankur, who had probably closed second last in the run, welcomed him to their enclosure. ‘Nice weather,’ grinned Virender and they lightly tapped each other’s clenched fist. He then tried to look for Turbo amongst the 14 boys in his enclosure but could not find him. He looked at the ‘Satisfactory’ enclosure in front, and had to rub his eyes twice to believe that Turbo was actually standing there, waiting for Virender to spot him. They looked at each other

and Turbo dragged one finger across his neck. Damn, Virender muttered and at once began to look for Chop Suey. He found him whimpering something to himself inside the ‘Good’ enclosure. Probably that he missed the ‘Excellent’ by a few seconds is what Chop Suey must be telling everybody. Govind? He found him talking to someone in the ‘Excellent’ enclosure, of course. ‘Line up! Behind these ropes!’ Gurung unrolled the mat and dropped the ropes when he was done writing the names. The rope gallows had four, 30 feet long, thickly braided jute ropes, suspended from the horizontal beam of a heavy iron frame painted in black and white. Considering there were four ropes, Gurung could have tested four boys at a time but he asked them to get on the rope one by one. He wanted to observe each one closely. The rope climbing had three categories. ‘Third class’ was the basic test one had to pass by taking a grip on the rope with his hands and legs, and pulling up like a caterpillar’s crawling wave motion. ‘Second class’ was a shade tougher. It was more technical and certainly not for boys like Virender. Here, only the hands had to be employed, the legs would hang straight down parallel to the rope. And then the mind-boggling ‘First class’. Virender believed that anyone who could do ‘first class’ rope had some secret association with the monks of the Shaolin temple Turbo had mentioned. Here, one had to pull up using hands, and legs would be kept parallel to the ground, with the body making an ‘L’ shape. Well, Virender didn’t have to wait too long for his turn. ‘Up, third class,’ Gurung ordered. Virender took a deep breath and stepped ahead. He kissed the jute, took a firm grip and looped his legs at the ankles around it. He left the earth and started rising but within the first two leaps felt as if the strain on his arms had suddenly multiplied. ‘Hell, my arms!’ With the fourth step, his forearms began to swell. He felt that if he took another step, they would explode. Unable to defend his weight against gravity, as though somebody was physically pulling him down by his legs, he had no other choice but to give up. The rope slipped out of his hands and he came slithering down to the ground. The goat lay in a pool of blood, with dark, red fountains spurting from its neck. Virender stayed still for seven

seconds. Expressing deep concern, someone from the crowd asked Gurung, ‘Saab, should I call for an ambulance?’ ‘Bake up!’ Nepali went berserk. ‘Useless! Absolutely useless!’ Virender got up apologetically, brushing the dirt that clung to his butt. ‘God only knows how they are selecting such hopeless characters nowadays. How much did you pay to get in, Birendar Pandey? Useless!’ Virender quietly went and stood under the shade of a tree, with his head hanging low but rage surging through his veins. He closed his eyes and could read the article from tomorrow’s newspaper—‘A psychotic cadet strangles a short and ugly man from Nepal by coiling one of the ropes from the gallows around his neck. The Nepali trembled like a fish out of water before he was motionless for an excessively long time. The cadet then dragged the dead body down the road around the stadium and…’ ‘My grandparents had better physical standards than most of you. Next!’ blared Gurung, inhibiting Virender’s imagination in its path. But now, Virender could see a 90-year-old Nepali woman moving up the rope ‘first class’. He contemplated where he had gone wrong as he blankly stared at the ropes, considering maybe his grip wasn’t right. Maybe his body swung too much. Maybe there was too much moisture on the jute due to which his hands slipped. Maybe Gurung’s wife had served him burnt paranthas for breakfast. Within no time, it was apparent that Gurung was not going to compromise on his standards. To humour Virender, the next five boys in line also failed and joined him under the shade. Deriving sadistic pleasure from others’ grief, cold-blooded Virender was desperately waiting for Chop Suey’s turn. When it happened, Virender crossed his fingers. With a short prayer he pledged foregoing rumballs in the cafeteria for the next one month if Chop Suey failed. Chop Suey had already passed the run and he couldn’t bear the thought of standing next to a triumphant Chop Suey in Wadhera’s office. There was some maths involved here. His inner-peace was inversely proportional to Chop Suey’s conquest on field—the more number of tests Chop Suey cleared, the more miserable that would make Virender feel in front of Wadhera.

Chop Suey performed the drill, halted and stamped in front of the rope. He jumped up and the rope fell between his legs, he locked it with his feet and with a good grip started moving up. To Virender’s horror, he went to the top and touched the beam. But he failed the test. The technique was way off the mark according to Gurung. Eternal peace engulfed Virender. What more could he have asked for? When the red-faced Chop Suey joined his group, Virender turned and said, ‘That’s pass from my side. You reached the top after all.’ After Manish and Shankar floundered, Turbo also failed the test for swinging his body too much. Now Virender was at ultimate peace with the way things were. ‘Have you seen a monkey swinging between the trees?’ Virender mocked Turbo as he came and stood behind him. ‘Do you feel the balls swinging between your legs? A fall from that height should have crushed them,’ Turbo scoffed in return. While they were enjoying the sight of others failing, they noticed a sudden apparent change in Gurung’s behaviour. He started shouting and his actions turned ostensibly snappier. Turbo prodded Virender. They noticed a slender, grey-haired, outwardly senior officer, wearing a grey track upper over white trousers, walking towards them. The man stopped near the goalpost, at a distance from the group, to see how the Sinhgarh first-termers were performing in their test. Gurung’s mild gruntings had now transformed into loud, demented growls in order to impress the officer. He knew which first-termers had good physical standards, so he ordered Govind and Aiyappa to fall out ahead of their turn. Govind stepped out, performed the drill and confidently held the rope. Mindful that he was being watched by the officer, he threw his chest out, arched his body and without letting his legs touch the jute climbed up ‘second class’. That performance even gave Gurung a complex. ‘Bloody son of Tarzan. Because of studs like him, we are going to suffer,’ Chaddha, standing next to Virender, whined. Aiyappa turned in a slick performance as well, making Gurung’s chest inflate like a hot-air balloon. Virender thought that had the officer come 10

minutes earlier and seen him fall flat on the ground, Gurung would have probably received his posting order to Siachen Glacier. ‘Pass!’ the officer declared in a stern voice. He signalled Gurung to carry on with the test and continued with his morning stroll towards the battalion mess. Soon after the tests, Wadhera had the PT test results of Sinhgarh on his table, while Virender and Chop Suey stood in front of him. Wadhera, apparently in a very foul mood, told Virender that he was showing all the symptoms that could lead to his relegation towards the end of the term, worse he could be even asked to leave. He told Virender earnestly that he wanted to make Sinhgarh a champion company and with disappointing results such as his, it was not going to happen. The admonishment concluded with a warning that if this performance was repeated, Virender wouldn’t be spared; his life in Sinhgarh would be a living hell, he was told in no uncertain terms. ‘Man, you need to calm down. Didn’t you know the result already?’ Virender thought in his mind, but he stood there silently bearing the verbal stabs. Virender got a breather only when Wadhera shifted his focus to Chop Suey. If Virender failed in the next attempt, Chop Suey should forget his grades, his liberty and all the comforts of the academy, he was warned before they were asked to leave. All the way back to Sinhgarh, Chop Suey kept barking at Virender. But there was one thing that Wadhera had said that kept resounding in Virender’s mind like somebody was continuously firing bullets inside his head. ‘Have you even looked at yourself?’ Those were the exact words he had heard before. Those words had haunted him like a ghost. He tried not to think about the test, or his past, but the question, as though his mind had turned into an echoing corridor, kept resounding in his head, until he reached the class and put his head down on the table. ‘Dude?’ Turbo entered, kept his satchel on the table and turned his chair towards him. ‘Dude?’ he asked again rubbing his back, ‘please tell me you are not crying?’ ‘Go away!’ ‘You’re a big boy, come on!’ Virender raised his head and stared at Turbo with dry but rage-filled eyes. ‘Thank God, I thought you were weeping.’ He shook his head sideways

and sat down on the chair. ‘I am going to the PCO after the class.’ ‘What for?’ ‘I am calling home.’ ‘Home?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Not a good idea. What will you tell them? That you just failed in your tests?’ ‘Do you want to come?’ ‘What will I do over there? You go.’ ‘You can talk to your mother.’ ‘I am not sure if I want to talk to anyone at home. My mother, you don’t know this, is known by others as lady Amrish Puri. She is one angry, old woman. Angry and sick.’ ‘You don’t want to talk to her?’ ‘Not until things calm down at home.’ Virender paused. ‘Gujju family, fat bank accounts, copper factories, big cars, servants at home, what more do you want? I don’t understand why you have even come here?’ ‘The reason, whatever it is, is so much better than yours,’ Turbo replied, not expecting that the mild whisper blowing out of his mouth would trigger a cyclone. Virender felt this guy had hit him below the belt. He wasn’t expecting a ready response from him. He bit back, ‘Of course brother, who joins the academy because of a girl, right? That’s what you mean, don’t you?’ he raised his voice. The boys nearby stopped their conversation and turned their heads at them. ‘Are you two discussing girls by any chance?’ Manish tapped Virender from behind, his eyes twinkling with pervert curiosity. ‘We are talking about your mom. You can join us only if you also have a cute looking sister. With a nose ring,’ Turbo retorted with a straight face, instantly silencing him and dispatching him back to his talks. Virender got up and walked out of the class. Turbo ran after him. ‘Listen,

I didn’t…’ ‘Leave me alone,’ Virender walked towards the parking lot. Spotting the science instructor walking towards him, lugging his files, he returned back to the class, took his place and put his head down on the table. First those damn tests, then Wadhera and now Turbo. Why did he talk to him in the first place when he had decided that he’d not talk to anybody? As it is, Turbo had double-crossed him by passing the run without him. And this backstabber had even slyly grabbed his sinus excuse during the boxing match. He would not talk to him, or to anyone, at least not for a day, Virender decided. He had his lunch alone and spent the rest of the day by himself. Though he realised he hadn’t practised at all, his skin crawled at the thought of being tagged as a failure. He hadn’t set his sails to fail; failing never feels good. And what made it worse was that there was no one he could’ve shared his feelings with. Moreover, his thoughts had been corrupted by the seed that Turbo had sown in his mind. It had germinated like a creeper, attached itself to the walls of his heart and rapidly swelled towards his mind. He could feel the balloon of his vanity burst and a feeling of contrition hit him hard. He had to prove it to others, especially to Prerna, that he had outgrown the person he used to be. Clearly, he had taken a life-changing step because of her and she wasn’t even aware of his feat. A series of speculations hit him. Suppose he called her up and she said she did not want him to join the army? But what if she said she was okay with his decision and then he was kicked out of this place for not being able to complete his training? Or what if she simply didn’t care? Wouldn’t that be worse? And suppose he got fed up of how hostile everybody was towards him, changed his mind, and decided to go back to Raebareli? He knew the bus he had climbed full of illusions of success had helped him make it to the academy but its tyres had been deflated the moment it had rolled through that black gate. And why, he cursed himself, why was he thinking about Prerna? He was surprised he was having a rough decision to make—allegiance to his parents or Prerna? Parents, they had spent a lifetime raising him with their unconditional love. He remembered the sacrifices made by his mother, who had had sleepless nights to make sure he slept peacefully, who had put her only son above all her needs and wants and

who had constantly appeared in his mind standing on the platform fighting her tears, watching her son go away from her as though he was being wrenched away from her. And his father, from whom he had learnt the true meaning of hard work, who worked day and night to support his family and to make sure his only son’s needs and aspirations were taken care of. What was Prerna in front of them? Why should he call her at all? Prerna was everything. And he should call her immediately—ultimately, his mind was as clear as the summertime sky. Taking Turbo’s advice as an excuse that his mother would sense the sadness in his voice because he had failed, he apologised to his parents in his mind and took down Prerna’s hostel landline number from his diary. He reached the PCO before games period. A Tamilian named Muthu ran the shop. The PCO was meant for outgoing calls only. For incoming, a green Beetle set was kept outside Sgt Duggal’s room. Virender had its number noted down, just in case Prerna asked for it. Maths again. Factoring in nine long years of perpetual emotions—everlasting friendship from her side, and undying one-sided love from his—he could prove to anyone that the probability of an incoming call from her was greater than zero. The PCO was packed. The sight made Virender uneasy. Mostly, there were seniors crowded inside, waiting for their turn. He noticed two firsttermers sitting on a wooden bench near the entrance—backs straight, hands extended unbendingly out in front holding their knees, heads taut as though frozen on their necks and eyes gazing straight at the wall in front. Why were they seated like that? Dark magenta T-shirts told him that they were from the Keren company. Just when he stepped into the booth, a hand suddenly blocked his path. ‘Stop!’ someone said, and he complied. ‘What brings you here?’ the owner of that hand asked. Virender steered his eyes away from the hand to the face that had a jaw chewing gum so menacingly, it instantly reminded him of a black cat signalling disaster. Red T-shirt, Casino company, he noted. The starving eyes of his intimidator and his allies standing behind, giving Virender a cocky stare, made him feel that these guys had probably been deprived of victims for a while. They must have been waiting in a queue for a long time and he was about to offer

himself to them to kill their time. He wanted to wriggle out of that situation, saying he’d come back later, but the first boy repeated, ‘Oi! I asked you something.’ ‘I-I have to make a call.’ ‘Girlfriend, eh? I can see that in your eyes,’ the boy slurped. Virender was not sure what this boy wanted to hear. Any word tumbling out of his stammering lips could lead to dire consequences, could even be against his liking. Who knows what these fools have in mind? His brain started whirring. The only answer that echoed in his mind was ‘say anything but a girl’. ‘Sir, I…um…I…home, I have to call up home,’ he said, fear finally having crept up on him. “Ha! Another one!’ One guy looked at the other and slapped his upraised palm. ‘Home, really?’ the gang leader asked again and broke into a cynical laughter. You got that absolutely right, you pig, now fuck off and let me get inside, Virender was compelled to utter but he simply nodded in response. ‘Home’ was probably the most guiltless reply he could have come up with anyway. ‘You don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Come on, you can confide in me.’ The boy winked at the others and cackled. ‘N-no, why?’ ‘Why he wants to know…’ Now all four started laughing their guts out like dacoits celebrating a grand loot. ‘Don’t you all see how nervous he is?’ the leader told others and focussed back on Virender. ‘He is already missing his mummy. Don’t listen to them,’ he said, ‘come here... Come to your uncle. Uncle has a small crèche here made specially for you,’ he leaned forward and with a swing of his hand indicated the bench on his right. What? How could he go wrong with that, Virender thought, dragging baby-steps towards the bench and sitting down in an exact pose like the other two boys. ‘Tsk tsk tsk.’ He could clearly hear Muthu making sympathetic noises as he turned pages at the counter. The bench now had three boys.

‘Perfect, that completes the frame. Three wise monkeys,’ said someone from the gang. Virender gave him a murky side glance. The leader stood in front of the bench, ‘Get your fundas straight in life, idiots. Girlfriends get priority over here. That’s a rule.’ He raised his hand to the first cubicle on his left. ‘Look there, he is also a first-termer like you. Wondering how did he get a chance? The smartass is talking to his girl and just look at you babies. Home.’ He snorted. Virender turned his head to see who was inside the cubicle when a boy shouted, ‘Don’t move, bugger!’ What the heck, Virender smouldered. Didn’t his leader just say ‘look there’? There were two cubicles in the PCO. Virender could tell the one in the booth closer to him had a Bengali second-termer inside because one could probably hear his loud Bengali conversation all the way till Mussoorie. The other one, with the first-termer still inside, was inaudible. Virender was curious to know who he was. Well, the guy would be out soon, he thought, as the time-limit was defined ‘strictly’ for the juniors, ‘economically’ for the seniors. After about three minutes, the boy pushed the door and came out. Virender took his eyes to their extreme right. Shit, Govind? It was him? He stopped breathing. What if Govind saw him in that comic position? The thought made him cringe and stop all his movements, including his breathing. Virender tracked him with his rolling eyeballs as Govind moved to the counter. He kept a 50 rupees note on the table and took the change. While moving out of the PCO without even looking at Virender, he whispered, ‘Don’t be late for games.’ Heck, Virender acted as if he did not notice Govind or anything that he said. To his dismay, Govind patted his shoulder, looked at him, clearly trying not to laugh, ‘Finish your call fast. Don’t get late.’ Virender blinked a yes, wanting to bury his head inside like a tortoise, almost melting out of shame. Govind walked out of the shop. Under other circumstances, he would have probably run out of the booth and given up on that call. But he had waited long enough to talk to Prerna. Despite his butt cheeks getting numb, he decided to wait until it was his turn.

He was embarrassed because Govind saw him sitting like that. Wait, Govind has a girlfriend? Curiosity overpowered him. Why did he never tell them about her? He would find out about that soon, Virender thought, waiting for his turn. He was constantly checking the time on the wall clock. He neither wanted to get late for the report nor return without talking to Prerna. His benchmates, who had discreetly informed him that they genuinely wanted to call home, had already left without making any call. It was another 15 minutes before the last boy left the booth, asking him to hurry up. He dashed into the booth. Reaching out for the receiver, he could feel his stomach squirm. His arms hurt so much that he felt like cutting them off. But the nervous excitement of finally hearing Prerna’s voice made him forget all the pain. It had been more than a year. Perhaps, she wouldn’t want to talk to him or had even forgotten who he was. He wasn’t sure if she would be sorry for whatever she had done to him, for all those words. He took a deep breath and his fingers worked on the dial pad. The phone of a girls’ hostel rang somewhere in Bangalore. With every ring, his heart missed a beat. He clutched the receiver tightly with both hands, exchanged ears, exchanged hands and when he was almost sure that nobody would attend to his call, a girl came on the line. He gave her Prerna’s details and she told him that Prerna had left the hostel and moved into an apartment with her friends. She asked him to wait and went to get the number where Prerna could be contacted. He waited. Anxiety spread inside him like toxic algae, sucking all the oxygen from his body. He could hear music and the shrill voices of girls talking in the background. The girl returned and had him note down a number. He memorised it and thanked her. He disconnected the call, dialled again and the phone rang somewhere in an apartment. He quickly detached himself from the receiver and peeked outside to see if anybody was spying on him. There was nobody. When he returned to the receiver Prerna was already on her third or fourth ‘hello’. He recognised her voice. ‘H-hh-hello... h-hi, sorry.’ Convulsions hit him. ‘Who is this?’

‘Veer,’ he uttered, taking quick breaths to calm down his nerves. ‘Veer!’ Prerna exclaimed, and excitement surged inside him, strong enough to explode the cubicle he was in. ‘After so long? You remembered me now?’ ‘I had gone to your place to meet you but you had left by then.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Oh, I am so sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I am so happy to hear your voice after so long. Where are you calling from? What are you doing nowadays?’ She asked expected questions. The time had come for him to set aside his insecurities, to align his forces to overcome the dragons guarding the fortress, to surmount all barriers and conquer her delicate, vulnerable heart. ‘I’ve joined the army,’ he said, confident that his triumphant reply would shatter the shield of her whimsical demeanour. ‘Army? You and the army?’ she said in a tone so patronising he felt as if a half-dead dragon had returned to set his backside on fire. ‘To prove it to you that I am someone, not a worthless fellow, but you never acknowledged my worth’ was the right answer perhaps, but he merely said, ‘I wanted to give you a surprise but I was shocked instead when your mother told me that you were gone.’ ‘I am so sorry. I was busy packing and taking care of other stuff before I left. I did not get any time to meet anybody.’ He said it was okay and switched the topic to tell her about the academy and his routine but kept it short. There was a constraint of time, and with every beep of the meter, his craving for digging into the happenings of her life were burgeoning like the potbelly of his teens. She said she was happy to be in Bangalore, where everything was so different from their hometown. The pub culture was fascinating; late night outs, movies with her friends and eating out were a regular affair. Going to college was a mere formality. Dutifully and soundlessly listening to her, Virender was trying to find that one thing on her routine that he could relate with his life in Sinhgarh. Bangalore sounded like Jupiter to him. Prerna told him that it hadn’t even been three months that she had moved from the hostel into an apartment with

two other girls, Anushka and Riya, who were now moving in with their boyfriends over the coming weekend. The apartment would then be too expensive for her alone. ‘I knew this arrangement with both of them wouldn’t last long,’ she said. ‘Now I have to look for some solution, as soon as possible.’ ‘Why don’t you look out for new flatmates and share the rent with them?’ Virender asked with a genuine concern, not realising that their conversation was getting cornered to just Prena’s specific problems, with him playing the role of an amenable listener. He was accustomed to this. This was exactly what he had done for nine years and he had played this role to such perfection, he thought he deserved an Oscar for best actor in a supporting role. ‘You know how it is. There are so many girls looking for accommodation. But finding the one with whom you are comfortable, that’s a big problem here. Besides, I don’t have much time to wait nor can I pay so much rent on my own.’ ‘So, what have you thought?” ‘Well, I haven’t yet really started checking out other flats. I have ten days to vacate this one.’ ‘Go back to the hostel. It couldn’t be as bad as you think.’ ‘Hostel? Do you even know what you are talking about? You want me to go back into that prison and handover the keys to that stupid bitch of a warden? Could you please suggest something more practical?’ Prerna reacted so loudly that Virender pulled the receiver away from his ear to gauge how far her voice could be heard. Assuring himself that it wasn’t loud enough, he returned to the call. He could see the dragons waking up one by one. ‘I’m sure this is not as major an issue as you’re making it out to be. There are these agents who can get you a good deal. Try and find out more information from your friends,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked someone. There is this guy in my college who is helping me find a good place to stay,’ Prerna said. ‘Yes you will find many like him. These brokers get you a good deal.’ ‘He is not a broker, Veer. He is my senior. Tushar. He is in the second

year.’ Huh? Second year, senior? An alarm rang inside his head. He could sense jeopardy like a tightrope walker experiencing giddiness. Why would a senior show interest in helping her with this task? The word ‘senior’ at IMA only meant one thing—‘your biggest enemy’. ‘He’s really nice. He makes me feel comfortable. In fact, he talks to me like a friend,’ she said. This guy Prerna had started talking about totally blanked Virender out on her flat’s problem. He could smell something burning. And she didn’t just stop there. She released more details that had nothing to do with anyone helping anyone with a problem like the one she had mentioned. He was from Nagpur. He was in a different department. Although he was not very attractive, but he was sort of caring. She had known him for three months. ‘In fact, he suggested that I move in with him till I find some other place to stay,’ she said, and that made Virender jump up from that rickety plastic chair. She, of course, did not realise if she had said anything disturbing at all. What the heck was going on? ‘What have you decided then?’ he asked, trying to sound normal. ‘I think it’s a good idea. I mean, if nothing else works out and this period of ten days runs out, then…’ ‘But you don’t know this person,’ he said. She shot down his concern point-blank. ‘Come on Veer, how long does it take to know someone?’ If not a lifetime, certainly not more than nine years, he thought desolately. He peeked at the meter showing time and money gone in red digital fonts in front of his eyes. Wadhera had come to take the report the last time and he had less than three minutes to reach the field. He rushed to close the topic. He told Prerna that she was a sensible girl and that she should do what she felt was best for her. He had always been awful at saying goodbye to her but he forced himself to end the conversation. When he stepped out of the booth for a breath of fresh air, there was a clarity in his mind. He was absolutely sure of one thing—that cupid hadn’t written the manuscript of his love story; maybe, he had outsourced it to some

old, grumpy goblin. Suddenly, he gulped noticing two red T-shirts standing at the door staring at him. ‘Have you been excused from the games fall in?’ one of them asked him. He kept a 100 rupee note on the counter and without taking the change from Muthu ran towards the field. That night, Govind told him that it wasn’t any girl he had called; he was talking to his mother, who was coming to meet him over the weekend. How cleverly he could fool those red T-shirts, Virender thought.

SIX

The Reason ne, two or, maybe, even three boys together? Have to run. No matter how far the destination is. Only if you are four, five or six in strength, you can be called a squad, and a squad is allowed to march comfortably. Rule for the bikes? Less than four? Run with the Atlas Goldline or find a group to form a squad to be able to ride like the commoners. Virender, Turbo and Govind had to wait for about 10 minutes on the road outside Sinhgarh to get hold of a fourth guy. And then they pedalled towards the cafeteria where Govind’s mother was waiting for him. The café was next to the library in the north block. The north and south block of the academy were connected by Dehradun-Chakrata road and the high, brick-red boundary walls of the two blocks ran parallel to the road. A moderate traffic always occupied the road with a two-way movement of mostly light vehicles. A guard sometimes stood in the middle, taking charge to regulate the rush hour traffic. The cadets had to dismount their bikes at the main gate to cross the road on foot, which was like a fleeting exposure to the outside world for them. The boys got down at the main gate and, pushing their bikes to cross the highway, they walked towards the north block. The traffic was faint at 11 AM. The sage green leaves of the trees crowding the edge of the gate seemed to be whispering in the wind, and the Sunday sun was playing hide and seek with the clusters of fluffy clouds in the blue sky. They were just about to enter the north block when their attention was drawn to a yellow auto rickshaw with a black roof that drifted in from the highway and stopped in front of the main gate. A girl stepped out of the auto. She paid the driver; he thanked her and promptly scooted away. She hung a

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small purse with a long strap across her shoulder and entered the gate, walking elegantly, as if deriving pleasure in the ‘click clack’ sound of her black high-heeled shoes. The purse bounced on her hip as she walked briskly swinging her free arm. Her long, thick, brown hair rolled down her shoulders ending inches above her willowy waist. In her own aura of beauty, she walked like a water nymph that had mistakenly landed on the ground, oblivious to the fact that she had risen the temperature of the deportee-squad that was now following her quite closely. Cast under her spell, blanking out on the waiting mother, the boys started following her instead. ‘Psst, psst!’ Turbo animatedly indicated the girl to others who had their eyes already glued to the white top over her fitting dark grey trousers. Virender tapped his arm, indicating he needed to control his emotions. ‘You guys think she wants a ride, don’t you?’ Turbo said. Then turning to look at the girl again, and as though operating under the spell of a lecherous spirit, asked, ‘Lift, baby, lift? Even before the others could tell him how loud he was, the girl promptly turned back to face them. ‘Excuse me?’ she said, brusquely firing a cat-aboutto-strike look that moved from Govind to Virender, letting off the main culprit standing in between the two of them. ‘Turbo, you horny bastard!’ Virender snarled through clenched teeth, even as his eyes agreed that the girl was indeed hot. All that ogling, then commenting and turning, followed by the questioning transpired so quickly that they had no pre-rehearsed reaction to bail themselves out of that situation. The girl’s stare pierced through Virender. He quaked and glanced sideways at Govind. Govind swung his head towards Turbo, who quickly looked at Manish accusingly, the poor boy who had no role but to complete the squad. ‘What? Sister, I don’t even know these guys properly,’ Manish said, his face turning red, willing to wet his shorts if that meant saving him from a big trouble. ‘What I heard didn’t sound much sister-like!’ the girl raised her voice by a few decibels. Standing in the open, with nowhere to hide, they could only vacuously gaze at her face. Virender wanted to drag Turbo by his wrist like a kid in front of this girl

to make him admit that he was the culprit, but Virender was the kind who avoided spotlight in social situations, specially the ones which involves the opposite sex. He could’ve awarded 10,000 restriction runs to Turbo on the spot—one restriction meant having to run for five kilometres in dungarees with the rifle and loaded packs as a punishment. ‘S-s-sorry sorry,’ Govind murmured, and mounted his bike hurriedly. Without bothering about the squad, he pedalled alone towards the café. ‘Oye, one minute! Listen!’ Turbo shouted at Govind from behind and dragging his bike a few steps, mounted with a jump and sped behind him. Virender found the girl gawking at him again. That brought a cold sweat to his face. All he wanted to do was to quickly burrow into the earth and never be seen again until the next Big Bang. ‘E-excuse me,’ he said, jumped on his bike and pedalled behind Turbo to get away from her as quickly as possible, leaving behind Manish who was going to the library alone. Shaking in his shoes, Manish looked right and then left, and then his lips started to move, and his hands went up in the air. ‘S-sister, it wasn’t me… I swear.’ The girl shook her head and walked off in a huff. None of the three dared to look back until they reached the café safely. When Turbo parked his bike at the bicycle stand outside the café, a redfaced Govind was already waiting for him. Virender came huffing and puffing from behind. ‘Saale Shakti Kapoor!’ he shouted at Turbo in disgust as he applied the brakes. He was never good at handling girls, let alone the angry ones who’ve just been ogled at. ‘What’s wrong with this A.K. Hangal?’ Turbo shrugged at Govind, making an innocent face. ‘What’s wrong? Do you have an idea where we were standing?’ Govind asked in return. ‘Have you not seen girls in your life?’ Virender pulled the bike to the main stand and walked towards Turbo with an angry face. There was this confidence in his stride that he had seen enough girls himself. ‘Not many since I came here. Yes, I can tell you the number of tools I have seen, including the tiny little soldier of yours.’ ‘So that gives you the license to hit on the first girl that comes in front of

you? We were standing right next to the drill office, you idiot!’ Govind said. ‘So?’ ‘What if she complains?’ ‘Come on!’ Turbo threw his hands in the air. ‘Stop overreacting, you two. You guys might not know this but girls are highly receptive to such compliments. She wanted to know who said it so that his name gets added to her waiting list.’ ‘Wait a minute,’ Virender grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. ‘In which language “lift, baby, lift” is admiring or complimenting someone, you moron?’ Turbo grinned cheekily. ‘Aunty is waiting inside,’ he said, dragging both of them by their arms. ‘Complains…’ he teased Govind, as they walked inside. ‘By the way, I liked your s-sorry... sorry…,’ he mimicked Govind and laughed inwardly. Govind gave him a hard knock on his back. During the weekends, the cafeteria was a cacophony of loud overlapping conversations. It was a big hall, teeming with the boys and their guests, with the kitchen busy catering to their orders and the waiters occupied with their table-serving duties. Almost all the chairs were occupied, save for the few at the table in the farthest corner where Govind’s mother was sitting alone. Govind’s eyes sparkled with delight to see her. She saw him and got up, he walked up to her and piously touched her feet, she threw her outstretched arms around him in that try-not-to-cry moment. There was a youthful confidence around her. She was not overly old, in her early 50s perhaps, but the wrinkles she wore on her face made her attractive face look seasoned with time. She had an assuring voice and an unconventional persona. She had travelled from Pune to Delhi by train and then taken a bus from ISBT to get to Dehradun. It was a long journey and though Govind had tried to dissuade her not to travel so far, he knew once she had drawn up a plan, she would not listen to anyone. Govind’s mother—who people said was a perfect match for Col Mahajan, the crazy paratrooper, as Govind’s father was called—was a headstrong woman. What was the distance of Pune to Dehradun for her when she had travelled across the opposite ends of India, from Ladakh to Kanyakumari, as

a pillion on an Enfield with her husband. That was almost 25 years back and the trip had taken them six days. The adventurous couple loved to travel long distances. Although, this time she was travelling alone. Govind sat facing his mother. Virender and Turbo took their seats next to him. The waiter came and took the order for lunch. Virender surreptitiously noticed a green jute bag kept on the floor next to Mrs Mahajan’s feet while she talked to him and Turbo, telling them what a whining brat Govind was as a kid—that he would hit his head on the wall if his demands weren’t met, that he would wail at midnight and demand things that appeared in his dream, and that he was a very naughty child but he grew up to be a sincere and focussed boy. When it was Turbo’s turn, he told her about the situation at his home in Ahmedabad. He relayed his mother’s stance of not being in favour of him joining the academy. ‘She wanted me to stay at home and look after the business but I am not good with numbers. I tried to make her understand but mom wouldn’t listen to me.’ Turbo said. ‘I am sure she will understand one day.’ ‘I don’t know. Sometimes, I wonder if anyone from my home will even come for the piping ceremony.’ ‘Piping? That’s next year, on the last day. Aren’t you thinking too far ahead into the future. Complete your training first,’ Virender chipped in. Turbo looked at him. ‘I think an ATP like you should be worrying about that,’ he said silencing Virender right away. ‘ATP?’ she asked. ‘All Tests Pending. Virender is the stud of our course,’ Turbo said, landing a solid thwack on Virender’s back. Virender averted everyone’s eyes and signalled the waiter to get the food quickly. She shook her head. ‘Never mind, he will pass his tests soon, I am sure,’ she said and addressed Turbo, ‘Well, you don’t have to worry if no one comes from your home. I’ll be there, all right?’ Turbo beamed at her. ‘Thank you, Aunty.’ ‘You don’t have to thank me, you remind me of my…’ she began, then

stopped, and looked at Govind. ‘Did you tell them about Rohan?’ ‘I haven’t, I will tell them,’ Govind said. ‘Rohan?’ Turbo asked. ‘His brother,’ she said. ‘He was just like you—wanted to see himself in uniform one day, wanted to be a paratrooper like his father—crazy and restless. I had kept the stars his father wore when he became a lieutenant for him…,’ she said, and her voice tapered off a bit. Govind clasped her hand and pressed it softly. The brief awkwardness did not go unnoticed. Virender realised there was something significant there unknown to the rest of them. ‘Rohan, where is he now?’ he asked her. ‘With his father,’ she replied. ‘All right, let’s just make space for the food,’ Govind announced as he saw the waiter manoeuvring his way towards them with steel plates and bowls in his hands. Once he had laid out the main course, he took the order for desserts and left. They ate. Virender noticed that Govind wasn’t quite comfortable and though he read the emotion in that silence, he refrained from asking him anything. Sensing the awkwardness at the table, the mother excused herself and went to the washroom. Virender filled his glass with water and had just started drinking from it when his eyes strayed towards the entrance. With a splash, he spurted the water in his mouth. ‘Drink properly, you clown!’ Turbo frowned at him. With a twitch of his eyes, Virender signalled him and Govind to look towards the entrance. They did, and instantly squirmed in their chairs when they saw the girl they had encountered at the gate entering the café. The girl found a place at a just vacated table that wasn’t too far from them. She looked around casually—evidently waiting for someone—and they ducked to hide from her. ‘What if she is related to a second-termer or some officer?’ Turbo whispered to them, and the thought of it made Virender’s heart flutter. The girl began scribbling something on a piece of paper that she had pulled out of her handbag, probably conscious of the fact that she had caught the attention of all the cadets in the café. She had a distinct personal style, a

teen attitude perhaps, the psychedelic effect of which made two boys staring at her bump into each other while holding their lunch plates full of gravy. The sight of a girl in the academy was as strange as a firang on the streets of Sadar Bazaar in Raebareli. Growing up, Virender himself had chased a few, as if they had just landed in a UFO from a distant planet. The girl pressed a pen between her lips, her eyes moving up and down the paper on which she was jotting down something. Everytime she brushed back stray strands of hair falling across her face, the cafeteria echoed with a collective sigh of cadets. Just then, a creature, pasty-faced and nauseating, completely opposite to this beauty, walked in through the entrance. Chop Suey walked straight to the girl’s table, graciously greeted her like a gentleman, pulled out a chair and sat across with a smile on his face that was actively abhorred at the academy for how offensively ugly it was. Turbo, Govind and Virender, all three were knocked for six. ‘I should go and save her from that monster!’ Turbo stooped on Virender. ‘What if he’s her knight in shining...’ staring bitterly at Chop Suey, Virender couldn’t even complete the thought. ‘My foot! What’s the time now? He had to report for punishment, didn’t he?’ ‘It’s twelve thirty.’ Chop Suey had gone for an official reporting for the punishment he was awarded for improper turnout in the morning drill parade. Preparing the uniform for the drill wasn’t a joke, and Chop Suey had learnt his lesson that morning. To put it more clearly, the sole of each drill boot was supposed to have precisely 13 nails, and Chop Suey’s boot had 12. Now that was a crime. ‘He never told us about any girl, did he?’ Turbo mumbled as he masticated his food, intermittently gazing at Chop Suey schmoozing with his tablemate. ‘Is everything fine?’ Govind’s mother asked as she again joined them and noticed that the boys were distracted. ‘Ajay, Virender’s best friend,’ Govind said, pointing at Chop Suey. ‘Why don’t you ask him to join us?’ she took that literally.

‘It’s okay Maa, he is enjoying himself.’ In the meantime, Chop Suey noticed the gang sitting together. He waved at them. Shit! Virender immediately looked away. He did not want to be under the direct gaze of that girl all over again. But that bastard Chop Suey was adamant. He got up from his table, said something to the girl and walked towards them. The girl followed. Chop Suey reached the table and wished Govind’s mother. The girl came and stood beside him. ‘Ah, come on beta, pull a chair. In fact, two—one also for the beautiful lady,’ Govind’s mother greeted them with a warm smile. ‘Hello boys!’ Chop Suey said loudly with all the josh he could muster. ‘Oye! What are you doing here? Have you come back from reporting?’ Virender said, as though hugely surprised to find Chop Suey standing in front of them. ‘Long back,’ Chop Suey said, dragged two chairs from the adjacent table and sat next to Virender, allowing the girl to sit between him and Govind’s mother. She was now too close to not recognise the three faces she had met at the gate. Staring at them, she resolutely crossed her arms, her crescent shaped eyebrows came together, her velvet-black eyelashes blinked and her nostrils flared. They gave her an apologetic smile. Chop Suey called the waiter and placed the order for the two new additions to the table. After the waiter left, Chop Suey first introduced himself to Govind’s mother, followed by the girl whom he said was his sister, Avni. Turbo, Govind and Virender wanted to go back to school and study biology and the laws of genetics all over again. They had got it all wrong it seemed. So Chop Suey was her brother and nothing more? Turbo mused. He wanted to get into a circle with Virender and Govind to perform the congratulatory tribal dance to that but decided it wouldn’t look appropriate in the cafeteria. Chop Suey and Avni proved themselves to be the mother of all contrasts. It was not just the colour, even their features had such a contrast that it should have been criminal to call them siblings. Avni was a medical student in her second year. Her college was at

Rishikesh Road, about 30 kilometres from IMA. She told all this to Govind’s mother, making the others feel as though they weren’t even present there, understandably because of Turbo’s earlier behaviour. ‘I wanted to come earlier but something or the other always came up. But I am glad I came today and got a chance to meet you, Aunty,’ she said as the waiter brought desserts and started collecting used plates from the table, all the while eyeing her slyly. Understandable, considering the poor guy would be fed up of watching hordes of crew-cut heads all day. Avni wasn’t just attractive; from her talks, she also appeared to be a smart and intelligent woman who could make others feel invigorated. Her thoughts were real and her words powerful. When she was asked why did she choose to become a doctor, she replied that her brother had chosen a profession that protects the conditions that make life possible, and that’s why she had decided to preserve that life. ‘Well said!’ Virender clapped. Alone. And stopped at once. Others laughed while Avni gave him a soft smile in response—a smile of approval that broke the barrier between them. The twinkle in her deep, brown eyes when she smiled made her look even more beautiful. One by one, the boys stole the moment to talk to her. Turbo talked to her about their crazy routine and the PT tests, and told Govind’s mother about her son’s brilliant performance on the field, and that everybody else was failing because he had set the bar too high. Apparently, fascinated with Govind, Avni took special interest in this part. While Turbo engaged the audience, Virender had his fingers crossed under the table that Turbo should not expose his results in front of the guests. As it is, Chop Suey’s presence was making him uncomfortable, reminding him of the looming PT tests. Thankfully, Turbo spared him. They got up after the meal. Considering it was safe to clarify the earlier misunderstandings, Virender told Avni that it was Turbo who had passed that comment and that he and Govind had absolutely nothing to do with it. ‘Say it, and we will even disown him,’ he added and she laughed. Govind’s mother picked up the jute bag kept next to her chair. She had brought some snacks and homemade food for the boys, she said, but before

she could handover the bag to Govind, Virender hijacked it midway, thanking her in return. He had been keeping an eye out for that bag. What a reward for sacrificing his Sunday siesta to meet Govind’s mother, he smiled inside. Regardless of the place, time and audience, he had this incredible ability of coming fork-to-face with food. Meeting people and talking to them was all good but for him eating was always much more fun. He could’ve polished the entire stuff alone but the problem was klepto-parasitic second-termers waiting in Sinhgarh. They knew that Govind’s mother had come to meet him and that Govind would get something to eat. He had to because no parent came to the academy empty-handed. Those famished dogs were certainly going to ask for their share. Virender decided to hide half of the stuff in his box before anyone came to know of it. Govind’s mother and Avni spent the entire day with them. From the cafeteria, they moved to the Chetwode hall, the main building of IMA, where they learnt that the erstwhile campus of the Indian Railways’ Staff College was given to the IMA by the government, and Field Marshal Sir Philip Chetwode, the Commander-in-Chief of India, had inaugurated the academy in the year 1932. Another interesting fact was that the first batch of 40 cadets had soldiers like Sam Manekshaw, Smith Dun and Mohammad Musa, who went on to become the chiefs of armies of India, Burma and Pakistan respectively. Avni looked around. She found the academy, the lush green campus and its surroundings to be much more resplendent than what she had heard from her brother over the phone. The broad roads, the stately British architecture, the Khetrapal auditorium, the gallantry of the martyrs, the splendor, the glamour—everything was a new experience for her. Govind’s mother explained to Avni everything that she had learnt during her visits to the academy with her husband. She had distinct memories of her previous visits with him. She remembered the platoon barracks where he had stayed, the battalion mess where he used to have his meals, the drill ground, the view of River Tons silhouetted by the Himalayas, everything was vividly etched in her mind. ‘Where is he now?’ Avni asked her, only to get an impassable look in

return. Before his mother could reply, Govind said, ‘Let’s go Maa. It’s time for us to go back, otherwise we will be late.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and steered her away from Avni, away from an imminent uneasy moment. But he stopped after a few steps and turned back to look at her. ‘Dad was killed in a terrorist attack last year,’ he said. An expression of pain and guilt streaked across Avni’s face. She lowered her eyes and pursed her lips. Virender, Turbo and Chop Suey gave a staggered look to Govind who simply walked towards the parking while holding his mother by her shoulder. Watching the mother and son walk like that made Virender feel a quiver inside his head. The question he had asked Govind’s mother about Rohan just a short while ago. And her response, ‘With his father’. The air suddenly felt devoid of oxygen. Turbo and Chop Suey seemed just as shocked, and neither of them said a word after that. They silently followed Govind. It was time for the guests to leave. Final goodbyes were being exchanged when Avni walked up to Govind. Their eyes met. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. He simply smiled at her. The boys formed a squad and pedalled towards Sinhgarh. They did not talk much. What had happened to his father and brother was what Virender wanted to know.

Later that night, Virender and Turbo went to Govind’s room. Preparing his bed to sleep, Govind tucked the last corner of the bedsheet under the mattress and without even looking at them said, ‘Come, sit. I was waiting for you guys.’ ‘Here, just in case they ask,’ Virender said, handing over the half-empty jute bag to him and promptly seated himself on the bed. Turbo pulled the recliner chair forward. Govind looked into the bag first and then at Virender. ‘Don’t worry. Your laddoos are safe in my room, kept them inside the trunk. They might raid your room anytime,’ Virender said. Govind kept the bag on the table.

‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’ Turbo came to the point. ‘Wait,’ Govind said as he latched the door from inside and turned off the light. He switched on the table lamp as it was already lights out in Sinhgarh. ‘We didn’t even know you had a brother,’ Virender said. Govind just shrugged, leaning against the table. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because everything is still so fresh in my mind, I did not want to talk or think about it. I did not want to talk to anyone about Baba and Rohan but I knew that I would have to tell you guys someday. It was just a matter of time,’ he said. ‘You can tell us now,’ Virender said. And then came a serious pause, as though Govind was deciding in his mind where to begin from. His eyes did not wander, his voice remained in complete control when he narrated his story to his friends, ‘Baba was in Special Forces. He was just about to take over the command of a sector. Rohan, he was three years younger to me. As kids, Baba was our hero—the strongest man in the world. Steel-bodied, mentally resilient, overpowering, rugged-face kind of strong. We never realised then how tough Baba’s life was and he was mostly posted away from home. Baba’s attitude towards life was different; one had to be brave, like him, and have that attitude to be able to live and celebrate that kind of a life. The days of his vacation belonged to us though, but those we felt were never enough. I would cry when Baba would leave for deployment. Rohan, that way, was stronger. He never cried, even as a child, and I remember how he would tell Baba, “I want you to come back with one more medal next time, one day Baba you will be a walking wall of these ribbons.” And then Baba would lift him overhead and put him onto his shoulders.’ ‘He used to call whenever he could, from wherever he was posted, and then Maa would hand over the phone to me or to Rohan, whoever reached her first. He would ask about Rohan’s basketball practise, his new record in swimming, our studies, any new song that I had learnt, any book that I had picked up to read, and then we would understand that for long we won’t get to hear him again. During all the shorter and longer periods of his absence, we longed to be with him. And then we grew up.’

‘By the time I went to college, I had somehow developed an aversion to Baba’s job. I could not bear to see him leaving us alone for months like that. I could not see it back then that I was growing up to be a changed person and that I was distancing myself from him, though nothing changed for Rohan. He vowed to put on the maroon beret like Baba.’ ‘I’m sorry, I think I am getting carried away. Am I boring you with too many unnecessary details? That’s why I did not want to talk about this. When I remember Baba and Rohan, I remember them in totality,’ said Govind while trying to fight a tear that had begun to well up in his eyes. ‘No, please continue. You are actually talking for the first time,’ insisted Virender. ‘One day, when we were kids, I remember Baba was at home. He showed us a letter from some local commander of Hizb-ul-Mujahideen. He read that to us, “Major Saab, you are causing a lot of trouble to the servants of Allah in the holy land. You have fifteen days to pack your bags and leave this place, or we will be forced to avenge the blood and deaths of our people. Khuda hafiz.” That day, Baba laughed a lot. Maa and I got very scared but Rohan laughed with him. “Baba, I want you to punish this man, whoever he is,” Rohan demanded from him, and got a hi-five in return. Baba left next week and a week later than that, Rohan’s wish was fulfilled. Another medal was added to Baba’s chest. He was a terror amongst the terrorists. Everybody called him a crazy paratrooper. That crazy paratrooper was Rohan’s inspiration.’ ‘After college, I landed a job in Bombay. Baba was posted at Gurez Valley, ahead of Srinagar, and Maa stayed in Pune with Rohan. Rohan was in the 11th standard in the army school. Last year, in October, with Ravi, a colleague from office, I made a plan to visit Baba. Ravi was a photographer and he wanted to see the valley. Maa and Rohan decided to enjoy Baba’s hospitality as well, so we all planned to meet in Gurez.’ ‘I was going to meet Maa, Baba and Rohan after eight months. I did not know that it was our last get-together...’ Govind paused. Virender and Turbo looked at each other. Virender could feel a swelling numbness inside his heart because, apparently, Govind was about to tell them something very

unpleasant. Govind continued. ‘From Gurez, on the sixth day, we left for Srinagar in a convoy of four vehicles. The halt was planned at Srinagar for the night, and in the morning we had to take a taxi for Jammu Railway Station. Baba was supposed to return to the paltan. The convoy had a truck at the front and one at the back, both one-tonners, with armed guards with bulletproof vests for protection. Crossing the valley was very precarious. Army vehicles moved with guards and escort QRTs. Behind the first truck was the gypsy in which Baba sat at the front with the driver, and Rohan sat behind with two guards. Following the gypsy was the jeep of which I was the co-driver. Maa sat behind with Ravi. There was a guard with us. ‘The convoy got on the highway. Ravi seemed happy with his camera out, pointed at every rugged and pristine peak moving in opposite direction; the untouched, exotic, valley offered him so much beyond the ordinary, asking to be captured. “I have captured heaven in this,” he showed the camera to Maa. She smiled at him. “Yes, you are taking our fond memories with you back to Bombay,” she said. ‘The vehicles had to slow down at a point where many boulders had fallen on the road from a hill. Pieces of rocks and debris covered almost the entire road. The first truck skirted the pile and got on the other side. Baba’s gypsy steered with its left side on an incline. Our jeep stopped behind, maintaining a safe distance. In the meantime, I showed Maa and Ravi a vast gorge on my left. A deep crevice with mist billowing between two mountains compelled Ravi to get down to click pictures but the guard asked him not to. “It’s better to lose the opportunity to click photos than your life. You have as it is finished three rolls in last one week,” I said and laughed at him. ‘Suddenly, we heard a shot. I turned my head to see what’s happening. With a sudden jerk, the gypsy had stopped on the incline. “Sniper!” the guard behind shouted and even before we could react or realise anything, the firing sound filled the air, reverberating in our ears, ringing out far over the hills. “Peeche lo! Jaldi!” the guard shouted at the driver who pressed the accelerator and the jeep sped in reverse. The guards from Baba’s vehicle jumped out to take cover on its right. In the rear-view mirror, I saw the

guards rush out of the truck, they took cover behind the rocks, and began firing towards the hill. ‘Caught up in dread, it took me a minute to realise we were under attack. “What happened bhaiya, tell me?” Maa implored the driver, her voice quivering like a frightened child’s. “Please sit tight, memsaab,” the driver told her. He turned the jeep round the corner to get us out of the killing ground. I caught a glimpse of the gypsy standing at the centre of the road, over the debris. Soon it disappeared behind the hill. I was reeling from the shock of things unfolding in front of my eyes, from the sound of every blast to the air. ‘Ravi sat cuddled up in a corner. Maa held me tightly in her arms, I could only hear Rohan’s and Baba’s name in her fear-induced rambling. I could feel her tremors. There was fear…so much fear… more than we had ever felt before. All this while, I could only pray to get out of that situation safely. I desperately wanted Baba and Rohan to be with us at that moment. I wanted us together. ‘The firing stopped, and the silence returned far more densely than it was before the shots. I told the others to wait inside, opened the door and ran towards the bend. The driver did not allow me to go any further. He asked me if Maa and Ravi were safe. I told him that they were. ‘From the bend, I could see that the men had gathered near the gypsy. My eyes searched for Baba and Rohan. I wanted to see them looking back at me, waving at me. Instead, I saw the men lift bodies and put them in the back of the truck. I closed my eyes and prayed. ‘The truck came in reverse to stop near the bend. It was riddled with bullet marks and the windshield was splintered. The jeep driver first climbed up from the rear, and then, holding my fear at bay, I hauled myself inside. ‘Inside, it was suffocating. Three bodies were lying on the floor with two men squatted next to them. I dragged myself closer. I saw Baba, utterly still, his eyes shut. The man crouched next to him looked at me, shook his head, and stepped aside. Attempting to reverse my steps back, I stepped even closer to see Rohan lying next to Baba. Dark congealing blood oozing from his body, a lot of blood, radiating outward, that rancid smell of blood and

gunpowder, that was enough to numb my senses. The man bent over him was pressing a cloth against his right shoulder to stop the flow. Rohan turned his head at me and in his eyes, I saw the pain melting into relief...perhaps, he was relieved to see me standing alive in front of him. ‘I could not think or feel anything. The moment before we had started for Srinagar that morning flashed in front of my eyes. “Don’t tell Baba, all right. We will give him a surprise when we reach Jammu,” were his last words to me before we bumped fists. We had pooled in money to buy Baba a gift, a watch, a silver and black Seiko that Rohan had picked for him. We had planned to give it to him in Jammu. ‘I stooped over Rohan and noticed his breaths slowing down. “Stay strong. Keep breathing. For our sake. For Baba’s sake! Who will give that watch to Baba? I am not going to give that to him, do you hear me?” That was all I could manage to say as I watched him sink into the dark. Get up brother, please, I beg of you, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t. With his plunging gaze fixed on me, his breaths turned ragged and shallow. And then a gasp. He took his last breath in front of my eyes. I thought he would breathe again. He did not. I looked at Baba. Baba, wake up, what’s wrong with you, why are you not opening your eyes? Why don’t you ask Rohan to get up, why is he not listening to me? I wanted to shout at him, I wanted to shake him up enough to get his response, and for the first time, I felt that Baba had changed, that he had no feelings left for me. I stood there staring at them. They were gone. Forever. Baba and Rohan were gone. My stomach knotted up in fear; all that my throat could manage was a croak, I could not even scream. ‘When I got down from the truck, Maa was standing across the road with Ravi. For the first time in my life, I saw that look on her face and it was right at that moment that an invisible force slammed into me, crushing me against the ground. Tremors hit my hand, my entire body started shaking. When she slowly walked towards me, goose pimples coated my skin while I tried to read the expression on her face. Stay there Maa, don’t come close, I won’t be able to face you, I won’t be able to explain what my eyes just saw, I wanted to tell her. But she knew. She had read my eyes. She came and stood in front

of me but did not ask anything. I held her hand and collapsed.’ ‘Oh God,’ Turbo said. Virender sat tight in his place. He was unable to draw a full breath. No word came out of his mouth. Vinod’s loud wailing from the platoon outside broke the silence, ‘Govind Mahajan to sprint down in front of the sergeant’s cabin, immediately, immediately, immediately!’ Vinod repeated the whole thing thrice. ‘You guys go back to your room,’ Govind said, trying to sound as normal as he could have. Virender thought he probably would’ve cried if he were alone. The room was filled with so much uneasiness, Virender couldn’t even bear to look at Govind. But the darkness inside the room acted like a saviour. He wasn’t brave enough to meet the sadness in those eyes. Govind picked up the bag from the table and opened the door. ‘Brother, are you okay?’ Virender finally mustered the courage to ask him. Govind stopped at the door and turned back. ‘I am fine,’ he said. ‘Come fast, bloody Mahajan! I am hungry!’ They heard Duggal barking outside. Govind ran towards Duggal’s room with the bag. Turbo got up from the recliner. ‘Life…,’ he said with a sigh, and walked out of the door. Virender preferred to sit there for a while, alone. He wanted to leave whatever he had heard from Govind inside that room. He thought of Govind’s mother. Why did they have to go through all this? His thoughts drifted towards his own parents back in Raebareli. Life, in its entirety, seemed unfair to him. He returned to his room, apparently angry about something. His mind and body ached for rest and relief from the thoughts hammering inside his mind. He walked over to the study table, opened the drawer, thrust his hand to the back and took out letters and cards bundled with a rubber band. He stood there gazing at them for a while, his mind seemingly in an endless mess. Those were the letters he had written to Prerna. Over the past eight years, in those pages, he had penned down the emotions whirling in his soul because he had never been good at talking to her. So he wrote. He wrote everything

he felt about her but could never gather courage to give those letters or send them across to her. ‘I don’t know if I will ever get into that college. I will apply anyway, what am I to lose? What’s your plan?’ Holding that bundle in a crushing grip, he remembered Prerna asking him that in the college canteen towards the end of third year. Struggling for words in front of her, he had just toyed with the keychain and acted like he hadn’t really planned anything. If only he could’ve looked into her eyes to tell her that ‘you don’t have to worry about anything. I have planned everything for us, I have planned our future well.’ His distant cousin working with a placement agency in Texas had promised to get him a job in the USA after his engineering, and he wanted to tell her that it was just a matter of time that he would marry her. Every damn thing, every emotion, every plan was written in those letters. When he compared Govind’s reason behind joining the academy to his own, he was amazed how miserable it made him feel. He felt so small. So alone. He kept the letters back in the drawer and tried to sleep. He wrapped himself all the way round, legs tucked into the blanket, he tried to shut out his thoughts but somehow his brain was unwilling to forget the story he just heard. He closed his eyes and wondered if Govind would sleep tonight, if he ever slept peacefully; if this cold, dark and impossible world, called the academy, would help him heal and lessen the pain he was going through. Time and training helped Virender and Turbo to never dig into Govind’s past again.

SEVEN

The Proxy here were other things as well that the academy had taught Virender. For instance, the days seemed longer but the weeks passed away in a blink of an eye and before he knew it, two months were welded to his Sinhgarh history. Two months were enough for Virender to gauge the personality of his course mates—he no longer needed to indulge in a hardcore analytics to understand why someone behaved the way he did. Not that he was very interested in humans as a subject of such deep study and scrutiny, it just made it easier for him to manoeuvre around smoothly and live in peace. For example, it was clear to Virender that Turbo was a lazy slob who wasn’t going to move his ass for nuts; he maintained a low profile everywhere, and be it academics or anything that involved burning calories, Turbo was a man of modest aspirations. Chop Suey, well, he was a nitwit. Virender was absolutely okay with that but the problem was that he would constantly badger him to pass the tests. After all, Chop Suey’s own bloody grades were tied to Virender’s performance. Govind, on the other hand, excelled in everything he did. He knew his path was set, and by virtue of the reason that had gotten him on that path never allowed him to slacken his pace. For him, getting to the final destination was only a matter of time. He seemed calm, like the silence of night after lights out in Sinhgarh but not many knew that there was a volcano simmering inside. Virender, however, had accepted the fact that he was a complete misfit at the academy. Something told him that the desire in his heart to improve his physical standards, to pass the next PT test and to face Wadhera with his head held high was going to remain unfulfilled till eternity. His prayers to God, his petition to the Holy Spirit, his over-obedience and reaction towards Gurung’s

T

orders, his righteousness in order to please Wadhera—nothing seemed to work. Time went by rapidly. In the first week of September, the second PPET happened. Virender’s performance in the first PT test had been miserable and nothing changed for him in the second attempt as well. It took him forever to finish the 2.4-kilometre run once again. He mostly walked through the last stretch. When he finished the run, Gurung asked him to join the rest of the failures on his haunches. Virender believed it was a sheer waste of time to make this man understand that to complete the run within 11 minutes was not possible for him. Next, when Gurung asked him to do 25 supported sit-ups, he could not lift himself up after 10, his body felt so heavy and rigid as though he was eight months pregnant. And the rope that he had to climb had looked like a gigantic, slippery, king cobra with its tail hanging down. As he laboriously climbed upwards, he felt as if the agitated elapid had flared its hood and with its fangs bared, was hissing menacingly as if to warn him not to enter its bite zone. Although he did manage to climb higher than the last time, he gave up two pulls short of the top—and that was quite a long way to go. Virender, however, wasn’t too worried about his tests. There was a pseudo-confidence, a sort of mythical feeling inside him, assuring him that he could pass his tests whenever he wanted to. What was driving him crazy was Wadhera’s involvement in this whole matter. After he failed in the second test—which was bound to happen— Wadhera called him and Chop Suey to his office. The first thing Wadhera did was to order Virender to get in murga position, indicating him a corner near the door. Virender at once squatted and looping his arms across the back of his knees, clasped the lobes of his ears like a pro. The punishment seemed worth more than a hassle, as he did not have to face Wadhera like that. This time, Wadhera did not talk to him; instead, he blew off his steam at Chop Suey, cautioning him that he was not helping him improve the results of his platoon. One more chance, Wadhera sizzled, one more chance and if this time Virender did not improve, Chop Suey could expect the worst to come his way. Except listening to the boss, what could Chop Suey have done anyway?

Why the heck should he be held responsible for someone else? Being within close proximity to Wadhera became increasingly unsafe for Virender but trying to bunk Wadhera’s class was like trying to sneak in a girl into Sinhgarh’s dorm at night. Yet, if there was one person that Wadhera made sure was present in his class, it was Virender. He was not allowed to even report sick without Wadhera’s permission. And then, one day, the inevitable happened. Wadhera made an announcement in the class. ‘A team of West Point cadets is visiting IMA next month. We have scheduled a football match with the Americans. I want the maximum number of boys from Sinhgarh to be present at the stadium for the selection tomorrow morning. Any volunteers?’ Terribly exhausted after the PT and drill in the morning, Virender was coolly snoozing, sitting upright, in the second row from the front. Besides, the 15 slices of bread, along with almost a bucket full of porridge and a kilogramme of cutlets that he had gorged on for breakfast were making it even more difficult for him to stay awake. The class would start at 8, and by 8:15, Virender would have his eyes tightly shut like a Tibetan monk sitting ram-rod stiff, practising deep meditation. Well, monks have a reason to sleep like that—it allows them to face their shrines while sleeping, besides helping to preserve a good posture. But for Virender, who was as though bound by the vow of living with constant sleep-deprivation, dozing off during a lecture had absolutely nothing to do with reflection or peacefulness. He could sleep anywhere. Anytime. Once he had fallen flat on his face inside the drill square while standing in the vishram position—at ease. He had dozed off standing while holding the rifle in his left hand. No monk of any religious order could beat that. Virender felt Turbo, who was sitting next to him, suddenly nudge him. Through half-opened eyes, he perceived that his classmates were looking at him. He vaguely noticed the man standing at the podium giving him a menacing stare. ‘Virender Pandey!’ Wadhera flung a piece of chalk at him. It missed its target and landed on Manish sitting just behind Virender. The poor guy always had to bear the brunt for someone else’s mistakes.

Manish screamed in pain. That and Turbo’s nudge woke Virender up with a jolt. ‘Yes, sir!’ ‘At what position do you want to play?’ Wadhera asked, sounding amused. Position? Virender threw a blank stare at Turbo. What was all this about? Turbo prodded him—‘Goalkeeper,’ he mouthed the word with his lips without a sound. ‘What?’ Virender enquired silently in same style. ‘Goalkeeper,’ Turbo circled his lips again. ‘Goalkeeper, sir,’ Virender looked at Wadhera and said with utmost confidence in tandem with a winning smile. All heads once again swung towards him. Turbo bit his lips. ‘At what level have you played before?’ Wadhera asked. Virender started scratching an imaginary spot on his desk to control his nervousness. He was oblivious of the context of the discussion and it took him a moment to realise that Turbo had pulled a fast one on him. If only he could tell Wadhera he did not remember handling anything that rolled or bounced from the time he was in the 7th standard. Besides, things that had to be thrown, dribbled, kicked or smashed had nothing to do with him. This left him with very limited options on the field. He somehow managed to mumble that he remembered playing football once in school. What he did not reveal to the class was that his stay on the field had not lasted beyond 15 minutes because the boys had started making fun of him, asking him, ‘What are two footballs doing on the field?’ That day, he had gone home crying. It was the last time that Virender had had a tryst with the sport. In an attempt to conceal his embarrassment, he added that he loved playing video games though. He was a pro as far as ‘Space-Shooter’ was concerned. Before that, it was ‘Space Invaders’, ‘Asteroids’ and ‘Pac-Man’, he told the class, instantly shaking off all thoughts of a greedy Pac-Man gobbling up the Pac-Dots. ‘Video games?’ Wadhera roared, as though Virender’s stupid reply had unleashed a demon. ‘When I ask you something don’t just reply for the heck of it. Don’t you ever give me such stupid answers again, you understand?’

‘Sir!’ ‘Do you want to volunteer or not?’ ‘Balls to you,’ Virender was tempted to roar back in a parallel universe. But here, in this world and at this moment, he chose to remain silent. He simply looked down at his desk and secretly prayed to disappear that very moment. ‘See, that shows your level of confidence,’ Wadhera said, wagging a finger. ‘Let me tell you that this confidence will help you win a battle or save your life in a war tomorrow. Anyway, I will make sure you get a place in the team. Duty student, take down his name. His training starts from tomorrow.’ The duty student pulled out a set of sketch pens of various colours, diligently opened his diary, meticulously chose a red pen for the heading ‘Football Volunteers’ and noted down the first name in green, ‘Virender Pandey’. He smiled softly and seemed happy with his efforts. Duty students were like class monitors in school. Typically, a duty student was a chamcha kind of a guy. Wadhera then questioned Virender if he was working for the third PT test that was fast approaching. Virender nodded in affirmation. ‘Can I have your word on that? We don’t have too many days left,’ Wadhera asked with his gaze fixed at Chop Suey who was seated right under his nose. Chop Suey, at once, replied that he was personally looking into the progress Virender was making. ‘Let me know about that then,’ he said and turned towards the board. ‘He gets cranky for no reason,’ Turbo whispered to Virender. Virender clenched his teeth and, almost short of grinding him, said, ‘Can you please go screw yourself?’ The football trials began the next morning at the Somnath stadium. Everybody else was there by choice but Virender by order. He was wearing a goalkeeper’s kit for the first time in his life. If putting a curse on someone really worked, Wadhera would’ve probably turned into a purple coloured lizard. Instead, like a wolf, Wadhera was present every day on the field to

watch the boys practise and to make sure that Virender did not weasel his way out of it. Football was the last thing on Virender’s mind because every time he saw Wadhera, the thought of failing in the third PPET would send shivers down his spine. Soon came November, concluding the third PPET in its first week. This time, Virender had somehow managed to get a good grip on the rope. Keeping the swing under check, he had managed to reach the top. Gurung made him do rope twice before giving him that one. Virender passed the rope test. Second test—the five-metre shuttle—did not require much effort. He cleared that as well. What actually required effort was the 2.4-kilometre run, and in that he failed miserably. He gave up the hope of passing the damn run in just one life. Later that evening, in Virender’s room, while Turbo was trying to cheer him up, Chop Suey walked through the door like a fireball, fumes spewing out of his ears. ‘This is what you wanted, right?’ Chop Suey yelled as he pushed the door shut behind him. Turbo and Virender stared at him in horror. Chop Suey looked more repulsive than usual and was furious. He had just returned from the company office after facing yet another round of firing from Wadhera. ‘What happened?’ Turbo pushed his slippers aside and sat up on the bed. ‘I got ten restrictions because of him,’ Chop Suey said, throwing a furious glance at Virender. ‘Uh-oh!’ Turbo said. ‘Enough! I am through with this shit! I am going to tell Wadhera, “sorry boss, but I can’t do this.” I mean, why should I be held responsible for his bloody tests?’ ‘Can’t help it. That’s the job he has given you,’ Turbo countered. ‘Job? Wait. What kind of a job is this? This guy fails and I get screwed?’ ‘You can’t demand any logic from the platoon commander.’ ‘Fuck the logic!’ Chop Suey snapped, stopping short of physical violence. ‘That bloody Wadhera. Whenever he sees me, he has only one thing to ask of me—how’s Virender doing? He shouldn’t fail this time. Are you making him practise enough? Even when we’re practising football, I get questioned on

this shit. He is after my life. What am I supposed to tell him? That Virender cries when I ask him to go for extra PT? That all he does is hog all day and do nothing?’ ‘Why don’t you just walk up to Wadhera and tell him that? I am sure he will give this responsibility to someone else,’ Turbo suggested and received a frown in return. Virender could’ve bet all his liberties—liberty, an official outpass to visit Dehradun, meant life for the cadets—on the fact that Chop Suey would never dare to say anything like that to Wadhera. Chop Suey was now a fire-breathing dragon. ‘Only when they throw this fool out, will he come to his senses.’ Quietly bearing those verbal assaults, Virender waited for a while before trying to justify himself. ‘But I-I tried. I really did. I told you they had closed the enclosure before time. I was checking the time on my watch.’ ‘See, did you hear what he just said?’ Chop Suey turned towards Turbo and then focussed back on Virender’s embarrassed face. ‘What difference would it have made if they had waited for you, your majesty? Even if Gurung had kept the flag up for two more hours, you would still not have been anywhere in sight. We all saw you walking as if you were taking a stroll around a garden. You even squat at one point for a few seconds, I don’t know admiring what near the bushes...and you say you tried…my foot. Three attempts and all you could pass are two fucking tests, you hopeless creature!’ ‘I’ll improve. I promise,’ Virender fired blank rounds in return, hiding the anger raging inside him. As if he had asked Chop Suey to help him with his tests. Who didn’t know what a sucker for grades he was? ‘Tell this to Wadhera now, not me. I am through with you,’ Chop Suey said. ‘Hey, you can’t do this to him. You are his coach,’ Turbo said, crossing his legs and holding a pillow on his lap, evidently enjoying the scene. He turned to Virender and added, ‘I feel very bad at how he’s talking to you, I don’t know how you feel.’ ‘Why don’t you lick this a little?’ Chop Suey turned and showed Turbo his posterior. Turbo stood up, kicked the butt that Chop Suey had unwittingly offered to him. Chop Suey almost flew straight out of the door and covered

some distance in the corridor in that state. Just then, Govind entered with a jaded look on his face. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ he asked, as he kept his satchel on the study table. ‘You never offer your backside to anyone at the academy, it is sure to get booted!’ Turbo said, much to his joy, and quickly provided the highlights of their argument. ‘Ten restrictions? Have some mercy on him. Why don’t you take the tests seriously and clear them in one shot?’ Govind said, sitting down on the easy chair facing Virender. Virender’s voice turned despondent. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ ‘What?’ ‘This place is for people like you. I knew from the start that I was not going to make it. When I try to move forward, some invisible force tries to pull me back. This time I did practise, didn’t I? You saw that,’ he said, turning to look at Turbo. ‘Did you?’ Turbo jested but when he saw tears welling up in Virender’s eyes, he corrected himself, ‘oh yes, yes, you did. He did.’ ‘At least you passed two tests. That’s definitely an improvement,’ Govind assured him. ‘Wadhera won’t understand that. I should’ve left in the first week itself. Now if I leave, I don’t know how much my father will have to pay to get me out of here. My family’s not that rich.’ Govind stood up and sat next to Virender in order to calm him down. While Virender sat with his spirit sinking into non-existence, barely raising his head to eye-level, and Govind continued to make him understand that it was Wadhera’s job to ensure that he did well and Chop Suey’s to talk shit, Turbo got up from the bed and started walking back and forth over and over, absorbed in deep thoughts. ‘I think I have an idea,’ he said and pulled Govind by his arm to take him to one side. Virender looked at them. Turbo whispered something to Govind, leaving his eyes and mouth wide open, ‘Are you out of your mind? Who will do it?’ Govind asked. ‘You. Don’t you know already?’

‘No way. Why can’t you do it?’ ‘You know how I barely passed,’ Turbo said. ‘Then keep your useless ideas to yourself.’ ‘Who’s doing what? Tell me,’ Virender pressed, wanting to be a part of their conversation. ‘This guy has lost it,’ Govind walked away from Turbo. ‘I am telling you this is the only way we can save his life,’ Turbo walked behind him. ‘Is this about me?’ Virender followed Turbo. ‘Well, that’s the only way he will pass,’ Turbo said when Govind stopped and pulled him to a corner. ‘Is this even possible?’ ‘I am not sure.’ ‘What do you mean not sure?’ ‘It was just an idea. We will have to figure out how.’ Virender was getting restless by each passing second. The two guys were clearly planning his future and he had no say in it. He screamed, ‘What is it?’ ‘You don’t listen to him, you get that? He will get you in big trouble,’ Govind told Virender. This made it worse. Virender’s eyes swelled up, nostrils flared, the lines on his forehead deepened and he was ready to cry when Turbo said, quite casually. ‘Someone should run in your place in the next test.’ Drawing a blank face, his mind running at full speed, all the negative feelings churning inside Virender’s stomach fluttered out of his body and a mental relief began to flow in instead. He felt like catching hold of Turbo and kissing him on his lips. But then he thought someone running for him sounded nice but had Turbo considered the possibility of them getting caught? The consequences could be serious, not only for Virender but also for the person who ran for him. Killing that moment of silence, Virender asked Turbo about the repercussions. ‘They will throw you out of the academy anyway,’ Turbo replied.

The squabble continued in a strategic corner of the cafeteria where all three

of them met after the games period. Virender wanted to celebrate with butter chicken and rum balls at the mere prospect of his passing the run. ‘So what have we decided?’ he enquired coolly, not letting an iota of shame reflect on his face. ‘Who is running for me?’ his eyes shuttled between his two mates. Govind did not respond. His attention was on the leg piece he was chewing on, his jaw grinding on something hard. Virender looked at his plate. It was hard to guess if the guy was a human or a dog; he was clearly eating the bones too. ‘Will you run for me?’ Virender dragged the plate away from Govind. ‘Can you not ask Chop Suey to do this?’ Govind asked Turbo as he reached out for the tissue. ‘Don’t even talk to him about all this, okay? We know how much of a stud he is,’ Turbo said. Govind took a hard look at him. ‘But have you considered what can go wrong?’ ‘Uh, if we plan things well, it could be a smooth operation, I’m sure,’ he said persuasively. ‘When is the next test?’ Govind asked after a brief thought. ‘30th November, is that too soon? Tell me. Tell me that’s not too soon. We can still manage, right?’ Virender replied. ‘Don’t worry son, we’ll do something about it,’ Turbo assured him, paying no heed to Govind’s cynical looks. Virender did not have to worry about the test now. By lights out, even Govind had reluctantly agreed to be a part of the plan. That night, it was decided that Turbo would be running in place of Virender in the next test. Govind couldn’t have done that. The reason was simple. Govind was a popular first-termer, everybody recognised him, while Turbo was rarely seen on the ground. Excitement and apprehension had been swapping places in Virender’s mind since the first mention of the plan. ‘Are you sure you will pass?’ he asked Turbo bald-facedly. ‘You better run yourself. Just look at him.’ Turbo scrunched up his nose at him.

Virender got up and sat on his lap. He planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘You know how much I love you,’ he smiled and blinked animatedly. Turbo kissed him back on his cheek, and the two looked at Govind with an inviting grin. Govind smiled and shook his head at the two idiots that the academy had presented him with. Before the two started licking faces, he walked over and threw his arms around them for a big group hug completing the happy family portrait. A list was made who could possibly recognise Turbo running in place of Virender. That included the Sinhgarh second-termers, and all the firsttermers, who perhaps weren’t of much concern. ‘It has to be a secret,’ Virender said. ‘But what about Gurung? I am his favourite,’ he added. There was no problem if somebody else conducted the test but Gurung recognised him very well. ‘We have a problem only if Gurung is there,’ Turbo said. ‘What if he is?’ ‘Let us first find out.’ ‘What about the second-termers? How do we keep them away? What if one of them just shows up on the field?’ Govind asked. ‘In that case…,’ Turbo said, ‘Mandy will help us.’ Mandy. The section hospital nurse. Turbo had established a good rapport with the hospital staff. He was a sick-report veteran who had already added more than 20 days of bedrest or SIQ—sick in quarter—to his credit and gotten admitted to the section hospital twice. Getting an SIQ wasn’t easy; in fact, the frauds considered it to be quite an achievement. Doctors had the authority to give maximum three days of SIQs beyond which, if the case required thorough diagnosis, the person had to be admitted to the sectionhospital’s ward dedicated to cadets. SIQ was divine because one could spend the whole day sleeping in his room without any official hassle. Anyway, when Turbo was admitted to the hospital for the second time, for faking a stress fracture during the cross-country run, he had met Mandeep Kaur, a young and attractive nurse. Within a short time, they had grown very close to each other. They caught up regularly on Sundays and the dispensary turned out to be their dating place. Mandy did not mind taking on extra shifts on

Sundays as that provided her with the chance to meet Turbo. In order to impress him, she had begun to take extra care of her appearance. But due to her special efforts to doll up, the number of cadets reporting sick also increased. However, Mandy showed interest only in Turbo. She once bandaged his foot when he faked an ankle sprain. According to him, he could tell she was aware of his deception but she still continued to call him for more dressings. The candle of their romance had started burning intensely and it was just the previous week that Turbo had told Virender and Govind that he had slept with Mandy. ‘Lucky bastard,’ Virender had said bitterly. ‘How will she help us, though?’ Govind asked. ‘Leave that to the mastermind. I’ll talk to her. Till then, no one will speak a word about this,’ Turbo said. He did not reveal the plan but he said it was workable. ‘Shhh…’ Virender kept a finger on his lips and broke into a wide grin. He was elated when Govind and Turbo grinned back at him. They were on to something. Three more days went by during which the football practise continued on the field. They did not talk much about the plan. Wadhera was watching Virender struggle one evening, when Govind, Bhinder and Kala were practising kicking the ball into the post and Virender was acrobating to save the goals. ‘Don’t punch the ball, grab it! And you clearly need to practise full stretch jumps. The rest is fine. You defend well,’ Govind said, as he walked towards the goalpost. ‘Stay in this position in case of an attack,’ he guided Virender, half-squatting, demonstrating a position that could be adopted for facing a penalty shoot-out. Just then, Wadhera called out walking out of the field, ‘Pandey, you get selected in the playing squad and I will give you two extra NSA points!’ With a fervent nod Virender indicated he understood that. Wadhera left with the perpetual serious look on his face. Well, Wadhera was a seasoned tactician who knew how to get the work done. He was an expert in dangling a carrot in front of a donkey, so he tried this trick to get Virender to put in extra effort. Two points in the non-scholastic activities counted a lot towards the

last semester results. ‘Did you hear that? Two points in NSA,’ Virender asked Govind excitedly while Bhinder took a start towards the ball kept on the D-Top. ‘Focus on him!’ Govind was standing near the post. Bhinder struck. The ball went whooshing between Virender’s legs. Govind clapped at the hopelessness. Virender picked up the ball in his hand and they walked towards the stairs. Practice was over for the day. ‘Will I make it to the squad? I want to play for the academy,’ Virender asked sincerely. He had been practising for many days and had by then developed a liking for the game. But making it to the final team wasn’t just about liking, it wasn’t just about skills either, there were some permutations involved. Out of all the boys who had given their names for the position of goalkeeper, one main player and two reserves had to be selected. Govind pulled out a water bottle from his bag and took a sip. ‘Possible, if you slog enough or in case they don’t select one of the others. Practise regularly. If nothing else, you will at least learn the game. And who knows, you might just make it to reserve.’ Chop Suey came jogging towards them and tossed his kit on the stairs. On the field, Chop Suey acted like a star player but in reality he was like a stepney that could be fitted anywhere—forward, right back, right midfielder, defensive midfielder, striker, left midfielder—and basically at any position when the main player was absent. ‘Forget this football-shootball. Think about the tests,’ he mocked Virender as he sat down to take off his studs. Virender told him what Wadhera had said; that he was going to give him two extra points in NSA. ‘And how many points will you get if you fail the test next week?’ Chop Suey shot back instantly. ‘You don’t worry about that,’ Virender retorted with a grin, on the verge of almost blurting out the secret plan just when Govind gestured him to shut up.

EIGHT

The Dream ith the plan in place, Turbo and Govind had taken the monkey off Virender’s back. Having already mentally cleared his tests, he walked leisurely in the platoon like a conqueror. He wasn’t scared to face Wadhera’s shelling and he had armed himself with the necessary verbal arsenal against anything that Chop Suey might have to say. But the more he tried to shut out thoughts about the PT test, the harsher became the thoughts about something else equally disturbing, like he would start having flashes about everything wrong associated with Prerna. It was almost as if he was so used to dealing with some or the other nuisance in his life that he couldn’t imagine a life without problems. Every so often, he would imagine himself as marooned in a desert with heaps of problems that soared as high as towering sand dunes. His susceptibility to problems like the rippling sand remained constant and his sand-dune high heap of tribulations only kept shifting ahead with the winds of time. It had been a long time since he had last thought of Prerna. Then, early in the morning one day, before dawn, as he lay in bed, there she was, back on his mind…thanks to a dream. An absolutely pathetic dream. It was a fancy restaurant—dark walnut tables, delicate live piano music, tabletops decorated with flowers, a few works of art on the walls, elegant and sleek curves of the ceiling—built on top of a hill station, at the edge of a cliff thousands of feet above sea level. A scary, almost vertical drop to the valley and a breath-taking view of the town below was visible from the table at the extreme corner where Prerna and Virender were seated. Virender had used his entire stipend to book the costliest candlelight dinner for Prerna. She looked so beautiful in the vibrant, red gown with a beaded bodice that Virender had to remind himself to breathe. The time was right to propose to

W

her. So, he slipped his hand into the left pocket of his mud-brown corduroy jacket to pull out a diamond ring that he had bought after hunting through scores of shops to choose the right one for her. But before he could take the ring out, like a dream-state howling she animatedly, and ecstatically, started talking about a guy she had met in her college. Quite recently, he had gifted her a rose, she gushed, making it sound like a bullet shot right through Virender’s heart. That 10-rupee rose must have wilted within a day. These romeos with red roses have screwed up so many love stories since the beginning of time, he thought bitterly. Trying to behave as normally as he could possibly have, hiding his uneasiness, his sweaty fingers let the ring remain in the pocket itself. Prerna blushed as she continued singing his praises, her cheeks turning red like tomatoes in the cold winter air. Virender could barely control his rage when she placed a hand on her heart and told him shyly that he had even kissed her. Gently, on her forehead. Without asking. But she liked it. And then she said what these heartless creatures say all the time to poor guys who they know were head over heels in love with them—‘I miss you so much, you know, you’re my best friend.’ Virender pushed his chair back and got up abruptly. He walked a few steps closer to the window that opened over the cliff edge. Before Prerna could understand what exactly he was up to, he turned towards her and looked at her with deep sorrowful eyes, uttering his inner turmoil, ‘You bitch!’ Swiftly climbing over the window sill, he balanced himself on the outside ledge for a second and jumped off the cliff. Prerna’s scream echoed behind him as he disappeared into nothingness. ‘What was that in your pocket? I know you got a gift for me…’ Virender got up on his bed with a start to find his throat parched and his head was heavy like it had hit a big boulder, and as if someone had tried to strangle him since the fall couldn’t quite kill him. His left hand instinctively reached for his left pocket to check for the ring, it was missing. He left his bed shaking with fear. His gaze caught sight of a small puddle of sweat that had formed on his bed and suddenly the realisation hit him that he was still alive! He took quick gulps of water from the bottle on the side table and thanked God that it was just a dream. God shot back, ‘But remember what

your mother says. Early-morning dreams come true!’ Virender pinched himself and shrugged to pull out of this unprecedented dreamy state. He checked the watch. 4:52 am, 10 November. Damn, he cursed himself, he had been so caught up with Turbo’s plan and the upcoming PT test just 20 days away that he had completely forgotten it was Prerna’s birthday. What a day to have a dream like that, he thought looking out of the window at the squad of first-termers leaving the platoon for the drill square. Without wasting any time, he changed into the drill uniform. With that drop from the cliff still haunting his thoughts, as if continuing to experience a free fall, he ran out of his room, took his bike and joined the last squad on the double. The drill square in front of Chetwode building was the sanctuary of discipline. And penance. Doing the drill wasn’t a problem, preparing for the damn thing was a nuisance. The boys had to be immaculately turned out every day. From the academy’s crest on the beret to the toe of the boots, everything had to be shining like new. Inside the drill square, the boys were supposed to follow every word of command unless explicitly told otherwise. It meant restricted movement controlled by Subedar Shamsher Singh, the drill in-charge. This daunting Haryanavi Jaat would howl like a dinosaur’s mother-in-law wailing on a loudspeaker placed next to your ears. You could move only when he ordered you to do so and you could do only what he told you to do. Some-sher Singh, as everybody called him, had established very little rapport with the cadets. It was common knowledge that no one walked out a virgin from the drill square. Some-sher Singh fucked everyone. Virender was marching as if he had a hangover after an entire night of drinking. One thing he was constantly wondering about was how the dream might have continued if that feeling of falling off the cliff hadn’t jerked him conscious. Some-sher Singh was shouting the commands, a sort of sustained, lamenting howl of a wolf at the plunging moon, all the time observing Virender who was missing his steps constantly. His eyes hunted for the prey like a hawk. Virender could feel that he was being watched. He tried to match his steps with the others but it wasn’t long before the beast lost his temper. He gripped Virender’s belt and pulled him out, letting rest of the squad

proceed, ‘Down on your haunches! Round the squad!’ he shrieked. Damn! Virender stamped his foot hard. He held his belt and sat down like a toad, feeling the buckle piercing his soft belly. He somehow pogoed three rounds around the squad that continued with its marching. ‘Three EDs!’ Some-sher shouted, taking out a pocket-book and noting down his name. He always carried that thing with him to record the frequent on-the-spot punishments. EDs? Extra drill meant that Virender’s afternoon was booked. He’d have to report at the drill ground immediately after lunch in his drill uniform and do drill again for an hour. It would have been too much to expect that the cold-blooded, thick-skinned monster would understand Virender’s peculiar plight that day. Well, it wasn’t the first time that he was feeling terrible because of Prerna. On his way to the mess to have breakfast with Govind, he was in a sort of trance. It was the first time that he hadn’t wished Prerna on her birthday. He decided that he would not call her and if she asked later, he could make up an excuse about having tried to call but found her landline busy. Well, he remembered the last conversation he had with her and he wasn’t even sure if she was still staying in that apartment or had moved in with that slimy forehead-kisser. They parked the bikes outside the mess and Govind enquired what was going on in his mind. Thinking Virender was worried about the test, he told him to relax and that he could count on Turbo. Virender told him about the dream that he had that morning, that it was Prerna’s birthday and that he had decided not to call her. ‘It’s up to you. It’s an important day for her. I feel you should call her and wish her. You have no reason not to,’ Govind said, as they peeked inside the mess to check who was still inside. Second-termers had left early for their classes. Virender wanted absolute peace at that moment. They moved inside and sat down at a vacant table. ‘No reason? I can write an encyclopaedia of reasons. Let’s not even talk about that,’ Virender said and flipped his upturned plate. ‘I bet you don’t have even one good reason, friend.’

‘Have your porridge and let me concentrate on mine,’ he said, merely playing around with the thick, boiled mix of cereals in milk. Maybe, he was overreacting, he thought. Or maybe, he was jealous. Or heart-broken? He realised that these were all good enough reasons for not wishing Prerna. For the last nine years, he had always been the first one to wish her on her birthday and now he did not even want to talk to her. Rightly so. Was it because she probably had someone else in her life? He’s justified in not calling. Or is he? What if she’s not seeing anyone? This was becoming too much of a battle in his head. He secretly wished that the fall from the cliff had killed him. Govind layered his toast with butter and jam. ‘I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking of that guy in her life you told me about. Well, if you do indeed have a competition, your decision of not wishing her probably won’t make any difference to her whatsoever. But if you do wish her, it could make her feel super nice.’ He took a huge bite of his generously layered toast, leaving Virender to think about his statement. The next minute Virender pushed aside the porridge that he had barely touched and made for the door. ‘Where are you going?’ Govind asked with his mouth stuffed. ‘PCO!’ ‘Breakfast?’ ‘Later!’ He ran out of the door towards the parking. He took the bike and pedalled towards the PCO. As per his past records of wishing Prerna on her birthday, he was already very late to wish her. He had no other alternative but to quell the hunger pangs threatening to get the better of him, give up on the meal and call her immediately. Besides, he was sure of the PCO being free of nasty secondtermers at that time. Normally, he wouldn’t have skipped a meal for anything. He couldn’t believe the hold this girl had on him. Somewhere in his heart he was proud of a fact, he was proud of his commitment towards this girl—so rare in today’s age of instant love and instant breakups, he believed. Not many boys made calls during their breakfast time unless it was an emergency. Ensuring that no one else was inside, he entered the PCO.

Muthu was performing his usual morning rituals, moving incense sticks in big circles, in reverence to the pictures of his favourite deities. They were all covered with so many garlands you could hardly see any God’s face clearly. He moved the bundle of incense sticks four times clockwise, three times anticlockwise and mumbled some chant. He turned towards Virender and offered him some prasadam. Virender caught his breath and cupped his palms to accept it. He was not quite religious or anything but whatever help he could receive was welcome at that moment. Muthu looked at the clock, ‘What’s the occasion? Her birthday, is it?’ From experience, he knew that it could only be a girlfriend’s birthday or a dying grandparent’s last few days that brought cadets running to his shop during breakfast time. Going by the blush on Virender’s face, he had ruled out the latter. Virender nodded and rushed inside the left cubicle. ‘Oho, then you should have told me yesterday. I can always keep the booth open for you at night. This shop belongs to you all only,’ he said convincingly. ‘Thank you Muthu bhai but I was a bit busy last night.’ Busy jumping from a hill top, he thought in his mind. He opened the register. ‘Had your breakfast?’ ‘Uh yes...no,’ Virender’s fingers trembled as they circled the dial pad. ‘Not worth it, sirji. Missing breakfast, I mean.’ ‘Why?’ The landline started ringing. ‘Shh…talk first,’ Muthu said. It rang for a long time but no one answered. He waited and tried again. Now the phone was busy. He took slower breaths, tapped on the wall to kill time and tried again. Busy again. Must be some girl yapping non-stop, he assumed. He was getting really frustrated but decided to wait. How do they find so many topics to keep blabbering about? he wondered. Fortunately, the call went through the next time he tried. A girl answered in a sleepy voice. He asked for Prerna and she kept him on hold. He smiled within, thinking that Prerna hadn’t moved out of that place and that perhaps she took his

advice of finding some right-minded flatmates seriously. Thinking about Prerna’s excitement upon hearing his voice gave him goosebumps. The meter chewed through his money and he was on hold for about 20 rupees; he thought maybe the girl had forgotten that she had received any call. He was just about to hang up when her voice returned, ‘Prerna is not in her room. She had a night-out and has not come back yet. Would you like to leave a message for her?’ What? Did he hear the girl say a night-out? ‘Ah... no. I will call up again later,’ he said as he thanked her and disconnected the call to stop the meter. Even though the call went dead, the receiver remained stuck to his left ear. Who did she spend her night with? He hit his right fist on the glass. Thankfully, it didn’t break. He shot a timid look at Muthu who seemed only slightly annoyed but glad that no damage was done. Virender had always wished for a normal life—kind of a weird wish actually, considering he was in love with a girl who always made sure that he ended up getting hurt. Suddenly, his stomach growled, demanding food. He looked at the time. He was already running late for the tactics class. He walked to the counter and wished he had finished his breakfast. ‘Got your answer?’ Muthu asked him, flipping pages of the register. ‘How much?’ Virender gave him a wounded nod. ‘Thirty.’ Feeling battered, Virender kept the cash on the counter and walked out of the booth. Bakhtawar Singh, the academy dog, was exploring and sniffing something in the patch of grass outside the squash court near the PCO. He saw Virender coming out and ran towards him. He barked at him twice, wagging his tail briskly. Bakhtawar seemed to be in a mood to play as his bright pink tongue hung out of his mouth in delight. ‘Go away!’ Virender said roughly, unleashing his frustration on him. He knew Bakhtawar was genuinely fond of him. Instead of running off, the dog began prancing around him, wiggling his white and brown tail even faster. There was no time to play with him, no matter how fond of him the dog was. Virender picked a stone and threw it lightly at Bakhtawar, just to scare

him off, not to hurt him. On the contrary, thinking Virender was in a mood to play, the poor dog barked loudly and started jumping all over him. He rested his paws on Virender and showered his love by giving him a huge lick. ‘Leave me alone!’ Virender said firmly and pushed him aside to irritably dust off the footprints from his trousers. He mounted his bike and rode towards the classroom. Bakhtawar ran behind the bike for quite a distance before giving up and returning to his territory. Virender pedalled as fast as he could. The bicycle was almost flying off the ground. Wadhera was not very kind to latecomers. He continued swearing under his breath as he rode, hurling silent abuses at Prerna’s boyfriend and at himself for being a fool to forego his breakfast. Early-morning dreams do come true! He should have left a message with the girl for Prerna, he contemplated as he crossed the mess. What if Prerna picked up and said she had been waiting for him to call since last night, like he always did, always being the first one to wish her for the last nine years. What would she have lost if she had attended the call and talked to him for a minute? Frustration and hunger seized him tight. The smell of food from the mess kitchen tempted him to stop for a quick bite but remembering he couldn’t be late, he pedalled hard towards the classroom. He should have told the girl to tell Prerna that someone skipped his breakfast just to wish her, that someone completed three rounds of the squad on his haunches because of her and that someone with terrible pain in his knees wasted his time cycling all the way to the PCO and back. He squeezed his eyelids briefly to stop the tears from spilling over. He threw the bike at the parking and ran towards the classroom. Wadhera hadn’t arrived as yet. Govind saw him entering the classroom. Noticing his glum face, he asked him what had happened. ‘Nothing,’ Virender replied wretchedly and sat down in his place. ‘You look devastated,’ Govind said giving him a hard nudge. Virender looked at him with anger. ‘Don’t do that, man. My sides hurt and I didn’t even have breakfast.’ He did not add that one of the worst things to ever happen to a boy in love had happened to him.

‘Was it worth all that effort?’ Govind asked. Reaching into his satchel, he took out four slices of toast with thick layers of butter and jam in between and dumped them into Virender’s hands. The blues of Virender’s life vanished like magic and without wasting a second to thank Govind, Virender dug his teeth deep into the bread. Govind asked again, ‘Did you wish her?’ ‘Nothing happened.’ Virender replied, as he continued to chomp on his sandwich. ‘What is he eating and did I just hear “wish her”?’ Turbo walked upto them. ‘It’s her birthday,’ Govind said a bit louder and the three words explained it all. ‘Whose birthday?’ Mallu, Deepak and Mehrotra exclaimed as they too joined the party. Virender conveyed his displeasure to Govind by narrowing his eyes at him. Turbo chimed in, ‘Are you distributing toffees to the class?’ ‘Only up your ass,’ he retorted but said no more, and instead focussed on chewing the last morsel of his sandwich, keeping in mind Turbo’s pending favour in the upcoming test. Paramjit, who had been listening to the tomfoolery, jumped towards the green board and picked up a piece of chalk. He wrote in what appeared to be a mock attempt at calligraphy: ‘Happy Birthday to Mrs Virender Pandey…ya ya…ya ya!’ Gosh, he had become a source of public entertainment. Now every boy in the class wanted to get the juicy details out of him. ‘You can tell us everything. We won’t pester you for a treat anyway.’ ‘Fine! Here’s a piece of good news for you all. I am soon going to become a father, that’s what she told me. Triplets!’ Virender tried to shoo them off but they would not budge. He felt so helpless he wanted to run out of the door but he dropped the idea knowing well that Wadhera would walk in any moment. He got up from his chair and simply wandered around the class, looking for some place to be all by himself. No place was isolated enough. He knew all the eyes were following him. Finally, he returned to his

regular place and put his head down on the table. He felt irritated at his inability to let it all out into messy sobs in front of others. ‘Wasn’t she waiting for your call?’ Govind asked again after a while when everybody else had dispersed. ‘See my face? What do you think?’ Just then, Wadhera walked into the class and everyone bounced back to their seats. Virender rubbed his face to perk up a bit and prepare himself for whatever fresh torture Wadhera might unleash upon him. The green board instantly caught Wadhera’s attention—Happy Birthday to Mrs Virender Pandey. He read out loud what was written on it and exclaimed, somewhat confused, ‘Great! And when is the good news coming?’ ‘Triplets!’ The classroom answered in chorus.

NINE

The Proxy—2 ovind confirmed from a clerk in the PT office that Havaldar Gurung would not conduct the test this time as he was on leave. That was great news. The Nepali was the only potential danger to the plan. It was easy to trick any other coach. With Gurung out of the scene, it was time to take care of the second-termers. Late into the night, while the blessed ones slept in the platoon and the doomed stood outside some senior’s room, the trio snuck out of Sinhgarh and reached the section hospital. Led by Turbo, who knew all the little-known corners of the hospital, they emerged out of a bush in front of the dental section and stopped in the dark outside against the wall. It was dark enough for them to execute their moves. The next step was to wait for a signal from Mandy. She was on night duty in the officers’ family ward and the main corridor lights going off at midnight was the indication for Turbo to rush inside and proceed to the duty room. There was no activity inside the hospital, save for one man, the duty NCO, who appeared in and out of the duty room to get the register signed from the ward master. For Virender, every tick of the clock seemed to exaggerate the likelihood of an imminent cardiac arrest. Unable to stay quiet for long, he elbowed Turbo, ‘Oi...how long will she take?’ Turbo shushed him, keeping his eyes fixed on the lights. Govind shifted closer to them while Virender prodded Turbo from behind. ‘Oi, listen, what’s the probability of you not getting caught tomorrow?’ ‘Probability? You want him to give you a math class here?’ asked

G

Govind. ‘No… I am just a bit uneasy…’ ‘Uneasy? Are you also feeling puckish? And a little dizzy? It could be the baby... How many days back did Gurung fuck you? Or was it Duggal? Or Wadhera? Do you even know who the father is? I hope it’s not Chop Suey, yuck, the baby in that case would be extremely ugly! Every second guy here at the academy has made you his bitch and what we are doing here is trying to save your ass. So, either be productive or just shut the fuck up, will you? Madam is feeling uneasy!’ Turbo turned back and sneered at him in anger. Virender ducked to avoid a knock on his face. Turbo turned to focus on the lights again. Govind shook his head, he thought Turbo was being unnecessarily nasty. But how could Virender not feel uneasy? There was so much crap brewing inside his head. Would the plan go off without a hitch? What if Turbo got caught? What if somebody recognised him? To be thrown out of the academy with your friends for cheating in the PT test was the last thing he wanted. But there was something that had been bothering him since the inception of the plan, something that he could not discuss with the other two, and that was Govind’s involvement in the game. ‘Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you guys.’ ‘What?’ ‘Can we do this without Govind? I mean why is he required anyway? I am sure both of us can handle this together,’ he asked Turbo. Govind gave Virender an angry look. ‘Wait, say that again.’ ‘Listen to me. Everyone, all the officers and second-termers know you very well,’ Virender said. ‘And remember, you have excellent grades overall. This is a deadly mission we are getting into. I mean there are chances that we might…’ Virender’s voice tapered away as he turned to address Turbo again. ‘Let’s face it...even if only we two are caught, he could end up facing the fire.’ ‘Oh, really?’ Govind said a bit too roughly and pulled Virender’s right ear. ‘Ow!’ Virender squeaked, trying not to be loud. ‘I want you to stay out

of…’ He hadn’t even completed the sentence when Turbo pulled on his left ear and said, ‘Why are you coming up with such weird ideas at this time? I asked you to be productive, not a dumbass! Why are you scared when we are with you?’ ‘Ow!’ he winced again, trying to lower his volume as much as he possibly could, annoyed with the rather painful pulls on his ears. ‘I am not scared!’ he said, sounding like he was scared out of his wits. ‘On second thoughts, this bitch might have a point here. If you want to go back you can, I can handle this alone,’ Turbo whispered to Govind. An angry Govind grabbed Turbo by the collar and said, ‘Listen, enough of “this bitch”, “that bitch”, okay? Get this straight, I am not going anywhere. Either all three of us get into this thing together or we drop the plan.’ The angry look in Govind’s eyes unnerved Turbo. Suddenly, the light bulb in the corridor went off. ‘Lights, lights!’ Turbo tapped Govind on his shoulder, like a wrestler’s tap-out, as a signal to let him go. Govind freed Turbo’s collar reluctantly; the plan demanded Turbo to step inside as soon as the lights went out. Relieved that before Govind could make him a trampled mess it was over, Turbo adjusted his clothes. ‘Come back soon, okay? We will wait for you,’ Virender whispered. ‘Honey, you keep the dinner ready and warm,’ Turbo snapped his fingers and gave a flying kiss to Virender. Govind and Virender waited outside in the shadows while he tiptoed past the security guard into the duty room where Mandy was waiting for him. Her eyes lit up like halogen lights when she saw him, while he noticed how lovely she looked in her uniform, his attention drawn towards two buttons of her shirt that had been left open, enough to give a hint of her cleavage—her way of balancing the line between being sexy and professional. She grabbed his hand and through the back door, led him to a small storeroom where medicines were stocked. She then asked him about the favour he wanted from her at that odd hour. He hadn’t disclosed anything to her till then. There was no place to sit inside that small room, so he sat on the wooden table kept next to the row of medicine shelves and made Mandy sit on his lap and explained the whole plan to her; telling her only she could

help them, he requested her to call up the academy adjutant, Lt Col George, who was primarily the discipline-in-charge. Mandy had to call and cook up a story, rather serve a pre-cooked story that was already planned out for her. All she had to do was to complain to the adjutant about a serious breach of discipline by some boys of Sinhgarh. She had to say that some cadets of Sinhgarh, possibly second-termers, passed some cheap comments at her while she was returning home from the shopping complex, an offence that was bound to be dealt with strictly. ‘How would I know those cadets were from Sinhgarh?’ Mandy protested about lying to the adjutant, she acted as though she was not convinced and this immediately brought the melodramatic Turbo down on his knees. ‘Listen, that’s easy, you can mention orange T-shirts...or...or...just say that some of their faces looked familiar,’ he said. She hesitated, but only for a moment, then turned her face downwards and closed her eyes as she could feel Turbo’s fingers tangle in her hair. He knew how to get this done. ‘You don’t have to worry about anything,’ Turbo whispered in her ear as he got up, his hand exploring her body where he knew his touch would tantalise her. His palm caressing her neck, thumbs at her ears. She had already given in. ‘Are you sure about this?’ She moaned in response, with an affirmation in her tone. ‘One-hundred percent,’ he replied and slipped his hand under her shirt, guided it to her bra and giving it a flick with two fingers, unsnapped it like a mastered art. Her body spasmed, she found herself aroused and caved in to Turbo’s desires. Succumbing to the hormonal demands, she kissed him on his lips, permitting him to explore her further. Holding her breath, Mandy tugged at the window. Turbo unbuttoned her shirt patiently and took care to hook it on the wall. He leaned forward, leaving a trail of kisses on his way down her belly while she gasped hard, slouched, and clenched her fists tighter in his Tshirt. Mandy came closer. ‘Gentleman Cadet Raghav Chaudhary, I love you,’

she said in her passionate voice. Turbo looked into her eyes. Winked. Soon, their bare-skinned, steaming bodies were like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly. ‘Let’s take this slowly,’ she said. Thinking about his friends waiting for his return and imagining Duggal searching for them with a torch back in Sinhgarh, Turbo began thrusting himself, moving his body in a rampant motion. The table painfully squeaked at its hinges, rocking back and forth on its legs, synchronising with Mandy’s sensual groans, as she grabbed above his shoulders with her nails digging into the back of his head. Just then, the sentry on his routine rounds outside blew a shrill whistle. Turbo froze inside the storeroom, the table muted, while somewhere in front of the dental section, dragging the snoozing Govind by his elbow, Virender dived into the bushes. ‘Don’t stop!’ Mandy shouted ecstatically. Turbo started again. Soon, they climaxed and unwrapped themselves from each other. Mandy quickly rearranged her hair and as she put her shirt back on, said, ‘Let’s go to the duty room. I can make the call from there.’ Turbo returned after almost an hour, with a big smug smile on his face. ‘What took you so long?’ Virender asked him and woke up Govind who was fast asleep in the bushes. ‘You think it is easy to convince girls, eh?’ Turbo said in a tired voice. ‘But she did a good job.’ ‘Why are you sweating? What’s that mark on your neck?’ Govind asked, eyeing him shrewdly. Turbo quickly wiped his forehead and covered the fingernail trails on his neck with his hand. ‘Let us just hurry and get back, come on, move,’ he said. They hurried back to Sinhgarh.

Next morning, when the sunlight filtering through the window formed a geometric pattern on Virender’s face, he popped an eye open and then the other, to find Turbo and Govind entering his room through the backdoor.

Both of them were in PT rig, ready to proceed with the next part of the plan. Virender got up rubbing his eyes. ‘The adjutant has called Sinhgarh second-termers for an immediate fall in at Chetwode!’ Turbo said as he closed the door behind him. He asked Virender to spectate the priceless show going on outside. Virender ran to the window. ‘Oh, I love this!’ He exclaimed as he looked through the curtain to find that Sinhgarh had, as if, turned into a mental asylum with its violent psychotic patients let loose. Mentally ill second-termers were running around, barking at the juniors to get them packs, belt, mess tin, water bottle, bikes; in fact, almost everything they required for the punishment rig—it was firsttermer’s responsibility to stock things up. Of course, none of them knew that around midnight the adjutant had received a call from the officers’ ward duty room, from a nurse who had just orgasmed; she was very upset, she was hurt and in between her sobs, she had complained about an act of waywardness by a Sinhgarh squad. They did not know why were they called to the drill ground in punishment rig. Three studs in the first-term, however, did. ‘Stage one, over.’ The studs high-fived each other when all the seniors had left the quadrangular. ‘Are you ready?’ Virender asked Turbo. Anxiety, once again, had started showing up on his face. ‘I was born ready,’ he fired a finger-gun and blew the smoke away. He was indeed born ready, thought Virender, ready to do anything that was against the rules. ‘Listen carefully,’ Govind said, ‘you stay inside, okay? We are locking the door from the outside. Don’t make any noise, don’t be seen or heard till we get back.’ ‘I think I am starting to get uneasy again. Come back fast both of you.’ They locked the main door of his room from the outside and walked towards the stadium. Thus began the longest hour of Virender’s life. Now that his friends were out to execute the last stage of their plan, his thoughts began to swirl into a twister, gradually engulfing him into darkness and bouts of nervousness

began hitting him with full force inside his head. What if they were caught? What if Turbo failed? What if Gurung came to the field? What if some evil first-termer complained about him? He continued pacing up and down his room, occasionally distracting himself by taking a peek outside through a gap between the curtains. The platoon was deserted, save for a safaiwala who suddenly appeared in front of the window, going towards the toilet holding two buckets in his hands. He stopped breathing immediately and pulled himself away from the window. Did the sweeper see him? Did he notice the curtain move? He imagined the worst. If he passed the test today, or rather if Turbo did so, he’d grant him and Govind anything they asked for. He’d definitely take them out somewhere nice for a grand meal, anywhere they wanted. He’d even wash their undergarments for a month, he decided in desperation but scratched that thought out instantly. The first thing he decided he’d do after getting over this whole damn thing was to call up Prerna and tell her that he cleared all his tests. In the first attempt. He smiled to himself. She didn’t need to know the entire truth. Was she telling him everything? She probably didn’t even care. Then why, he thought inconsolably, why does he love her so much? What makes him still think about her? His mind continued to buzz with such random thoughts. Checking the time twice every minute, he had paced across his small room more than a hundred times by then. He reclined on the easy chair and tried to divert his mind. He put his head down on the table with his left wrist tucked under the left ear, listening to each passing tick of the second’s hand of his watch. It seemed like a lullaby and without even realising it, his eyes drooped and he eventually dozed off. A wild battering at the door jerked him out of his snooze. It took a moment for him to orient himself. He gathered his wits together and scurried towards the window. Turbo and Govind were standing outside. He rushed to open the door only to realise that it was locked from outside. Turbo unlocked the door and throwing it open, bustled into the room. He was sweating profusely as though somebody had poured a bucket of water on him. ‘Because of you, all because of you’ he wagged his finger at Virender and

dropped with a thud on the bed. He fell on his back pressing his forehead. Virender cringed at Turbo’s expression and at the way Govind walked in, shaking his head sideways, as if in a panic attack. ‘We are dead,’ Govind said as he stopped in front of Virender. ‘Don’t know how and from where Gurung came to the field. He was supposed to be on leave until next week.’ ‘What?’ ‘He caught Turbo.’ ‘No!’ Virender felt as though something had just knocked all the air out of his stomach. ‘Yes. It’s over,’ Turbo whimpered from the bed. ‘Pack your bags. We are not going to the next term.’ Turning away from Virender, Govind ran his fingers through his hair. ‘The clerk was sure of... damn, what a fiasco...shit!’ he muttered to himself and started walking briskly across the room. ‘I told you to stay out of this, all right?’ Virender rushed to Turbo and made him sit up on the bed to talk. ‘Turbo, brother, I’m so sorry. Tell me what happened. Tell me, please.’ ‘We should’ve planned it better,’ Turbo punched the mattress over and over. ‘It was your plan, wasn’t it?’ Govind stopped at once and raged at Turbo. ‘Wait a minute,’ Turbo got up to face him. ‘I didn’t want it to end this way. I am as disappointed as you are and I hope you understand that?’ They immediately looked away from each other. Watching them fight, Virender fell on the chair like an empty sack. Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt like hitting his head on the floor out of frustration. He had never thought that things could turn this way. He was mad at Gurung, at himself, at the two wrangling in front of him and at the whole institute. ‘Shit! Shit! What have I done? What will I do now?’ ‘We,’ Turbo interrupted grimly. ‘I screwed it up. I should have never let you guys do this for me. I’m such an idiot! What am I going to tell my parents? And Prerna? I’ve lost her forever and all because I’m too lazy to move my ass.’ Dejected, his eyes

welled up with bitter, uncontrollable tears. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head to see Govind looking down at him. ‘What?’ Virender asked miserably. ‘You passed,’ Govind said, with an enormous Cheshire cat grin on his face. ‘He ran and ran and ran like crazy. This joker ran for his life and he ran like there was no tomorrow. He ran like a gazelle runs from a lion and he ran you into “Good”.’ Virender looked from Govind to Turbo. Turbo dabbed at his fake tears and laughed like a demon, shaking his shoulders hysterically. ‘I just imagined that Chop Suey was running after me to kill me. And you know I had to control my speed because if you came in excellent, Nepali would’ve made you run again.’ ‘Bloody animal!’ Virender leapt at him to punch the silly grin off his face. Turbo ducked and Virender landed on the mattress next to him. Govind joined them as the three musketeers laid next to each other on the bed looking at the revolving ceiling fan. In a few seconds, the entire corridor of Sinhgarh would hear the three snore in monstrous unison.

A few days later, the day of the football match with the US counterparts arrived. In times to come, Virender would remember this day vividly; if he could go back in time and change an event that happened, he would’ve stopped Govind from playing that morning. That morning, the first thing Virender did was to check his name on the notice board outside the sergeant’s room. Next to ‘Today’s Orders’, the nominal roll with names of players who had made it to the final list of 22 was put. There was a time when he could not stop dropping ‘F’ bombs at Wadhera for dragging him to the goddamn field, for forcing him to play football. Yet, as the days went by and he picked up the game, he had found himself wanting to be a part of the team and play for the academy. But today, once again, when the match was just about to start in an hour, he shivered at the

thought of finding his name on the list. He had had enough of football and moreover, it was a wonderful day to watch the match sitting outside, he thought as he ran his finger through the names one by one. Starting to turn cold, there was this sinking feeling in his heart, like he was hanging from a cliff by his nails and could fall into a deep abyss at any moment. And Prerna’s voice would echo again, ‘What was that in your pocket? I know you got a gift for me…’ Damn! There it was—his name. Virender Pandey—goalkeeper (reserve). ‘Fuck yourself, you dog!’ dropping yet another bomb at Wadhera, and cursing under his breath, he returned to his room to get ready for the match. The sky was clear and the white clouds drifting in the clear blue sky created the perfect setting for the photographers. The stadium was packed. As Virender walked into the field with the rest of the players, he was welcomed by a loud cheer from the spectators, as if the entire academy had come to watch him play. The teams lined up facing each other before the kick-off. You could feel the adrenaline flowing through the stadium when 16 overgrown boys of the opposition, like a champion Roman legion waiting to besiege enemy territory, stood in front of the relatively malnourished Indian players. Their white skin had turned pink in the heat, though for the Indians, the touch of the mild, dry autumn wind was always a welcome change after the sweaty, sultry rains. Virender scanned them from one end to the other. He had seen them practising at the stadium and it was actually then that he had given up the idea of defending against these guys. The referee blew the whistle. The players took their positions. The reserves moved out of the field. The game began. Making short passes, keeping the ball low, the opposition controlled the ball just like they have been controlling the world for years. From the way it rolled between their feet, it was apparent that they did not believe too much in running around the field. Chasing the ball, in a matter of minutes, the situation turned out to be extremely stressful for the India team. It was as if the ball was clinging to the away team. A long pass from the right midfield to the striker near the D-Top and the opposition had already scored in the 15th

minute. The stadium booed an off-side. Score 0–1. ‘Close-in!’ the Indian coach shouted as Wadhera asked him to signal a time-out. The players ran towards them. ‘Look at you clowns running behind the ball. You all cannot just walk around looking lost,’ he addressed the players. They nodded. Wadhera added that the players would be rotated in the second half. Virender took this as a heads-up for him. The first half ended at 0–1. The game continued after the break, and within a short time, the referee signalled another time-out to swap India jersey number 7 and 11. Not even 10 mins had passed that jersey number 11 fell down on his face, and rolling on the grass—making it hard to tell trauma from drama—blamed it on their wing-back, though Virender suspected it was because of his untied shoelace. ‘Free kick!’ The referee whistled a penalty. 11 scored. ‘One all,’ the PA system announced, the spectators cheered like a thunder roaring from the sky above and Virender clapped like a kid. The game resumed. Virender was a benchwarmer and the person under his close observation was Rana, the main goalkeeper. Since Wadhera had said he would rotate the players, he noticed the way Rana was continuously diving and stretching to block straight attacks on him. He watched him carefully, hoping to pick up a few pointers and not make a complete fool of himself in case he was asked to switch. Sitting not too far from Wadhera, from his side-eye Virender saw him telling something to the coach. The coach looked at Virender. ‘Time-out! Virender Pandey, change!’ he shouted. Virender froze on the bench. Not at this stage, you fool! He wanted to tell the coach as he got up, dreading that they were now into the last 15 minutes of the match. With wobbling legs, wearing the distinctly bright orange jersey, Virender walked towards the goalpost to replace Rana. He could hear the faint whisper of the people, as though making fun of him, or was it just the voices in his head? For a second, he thought it was those colony boys from Raebareli, making fun of him, saying ‘What are two footballs doing on the field?’ He ignored those voices. He did not even take note of Rana trotting past him, telling him to stay strong. The referee blew the whistle and the game resumed. Inside the goalpost, his legs started to go numb. Wadhera shouldn’t

have done this so close to full time. The opposition came charging towards Virender. He prepared himself to take them on. From the D-Top, the striker kicked the ball and it whizzed towards him, rapidly increasing in size as it rose. He quickly shifted towards the right pole. Jumped with his hands raised. The ball closed in, hit the top of the goalpost and bounced off. He fell down, got up, kissed his gloves and then the post. The viewers clapped with a loud cheer for him. Whether it was for him or for the goalpost, it did not really matter to him or to anyone. The game soon entered into its last eight minutes, every passing second as if tying Virender into knots. He got a breather when Nikhil, the centre-back, passed the ball to Govind, who, breaking through the defence, ran with the ball trapped between his feet. He crossed the half-line and dodged their wing back to head towards the goal, while Rohit, the right-winger, moved forward anticipating a pass. Shawn, the captain of the opposition, who Virender thought was lifting furniture or people for weights, was the centre-back. Shawn pushed himself towards Govind for roughing the passer but before he could, Govind passed the ball to Rohit. Rotating his ankles to strike the ball with the top of his foot where the laces are, Rohit shot the ball into the left corner of the net, it whisked past the goalie missing him just by an inch. Goal! The microphone blared, ‘India—two, US—one, seven minutes to go. What a match this is turning out to be!’ The cheering grew vulgar. Virender exclaimed in excitement but the referee’s loud blow of whistle followed by the show of a red card to Shawn made him realise that something was not right. He looked closely to find that Govind had fallen down and the players were running towards him. He was rolling in pain, throwing his head sideways. ‘Shit!’ Virender ran towards him. When he reached the spot he heard Shawn, who obviously was the one to be blamed for pushing Govind, trying to provide an explanation in order to defend himself, saying it was merely a playful push, nothing too rough. The medical attendant grabbed the first-aid kit and ran inside the field, followed by two boys carrying a stretcher. They lifted Govind onto it and took him out of the field. Boiling with rage, when Virender returned to the goalpost, Chatterjee, the Indian captain, came running to him. ‘Listen, we have only four more

minutes left. We won’t let these Umreekans attack. But in case they do, I don’t want any goal on us now.’ When Virender assured that he won’t let them score, Chatterjee ran back to his place. It wasn’t about winning or losing anymore, it was all about honour. He slipped his gloves back on and closed his eyes. ‘Shawn, you giant fart! Let’s see how your God saves you now.’ The game had grown wilder after the second goal against the opposition. Govind was out of the game and that had ensued into a void in the attack; moreover, him falling a martyr as it were, it invigorated the team to play even harder. Virender crossed his fingers inside the gloves. Every time the ball crossed the half-line, he would turn cold. Only one goal was required to level the score. And God forbid, he thought, if the referee sent the match to a penalty shoot-out, even another Virender standing beside him in the post would fail to save the match for his team. The defenders tried to keep the ball away from him until the last minute but with one slip-up the ball was once again rocketing towards him. The opponent striker collected the ball from the playmaker and swiftly ran towards Virender who was fixed at the centre of the goalpost with his eyes glued to the ball. But all of a sudden, like a magic trick, the right-winger appeared from nowhere, a move that Virender had not anticipated. And then for almost a minute the ball continued to outwit the defenders, making them look so funny chasing the passers. Tunnel vision set in for Virender when the right-winger received the effortless back-pass from the striker, who, taking care of the off-side moved closer to the goal, while the ball was connected with a long-pass to the left-winger, who with sheer brilliance, dodging the defender, ran with the ball towards the goal but instead of directing towards the post, passed the ball back to the striker. The striker threw his leg at the ball with full force. Virender opened up his arms wide to catch the ball and the last thing he could remember was the ball hurtling towards his face… black out. Just then, a voice was heard from the crowd, ‘I so hate funerals.’ He gradually opened his eyes to find himself in a room, sparse and operational. It was a typical hospital room with creamy walls. A thin curtain

separated his bed from two others. The fan above made a creaking sound, leisurely spreading the whiff of phenyl in the room. He could hear the faint sound of the television playing in the dormitory and people talking outside the ward. He found Turbo and Chop Suey standing next to his pillow. ‘Who brought me here?’ he asked them. The last memory he had was of a ball whirring towards him, and it rose in the air... and then a jump... that’s it, nothing beyond that. Turbo explained how Virender saved the goal, and the match, for his team, how the ball had made its way through his hands and hit the face, seconds before the referee blew the long whistle. He saved the goal but passed out inside the post with his face kissing the grass. The stadium had exploded with wild cheers for him, and in the middle of that whooping, shouting and clapping, he was rushed to the section hospital. Chop Suey said he wanted to open the camera fast enough because it was the first time he had seen Wadhera smiling and more so when the reason behind that smile had something to do with Virender. He said he could overhear coach questioning Wadhera why had he asked him to replace Rana with Virender at that crucial time. ‘Winning or losing is not as important as building this guy’s confidence. I want to prepare him for war. This is a warlike situation for us and I don’t want him to just sit outside on the bench, doing nothing for his team,’ Wadhera had answered. Virender swelled with pride when Chop Suey told him that they declared Virender player of the match. Lying on the bed, soaring to new heights of emotion, his mind travelled through all those gruelling days he had spent on the field, when cold sweat would pour down his face, when shiver would erupt through his skin at the sight of Wadhera—it was all over. He did it, people would now talk about him and of course, his grades were going to improve because Wadhera had promised him two extra NSA points—this thought lifted his spirits and brought a smile to his face. Just then he remembered something. ‘Govind?’ he asked. ‘He’s fine. Nothing to worry about, the doctor said,’ Turbo replied.

TEN

Disappointments ven with Virender’s resounding success at football, and the other tests, Chop Suey’s difficult times were far from over. Blissfully unaware of the truth, Wadhera thought it was all Chop Suey’s hard work—his commitment to his word, his unwavering determination towards his buddy—that Virender could pass his tests, and so, he rewarded Chop Suey. He made him the second platoon sergeant—Sergeant Ajay Singh. Wadhera promised that he would soon make him the JUO—junior under officer—but there was one condition; he had to ensure that Virender passed all his tests again this term. The tests are much more challenging this term and so he has to spend more time and effort on Virender, Wadhera said. Having lived through the agony of that undertaking last term, Chop Suey felt that Wadhera had tied him to a post to gradually remove the bits of his skin and limbs one by one, because Virender’s responsibility once again was worse than a torturous execution, but he knew in his heart that that he could not have refused or made an excuse to his boss. That would mean losing the opportunity to become a JUO. And thus, once again, Chop Suey became in charge of Virender. As for Govind, who was one of the higher ranked cadets in the order of merit, he became the BUO, the battalion under officer of Bhagat battalion—the rank of BUO being the highest cadet-appointment in a battalion. Meanwhile, people like Turbo were content with whatever came their way. He believed in the principle ‘high aspirations lead to depression’. ‘Look at us, we are happy to be disappointments,’ Turbo had said flippantly when Chop Suey had expressed his frustration on becoming a mere sergeant. As far as Virender was concerned, far from aiming for any appointment, he was happy with his present status. He couldn’t have asked for anything more than

E

safely getting through the first term. One cold February evening, Turbo and Virender were taking a shower. Six months of IMA training had hardened Virender. He was now so used to bathing naked in front of others that, as Duggal had proclaimed last term, he could probably bathe nude not just in front of the entire academy but the entire Indian Army and be completely all right with it. In an ostensibly romantic mood, Turbo was humming a Kishore Kumar number, gently rubbing and patting his chest as he worked up the lather on his body. In between his crooning, he told Virender that he had plans to meet Mandy the day after the next day as it was Valentine’s Day and he’d probably get some emotional lovemaking reserved for such special occasions. Turbo went on to talk about other random things, to include the haggling with Bajirao just to get a pack of cigarettes from the general store behind Sinhgarh, etc. Bajirao was the platoon orderly who would polish shoes and do menial jobs for minor tips. Turbo continued with his humming-talking, not realising that Virender’s mind was elsewhere. At the mere mention of Valentine’s Day, his thoughts had immediately flown to Prerna. It had been more than five months since he had heard from her. He could not get a chance to wish her on her birthday and he wasn’t sure if he should even make an effort to reach out to her on Valentine’s Day either. Probably, deep down, he knew the truth and he did not want to initiate something that would end up disappointing him. As he rubbed the soap under his armpits, the emotional dreamlike bubbles bursting around him forced him to ponder over the boundless incomprehensibility of his life. Was she actually so busy? Did she never have the time to call him herself at least once? He had given her the landline number of Sinhgarh the last time they talked, then what could be her excuse? Aiyappa’s girlfriend called him every day and they talk for hours. Did he have to be her boyfriend to receive calls from her? Hadn’t they been friends long enough? Had she ever called him casually, just to find out how he was doing? Whether he was alive or not? She, obviously, didn’t care about him. He sulked but ultimately decided to stick to his guns. ‘I am not going to call her,’ he declared emphatically.

‘Call whom?’ Turbo stopped whistling. ‘Your sister.’ Just then, a first-termer came sprinting to the bathroom. ‘Virender sir, phone call!’ He shouted from other side of the wall. Surprised, Virender quickly wrapped himself with his towel. The boy shouted again, ‘Ma’am is holding the line.’ ‘Coming!’ At the word ‘Ma’am’, Turbo immediately stopped rubbing the soap on his body along with his humming, while Virender, on the other hand, keeping a tight grip on his towel sprinted towards the SUO’s room, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him. ‘Be nice with my sister!’ Turbo’s voice jovially echoed behind Virender in the bathroom. He picked up the receiver and said hello. He heard a girl’s voice on the other side and it took him a moment to realise that it was Prerna. The fact that he could not find the right words to respond to her greeting surprised him. On the other hand, even after five months, Prerna sounded as if she had spoken to him only yesterday. ‘No calls, no news, and now you don’t even seem to recognise my voice. Nice,’ she said, surprising him that she actually had taken a note of the lack of calls from his side. ‘Well, you’re the one who’s been busy,’ he replied. ‘Well, I called.’ ‘I am surprised.’ He actually was. ‘Where’s my gift?’ she changed the topic. ‘Gift?’ ‘It’s Valentine’s Day in two days.’ ‘Is it?’ he asked trying to play it cool. ‘Any special plans?’ his voice actively attempting to conceal his desperation to know. But his question was met by silence. It was such a long pause he thought the call was disconnected. ‘Hello? Hello…he-hello?’ The brazenness in his attitude melted away in an instant. ‘I am sorry about that…and nothing. No plans. I just want to spend the day all by myself,’ she said in a sad voice.

‘You don’t sound okay.’ Silence again. ‘Prerna?’ ‘I just had a fight with Tushar. I hate to talk about it. Can we talk about something else?’ she said in an even lower voice. So that’s the reason madam had called, he thought. Just because she wanted a shoulder to cry on. Why was he even surprised? ‘Well, to be honest, I did not call you all this while thinking now you have a boyfriend and probably that is why you did not have time for me,’ he tried to summon more strength to not let her words hurt him. ‘How do you come up with such conclusions?’ ‘Tell me if that isn’t true,’ he said, a part of him desperately seeking a confirmation from her. At the same time, he was surprised at his own cockiness. ‘It’s not true.’ ‘Anyway, why did you guys fight?’ ‘I said something which I shouldn’t have and he is not talking to me now. You know, we fight a lot. There are frequent arguments over small things— almost every day. We are so different,’ she said and his face lit up at that. This, without doubt, was the best thing that someone had said ever since Turbo and Govind had told him that he had passed the first term. ‘You don’t have to feel sad.’ ‘I am not sad. Tell me, where is my gift?’ He hadn’t even planned to call her, a gift, by that measure, was out of question. Still to let the conversation flow he asked, ‘What do you want?’ ‘Cheap!’ ‘I think I can buy you something expensive.’ ‘I mean you don’t ask people what gift they want. That’s cheap!’ Yes, you remember someone after five months only to ask for a gift and that’s not bloody cheap, he thought. But he realised that Prerna asking a gift for herself was a terrific opportunity for him to send something really nice and romantic to her. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any time left to send anything across. ‘Let me think. Give me some time,’ he said.

Before the two disconnected the call, she had him note down the number of the cell phone she had recently purchased. She would wait for his call, she said. He felt a spark of joy inside him. All of a sudden, she gave him a reason to be excited about that otherwise colourless day. He knew he had to wait till the next day, at least till midnight, for things to get even better. She could sense his happiness. The clock was 20 minutes short of midnight when Virender sneaked into Govind’s room that night, holding a hard-shell guitar case in his hand. He rested the case against the wall and closed the door from the inside. He could hear Govind’s mild grunting, like the misfire of an old bike that had some carbon deposited on its spark plug. He was mumbling garbled words in his sleep. Virender was surprised when, in between the mumbles, he thought he heard Avni’s name. Was he talking to Chop Suey’s sister in his sleep? Virender took some water from the camper kept at the corner and was about to sprinkle it on Govind’s face when he stopped abruptly to find some medicines and a doctor’s prescription kept on the dressing table close by. Medicines on Govind’s table was like chicken nuggets on Maneka Gandhi’s platter. He sat on his haunches next to the bed and nearly fell flat on his back when he saw it had Govind’s name on it. He got to his feet and at once the table clock grabbed his attention, it was just about 12 minutes short of joining hands. Chucking aside thoughts of Govind having reported sick, he remembered why he was there in his room. He splashed a generous amount of water on Govind’s face. Govind woke up with a start, as if his paralysed muscles had suddenly come to life. He found Virender standing next to him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked him as he wiped his face. ‘Wait,’ Virender said and picked up the guitar case. ‘Let’s put this thing to some use,’ he opened the lid and took out an ordinary brown, hollow acoustic guitar from inside. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it over to Govind. ‘What is this and where did you get it from?’ ‘Haokip, that third platoon ikki.’ First-termer. ‘But why?’

‘Why don’t you play a song? Haven’t really heard you play.’ ‘At this time? What’s wrong with you?’ ‘I want to give Prerna a surprise,’ he broke into a broad grin, thinking how special he was going to make her feel tonight. ‘What surprise?’ ‘When there’s a girl in your life, there are some dates you cannot miss. By the way, can I ask you something?’ ‘What?’ ‘What’s cooking between you and Avni?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You were talking to her in your dream.’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘And you were loud.’ ‘What was I talking about?’ ‘Well, let’s just say I am glad Chop Suey wasn’t around.’ Not someone to waste words, Govind did not require further probing to confess his feelings for Avni. She has been on his mind since the time he had met her. He had, in fact, liked her the first time he had talked to her. The way she had talked to his mother. The way her thoughts were wrapped in her words had made him feel a deep attraction towards her. Virender told Govind that even she seemed to be fascinated with him, he noticed that look in her eyes, a look so hard to ignore, when Turbo was talking about Govind’s performance on the field and how everybody else was failing because of him. It was quite evident that she was impressed by Govind. Govind, however, was not ready to believe this. Virender asked him to give her a call in the morning and talk to her, to find out if this feeling might bloom into something more than just a midnight grunting. Govind tuned the guitar. ‘What do you want me to play?’ ‘Whatever you can,’ he said anxiously looking at the clock ticking away. ‘Let the butterflies of love flutter in Prerna’s room,’ he said, imagining how lovely Prerna would feel when she listens to the song. ‘How are we recording this?’ Govind enquired. ‘What recording?’

‘How will she listen to this then?’ Virender gave him an exasperated look. ‘Live, my boy, live…’ He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulled out a Nokia 6110 and flashed the steel grey mobile phone with a pale-green screen in front of Govind’s face. ‘Holy shit!’ Govind jumped from his bed as if Virender was waving a live grenade in front of him. He nearly froze at the sight of the mobile phone but his reaction didn’t surprise Virender at all. The reason was simple—cadets were strictly not allowed to keep mobile phones with them in the academy. Besides, although this gadget had hit the market in a big way, it was a luxury that the common man still could not afford. ‘Relax, Muthu is such a sweetheart, you know,’ Virender said, revealing the source of the gadget. He switched on the handset and the generic Nokia boot animation with two hands joining flashed on the screen. Govind kept the guitar on the bed. ‘Wait a minute. You have come to my room after lights out and that too with a goddamn mobile phone? There is something seriously wrong with you.’ ‘Brother, listen,’ Virender picked up the guitar and handed it back to him, ‘I understand your concerns, but right now, I need you to do only one thing— just shut up and focus on the song!’ He reached into his pocket again and took out a recharge voucher worth 50 rupees that claimed to offer a talk time worth 40. He quickly scratched the one-inch long silver bar for the code with his room key. ‘Muthu could’ve kept the booth open. He does it for everyone. Did you even ask him?’ Govind questioned, fitting the guitar under his right arm again. ‘I did not because I was sure you would not drag your sleepy ass to the PCO at this time.’ Virender concentrated on the voucher. He had probably scratched it too hard. ‘Shit…shit!’ He hit his hand on the table. ‘What happened?’ ‘The digits. They are gone. I think I scratched it too hard.’ He tried his best to read the code but he could barely see the first 12 digits. The last five were badly smudged. ‘I have no idea how this thing works. What are you doing with that

paper?’ ‘It’s a voucher. And I’m putting some money into this phone. It had only forty-five paisa. Saala kanjoos, keeps the phone without any balance. He asked me to get it recharged.’ ‘You just called him a sweetheart. Anyway, can I go back to sleep now?’ ‘Wait,’ Virender said. He took out three more vouchers from his pocket. He couldn’t have been more certain that it was going to be a long talk with Prerna tonight. He scratched very gently this time and loaded the cell phone with 120 rupees worth of talk time. The clock struck twelve. Govind took position with the guitar, ‘How about “Romeo is bleeding”?’ he asked Virender. ‘Let the Romeo bleed to death and die of haemorrhage for all I care. Just play something.’ ‘I was joking but it suits your condition perfectly, I am sure you haven’t heard this song. It’s a raucous risqué type of song—not at all soft and romantic enough to sway any girl. The lyrics too are a total mismatch. Let me think of what else I can play for you.’ ‘Just fucking play! Anything at all! Your song, whatever it is, should make her fall in love with me. Ready?’ Virender dialled Prerna’s number already saved in the ‘last dialled’ list to save time. ‘Wah, my song...and she has to fall in love with you?’ ‘Shh…it’s ringing. Play only when I tell you, okay?’ He muffled his voice. This is going to sweep her off her feet, he thought gleefully. He was ready with a small chit in his hand on which he had scribbled a few lines. ‘All the stars join me tonight to wish someone special a very happy Valentine’s Day…’ He read that piece off the paper. ‘Who’s this?’ Prerna said. ‘Someone who is out of sight but stays in your heart forever.’ Virender flipped the paper and continued, all the while observing Govind’s reaction. He was evidently enjoying the drama. ‘Excuse me?’ came her voice. ‘Fine, it’s me, Veer.’ Even this was written down to avoid any confusion. He had taken adequate care to see nothing went wrong with his opening lines.

Govind pressed his free palm against his mouth. Virender kicked him on his leg. ‘Oh my God! Veer?’ Prerna squealed with delight. ‘Is this a cell phone you are calling from?’ ‘I borrowed it from a friend.’ ‘How sweet of you to have called me. I never thought you would call at this time. I was not expecting anyone to call, you know?’ she added. He loved what she said for two reasons. One, he had been able to surprise her and two, her ‘not expecting anyone to call her’ meant Tushar was out of the picture. ‘How is your mood now?’ ‘I was not upset anyway. And now that you have called, I feel great.’ ‘Let me make you feel even better. You wanted a gift, right? How about a gift, straight from my heart to yours?’ he whispered, reading the last line on his cheat sheet. ‘A gift!’ ‘Ahem…ahem.’ ‘And what’s that supposed to be?’ She sounded excited as if she was expecting a ring to pop out of the phone. ‘Wait,’ he said as he turned towards Govind. He adjusted his position, holding the phone just a few inches away from the guitar that Govind had now fixed under his right arm and in a way that would eliminate any possible disturbance. His excitement was on the verge of breaking all barriers as he stooped towards the mouthpiece and said lovingly, ‘Just for you…’ ‘Now you are giving me goosebumps,’ Prerna said. It was a classic Fender dreadnought. Govind placed his fingers on the first three frets, strummed the opening chord of the song, and sang—‘I can love you like that’. Under the dim light of the table lamp, the music flew like a mellow dream, elevating Virender’s spirits, his heart playing beats in accompaniment. Govind’s voice filled the room with sweet vibrations and thrilled Virender with pleasant emotions, with every word giving a further stretch to his smile, every note a turbulent push to his heart starting to beat like crashing waves. He was glad he thought of this gift for her. When

Govind played the last note, Virender pulled the phone back to his ear. ‘Did you like that?’ he asked Prerna. ‘I loved it! I don’t believe this, Veer. Did you play that? Tell me,’ she said. ‘Of course, honey, that was me,’ he said, a bit unsure of how she would react to that term of endearment but then Saint Valentine had declared freedom of speech for the next 24 hours. ‘No one ever wished me like that, you know?’ ‘I know.’ ‘Can you play that song “Truly Madly Deeply” for me? It’s my favourite,’ Prerna said, instantly throwing him off guard. ‘Uh…’ He wondered if she had plonked herself on her bed to listen to his, or rather Govind’s singing all night. He looked at Govind, who reciprocated the stare. In his heart, Virender knew that if someone had woken him up at that hour of the night to play a song, he would’ve ‘truly’ buried that person ‘deeply’ inside that ‘madly’ lawn of the platoon. But he also knew that Govind was a sweetheart. ‘I wish you were here, I would’ve played all the songs you wanted,’ he said, and pressed the mouthpiece, ‘“Truly Madly Deeply”, next,’ he quickly whispered to Govind and brought the phone back to his ear. ‘Play that song, please...it’s so romantic,’ Prerna whimpered. ‘I’m not sure I remember all the chords,’ Govind mumbled to Virender, moving his fingers over the fretboard as he tried to jog his memory. Virender pressed the mouthpiece again. ‘Don’t do this, please.’ ‘Veer…Veer, listen.’ He could hear Prerna’s faint voice coming from the speaker. ‘Give me a moment, I am trying to adjust this guitar,’ Virender said. ‘No listen, looks like I am getting another call… I think…’ ‘Whose call?’ ‘I think it’s Tushar.’ She hung up on him before he could even say bye to her. ‘Hello? Prerna?’ he said, holding the phone to his ear. There was no response. The call was disconnected.

Without locking eyes with Govind, he placed the phone back in his pocket. ‘I think the balance got over,’ he said, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. That was embarrassing. ‘How could she hang up on you just like that? Did you even hear her say bye?’ Govind said. ‘Did you hear a bye?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then go back to sleep!’ he turned his face away from Govind and towards the door, to hide that mortified expression on his face. With rage searing up his heart, he walked a few steps and then stormed out of the room. He returned to his own room, swollen with anger. Sleep seemed impossible. His eyes stayed open, staring into a void. How easy it was for her to betray his affection, leave his heart into pieces like a broken mirror—sad and unpromising. Was he no more than a rebound guy, or worse, a mere perpetual shoulder to cry on whenever she needed one? Did his feelings ever matter to her? He wanted to scream his lungs out. What was this obsession that made him hate this girl but still want her back? When did he lose every ounce of his self-respect? He felt like going out on a rampage and shooting all the couples in the world. He even wanted to shoot himself. What was his fault? That he loved a girl who only hurt him back, time and again. The tears that he had been fighting all this while finally welled up in his eyes. There is this thing about friendship—it doesn’t need spoken words to understand each other’s feelings. Next morning, when Govind met Virender at the drill ground, he did not talk to him about the previous night. He could read into Virender’s eyes that he was hurt but he also knew that he would soon be fine. Virender, on the other hand, was a heartbreak veteran, someone for whom that feeling wasn’t new and someone who had learnt to let that heartache be a reason to seek love. He met Govind with a big smile on his face, locking up his true emotions inside his heart. Even he did not bring Prerna into their conversation but he did talk to Govind about Avni. He asked him to give her a call and talk to her. Govind was reluctant; he was worried about Chop Suey’s reaction if he came to know, but on Virender’s insistence,

he ultimately agreed. Getting the number of the medical college was not a big deal. When Avni received the call from Govind, she was pleasantly surprised. It did not take Govind more than a few minutes to realise that Virender was right—the feelings were mutual. As if it was an unsaid rule, neither of them brought up Chop Suey in their conversation. Being appropriately thoughtful about his words, Govind asked her if she would want to go out with him sometime. If only he could see how that smile had crept into her lips when she said that she would love to. They decided to meet the next Sunday. Govind didn’t have to think too hard to make that possible. He could get an official outpass without much hassle. He was there 15 minutes before her. She was on time. Avni and Govind chose a corner table at Barista. When they got up to place the order, they looked at the menu on the wall behind the counter, ‘Peach iced tea with lime, for me!’ together they said. Continuing to look at the wall they hid their smile from each other. That was just the beginning of sweet happenings between these two perfectly compatible souls. They talked like old friends, bringing different topics into their conversation, from their routine to their love for music, sufi nazms, fictional prose, travel or sports. Avni never tried to dig into his past because she knew he would tell her someday. There was something about her that made Govind feel that he had finally found someone. Someone who loved him even before she knew he existed. Someone who felt his pain more than he did. And she did. They spent the day together and when it was time for him to go back, they looked at each other as if capturing the moment in their eyes they’d need to survive for next few days. When can she see him again, she asked. Next week, he said. They looked into each other’s eyes. She smiled and the battle was lost. For both of them. They planned to go for a movie. When Govind returned to Sinhgarh, Virender was waiting for him. Unable to hide his excitement, like he had won a lottery, Govind thanked him. Virender gave him a thumbs-up, and took him straight to the cafeteria for a treat, wondering if his own ship would ever set sail so smoothly.

Regardless of whether it was his love life or the PT tests, failure had shackled Virender down in an unrelenting hold. His performance this term turned out to be worse than the last term. He was just not able to cope with the backbreaking schedule. The outdoor activities, swimming, drill, weapons training, and a whole lot of other things took a toll on him. Failing in the PT tests was just one thing; his performance in academics also took a plunge. The third PT test came to pass in the last week of April. Despite having practiced daily for a month before the test, he failed miserably in the run yet again. He somehow managed to pass some ground tests, such as rope, sit-ups and five metre shuttle. However, the remaining tests—chin-ups, chest-touch, and the toughest of them all, the 2.4-kilometre run—left him in utter despair. Wanting to beat his hands on the ground like a toddler, he found himself unable to speak at the results because, for the first time, he had practiced on his own. As expected, Wadhera wasted no time in calling him and Chop Suey to his office. ‘Bloody Pandey, when are you going to stop daydreaming? Get rolling towards the squash court! That should put some sense into your thick skull!’ Provoked to the highest degree of outrage, Wadhera was shouting from the platform outside his office in front of the basketball court and under his nose, Virender was rolling like a ball. In one hour, Virender had done more than 200 push-ups, four rounds of crab crawls around the office complex and countless star jumps, that is, a squat followed by a jump and a clap in the air. Dehydrated, his dungarees soaked up in mud and sweat, he thought he would shrivel on the spot. ‘You think your parents would be proud when they receive this gift from you?’ hollered Wadhera once again, watching Virender’s inept attempts at rolling, and waving an envelope in his hand. Tears of fear and embarrassment rolling down his cheeks, Virender lifted his head to look at him. He wanted to explain but what explanation could have justified his incompetence? Could he blame it on Chop Suey, or on the way his parents had raised him, the ecosystem or the Indian Constitution? He knew it was his fault. So, he chose to keep his mouth shut. ‘And you! Looks like the weight of those stripes has become too much

for you to bear!’ he yelled at Chop Suey this time, who, a short distance away from Virender, was on his 150th push-up, sweat flowing like tiny rivers from his face. ‘He has failed again, but you don’t seem to be bothered at all!’ Chop Suey paused to offer a beseeching look to Wadhera. ‘Don’t look up sergeant. I am warning you, don’t!’ Wadhera’s voice hit him like a blast from an explosion. ‘Start counting backwards and better make those counts audible! I am a bit hard of hearing!’ ‘One hundred and forty-nine!’ Chop Suey shouted as he went down again, lobbing a filthy stare at Virender. Perhaps, after all the rebukes piled up on his head, he would want to rip off his stripes, cancel the deal with Wadhera and, maybe, even aim a glob of spit at his face, Virender thought, avoiding matching eyes with him. But Chop Suey did not say a word. The catastrophe playing out in front of Wadhera’s office was all part of a special summons for the failures in the batch. The carry over of even a single test was good enough to qualify as one. Today, the failures of the entire academy were being counselled and reprimanded by their platoon commanders. Virender was content with the punishment, he was used to it, but that was not the only reason why Wadhera had called him to his office. He had something to give him. He finally made him get up and gave him the envelope that he had been holding on to all this while. Virender decided to wait till he returned to his room to open it. After Wadhera left them, he limped back to Sinhgarh. His legs on two per cent battery, struggled to hold his weight. Chop Suey followed him closely. As Virender walked into his room, he found Chop Suey entering the door behind him. ‘Open it!’ Chop Suey shouted at him. ‘You go to your room. I will tell you later whatever it is,’ Virender meekly replied, bereft of the confidence he always showed in front of Chop Suey. Whatever that letter would reveal, he was reluctant to open it in front of him. He had been hurt enough. ‘Give that shit to me,’ Chop Suey filched the envelope from his hand. ‘I said I will tell you, didn’t I?’ Virender immediately snatched it and

turned his back to Chop Suey. Why couldn’t the guy just leave? ‘Open it and read it in front of me!’ Chop Suey demanded, almost screaming now. Virender was equally frustrated, if not more, but there was so much fury in Chop Suey’s eyes he knew that if he were to refuse him one more time, he would’ve probably ended up with a black eye. He had completely lost his confidence. Not just that; for the first time, he had realised the fact that because of him Chop Suey had to put up with a lot of shit. He was the culprit. He tore the envelope and took the letter out. Chop Suey shifted closer to him, peeking over his shoulder, while his eyes ran through whatever was written on that sheet. It was a warning letter to Virender from the administration block. From the Commandant. ‘Gentleman Cadet Virender Pandey, this is to bring to your notice…’ was how the letter started and by the time they were done with the last line, Virender found himself experiencing an extended thunder from Wadhera’s office. He could feel the letters like spiders crawling up his arms and beginning to gush across his face, covering him in a large cobweb of dread and panic. If he failed in the next attempt, he would be relegated to the junior term, or worse, thrown out of IMA—this was written in no uncertain terms. He stood like a statue with the paper clutched tightly, almost crushed between his fingers, while Chop Suey had an I-was-waiting-for-this-to-happen expression on his face. The door opened with a creaking sound. ‘What’s up, peepal ? You both were not seen in the mess... we had tipsy pudding today...what the fuck!’ Turbo entered, telling them something, only to realise that something was wrong. They were soon joined by Govind. Virender quickly turned his back to them and dabbed at his eyes to appear normal. He did not have the courage to turn around and face them. Govind held his shoulder. ‘What happened to you?’ One look into his eyes and Virender broke down, bawling his eyes out. The letter in his hand fell to the floor. ‘Hey, hey...’ Govind ruffled his hair and then looked at Chop Suey, who, in turn, shook his head in disgust. Govind made Virender sit down on the bed.

‘Read this,’ Chop Suey picked up the letter and gave it to Turbo. ‘What is this?’ ‘The inevitable.’ Turbo quickly read through the letter. He looked at Virender and asked him, ‘Who gave this to you?’ Sobbing inconsolably, Virender stuttered, ‘Wadhera…had called us…to his office.’ Govind took the letter from Turbo. ‘And then, as you can see, what he did to us in front of everyone outside his office,’ Chop Suey added, staring at Virender as if ready to tear him apart. ‘I don’t believe this! They are not relegating you, are they?’ Govind asked in a disconcerted voice when he finished reading the letter. Virender couldn’t find the strength to meet his eyes. ‘They even sent a copy home,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how my parents are going to take this. What am I going to tell them? Papa was sure that I would come back home in a few weeks...’ His voice broke, imagining the damage this letter would soon cause at his home, and realising that it would be making headlines in his neighbourhood in Raebareli. ‘They did not send a copy to Bangalore too, did they?’ Turbo said as he took the letter back from Govind, smiling at his own joke, at his meek effort to lighten everybody’s mood. ‘You want to die right here?’ Virender snarled, seizing the letter from him. ‘Okay. Peace!’ Turbo raised his hands. He realised that this was serious business they were dealing with. Not the time or place for anything even remotely entertaining. The only reason Virender swallowed his anger was because Turbo had run as his proxy last term. A part of him wondered if Turbo could do that again for him this term but he knew better than to ask. None of them would have risked it this time. Officers personally conducted the second-term tests and moreover, by now, Virender was famous. Almost everyone recognised his face, his name. And performance. ‘What is the date today?’ Turbo asked.

‘Twenty-fourth,’ Govind replied. ‘We have twenty-five days, there is time,’ Turbo counted on his fingers. ‘Time?’ Govind said. ‘Friend, where is the time? And we are going for Chindits next week.’ Turbo gave him a blank stare in response. ‘Ten months could do nothing to change him, what will one month do?’ Chop Suey sighed. Virender, for once, found himself in complete agreement with Chop Suey. People say that nothing succeeds like success but the opposite also stands true. He believed that his failure was, in a way, a reflection of Chop Suey’s failure as well. But he knew pretty well by now that Chop Suey considered him nothing more than a licence to better grades. That was the only reason he even considered helping him. Virender could only sulk. Govind was right, there was no time. The final test was barely a month away and they were going for Chindits next week. Chindits—the last outdoor military training camp for the second-termers before the convocation. They would be spending a week in a jungle across the treacherous ravines of Shivalik hills, to be tested on whatever they had learnt during their training. The seven days of military manoeuvres included lectures and demonstrations, training in tactics, firing, battle inoculation and finally, the endurance run, which was a point-to-point navigational routemarch-cum-run from the camp location back to the academy. After the Chindits, all that was left for the graduating cadets was to practise for the POP—the passing out parade. But this letter had crushed all his hopes of being a part of that parade. He was about to get relegated. ‘They don’t want me to pass. They want me to fail,’ his voice cracked as the words spilled out of his mouth. He felt like he was beginning to lose his mind. ‘Who wants to fail you, eh?’ Turbo questioned, sounding a bit serious this time. ‘All of them. They don’t want me to pass.’ ‘Guys, we have to take this seriously, otherwise he loses the term when we put on our stars. I don’t think anyone of us wants that to happen,’ Govind said, painting a picture that inadvertently pushed Virender further into

depression. ‘What do you want to do? I am sure, you won’t be able to run or make any such plan for him this time,’ Chop Suey remarked snidely. Arrogant prick, Virender thought, was being sarcastic at the wrong time. ‘Will you please shut up?’ Govind snapped at Chop Suey. ‘Yeah, ask me to shut up,’ Chop Suey retorted. Throwing a dirty look at Virender, he continued, ‘Ask him…just ask him how many times I had told him not to take things lightly. But Gentleman Cadet Virender Pandey never understands even when you spell things out for him. Now he will have to face the music, bloody sham!’ ‘When did you tell me that, you liar?’ Virender shouted, having had enough from this guy. Like Turbo had done once, Virender could’ve kicked Chop Suey again but aggression was certainly not the answer here. Actually, he wasn’t really sure what the answer was because he had absolutely no faith in his ability to raise his standards within 25 days. ‘Listen, you jerk, my life is already screwed up. I appreciate your concern but trust me, I do not need your help,’ he gathered some courage to tell Chop Suey bluntly. ‘What did you say?’ Chop Suey narrowed his eyes at him. ‘Fuck off sergeant. You are only a mean grade-grabber. Yes, that is what you are!’ Chop Suey crossed his arms. ‘Go fuck yourself. To hell with you and your tests.’ The room grew eerily silent quite abruptly. Every passing second was increasing Virender’s agony to unbearable limits. He wanted to run out the door and never come back. Suddenly, Govind got to his feet and tapped Virender, ‘Change into your PT rig. Let’s go to the field.’ What was this guy up to, Virender wondered, lines of concern showing up on his face. ‘What?’ came Turbo’s slightly delayed but equally surprised reaction. Govind repeated, ‘PT rig. Come on, move!’ Sensing his temper, Virender thought it was safe to not question him any further. He looked at the time, 1:30 PM. It was blazing hot outside.

‘At this time?’ Turbo asked. ‘Yes, I will make sure that he throws the peak cap with us.’ Govind clapped twice. ‘Move, I said!’ Virender knew he had no choice. If he wanted his friends to help him get out of the mess that he was in, he had to do anything they asked him to do. Without a word, he slipped into PT rig. While Govind walked towards the door, Chop Suey snorted from behind, ‘I am telling you, it’s all just a waste of time. Try whatever you wish to, there is nothing that you will achieve. He will not change. Just a dead weight that he is.’ Govind stopped at the door. Turned back. ‘You are so sure about that, aren’t you? But let me tell you this, you’re the last one who should be talking about achievements. Doesn’t suit you, sergeant.’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Don’t act as if you don’t know what I mean. All you’ve done so far is suck-up to Wadhera, nothing else. Remember, I told you to refuse if you did not have the balls to take this on. But no, you always wanted to get those points from him without actually fucking doing anything.’ ‘What the heck! Now I get all the blame because this guy is good for nothing? All this is my fault?’ ‘Most of it, yes.’ Chop Suey took some deep breaths and scowled. ‘And whatever you guys did last term was all right?’ Silence prevailed again. Govind did not respond to him. Instead, he turned to Turbo and said, ‘He is right. It’s not his fault. We shouldn’t have done that last term. We didn’t think ahead, and now if he fails, we all fail.’ ‘Look, I can help if you want me to come along. I promised Wadhera that he will pass this time,’ Chop Suey said just as Govind and Virender were about to step out of the room. It was amply clear to Virender that he was now flaunting his position as the one officially responsible for him, rather than sincerely expressing his willingness to help. Govind held up his palm. ‘Let me handle this now.’ ‘Be as foolishly overconfident as you want to be. Who cares?’ Chop Suey

jerked his head. ‘You be a shameless suck-up for your grades. Who cares?’ ‘What do you think of yourself, eh? Because you are a BUO, you can say anything you want?’ Chop Suey griped, taking two steps towards Govind. Turbo’s hand instantly snaked out to keep them at arm’s length. ‘Enough, both of you!’ he shouted as he slipped between them. Govind promptly showed his middle finger to Chop Suey and stepped out of the door. But Chop Suey had transformed into a live volcano. He could have just kept quiet and saved himself the embarrassment but he tossed his head instead and sneered, ‘Get lost. Bloody son of a bitch.’ Govind froze where he stood, his hand stiffening on the doorknob. He turned around, chucked Turbo aside and grabbed Chop Suey by his collar. ‘What did you just say?’ A mere apology at that point would have saved his skin but Chop Suey was on auto-pilot, letting his anger and pride dictate his actions. He looked into Govind’s eyes and was about to repeat, ‘Son of…a…bi...’ when the sound of a stinging slap echoed in the room. Chop Suey lost his balance and fell to the floor, his spectacles dangling from his right ear. Govind stormed out of the room. Virender and Turbo, open-mouthed, could do nothing more than watch Chop Suey sprawl flat across the floor. Chop Suey slowly staggered to his feet, rubbing his cheek and the side of his head. Virender watched awkwardly as he grasped the bed for support to get up. His eyes had turned red. ‘You shouldn’t have said those words to him,’ Turbo said, handing him the glasses that Chop Suey hadn’t realised he was no longer wearing. The left lens was shattered and the frame bent. ‘What words?’ Chop Suey looked at the frame and teared up some more. Maybe, because that was the only pair he had, rather than out of regret, Virender could not help thinking. ‘The words you said, you idiot,’ Turbo said and left the room. Virender ran behind Govind to join him on the field, hoping not to get knocked down for being late.

ELEVEN

The Camp ovind and Chop Suey stopped talking to each other. Even Virender took to steering clear of Chop Suey as much as he could. As for the training, Govind became Virender’s unofficial—albeit evil and violent—coach. Virender’s worst days at the academy had finally arrived and one thing was sure—he was not going to be handled with leniency this time. Channelling all his hatred, pouncing on his every mistake, Govind showed Virender how wicked he was as a coach. His tribulations continued the entire day, on and off the field. Virender began to feel as though the combined contempt that Duggal, Gurung and Wadhera felt for him had been condensed and crystallised in Govind alone. While training him, Govind wasn’t a friend, he was a slave-driver. ‘You stop and I break those legs’ became Govind’s dictum for him. Every time Virender tried a shortcut, Govind would make him do extra laps around the field. Every evening, after games, while others would return to their rooms, Govind would make him run around the battalion PT field and the obstacle training area. For every unauthorised break, or an inopportune demand for one, Virender would be dangling on the chin-up bar like a bat—a punishment that was promptly followed by crunches. Govind became so intimidating that Virender had to often beg him for his life, he would often hide somewhere to avoid him. A week passed like that. One night, Virender was in his room, sitting on the floor, with legs straight out in front of him, leaning forward to grab the arches of his feet to stretch his calf muscles. His entire body was sore, but he finished the massage quickly and got up. He was sleepy but he had a lot to prepare for Chindits that they were leaving for the next morning. He had just started to

G

put the blanket inside the packs when a first-termer came running to his door to tell him that there was a phone call for him. The lady was on hold, he said. Virender walked towards the other end of the lawn where the phone was kept outside JUO’s room. Who could it be? He looked at the time in his watch, 10:15 PM. From home? But he had already spoken to his mother earlier that day to convince her that there was nothing to worry about the warning letter that they had received. Prerna? He considered that possibility as well. But why would she call? To tell him that she was sorry, that she shouldn’t have hung up on him that day? That they fought again. This time, he resolved not to entertain her nonsense, regardless of how she would take it. She should be the one on the receiving end, the one having to cope with all that indifference. Or wait, perhaps it was his mother after all. Yes. Maybe she wanted him to talk to his father and convince him that they were not throwing him out of the academy. He took the receiver and tried to sound composed. ‘Hi, Virender, it’s me Avni,’ came a soft voice. ‘Avni, oh, hi!’ he said, taken completely by surprise. ‘Sorry, if I disturbed you...’ ‘Not at all. But wait. You wanted to talk to me... or should I call Ajay?’ ‘I want to talk to you, Virender. I need your help,’ she said. ‘What is it? You sound worried,’ he said and the possible reason for her call struck him. Govind had been on campus the entire day with him. He vaguely remembered him mentioning a few days back that he and Avni had planned to meet that afternoon to go for a movie. Had anything gone wrong between them? ‘It’s weird, I know…calling you at this hour but I want to ask you something. I am not sure if I should be asking you about this but I couldn’t think of a better person to call.’ ‘Tell me.’ ‘What’s wrong with Govind?’ ‘Are you guys not talking to each other?’ he said, pretending that he hadn’t suspected anything. ‘He called me last night. We talked briefly but he wasn’t his usual self.’

‘How so?’ ‘I mean, he seemed rather tense and…um…upset with me.’ ‘Oh…’ ‘We were supposed to meet and go for movie today but he called earlier this morning to call off the plan. He mentioned something urgent coming up that he couldn’t get out of. That was the last we spoke. I have been trying to call him since then but he doesn’t seem to be available. Do you know what’s keeping him busy?’ Virender found himself trapped in the dark. Should he tell her the truth? If not everything, at least the tellable part, he decided. ‘Govind was with me today,’ he said. ‘I have my tests coming up and he’s been training me every day, for over a week now.’ ‘Oh, he was with you...’ she said, relief evident in her voice. Virender wondered if Govind really needed to call off the date with her because of his training sessions or if there was something else. Was it because of whatever happened between him and Chop Suey that day? ‘Why couldn’t he tell me this?’ Avni interrupted his thoughts. ‘He sounded rather tense. Is this all there is? Are you sure? Can you get him on the phone, Virender, please? I want to talk to him.’ Several thoughts were twisting and turning in his head, making him feel worse about himself. Burdened with guilt, he realised the trouble he had been causing Govind since the past few days. Despite the busy routine and the official commitments, Govind had been spending whatever time he had with him and because of him, his plans to meet Avni had been ruined. He held himself accountable for his scuffle with Chop Suey and now if anything were to go wrong between him and Avni, no one else was to be blamed. ‘Will you hold the line? I’ll go get him right away,’ he said and rushed to Govind’s room, hoping his gesture would help sort out the trifling issue between the two. Govind was pulling the strap of the raincape tied behind his backpack when Virender entered. Packs, belts, dungarees, maps, papers, jungle boots, straps, mess tin, blanket, practice ammunition and grenades were all neatly laid out on the floor. Virender told him about Avni’s call.

‘I don’t want to talk to anyone,’ he said, taking the pack off his back. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Please stop.’ ‘What’s wrong with you?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘What’s her fault?’ ‘I will talk to her once we are back.’ ‘That is what…after eight days?’ Govind stopped whatever he was doing and looked at him. ‘Fine, what am I supposed to tell her then?’ ‘Tell her anything for God’s sake. Just say I am not feeling well.’ ‘This is not how you treat a girl. Especially your girlfriend,’ Virender said and rushed out to get back to the phone. ‘She is not my girlfriend!’ Govind’s voice faded out behind him. ‘Hello...hello?’ Virender said but Avni had already hung up. He returned to his room. He looked at his half-prepared packs and the stuff on the floor, there was a lot to prepare for the next morning but the thoughts wouldn’t dislodge themselves. The fights and the misunderstandings between his friends made him uneasy. On an impulse, he decided to call Avni back and rushed to the PCO, making it just in time, just before Muthu could pull the shutter down. The call went through and the receiver briefly excused herself to go fetch Avni from her hostel room. In no time, Avni was there to take the call. Virender could sense the disappointment in her voice when she realised it wasn’t Govind. Quickly getting to the point, Virender told her about the fight between Govind and Chop Suey, and that Govind’s behaviour had nothing to do with her. Her first question came as expected. ‘Does bhaiya know we have been talking?’ ‘No, he does not.’ ‘Thank God! But then why did they get into a fight in the first place?’ ‘Because of me. I thought I should call and tell you that I was the reason behind all this and I am sorry. That’s all.’ He wanted to keep the conversation

short, as it was already lights out in Sinhgarh. ‘I need to know exactly what happened. I hope you understand that I cannot ask bhaiya about this?’ she said. ‘Oh, it was just some lame guys’ issue. Nothing serious.’ ‘This is crazy. Listen, Virender, I have to meet Govind. I need you to help set this meeting up.’ ‘I understand, but how and when?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Tuesday, would that be fine? I have a lecture but I can skip that.’ ‘We are going to the camp tomorrow morning.’ ‘Oh…’ she paused and then added, ‘Just tell me where your camp is. I don’t care whatever place it is, I will come there. Govind must realise he’s not the only one who can be impulsive.’ Did she say she was coming to the camp? Virender couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Wait, did you just say you’re coming to our camp?’ ‘Yes and please don’t tell anyone, especially bhaiya, about this. Not even a word of our conversation, okay? I beg you.’ Was there a way to get out of this? The way this girl was pleading, he didn’t have the heart to dissuade her. But coming to the camp? ‘No way, Avni. You are not coming to that jungle,’ he spoke in a calm tone and attempted to make her see sense in this. ‘You two can sort everything out once we are back. It’s a matter of only one week.’ A girl showing up on campgrounds sounded to him much worse than being pinned down under enemy fire. ‘I can’t wait for one week!’ she exclaimed, as if he had asked her to wait until her MBBS got over. ‘It’s a matter of only one week,’ he pressed. ‘I don’t care. Is this jungle the one close to Rampura gaon?’ ‘Uh, yes.’ Virender cursed Chop Suey for sharing such details with his family members. ‘Don’t worry, I am familiar with that place. I want to clear all the misunderstandings and set things right with Govind as early as possible.

Camp or no camp. Nothing can stop me from meeting him.’ Virender slapped himself. Why did he have to call her back in the first place? Heck, what was the matter with girls? He paid for the call and walked towards the platoon where a first-termer was already howling ‘lights out’.

Tuesday arrived much sooner than Virender had expected. It was their second night in the jungle. In the impenetrable denseness of the forest, one could faintly hear the helpless moan of the cadets. The jungle had its own laws and rules. And the man who defined them was Sudda, as Captain Sudan—the directing staff and the camp in-charge— was christened. A man of medium height, well-trimmed stubble and a proud sharp moustache on his round face, Sudda was the red-eyed ghost emerging from the semi-darkness of the encroaching night, who could make the skeletons rise out of cracked and crumbling graves that had been dormant for years. Intense paranormal activity and arcane events with Sudda ensured that the boys did not have a minute to spare. Under his surveillance, only the dead could afford rest. Surviving though the heat and humidity of the sultry days, and the sudden deluge of the pouring nights, the boys, in no particular order, could be seen either pitching their syndicate tents, or uprooting and shifting them, digging the snake trench around the tent every time it was pitched, side-rolling in the rao—the dry, stone covered river bed—crawling through the mud, or running around a lone tree on the hilltop, rifles held up with both hands, going back to that tree again, on their haunches, cursing the jerk who misplaced the butt-plate and then, on having reached that tree, letting off the steam by shifting the curse onto Sudda, gorging on food when the mess truck arrived and making their way to that damn tree again, on their haunches, for acting like savages, hating their decision of abandoning their civilian comforts and coming to the academy in the first place; bribing the orderly to get them copies of Debonair or Fantasy Fun hidden under the mattress in their rooms back in Sinhgarh, waiting again for the food truck to arrive like refugees, guzzling and then puking on being ordered to roll uphill

immediately after a heavy meal, swearing under their breath behind Sudda’s back, finding absolute solace in the Indianised version of the Playmates that the orderly brought them, and relieving themselves in the shrubs, waking up to Sudda’s sudden roar at midnight just when they thought they could get some sleep because Sudda was a bloody insomniac, and running to that tree again for falling short of headcounts in the all-in report. To summarise, it was a never-ending cycle of hellish ordeals. That night, in the open area between the canal and the unbroken line of tall eucalyptus trees, Sudda was conducting his lecture. ‘The phases of the moon’ was written on the blackboard set up over a tripod, towards the left of which he sat on a campstool. He was teaching his students how to read the different phases of the moon and how to use them in night operations. A group of boys with dummy rifles resting against their shoulders was sitting cross-legged in front of him. Virender couldn’t care less about the lecture. Avni was supposed to meet him shortly at the old, abandoned post office that was around 300 metres away from his location. The post office was where the forest trail hit the main road. Not able to think about anything else, praying for her safety and cursing himself at the same time for entertaining her hare-brained plan, he looked up at the sky. The moon was a waning crescent, in its eighth phase, shrunk to a thin sliver. It was going to be a long, black night, he thought. ‘Boys!’ Sudda yelled, pulling most of them out of snooze. Turbo straightened his back to realise that the lecture was over, while Virender was wide awake because of tension. He was constantly looking at his watch, waiting for Sudda to leave. ‘It’s twenty hundred hours by my watch. You have four hours. Before I return, I want you all to dig the trench as per your detachment. Show me some good work if you don’t want to spend the rest of the night with me!’ He grouped them and returned to his tent. Chop Suey was paired up with Turbo. They both had to dig a two-man rifle trench. Paramjit, Govind and Virender were grouped together to dig a three-man LMG trench, a trench big enough to accommodate a light machine gun detachment of three people standing inside.

It was hard for Virender to focus on digging. Avni would be coming to the old post office any moment now, he thought. He had to keep an eye on the people around him in order to slip away unnoticed. Chop Suey’s trench was at about 30 feet from his. Resting the shovel like a rifle on his shoulder, he walked towards Chop Suey to find out what was he up to. One person he wanted to make sure stayed put in his place was Chop Suey. What if he saw Avni at the camp? He could hear an argument between Turbo and Chop Suey. ‘Sleep time!’ Turbo said throwing the pick-axe on the ground. ‘Please, don’t do this. I cannot dig this trench alone,’ Chop Suey was pleading him. ‘Did I ask you to do it alone? We will do it in shifts,’ Turbo replied, barefacedly, spreading the ground sheet as bedding inside the bivoc. A bivoc, a shelter for two, was supported by two poles stretched tightly by cords attached to pegs driven into the ground. ‘We won’t ever finish like this, I am telling you. It’s a lot of work. You won’t wake up, I know!’ Virender noticed how the altercation with Govind had drastically cut down Chop Suey’s aggressiveness. Otherwise, would anyone ever see Sergeant Snob grovelling before someone? As for Turbo, though he seemed to have bolstered himself and held up well enough in the last two days, he was clearly not in the least interested in trading his rest for burrowing through the earth. ‘Don’t worry. I will take over from you. Wake me up in an hour and then you can sleep,’ Turbo assured him. With that, he lay down with his back to Chop Suey and draped a blanket around him like a victory flag. Virender knew he would soon be dead to the world. In the meantime, the boys in the other detachments had started digging earnestly. The jarring noise of metal striking the ground could be heard distinctly at night. Realising that he was only wasting his time with Turbo, Chop Suey covered his face and neck with a muffler and started stabbing the stony patch with his pick-axe. Chop Suey wouldn’t be able to move from his place, at least not until Turbo woke up; it would be good, Virender thought,

as he returned to his trench. Indicating to Paramjit that he was going to attend nature’s call, he disappeared behind a tree. Unknown to the rest of the cadets, soon he was running towards the old post office. A red Maruti 800 was parked behind some kind of a broken-down, brickwalled structure. The door opened and Avni came out. She was wearing a black leather jacket over a pair of denims and sports shoes. Her eyes gleamed when she saw Virender approaching around the bend in the road. He reached her and put his hands on the bonnet of the car, gasping for breath. Breathing heavily, he asked if she did not have to wait too long for him. She had just arrived she said. ‘This place is so dark and scary at night! I feel cold,’ she said, rubbing her hands on her jacket to keep herself warm. ‘How about keeping yourself warm by digging some trenches with us?’ ‘I don’t mind,’ she laughed. His eyes fell on the warm and cosy rear seat of her car. If only he could just curl up and take a quick nap, he thought. Without wasting time, he led Avni to an abandoned hut nearby. In the afternoon, outside that hut Sudda had demonstrated ‘camouflage and concealment’. Virender had stuffed a lot of plants and leaves inside his dungaree, big pack, pouches, cap and boots to impress Sudda but in vain. Sudda ordered him to pick up his rifle and go around his favourite tree. When Virender returned with his lungs almost sprouting through his mouth, Sudda had told him that instead of being camouflaged well, Virender had looked like an unnatural bush in the middle of a barren patch. He asked Avni to wait there. She asked him to come back soon and he rushed off to get Govind. When he reached the camp location, he rubbed his face to look normal— and relieved—and walked towards his trench. Paramjit was throwing the pick-axe on the ground like a farmworker and Govind was scooping the earth out. ‘What have you got for a bladder, a tanker? It takes you half an hour to pee?’ Paramjit shouted when he saw Virender approaching from a distance. ‘Get down here and do some work,’ Govind scowled at him.

‘I went on a round to see what the others were up to. I met Sudda when he was coming this side. He said he wants to meet the senior. Go fast,’ he told Govind, trying to sound as convincing as possible. ‘Is he calling me?’ His shovel stopped in mid-air. ‘Yes, go fast.’ Thinking Sudda must be planning the next assignment for them, Govind hauled himself out of the ditch. Virender took the shovel from his hand. He told Govind that Sudda wanted to see him at the hut near the training ground. He asked him to take his walkie-talkie with him. Another set was with Paramjit. Within a range of five kilometres, you could stay connected with the portable radio. The set had a PTT (push-to-talk) switch that started transmission from the antenna sticking out of the top. It had a halfduplex channel, and although only one radio transmitted at a time, the others on the same frequency could all listen to it. Govind tucked the set in his belt and left immediately. Watching him disappear into the dark, Virender crossed himself, trying not to be nervous about the surprise awaiting his friend at the hut. ‘Good luck brother, surprise or shock, whatever it is, either way I hope you will not break my head for this,’ he murmured under his breath. ‘What?’ Paramjit said. ‘N-nothing. And w-why don’t you dig properly?’ He looked at a distance to find Chop Suey busy quarrying alone. By 11 PM, apprehension had gotten the better of Virender. In his head, a whirlwind of negative thoughts were churning him into pieces. The agitated swarm of insects circling the bulb outside his bivoc looked like an outer manifestation of his internal turmoil. Govind had been away for more than 40 minutes. All this while, Virender was keeping an eye on Chop Suey. Turbo was sleeping deeply while Chop Suey could manage to do most of the work alone but then, there is a limit to everything. Disgusted, Chop Suey threw the shovel on the ground that seemed like a revolt against himself. Jolted by the loud noise of metal hitting the stones, Turbo leapt awake up thinking it was a surprise check. Chop Suey asked Turbo to continue, if he wanted to, that is. It didn’t take

Chop Suey a minute to doze off. Turbo took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, slipped a cigarette between his lips, cupped one hand around it and lit it with a quick flick of the lighter. He wasn’t going to work, not so soon after waking up anyway, and so he decided to go out on a round of inspection. Over at his trench, Virender proposed to Paramjit that since Sudda was not going to give them rest, they had to find a way out—proposing the idea of taking shifts so that they are able to take short naps in rotation. Paramjit liked the idea so much that he immediately closed his eyes. Virender picked up his radio set, walked a few steps and then sprinted towards the hut. There was no one near the hut. Virender hesitantly called out to Govind twice but there was no reply. It wasn’t like he could freely shout out anyway. He decided to check out the place where the car was parked. What if they had already patched up and he stumbled upon them making out or something? The thought worried him for he really needed to get back to the camp with Govind. Their trench was not even half done. When he reached the tree, under which the Maruti was parked, he saw Govind and Avni standing near the car. He hid behind the tree and moved closer, so that the two were audible over the grating sound of a cricket chirping somewhere and the noise of frogs croaking in the pond nearby. Contrary to what he had thought, he could see that Govind was in a foul mood. ‘I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. Did I ask you to come here?’ he could hear him just about shouting at Avni. That was totally unlike the Govind he knew. ‘Why are you being so rude to me?’ he heard her say. ‘Does Ajay know you are here?’ ‘No, he doesn’t. I know why you are not talking to me. But before we drag bhaiya into all this, why don’t you answer my question?’ Shit, Virender muttered under his breath. The realisation suddenly hit him that once Govind’s meeting with Avni was over, he would have a field day going after him. Playing a cupid had backfired on him. ‘Go back, go to your hostel. You shouldn’t have come here. If we are caught here, it will be a difficult situation for both of us,’ Govind said. ‘It was not easy for me to come here and I am not going anywhere till I

get my answers,’ she reacted. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’ A brief pause ensued. They stood in silence for a bit while Virender witnessed how his plan had gone for a toss. He shifted a little closer, dragging himself against the tree. In that short moment of silence, suddenly, he found chiring of that cricket and conversation of those frogs pleasing to his ears. ‘You have nothing to say? Fine, does that mean we are not going to see each other again? Is that what you want?’ Avni killed the silence. Govind did not say anything. ‘Why don’t you just speak up? I promise you will never see my face again,’ Avni said. Patch up or break up, just hurry the hell up with it, Virender wanted to tell Govind. Tension was splashing inside him like the ocean waves, reminding him that Sudda would be coming for a surprise check any moment and he did not want him to find them missing. But, since his friend was in a sticky situation, he decided to come to his rescue. If he saved him right now, it would probably alleviate Govind’s wrath later, thinking he pressed the PTT button. ‘Victor to Golf, Victor to Golf, over.’ The handset on Govind’s belt alerted him. Avni too was startled by the radio suddenly springing to life. Govind looked around him and promptly responded to the call, ‘Golf to Victor, pass, over.’ ‘Victor to Golf, Sudda calling you, Sudda in a fucked up mood, over.’ ‘Oh, no!’ Govind said. ‘Sudda?’ Avni asked him. ‘On my way, over. Where are you, over, hello, over,’ Govind raised the handset to his mouth to be heard clearly. Virender laughed and then pressed his hand against his mouth to stifle the noise. ‘Is everything all right? Sudda, who is he?’ Avni asked again. ‘Captain Sudan. He is calling me. I have to go.’ ‘Victor to Golf, you are dead, I repeat you are dead. Only you are missing, over.’ Virender created some urgency before getting up to move towards them.

‘I have to go,’ Govind said. Before he could react any further, Virender jumped out of the shadows in front of the car. ‘What are you doing here?’ Govind said, taking a moment to realise what had happened. Virender laughed trying to ease the tension in the situation with his silly act. ‘I came searching for you, and hello Avni, what a pleasant surprise to see you here!’ he said, not letting Govind notice that wink. ‘Hi Virender,’ Avni gave him a weak smile in response, communicating that he could stop pretending as Govind already knows who is behind this plan. Govind turned to Avni. ‘You must go now. We two need to get back to work.’ ‘Don’t worry, relax. That was just me calling you,’ Virender said. ‘You just wait. We need to deal with this separately,’ Govind said gearing up to move back to the camp. Virender exchanged a quick glance with Avni to assure her he’d handle this situation. ‘Now that I am here, you want to go back. Why don’t we just relax for a few minutes? My arms are paining after so much work,’ he said, wanting to put things back on a normal footing. ‘Fine, if you want you can stay here, I am going back,’ Govind snapped and started walking briskly towards the camp. Virender hadn’t anticipated such a reaction from Govind. He was about to call out to him to stop but Avni stopped him from doing so. ‘Let him go,’ she said with a heavy heart, blinking her tears away as her eyes followed Govind till he disappeared from sight. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him,’ Virender said by way of an apology. She shrugged. ‘I should be heading back now,’ she said. She thanked him for setting up the meeting and he advised her to drive safely on her way back. After Avni left, Virender crossed his chest, prayed for divine intervention and ran behind his would-be murderer. He caught up with Govind just short of the trenches. Govind saw him and started walking even faster. Trying to match his speed, Virender asked him to vent all the anger filled up inside him, once and for all, so that he could then

explain everything to him and set things right. However, his petition was shot down instantly. ‘Fuck!’ just then Virender exclaimed and pulled Govind behind a tree when he saw Sudda standing in front of Chop Suey’s trench. Surprise checkup! That rotten look on Sudda’s face was not something new. All the syndicates were standing in front of their respective trenches. They could see Paramjit standing all by himself, frantically turning his head from side to side like an owl, trying to locate the two of them. He couldn’t have used his radio set to contact them as it was with Virender. ‘Not up to my standards but I can see some decent effort from you,’ they heard Sudda telling Turbo for the work he never did. Chop Suey was rolling in the mud nearby. They came to know later that Sudda had caught Chop Suey red-handed, snoring like a tractor. Turbo, that lucky pig; it was only when he was standing over the trench, wondering what to do with the pickaxe in his hand, that Sudda showed up. Who is this monkey sleeping; Sudda had asked Turbo to which he had promptly replied that it was Sergeant Ajay Singh. Had Sudda asked ‘Who dug the trench’, the answer would’ve been the same but the consequences different and certainly not to Turbo’s liking, of course. ‘Sir, please may we have the permission to join?’ Govind asked as they rushed towards their trench—Sudda’s next target. It seemed like after Virender had left to look for Govind, Paramjit did not wake up at all. The trench was exactly in the same condition as Virender had left. Paramjit’s eyes emitted sparks of relief, seeing that his friends had returned to share his agony. ‘Where are you clowns coming from?’ Sudda asked, as delighted as the second-termer who had caught a junior trying to call his mother at Muthu’s PCO. ‘Nature’s call, sir,’ Virender replied at once, placing a hand on his stomach. ‘Why are you with him?’ he probed Govind. ‘I-I went to call him,’ Govind answered.

‘Well…where’s your radio set SUO?’ Sudda inquired from Paramjit. Paramjit started looking here and there on the ground through the corners of his eyes. ‘Here!’ Virender raised the handset immediately. ‘Very good,’ Sudda said. ‘Now, tell me, whose call sign is Victor, and who is Golf?’ he asked staring right at Virender who had started experiencing tremors under his feet for he had an inkling why he was being asked that question. ‘M-myself and BUO Govind, sir,’ he stammered. Sudda walked two steps towards him and gripped him by his belt. ‘You two buggers? Do you want me to tell you who Sudda is?’ he bellowed, making Virender shake like a jelly. He was sure all the birds within the forest had deserted their nests at Sudda’s frightful roar. Victor and Golf spent rest of the night with Sudda. With them were 14 other prisoners, including Chop Suey, arrested for their trench falling short of Sudda’s expectations. They were paired up for commando push-ups. Govind was on his hands with his legs placed on Virender’s shoulders. Taking a tight grip on Govind’s shin, Virender was squatting and cursing himself with every count. He had no one else to blame for foolishly trying to play the role of a love guru. ‘It wasn’t my plan to call her to the camp. I am sorry,’ Virender mumbled as he stooped to get Govind’s legs off him when Sudda asked them to switch. ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ Govind broke his silence with a warning as he helped him put his legs on his shoulders. Promising that he wouldn’t, Virender lowered his body for his first pushup. Had he not conceded to Avni’s demands, they would’ve at least dug the trench properly and saved themselves this torture. But then, he thought, he had done his bit to get the lovebirds together. When the prisoners were released next morning, Turbo was waiting for Virender and Govind with a camera in his hand. He saw both of them walking towards him in wet, heavy dungarees, soaked in mud from head to toe. Before finally releasing them, Sudda had asked each one of them to take a dip inside the dirty pond and get side rolling away from him, out of his sight.

‘Hold there!’ Turbo shouted. They both stopped. Turbo put a 10-second timer on the camera, placed it on the campstool, pressed the shutter button and ran to join them. He went and stood next to Govind, who then squeezed him and Virender in his arms. ‘Say boobies!’ Turbo cheered. Camera flashed.

Seventh and the last day of Chindits. Faded dungarees, torn packs, tongue coming off the double moulded boots—the condition of the boys was worse than the homeless drunks begging on streets. Spirits were low but the good news was that they were going back to the academy. One last task had to be performed. It was more than 30 kilometre route march with 22-25 kilogrammes of weight on their backs. No matter how well they trained for it, almost everyone was going to end up with vicious blisters on their feet. And then there was this fear of over or under weighing their packs that would be checked for its contents once they were done. Taking care of some important aspects of the runback, Turbo and Virender decided to follow some pointers: 1. Walk leisurely, not succumbing to peer pressure, 2. Stop at every shop at every village on the way and buy something to munch or sip on, 3. Get hold of a gujjar, a local guide, who could lift their packs and rifle, and take them through the shortcuts, and finally, 4. Give suicide a serious thought in case they had to repeat this shit. Sudda had warned Sinhgarh cadets that they would have to repeat the runback if they did not finish as a group in the given time. The runback started. Boys navigated through the forest, along the rao— the dry river—for what was going to be hours of laborious walking. Carrying his packs and rifle, Virender walked with his group. He had generously filled Rasna packets in the front pouches. Turbo walked next to him, holding the inventory of chips and peanuts, whatever he could get from the first general store they came across while moving out of Rampura. The route was terrible. It was all forests and hills with low undergrowth,

high spurs, deep ditches cut by running water, natural conduits, un-bridged creeks, and swampy gullies with thick ferns crossing the line of advance. Every passing minute only added to the humidity and blazing heat. Rumour had it that dead bodies of a few cadets on previous runbacks were left to decay on the same track as a warning to the group. This was highly improbable though, Virender thought, however, he was sure he would be the first to pass away to the heavenly abode. It was wise to cover the maximum distance before the sun was overhead to avoid an untimely demise. It did not take long for Sinhgarh to become Sinhgarh express. The speed walkers moved ahead like an engine. The exhaustion, slow built-up of body heat coating layer of sweat and blisters growing across their feet did not even allow the bogies to catch up. The contingent eventually formed a long trail and after approximately three hours the first group that had Mallu, Chop Suey, Paramjit, Govind and 15 others, somehow got separated from the rear. Virender and Turbo, along with 20 other boys marooned in the second group, were absolutely clueless about the direction in which they had to go. They could only guess that the first group had probably touched the highway leading to IMA and was waiting for them there but no one knew the route or direction to take. They stopped at a diversion near the culvert, believing that somebody from the first group might come back looking for them. ‘Daddy will take you kids home,’ Turbo said, taking out a crumpled map and a compass from his bag. Turbo was probably the worst map reader of the group. He also had the lowest score in the map-reading capsule because he did not even know how to align the compass, let alone read a map. To corroborate Turbo’s findings, Nikhil and Ramesh joined him. Hence, obviously the map-reading didn’t amount to much. The first help came from the three small kids playing near the temple. They had seen some faujis going towards the main road, the kids told them. The second came from a gujjar, a local guide, who in exchange for some money led them along the fire line to the track that led to Chakrata road. After about two hours or so, when the groups united, boys embraced each other as if it was a school reunion; emotional ones wiped tears off each other’s eyes and kissed on the cheeks. Virender realised that Govind was

nowhere to be seen. Mallu told him that Govind had suddenly fallen ill and that a two-tonner had to be called to take him to the academy. He explained what happened. Mallu was the first one to realise that something was not right and that they had taken a wrong turn. Sanjeev, bumbler of a map reader, was no less than Turbo. Unable to take the back bearing on the compass, he screwed up and the boys ultimately took the wrong route. On the map, the fire-line and the nallah looked exactly the same to him. That nallah misled them. They hit the wrong road and that was the reason the second group could not find them. These were common route march disasters. The map reader was like a guide, quite like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, and the rest of the boys, the rats that followed him blindly. If he screwed up, others were done for. Mallu continued. He had guessed that the second group must have halted at the culvert that they had crossed almost an hour back. Govind said he would go back to get everybody, otherwise all of them would get late. He referred to the route off the map and asked Mallu to lead the rest of the group by taking a detour from Godra village ahead till they hit a road junction. From there, he would know which road led to IMA. Govind then began walking in the opposite direction, while the others headed towards Godra. Not even 10 minutes had passed, when suddenly they heard someone calling out. ‘Paramjit, Ajay, Mallu, stop, come back!’ They turned to see that it was Aiyappa. Aiyappa was part of their group but was struggling to catch up because of injured leg. They ran towards him. Worried, Aiyappa told them that when he turned to see how far Govind had gone, he saw Govind stumble and fall down abruptly on the road, like a puppet suddenly released of its strings. Aiyappa hurried towards him, he saw his body was shaking, his muscles getting into spasms. It seemed much like a seizure. Blinking incessantly, Govind had his head bent to the right with his body tensed up. It all lasted only for a few seconds. Aiyappa pulled him off the track and settled him under the shade of the tree before rushing to call for help. They rushed to the spot with Aiyappa. Govind was unconscious, as if peacefully sleeping under the shade of the tree. They sprinkled water on his

face. He opened his eyes and, resting his back against the tree, the others helped him sit. They made sure he was fine and did not bother him with a lot of questions immediately. There wasn’t any local dispensary nearby, so Paramjit immediately left for Godra to make a phone call. A message was sent to the DS and a vehicle was immediately dispatched from the camp location. Govind was not ready to go back in the truck. He said he was fine and that he did not want to leave his group but the NCO ordered him to get in the truck. He left for the section hospital, just about an hour before the second group had reached there. ‘Seizure?’ Turbo said, giving Virender a worried look.

TWELVE

Candid Confessions fter they reached IMA, Virender and Turbo went to the hospital. When they walked into the ward, the doctor, Maj Sharma, was standing beside Govind’s bed. They quietly stood next to him. Govind was glad to see them. ‘There is nothing to worry about. The weakness was due to physical exertion,’ Sharma was telling Govind. He continued that a lot of people, even the healthier ones, blackout after strenuous physical activity. It had something to do with heat exhaustion when significant reduction in blood pressure results in the muscles cramping up and eventually the person faints. Boys’ falling during runback or on the cross-country route was normal, he said. ‘There’s even a rumour that the track is strewn with dead bodies of boys from previous runbacks. All that’s just a rumour but you get the idea,’ Sharma joked. Writing the prescription and a X-ray scan for Govind, Sharma asked him if he wanted few days of bed rest but Govind refused. He was discharged. They returned to Sinhgarh. ‘Did you just say no to bed rest?’ Turbo asked Govind, as they entered Sinhgarh, ringing the cycle bells. The juniors had gathered inside the platoon for their welcome. ‘Because I don’t want bed rest.’ ‘Give me a chance, I would take a month SIQ and get commissioned directly from the section hospital,’ Turbo mused. Virender gestured with a flick of his fingers and three first-termers religiously ran towards them to park their bikes. Before retiring to their rooms, Govind asked Virender to sleep early, and that he would wake him up in the morning. Virender pressed his hands to his

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ears and walked towards his room. When Virender opened his door, it felt like the homecoming of a soldier deployed in a war zone in Afghanistan. Neither a pristine carpet awaited him nor was any plush furniture laid out to greet him but today, after all that hard work, having sustained six sleepless nights in that unforgiving jungle, his ever-so-ordinary room captivated him with the warmth and luxuries of the world’s finest suite. He dragged himself inside, unstrapped the packs from his back, flopped on the bed and took off his boots. The pungent stench of mixed grime and sweat from his socks ruined his sense of relief briefly. He threw the pair across the room to his hamper. Yet another milestone crossed, he thought proudly. Just then a lavish surprise drew his attention. On his study table Sinhgarh juniors had laid out a grand spread of food, all in accordance with the longstanding tradition of the academy. His stomach felt like a black hole when he looked at the sandwiches, patties, pastry, chips and soft drinks on the table. Without wasting a second he opened the packet of chips and stuffed them into his mouth. He licked his fingers smeared with masala, silently thanking his juniors and wondering what good karma had manifested in these treats. He crunched another handful of crispy chips. He took the sandwich, soaked it in green chutney and devoured a large piece, it tasted immensly satisfying. Employing both his hands to eat, he was full within minutes. He licked his fingers greedily again and with a loud burp wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He raised his head to see a yellow chart paper pasted on the wall beside his bed. ‘Welcome Back Sinhgarh Warriors. DLTPO—34! Boom!’ the first-termers had written across it with a red sketch pen. DLTPO—‘Days Left to Pass Out’. Suddenly, a thought made him wince. With Chindits the last hurdle before the convocation was over; but for everybody else except him. He cursed himself for thinking about his pending test—the last obstacle—12 long and gruelling days away. He shuddered and crashed on the bed.

‘Don’t worry about the time right now, just focus on completing the run,’ counselled Govind, who, taking note of the time, had his eyes set on the stopwatch that he was holding while he ran backwards alongside Virender. Both of them were in their PT rig. There was no way Govind was going to let him slack off. There was a strategy he had in mind for Virender. ‘First few days focus on finishing the laps, learn the correct form and breathing pattern, then beat the time towards the end,’ he told Virender. At quarter to seven the next morning, the sun having resolutely dragged itself above the horizon, Virender and Govind were probably the only second-termers awake in Sinhgarh. Govind had pulled him out of his bed, made him change and dragged him to the PT field yet again. Virender had cried like a child. Govind made him understand that 10 days would not be enough to improve his standards unless they push the limits. If you want to be good at something, you need to do that thing over and over again, so, for the next 10 days, they would be running the 2.4-km run every day, he said. As they covered the ground, Govind continued telling him that weight loss and strength building were nothing but a game of numbers—subtract overeating and add extra movements. But the talk of food, as usual, had the opposite effect on Virender. He started feeling hungry but he somehow pushed all thoughts of meals away, quelled the growling calls of his stomach and resumed his one-point concentration. Only 10 more days, he steeled his resolve. His tongue hung out like a dog panting in the heat, Virender somehow covered the first lap. Virender wanted to know the time but Govind asked him to increase his speed for the second. They turned towards the road between the PT field and the equitation centre. Just then, they found Chop Suey standing near the squad post, watching them practise. ‘What is he doing here?’ Virender whispered to Govind as they got closer to Chop Suey. ‘Focus on the run,’ Govind growled. When they crossed him, there was a boastful surge in Govind’s voice, ‘Last three minutes and don’t slow down. Eyes down, on the road, run, run, run!’ He clapped hard, perhaps to show Chop Suey what serious coaching

was all about. Second lap ended at 12 minutes 44 seconds. That was not even close to the ‘satisfactory’ but Govind didn’t make a fuss about it. After a quick hamstring stretch, Govind took Virender to the chin-up bar for some armstrengthening. Standing below an iron rod fixed between two parallel poles, he jumped to get an underhand grip on the bar, his hands shoulder-width apart. Govind stood below to ensure he wasn’t slacking off here. Virender always hated an instructor’s glare digging into his neck from behind, being an object under nerve-wracking surveillance. But deep down he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere without a teacher like Govind. As he rose his chin over the bar the third time, he noticed Chop Suey came to the field and stopped near the rope gallows, to watch them again. That typical querulous look on his face made Virender wonder if Chop Suey was there to keep an eye on them—to scrutinise Govind’s training regimen. Chop Suey, however, was ignored again. ‘Dare you come down before ten! Move up!’ Govind ordered sharply as Virender brought his weight down, easing out a bit. Hanging with both his arms pressing on his ears, Virender cursed Chop Suey. His presence was only adding to the pressure. Because of this jerk Govind was losing his temper. ‘Pull up, pull up, two more,’ Govind shouted as his chin crossed the beam again. ‘Can I come down, please?’ Virender implored, feeling the blood flushing his face. His hands swelled and the strain crawled up his arms giving him the heebie-jeebies. ‘Come down and I am done with you.’ ‘Please, I beg you. My hands are paining!’ he wailed to deaf ears. ‘Two more, two more!’ ‘Don’t, please don’t!’ Now his grip was coming undone. ‘Only two more, for your parents. Do it for them!’ Govind raised his voice. Virender somehow managed to cross the bar twice. ‘Last two, this time for Prerna. Yeah boy, come on!’

‘Balls!’ he retorted. ‘Let me down, I beg you.’ Her name squeezed the strength out of his arms and he was now bawling like a five-year-old. Wasn’t he going through all of this because of her? Suddenly, he felt a strong thrust of two more hands clutched around his waist. It took him a lot of effort to turn his head and look down. Chop Suey had joined Govind, interestingly without his permission. ‘Two more, you can do it!’ Chop Suey cheered him on. It was entirely because of the efforts of the two pushing him that he could raise his head over the beam. By now his arms had gone numb. ‘Down!’ commanded Govind and he fell down, lifeless, like a sandbag dropped from that height. Chop Suey extended his hand to Virender. Virender held it tightly and pulled himself up. They exchanged a quick smile. There was something in that moment that made Virender feel awkward. The remorse in Chop Suey’s eyes made him realise that if Chop Suey had been crabby and difficult all along, he was the reason for making him feel that way. Because of him Wadhera had been berating Chop Suey for the last 11 months and what had he done to help this guy? Nothing. Preferring a minimalistic conversation in front of Govind, he only briefly thanked Chop Suey for his help. Chop Suey smiled and he didn’t look all that repulsive to Virender for the first time. Govind ordered Virender to go around the goalpost. No argument in front of Chop Suey, he thought and shook his head compliantly. Having walked halfway across the field, Virender turned back to see Chop Suey was walking behind Govind, as if trying to explain him something. Wondering what it was about, Virender quickly touched the goalpost and ran back. He returned to where these guys were standing and before Govind could put him on the next task, fell flat on his back like a dead frog on the dissecting table. Chop Suey did not talk in front of Virender. ‘Are you done? Do you want to go to the South Café?’ Govind asked Virender as though Chop Suey wasn’t present there at all. The prospect of food helped Virender get back on his feet again. He could see that Chop Suey wanted to talk about something, that he was sorry for his actions but Govind’s face was rigid and cold. An apology seemed pointless.

Leaving Chop Suey behind they went to the cafeteria. Later that morning, when Virender returned to his room, there was a surprise waiting for him. Vinod, the CQMS—company quarter master sergeant—had left a letter on his study table. With a sticky note on the envelope—‘I came to your room. Do 100 push-ups before you open this letter.’ Virender flipped the envelope over; it did not look official by any measure. Making himself at home, he kicked off his shoes, dumped his sodden clothes in a corner and sat on the bed. He tore the envelope open and pulled out a letter. This was the second letter—third in fact—that he had received in the last 11 months, including the recent love letter from Wadhera. The first one was from his mother that he had received in the previous term, in which she had sent her blessings and prayed for his well-being after every sentence. Other monumental details she had included were that dadi had asked him to read the Hanuman Chalisa on Tuesdays; Thakur Brijesh Singh, his mausi’s husband, who, being in pursuit of an election ticket and mostly seen shuttling between Raebareli and Lucknow, because of which other relatives had named him ‘satellite’, had finally gotten a ticket from the ruling party and no one called him ‘satellite’ anymore; the small flyover near their house, under construction for the last 10 years and in that duration having collapsed twice, was finally operational; and her mother’s sisters, all three of them, had already confirmed a year in advance that they would be coming to Dehradun for his POP next year. He started reading the letter in his hand. He couldn’t have been more surprised to discover that it was from Prerna. ‘Dear Veer, Hope this letter finds you in good health. It was just yesterday that I received your parcel. I must tell you that it came as a big surprise to me. All those letters that you had written to me, and those cards? I really don’t know how to react, and what to reply. But I decided I had to write to you. I couldn’t put off making certain things clear to you.

Yes you are right that we have known each other for more than eight years and we do have some sort of chemistry between us. But the plain truth is, my feelings for you are not as deep as yours seem to be for me. And while I don’t want to make you feel bad, I just thought you should know that we could be better off as good friends. I am really sorry about this and although you say you’re deeply in love with me, I don’t feel the same way about you. When I moved to Bangalore, I was looking forward to living alone, living my life the way I wanted to, without being involved with anyone. But then Tushar came along. I had to tell you about him because you are my best friend and I didn’t want to hide anything from you. Neither do I want to lose your friendship. I’m going to keep this short by telling you that I am sorry that I cannot reciprocate your feelings because my heart belongs to someone else. I had to tell you this, it may even hurt you, but I hope you will understand. All the best for your training. Hope to see you soon with stars on your shoulders. Prerna’ His brain stuttered. He could feel his head spinning, chest heaving, he couldn’t breathe. Running a hand through his hair, he got off the bed. He leapt at the study table drawer. The bundle of all the letters and cards that he had written to Prerna was missing. He emptied the drawer on his bed, took everything out from the steel trunk and threw his clothes out of the almirah. No, it wasn’t there either. He looked at the letter again. Was it a trap? Or a joke somebody was trying to play on him? Did Prerna actually write to him? But it was her handwriting. The way she scrawled her a’s, the distinctive touch of her r’s, it was all there. He quashed the doubts assailing his mind. He slipped some fresh clothes on and dashed out of his room. He kicked Turbo’s door open. Unlatched, it banged against the wall with full force, bringing down a big white slice of lime and gypsum plaster. At the sound of the door crashing against the wall, Turbo at once threw the half-

puffed cigarette on the floor, hurriedly closed the magazine kept on the bed and pulled his pyjamas up. ‘I will only ask you once and you better tell me the truth. Did you send those letters to Prerna?’ Virender yelled, flapping the pages in his face. ‘Holy shit! You scared my balls off, man!’ Turbo placed a hand on his chest and exhaled exaggeratedly. He stooped under the bed, picked up the half-lit cigarette from the floor and got up. ‘What is this?’ he dragged a puff and took the letter from Virender’s hand. ‘Keep that goddamn cigarette away!’ Virender screamed at him. The tip was about to touch the paper. ‘Dude, relax!’ Turbo said and started reading the letter. ‘Oh boy, this is from your girl! When did you write to her?’ Virender waited for him to finish. When he did, he looked at Virender. ‘Listen, stop screwing with my head. You know anything about this?’ ‘Know about what, you idiot?’ ‘Did you post all those letters I had written to Prerna?’ Turbo gave him a creepy look. ‘God, I have never written a single word to anyone in my whole life,’ he said with scrunched up face. ‘Anyway, come here, look what she writes. She received the parcel from “you” and she read “your” letters. Doesn’t that mean “you” wrote those letters and “you” posted those letters to her? Why are you screwing around with me then?’ ‘I did not. That’s why I am asking you, you mutt…’ Virender realised that he was only wasting his time. He took the letter, walked out of Turbo’s room and ran towards the other flank, towards Govind’s room. Turbo took a last drag and threw the cigarette stub out of the window. Thinking this was going to be fun, he ran behind Virender. Virender stormed into Govind’s room like a hurricane whipping the dust into the air. He found Chop Suey standing there. There was a serious discussion going on between the two which was interrupted by Virender’s appearance. They looked towards the door. Virender was standing there with eyes like fireballs. He decided to take on Govind first. ‘Listen, did you send those letters to Prerna?’ He rushed towards him blindly and in the bargain rammed his toe

into the shoe rack. ‘Ouch!’ he leapt in pain, tandav style, gripping his right toe. ‘Careful!’ Chop Suey said. ‘What letters?’ Govind asked. ‘The letters that you sent her. Tell me the truth. Confess and I promise I will not say anything to you,’ he said, sitting on the bed and massaging the toe that had turned red. ‘W-what are you talking about? Why would I send anything to her?’ Govind’s reaction echoed Turbo’s. Just then, Turbo entered, broadcasting like a cheap AM radio station, ‘Letter…letter…letter…’ He snatched the letter from Virender and tossed it to Govind. ‘His janeman wrote him a letter!’ ‘Huh?’ Govind caught it in the air. ‘Look at his face. Did you ever see that blush on his shameless face before?’ Turbo said. ‘Who the hell is blushing?’ Virender scowled as he got up from the bed. ‘Oh boy…’ Govind was almost done reading the letter. Going by Turbo’s feedback, he had perhaps expected to read some good news but the content at once quelled his excitement. He looked at Virender, who was as if waiting for him to see for himself the difference between blushing and seething. ‘Well…the parcel. Did you?’ Govind asked in a confused tone. Virender erupted, cutting through him, ‘Here’s the thing. I did not send any damn letter or parcel. Not to her, not to anyone!’ He was already so upset and these guys weren’t making things any clearer for him. ‘Calm down,’ Govind said as he folded the letter. ‘Do you recognise her handwriting? What if someone’s just pulling a prank on you?’ ‘I can recognise her handwriting blindfolded!’ ‘And you…’ Govind turned at Turbo. ‘What’s the excitement about?’ Turbo belched. ‘Why not? This calls for a party.’ ‘Party?’ ‘Trust me, this is the best thing that could have happened to him.’ Virender almost chewed him up with his eyes. ‘Come on, you know what I mean and it’s high time you accept the truth,’

Turbo said, making himself comfortable on the bed and tucking a pillow under his head. ‘Accept what?’ ‘That this girl never gave a fuck about you. She was never into you, man. She used you like a dustbin.’ ‘Never.’ Virender defended himself—and Prerna. ‘That might sound like news to your ears but that’s the truth. She definitely knew about your feelings, even before you did. Girls have this superhuman ability to understand our feelings… they decode our signals like experts. She knew you could spend hours listening to her sad dating stories, so she exploited you. For God’s sake, open your eyes. You were just a shoulder for her to cry on. If you ask me, I was waiting for this thing to happen someday. Good, it happened soon.’ ‘W-what thing?’ Virender mellowed down. ‘Her breaking up with you or you breaking up with her, whatever makes you feel better...she was not your type man, trust me. In fact, I believe she doesn’t even look at you as a friend. You’re just a convenience.’ ‘Now you are being cynical,’ Govind interrupted while Virender tried to absorb the truth. ‘Absolutely. That’s because I have been in many relationships in the past,’ Turbo said. ‘Three of them were serious. I have realised that love has to be an agreement between two people. It has to be equally shared and reciprocated. If you love her, she too has to love you.’ While the other two talked, Virender was scrutinising each one of them. Turbo and Govind both had already denied sending anything across to Prerna. Chop Suey? No, he was quietly standing in a corner, not participating much in the conversation. Heck, he thought, one of them was a damn good actor. ‘Anyway, let’s come back to Prerna,’ Turbo took his focus back to Virender. ‘Tell me, what makes you think that you two would actually be good together? Did she make you feel that way? Ever? In the history of ever?’ The question pushed Virender into silence as he stood there twiddling the

hem of his T-shirt. He knew Turbo had read that letter and there was not one line that he could’ve used in his defence. There was no way he could blame Prerna for rejecting him. Turbo had shown him a mirror. Put to shame in front of his friends, his anger subsided. In fact, whatever Turbo had said, had begun to have an effect on him. It relieved him. Trying to be as normal as he could possibly be, he said, ‘North Café?’ ‘What?’ ‘I thought you guys wanted a treat.’ ‘That’s like a good boy,’ Turbo got up from the bed and patted his cheeks to free up his mind. He wouldn’t settle for anything less than beer at the President, Turbo announced in clear words. ‘Just like a Gujarati, coming from a dry state,’ Chop Suey spoke, at last.

Next morning, Virender was back on the field with Govind running by his side. Somebody had as though relieved him of the heavy burden he had been carrying all these years. He had spent the night under the blanket, with a muffled torch. He had read that letter again and again till he couldn’t read it anymore. Last night, he was sad, perhaps a bit confused, but in the morning all the confusion in his mind had cleared. Turbo had helped him drill it into his head that Prerna was finally out of his life and had ensured that all his thoughts, his full concentration should be on just one thing—his final test on Monday. It was a bright day. Virender was charged up for his training. Surprisingly, it was Govind who seemed to have something troubling him. On being prodded, he told Virender that Chop Suey had revealed something interesting to him when he had come to meet him in his room. ‘Can you believe this, he admitted he was a loser?’ Govind said as he jogged next to Virender. ‘He actually said that?’ ‘Yes, he wanted to explain something to me.’ ‘And you’re telling me you stood there listening to his sob story?’ ‘Well, he agreed that he had been selfish and that it was for his own

benefit that he had agreed to help you. But there was a reason behind him being that way. There were some boys from his college who betrayed him.’ ‘And you believed him?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Govind said. ‘I let him talk. During his final year of engineering, when he was working on a project—some hydroelectric thing meant to improve housing and water supply in rural areas—two of his classmates, his so-called friends, stole his project report and submitted it as their own. The professors were given the impression that Chop Suey had copied from them. As a result, though he could have lost one year, they gave him the degree but with a very low GPA. Not just that, his father still thinks of him as a cheat.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘He doesn’t trust anyone.’ Virender felt pity for Chop Suey. They crossed the shopping complex. Only the cobbler and the chaiwala had pulled up their shutters by then. ‘You think I should talk to Avni?’ Govind asked. ‘I think you should ask your brother-in-law that,’ Virender said, swinging his arms while running. ‘Shut up, I am serious. I don’t know if she will talk to me now.’ ‘I can tell you how to write her a note of apology. I am good at writing letters, you know.’ He expected Govind to at least smile but he just slowed down to a leisurely walk. Virender too slowed down with him. ‘Well, about your letters,’ Govind said. ‘I have to tell you something.’ ‘Go ahead.’ ‘I am sorry. I wasn’t expecting things to turn out this way. Actually, Avni had sent your letters to Prerna,’ he admitted embarrassedly. Virender stopped at once. Why was he even surprised? Hands on his hips, he narrowed his eyes. ‘And you are the one who gave that bundle to Avni? I knew it. It had to be one of you.’ To his surprise, he found he wasn’t mad at Govind at all. ‘I thought… I don’t know… I...’ ‘You know what? You don’t have to be sorry about this.’ ‘Really?’ Govind’s face brightened. They started walking towards the

field again. ‘I can understand what you are feeling right now. You must be surprised but you are not angry with me, right?’ ‘No, I am not.’ Reading the rejection letter over and over again had probably matured him overnight. ‘Turbo was right. Remember the other day when Prerna hung up on you? I mean how could she? But I did not have the heart to point this out or say anything against her and make you feel even worse.’ ‘Then why did you send the package to her?’ Virender asked. ‘Only two things could have happened. Either she would be in your life or she would be out of it. There could be nothing in-between. I am sorry that the second thing happened. I wanted you to see what you were doing to yourself. You were losing focus on more important things in life.’ Virender listened to him in silence. He thought he should’ve realised it sooner that he was wasting his life and time over Prerna, that he was a big fool to be in this toxic relationship. Of course, Govind, like a dear brother, was concerned about him. At the same time, he had to admit that though he could pen down his feelings for Prerna and that he had been writing letters to her for so many years, he did not dare to send them across. Why? Because he preferred to stay in the world of illusion that he had created, choosing to believe that someday she would be with him, someday they would be together, forever. That notion, that bubble had burst. Like a faded photograph, Prerna’s face seemed misty and distant to him. But he smiled. ‘You should stay out of my personal matters in future,’ Virender faked a frown and that made Govind smile too. ‘You better focus on my training. If I fail on Monday, I will dig your grave in this very lawn.’ ‘And pay homage to me every day?’ ‘I will pee all over it. Every day.’ While they laughed, Virender told Govind that he was going to invite Avni for the party. It was Avni, after all, who had saved his life. Turbo fixed the venue. They decided to go to the President on Saturday when cadets were at liberty to spend time outside the academy. Virender initially countered the idea of celebrating at a four-star saying that they could eat as much as they wanted in the cafeteria. But the Gujarati, true to his form,

insisted, ‘daaru chhe toh majja chhe.’

THIRTEEN

The Last Run ow many of you, sir?’ a young waiter asked Turbo in a silky voice as he welcomed them into the dimly lit bar. The waiter’s eyes glittered when he saw Turbo—in a manner reminiscent of the way Mandy’s eyes beamed when she had seen him the other night. ‘I have three over-grown kids with me, don’t mind them playing around, and yeah, there’s a lady along with us too, so make sure she is comfortable.’ ‘Is the lady with you, sir?’ The waiter soaked in a smile. ‘No. She’s with one of the kids. Now will you show us the table?’ ‘As you say my master. Is the music to your liking?’ the waiter asked with a flirtatious smile ‘Too loud.’ ‘Apologies, sir, I can most certainly help you with that.’ A soft clap of hands by the waiter was cue enough for the staff to turn the volume down a bit. ‘Follow me, sir, I’ll show you your abode.’ He escorted Turbo towards the end of the floor. It certainly looked like an especially reserved corner befitting of royalty, where the rock music was pleasant and the air conditioning optimal. Turbo swaggered beside him with a spring in his steps, indicating others to follow. Shaking their heads at his drama the friends walked behind him. Observing the endearingly upper-class attitude of the waiter and the wink in his eye, Virender could have sworn that the food here was expensive. Since Chop Suey had come onboard, getting Govind and Avni together wasn’t a problem. Last night, Govind had apologised to her over the phone, only to realise that she was a harder nut to crack. She was upset, said she would never forgive him. It was only when Virender took the phone from

‘H

Govind and invited her for his break-up party that she agreed. Today, sitting across the table, she looked lovely in her navy-blue dress. Her hair gathered back and neatly tied up, but for one strand falling on her face, swept Govind off his feet. Dodging Chop Suey, stealing his moments with her, he tried to calm her down. She downright ignored him. Virender told maybe they could fight over drinks. Waiter got them the menu. Virender looked at it. Imagining the waiter and two of his friends standing at the door, dragging him into the kitchen to take his kidney out for the payment, he couldn’t help but imagine Turbo sleeping with the waiter to bail them out. It was more expensive than he had accounted for. The break-up party could well end up making him broke. And what was he being burgled for? For having endured an abusive relationship with a girl who eventually gave him a thumbs-down? Well, he thought, that did call for a celebration and justified any price. Drinks were ordered. They guzzled to their heart’s content. Govind and Turbo were on a continuous supply of chilled beer. Whisky was fuelling Chop Suey’s antics. Virender ordered rum. After one cocktail, Avni switched to fresh lime. She had to drive them back to the academy. It wasn’t too long before Virender’s senses abandoned him. Gulping down the fifth large down his throat, he kept his glass on the table and climbed up woozily on the sofa. Balancing himself, he cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he announced, failing to realise that he had also drawn the attention of most other people at the bar. Turbo murmured to Govind behind his hand. They chuckled. ‘The time has come! The day is not too far away when my friends will be...wow... hic...they will become officers. Proud young lieutenants of the Indian Army!’ he said with a tipsy salute. Holding the glass in his left hand, Govind returned the salute. Chop Suey sat doing nothing except swaying his head while Turbo dementedly thumped the counter. ‘Refill!’ he shouted. The waiter filled their glasses with pleasure. He continued. ‘You know what a dhol is? That’s me! That’s what they called me at home. I was a dhol, a big zero when I came to the academy. And then you all happened to me, you got me this far. I don’t know what I would

have done without you guys.’ He filled in a lot of air, trying hard to hold back the moisture in his eyes. ‘Now my mates and brothers in exile, we all know why have we come to this place. There was a girl in my life. I loved her so much... hic...and one day I get a letter from her. She writes that she doesn’t love me... I mean nothing to her.’ ‘Why are you even talking about her?’ Turbo said loudly, as he stumbled to his feet, trying to stand straight. Virender promptly raised his hand to silence him. Govind pulled Turbo down by his hand back to the couch. He bumped into the cushion and Virender started again. ‘There is a guy in her life...’ He lifted his head to the roof as though he could see Prerna’s face in the ceiling, ‘Um done with you! Do you hear me? Um not going to take this s-shit anymore! D’you see these guys sitting over here? My friends, my brothers...they are everything to me. I need’em… I don’t n-need you! Do you hear me, bitch? I don’t need you in my life!’ Prerna’s face gently melted into thin air, making him realise that he was so sozzled he was talking to the fan. His words starting to slur badly, he offered a stoned look to his audience, who seemed like they had placed bets on how long will he manage to remain on his feet. ‘Tonight...I want all of you to promise me something…’ ‘Promise!’ Turbo and Govind raised their glasses together. By then, Chop Suey was half-paralysed, he could only stare at Virender wordlessly, persistently swinging his head. ‘I want you to promise me that…that if I fail on Monday and if I lose the term, no matter wherever you guys are, you’ll remember me.’ His voice was wobbling severely. The rum had by now found an outlet through his eyes. Turbo lifted his glass again and gazing probably at the man standing far right from Virender, shouted, ‘Whoever loves God must also love his brother! Veer, my brother, I will never forget you! May Jesus be with you.’ ‘He is standing there. Father,’ Govind gave a pat on Turbo’s head and got to his feet. Looking at Govind walking towards him, Virender culminated his speech and got down from the sofa. Govind threw his long arms around him. Chop Suey tried to get up with a great effort but fell back, he didn’t try again.

Turbo kept his glass down and threw himself on his friends. Avni giggled, she was having time of her life. ‘Look here, into my eyes.’ Govind said. Trying hard not to blink, Virender matched his gaze. ‘You will not fail.’ Govind looked around and on receiving an affirming nod from everyone, continued, ‘It’s just another run?’ ‘You think I can do it?’ Virender said dizzily. Govind pressed his shoulder and nodded. Virender thought something. ‘Promise me one thing.’ ‘What?’ ‘You will run with me on Monday. Promise me.’ Virender burped. ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t know anything. You are running with me. Period.’ He was tripping over his words. Could he have told him that he was too scared to run alone? Could he have said that each time he ran, it was as if his legs were tuned to Govind’s words? They moved only when he raised his voice, or shouted and screamed at him. Had he ever practised without him? Could he have said that he wanted Govind to be with him, like a terrified child wants to be with his father, to give him strength, to just be there and not leave him alone. Just one last time? ‘How can he run with you?’ Chop Suey tried to rise again before giving up. ‘It’s rude to interrupt when two grown-ups are talking!’ Virender raised his hand, trying to figure out which of the three Chop Sueys sitting in front of him had dared to interrupt. ‘I love you, brother…’ Govind said, earnestly looking at Virender and controlling his tears. ‘Oh please, can you cut out this crap? Are you running with me?’ Alcohol was making Virender’s emotions oscillate like a pendulum in Chetwode hall. ‘But how can he run with you? They will not allow him inside the track with you,’ Chop Suey said, taking a sip from his glass. ‘I will not enter the track,’ Govind said and got into Virender’s face. ‘I will run with you, but promise me one thing.’

‘What?’ ‘That you will pass this test.’ ‘As if it is in my hands.’ ‘Legs,’ Turbo mumbled, letting off an involuntary burp. Govind continued. ‘Promise me that we will throw our peak caps up in the air together on the tenth.’ Virender looked down at his feet. Govind held his face and looked deep into his eyes. ‘Say it!’ Transfixed by the stare, Virender said timidly, ‘promise.’ ‘Good boy,’ Govind said and got back to his seat. Random people sitting at the nearby tables and watching this drama hooted and clapped. ‘To success!’ Turbo raised his arm high in the air. ‘Bottoms up!’ he shouted and the boys gulped their drinks down. Forty-five hundred rupees, including taxes, the costliest treat of his life seemed like petty change to Virender. He walked back through the aisle like a gladiator waving to a standing ovation from the restaurant guests and staff. Avni drove them back. By the time they reached the academy, it was already lights out in Sinhgarh. It was too late to enter from the main gate. They got down near the other gate that was almost 20 metres behind the last wall of Sinhgarh. The place was dark. Avni wished Virender luck before leaving. The four rats somehow managed to jump over the gate and through the back doors crawled into their rooms. If only they knew what awaited them next, they probably would have stayed on the other side of the gate forever.

Posted strength—36 Present—34 Accounted for—2(BUO Govind Mahajan and Sgt Ajay Singh—company office) The parade state, the daily attendance report that is, was written on the board when the next morning the Sinhgarh second-termers had gathered in the hall for a lecture.

Looked like Wadhera had called Govind and Chop Suey to his office. Virender wondered what could be the reason. Why only them? Did the sentry identify the two of them jumping down from the gate? Did he report that to the officers? Did somebody see them creating a scene at the hotel? A severe head-pounding regret about their escapade last night hit Virender. They shouldn’t have come back so late. He failed to remember much from the second half of their celebrations last night. He was sloshed. He rolled his puffy eyes towards Turbo whose hungover face faintly reminded him of the drive, his speech, the conversation with Govind...that promise...the bill... Avni’s car... Chop Suey’s limp... something else... damn the hangover, he pressed his temples. He struggled to stay awake. Turbo had woken him up and dragged to the class. Trying hard to manage a straight face and thinking why the other two had been called to the company office, he waited along with Turbo for them to come back. Govind and Chop Suey were missing during the lunch as well. Virender did not see them at the mess. He returned to his room and spent the afternoon drawing up conspiracy theories. Where are these guys? After games, Turbo told him that Wadhera had called all the Sinhgarh appointments and that they all have been standing outside his office since morning but he did not know the reason. What was Wadhera up to? Virender cringed, but he had to wait. By 8:00 pm, he had turned furious. It had been ten hours since he last saw Govind at the breakfast table. Chop Suey was also there with him. They were supposed to reach the class after that but they did not. Virender had his final test in the morning and every passing minute without Govind was further accelerating the anxiety. Two more hours went by in anticipation. He had to talk to someone to steady his nerves. Fed up of waiting for Govind the whole day, he decided to call up home and talk to his mother. Maybe he’d feel better after talking to her, he thought, and went to the PCO. ‘Beta, Trivediji has already booked the tickets for Dehradun three weeks back. They are leaving from here on the eighth. And you haven’t even contacted us yet about making our reservations. I doubt if we will even get a waiting list ticket. Do you not want us to come?’ his mother asked him,

sounding worried. Trivediji was his father’s acquaintance. His son was also a second-termer, in some other battalion though. Like all the other parents, Trivediji had received the invitation card from IMA for his son’s convocation. His parents had only received the copy of the warning letter till then. ‘Please Maa, I have already told you that I cannot confirm anything today. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow.’ ‘What is there tomorrow?’ ‘My test.’ ‘Arey haan...your test! I forgot, I forgot. Beta, you prepared for the test na? You will pass tomorrow na?’ she asked, making him uneasy and annoyed at the same time. Uneasy for he understood what it meant for his mother and how much more worried she would be than he himself was. Annoyed, well, because he could hear the faint steps on the phone approaching his mother. Before he could say anything, his father took over from her, ‘Is it your test tomorrow?’ he asked him in a firm voice. ‘Ji, Papa.’ ‘Is it the same test for which we got that warning letter?’ ‘I got the warning letter. You were only informed about it.’ ‘Don’t be over smart. What will happen if you fail in this test? They will throw you out of the academy, is it?’ Virender gave no reply. Parents could be extremely annoying at times. He shouldn’t have called them in the first place, he thought, but Govind was probably AWOL—absent without official leave—and the desperation to talk to his mother was overpowering. Talking to her had always comforted him. He never felt the same sharing his problems, or for that matter anything, with his father. The relationship he shared with him was a formal one; in any case, he had just ejaculated him as a single cell, it was his mother’s loving egg that had made him multi-cellular. ‘What if you fail tomorrow?’ his father probed again. ‘Papa, please.’ ‘No, tell me, will they not make you an officer if you don’t pass? That’s

what is written in that letter. What does relegation mean?’ ‘If you don’t pass the tests you have to repeat the term in which you failed.’ ‘So, you’ll only finish after another six months, if you fail?’ ‘Ji…’ ‘But what if you fail again?’ ‘Papa, I don’t have enough money for a long call,’ he said trying to control the frustration inside him. ‘Suniye, you always talk to him like this. He is not a bachha anymore. Idhar dijiye phone,’ he heard his mother complaining. ‘Wait,’ his father said and then he got back to Virender, to tell him something that took Virender by surprise. ‘Acha suno...put in your best effort tomorrow. We don’t know how easy or difficult this test is but we know you will make us proud.’ Virender, for once, found himself at a loss of words. His father had expressed vulnerability to him for the first time in his life. He responded softly, ‘I will,’ as though he had overcome the greatest obstacle on his path to liberation. His father stepped back and his mother came on the line. ‘Acha, beta listen…Pratibha mausi also wants to come with us. Chotu is after my life. Every day he is asking and asking only when we are going to Dehradun to see Veer bhaiya’s parade. So many people want to come...you don’t worry, you just focus, focus on your test. I know my raja beta will pass,’ Then his mother did what the mothers do best. ‘Sada Bhawani Dahini, Sanmukh Rahe Ganesh, Panch Dev Raksha Kare, Brahma Vishnu Mahesh…’ Virender mellowed down. ‘Maa…tell Papa not to worry about me.’ ‘We are your parents na beta, we will always worry,’ she sighed so heavily one would’ve thought being his mother was a curse for her. ‘One more thing—you have the Hanuman Chalisa? Remember Dadi kept it in your bag? It only takes five minutes to read it, only five minutes beta. You should read it tomorrow.’ ‘I have it and I’ll read it when I need it Maa. I have to go now. I am getting late.’

‘Tell him all the best,’ he heard his father say. ‘Bye Maa,’ he said. ‘Bye beta, Papa also is saying best of luck.’ Virender could have sworn tears had welled up in her eyes. He hung up with thoughts of Hanumanji, all decked up in his sophisticated armoury, coming to his rescue in top gear during the test next morning. Virender and Turbo checked with everyone if the appointments were still in the company office but no one had any clue. All the Sinhgarh appointments were missing from their rooms. They were with Wadhera and that was what everyone could guess. Virender returned to his room with Turbo in tow. The wall clock showed a little past 11:00 pm. He kept on pacing between the walls, pausing occasionally to talk to Turbo who was sitting on the chair next to the bed. ‘I don’t get this. What is Wadhera doing with them so late?’ he turned to Turbo. He was already stressed out just thinking about the test and Govind’s absence wasn’t making it easy for him. Turbo stayed with him for a while, but asking Virender to get some sleep, he retired to his room. Sleep eluded Virender. Experiencing a mental free fall, he couldn’t even close his eyes. He had the most important exam of his life in six hours. He couldn’t believe that Govind was not there with him at this time. This was not how he had imagined he’d spend the night before the test. He had no explanation whatsoever for why Govind and Chop Suey were with Wadhera the entire day, since morning, and even now, when it was already past midnight. This had never happened before. The reason, of course, was not what he had first thought it could be. If a sentry had indeed reported last night’s matter to Wadhera, he would’ve perhaps called all the Sinhgarh second-termers and not just the appointments. Virender tossed and turned in his bed, trying his best to fall asleep. But it was a waste of time. Suddenly, the door opened with a mild creaking sound of the hinges and the light came on. He jumped from his bed, surprised to see Chop Suey inside the room.

‘Damn, you!’ Virender shouted at Chop Suey. ‘Where the fuck have you guys been all day? Where is Govind? Where is he?’ He craned his neck to look beyond Chop Suey, hoping to see Govind. ‘He is still there, with the other appointments,’ Chop Suey said, shutting the door behind him. He looked agitated and tired. ‘Still there? He hasn’t come back with you?’ ‘No, and even I have to go back. They must be looking out for me. I slipped out from there to ask you something.’ ‘What?’ ‘It’s about Avni and Govind. You know everything about them, don’t you?’ Considering the state of mind that he was in, this question came as a jolt. ‘W-why are you asking me that?’ he said, his tone swopping from attack to defence. ‘Stop acting. Avni has told me everything,’ Chop Suey said. ‘I just want to know what Govind feels for her, if he is serious about her.’ ‘They both like each other. I’m sure about that. But why are you asking me all this?’ Chop Suey disregarded his question, and turned to leave. ‘You must sleep now, it’s a big day tomorrow. Get some rest,’ he opened the door. ‘Wait, tell me what hap…?’ But Chop Suey ran towards the company office. Anger and frustration came together to surge the perplexity in his mind. He had waited for them all day and then Chop Suey shows up with a shocker of a question like that? Why did he ask him about Avni and Govind? He said Avni told him? Why would she tell him anything? He returned to his bed and lay down, resting his hand on his forehead. What was going on? The nagging fear of the run hit him again. He couldn’t get a wink of sleep. He left his bed at half past five; it was a burnt orange sky outside. He had a quick bath and changed into PT rig. He munched on a chocolate, and not letting the negative thoughts muddle his mind, walked towards the Somnath stadium.

The indistinct glow of the rising sun had cleared the redness of the sky. People started trickling in one by one. Soon, officers, the staff conducting the test, medical attendants, the runners, and their supporters began crowding near the starting point. Turbo, Mallu, Aiyappa, Vinod and many other boys from Sinhgarh were there for Virender. By no measure was this going to be easy, Virender thought, as he looked around him to realise the he wasn’t the only one going through this shit. Thirty-three boys from the entire academy, including him, were going through this grind today. Each one with a prayer in his heart, with a dream of wearing the stars on his shoulders. This run was their last chance. Last hope. Govind’s absence was not just puzzling but it was maddening to Virender. He walked up to everybody and asked about Govind, only to learn that they had not seen him since yesterday. He told Turbo that Chop Suey had come to his room last night asking about Govind and Avni. Turbo asked him to forget about everything else and focus on the test instead. Virender took deeper calming breaths, while at the same time keeping an eye out for Govind. Gurung would announce the start of the run any moment. Gurung appeared in his customary white T-shirt and shorts, and red stockings, more than ready to conduct the test. There were two officers standing with him. ‘Close in!’ He blew the whistle. Virender writhed inside. ‘Best of luck, saab!’ Virender turned back to see Bajirao standing there holding onto a trolley with three decanters of water and packets of orange Glucon-D, just in case the runners needed extra energy or they packed up mid-way. He thanked him and Bajirao drifted away with the trolley. Everyone he possibly knew was there today. Everyone. Except for Govind. ‘What’s wrong with Wadhera? Why hasn’t he let the appointments go yet?’ he asked the boys standing near him. ‘He is trying to break a Guinness record of the longest group orgy I think,’ someone said. ‘Hey, I met Paramjit a while back. I think they have been left.’ Vinod added.

‘Here they are!’ Turbo said as Chop Suey and Paramjit came running towards them in their games dress. ‘Sorry, sorry, we got late. My, my… look at those biceps, hunk,’ Paramjit felt Virender’s left upper arm, trying to boost his confidence and in turn avoid any confrontation. But Virender did not need any confidence boosting. He needed Govind beside him. ‘Where are you two coming from, and where is Govind? Is he dead or what?’ he gritted his teeth, hands balling into fists. Chop Suey and Paramjit exchanged a helpless glance, making him even more furious. ‘Both of you were with him, weren’t you?’ Chop Suey said Govind was with Wadhera and that the two of them would be there with him any moment. Gurung blew the close-in whistle again. ‘Runners, line-up! Behind the start line. Others, leave the track. Open up, shake your legs,’ he shouted. With his fellow runners, Virender walked towards the start line. That was when Wadhera arrived on his scooter and parked it under a tree. He saw Virender and briskly walked towards him. Wadhera asked him if he was primed for the test. Why don’t you tell me first what the fuck have you been doing with the appointments since yesterday, he wanted to scream at him. ‘I think I am a bit nervous, sir,’ he replied instead, in a low voice. ‘Nervous? Why?’ ‘I wish I had an answer.’ ‘Buck up, tiger,’ Wadhera said. ‘I don’t see any reason for you to be nervous. Remember one thing, everything is here.’ He touched Virender’s head. ‘Have confidence in yourself. Forget the pain for the next few minutes. This is not just a run, it’s a test of whatever this academy has given you. It is payback time, my boy. And, trust me there is a new life waiting for you beyond that finish line.’ If only this preacher of free sage advice could be told to cut the crap. However, Virender acknowledged the pearls of wisdom with a somewhat confident nod. ‘After this I want you to come to my office and take the invitation card for your parents. You will post it to them yourself. All the best.’ With those

words, Wadhera got off the track. Virender’s heartbeats increased at the thought of his parents back home. All this while they had been worrying about him. Nearly a battalion of relatives was waiting for him to come home with stars on his shoulders. He just could not fail the test—his failure would bring a bigger disappointment to his parents than to him. He could not go back to Raebareli lost. Only twice earlier, while practising with Govind, he had finished the run under 11 minutes. He can do it again. One more time. ‘Ready… steady...’ gazing at the stopwatch, the officer standing with Gurung alerted everybody. He raised his hand. There was still no sign of Govind. ‘Go!’ Virender heard that shot and took off. The test had begun. Now every second counted. He started slow as Govind had instructed. The plan was to stick to the basics and maintain an easy pace. He jogged to avoid getting breathless at the start. The boys were gradually overtaking him but he looked down at the road and kept running. What about Govind’s promise? Virender covered the straight road of 500 metres and took the first bend. Keep going. You can’t do it without him; his heart let him down. But his strides seemed confident as he crossed the second bend near the swimming pool complex. He raised his head to look in front. Within three minutes the boys had formed a long trail. Two stray dogs and an over enthusiastic rotund puppy running outside the track were covering the event live. With each step he assured himself that he was doing well. He finished the first lap without much struggle. But he could feel the pain building up inside. That always happened with him. He always gave up at the sixth or the seventh minute and it was then that Govind played his part. To keep him going. To not let him stop even if he cried. What was he going to do today? Sweat had formed a thin crust around his lips. The breathing got heavier. The run was in its fifth minute. Just when what he feared the most crept into his mind—the doubt, whether he’d be able to finish on time—and just when

this doubt had started to paralyse his feet, out of nowhere, he heard a loud shout. ‘I’ll break your legs! Don’t slow down… throw longer strides!’ This clearly wasn’t his head, there was somebody actually shouting at him from behind. Who was that? He turned his head to see Govind. Hell, yes! Finally, he was here. In a snap, Virender turned a thousand times lighter. Govind’s presence worked like a magic wand, like he could feel a buzz of electricity through him, like a draining battery was plugged into the mains. That feeling, when he saw Govind in front of his eyes, no word could describe. His heart called out—‘Buddy, what perfect timing. You did not bring me this far to abandon me. You wouldn’t have left it half-finished. I knew it!’ Govind caught up with him, running outside the track on the left, and they were now running next to each other. ‘Y-you... remembered…’ Virender said, breathing hard. ‘Shut up and run!’ Govind said, blowing hard himself. ‘W-what were you...doing with Wadhera?’ Virender said, wanting to get all his answers at that very moment. ‘Shut the fuck up and run! Run dog, run! Run for your life!’ Virender muted at once. The next four minutes were the most painful moments of Virender’s life. His calves were swelling in pain, as if they were going to rupture. His lungs were on the verge of collapsing and his voice had long since died out on him. Completely out of breath by now, he started losing control. He wanted to stop at the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth, and the ninth minute, but it was not going to happen. The person running next to him would die but not let that happen. Virender gasped. His lungs were giving up, his ankles were falling off his feet. His thighs started to slow down. He looked at Govind. ‘Five hundred metres to go. You will make it!’ Govind roared. Virender gripped his sides. The fear of failure swelled inside him. ‘You are not giving up today. Not under my watch. If you stop, you are finished. I’ll finish you. Come on, boy! You are not a coward, are you? Give it everything you have. Let me see what you’re made of. You don’t doubt

yourself, do you? Run, as fast as you can. Run for your life, or run for my life, can you?’ Govind shouted, panting hard. Virender listened to him, forcing to keep his lifeless legs in motion. ‘Now these last four hundred metres are for you. I ask you to do these four hundred metres for nobody else but you. Not your parents…not Prerna…Chop Suey…not Wadhera…nobody. Not me. You will run for yourself. All of them will forget if you fail but will you ever be able to forgive yourself? You will never be able to face yourself again. Never!’ Virender sobbed, holding his sides again, but ran. He limped but he did not stop. ‘Don’t worry, you will not die. No one has ever died running. You give up now and every second of your life will be more painful than this one. Remember every minute you have spent on this track for this day!’ Virender wailed. Virender cried. Tears rolled down his cheeks. But Virender ran. ‘It takes nothing to give up but it takes everything to be where you want to be. Look, you see that white line? That’s where you belong. We are almost there,’ Govind waved his hands towards the finish line as they left the equitation centre behind. Virender lifted his head to glance at the finish line. It looked like a distant horizon to him. The crowd had now started closing in near the end as the first boy entered the enclosure. He saw the time in his watch. 9 minutes 40 seconds. The runners were completing their run one after the other. He was left with a minute to cover that distance of 300 metres. From the bend it was a straight dash till the finishing point. The shining tarmac on the road was like a radiator reflecting the heat. He was soaked in sweat. He felt he was nowhere close to crossing it within a minute. ‘Last sprint! Run!’ Govind screamed. He took care to keep off the track, for officially, he was not allowed to enter it. But if he could, Virender was sure Govind would’ve held him by his legs and dragged him to the finish point just in time. He tried to increase his pace, drawing in sharp breaths in between. But started slowing down eventually.

The green flag of the ‘good’ enclosure went down before his eyes. ‘Excellent’ and ‘good’, both enclosures were now closed. There was no one in ‘excellent’ but a few boys could make it to ‘good’. The official now raised the yellow flag and started waving it in the air fervently. ‘Satisfactory’ would be closed in a matter of seconds. Chop Suey, Mallu, Aiyappa and other Sinhgarh second-termers were cheering their lungs out, ‘Come on…faster Veer, faster!’ ‘Faster! Last hundred metres…Don’t look in the front…Look down… Look down and run, goddammit!’ Govind screamed. He heard him clearly. He made an effort to pull up once again but the closer he got to the finish line the more he felt the universe revolting against him and the wind pushing him back. He could now hear Turbo screaming, ‘Hurry up, hurry up, last twenty seconds!’ Every inch of Virender’s body was crying out for him to stop, but he did not. The clock ticked. The yellow flag started swinging faster. If it went down before he crossed the line, Govind was right, his life will be finished. There was a sudden, raging rush of adrenaline in his veins and Virender ran the last stretch with a speed that he had never tapped before. He dived just before the yellow flag went down over him and he fell on the white line. ‘Pass!’ Gurung smiled as the master watch in his hand struck 11 minutes. The most painful 11 minutes of Virender’s life were over. Coughing and pressing his sides with both hands, he turned on his back and breathed heavily to recover. He felt choked. Winded, his insides burnt as he rolled towards the grass. Bajirao ran towards him holding a steel glass filled with glucose. Govind and Turbo jumped over him even before he could get up on his feet. Mallu and Aiyappa jumped over them and Sandeep vaulted in next, squeezing the juice out of his defunct organs. ‘Three cheers for Virender Pandey!’ they exclaimed. The presence of officers made no difference to them. They formed a circle and started jumping around him like tribals. ‘It was over,’ Virender closed his eyes. Gurung began noting down the names of those who passed the run while Virender joined the queue just when he noticed Chop Suey and Paramjit

dragging Govind to one side. Pushing Govind in a fit of anger, Chop Suey was protesting about something he could barely hear. Why were these guys fighting? They became even less audible as Paramjit pulled them a little away from everyone standing there. What was the argument about? He’d get that out of these guys even if he’d have to squeeze it out of their throats, Virender told himself. Gurung blew the whistle for the ground tests. Virender wanted to get over with the remaining tests quickly. He had good strength in his arms and he knew the techniques well. Ground tests weren’t a big hassle for him. As he took his position under the chin-up bar, he suddenly heard a loud commotion behind. He turned back. His brain froze and shivers ran down his spine to see that Govind had collapsed on the road. His body was as though lifeless. Wadhera and the others ran over to help Chop Suey and Paramjit lift Govind up. Within seconds, a crowd had gathered around Govind and Virender lost sight of him.

FOURTEEN

Dark Disclosure e couldn’t care less if somebody checked him for speed or punished him for riding his bike alone. Too scared to believe his eyes, the condition Govind was in, he was pedalling as fast he could, to get to the section hospital, where they had moved Govind. With his limited understanding of the terrible sight of Govind fallen like a chopped tree on the road he was plagued by weird visions of him being critically ill. Wasn’t he running next to him just a few minutes ago? Everything looked fine. There was nothing wrong. Wasn’t he shouting at him, spurring him on? Govind’s words were still echoing inside his head. What could have happened to him all of a sudden? Horror ran through him as the scene of people lifting Govind’s limp body flickered again in front of his eyes. He entered the north block. He continued to pedal frantically through the constant explosion of random thoughts in his mind. Now that he had cleared the final hurdle, he had to meet Wadhera, to take the invitation card from him. He had to mail it home, call up his parents to tell them that he passed. There were so many things he had to do but his mind had detached itself from everything else. He reached the hospital. A fleet of Ambassador cars was standing outside the entrance. He saw a three-star plate. Commandant was inside the hospital—probably to see Govind. Leaving his bike near the gate, he ran inside. For 10:00 AM, the waiting area looked quiet. The air was stagnant with a sterile fragrance. Very few people could be seen at the reception waiting for their turn. The man behind the counter was calling out names from a register. Just then, Virender saw Aiyappa standing in a corner. He ran up to him.

H

Aiyappa told him that they had taken Govind to the ICU ward. Chop Suey and Wadhera were also there with him. Leaving him there, Virender ran towards the other end of the hall. ‘No one is allowed inside’, the ward boy stopped him at the door. ‘I am his friend. We both are from Sinhgarh!’ his voice was shaking. ‘You have to wait here.’ Virender could have hurled the man aside but he swallowed his anger. He decided to wait and sat on the metal bench outside. The ward boy stood there for a while. A foreboding flash hit him again—he could see the crowd cheering. Govind running with him. His face. His voice. His eyes were either pinned at the door, his pupils dilated every time the ward boy shuttled in and out, or he was constantly checking the wall clock. Time did not seem to go by at all and an unknown fear, like a big ocean wave, had curled above his head. Nothing could be wrong with Govind, he thought. Who could be stronger than that man? After nearly 10 minutes, Chop Suey walked out of the door. Virender immediately got to his feet. When their eyes met, he realised that Chop Suey was a bundle of nerves. ‘How is he?’ Virender asked, slowly drifting towards him. Chop Suey steered his gaze away. Virender could have sworn Chop Suey knew everything that he didn’t. He had been with Govind the entire day but he didn’t say a word. The silence was harrowing. ‘Speak something for God’s sake, tell me how is he?’ ‘Please…please don’t ask me anything right now. I will tell you everything...let us just wait here for a while.’ ‘You were with...’ ‘Please!’ Chop Suey looked at him but stole the gaze away from his face. ‘Please, I beg of you.’ He sat down. Virender did not pester him any further. They waited outside the ward. An old man and a woman holding a small baby in her arms came and sat near them. Unable to sit at one place, feeling the clock move its hands no more, Virender began pacing the corridor. Even the fatigue of the run did not let

him sit at one place. He hadn’t had a drop of water after the test, but he wasn’t tired. What was this anxiety about? What made him worried? A lot of people, even the healthier ones, blackout after strenuous physical activity, it was normal, hadn’t Sharma told them that? Nurses and ward boys were now seen moving in and out of the door. He stopped each one of them to ask about Govind but no one had time to answer his questions. Chop Suey could feel that Virender’s frayed nerves were as if going to snap one by one. He got up and walked up to him. Not that he was going to tell him anything; he just wanted to help him calm down. But that was not going to happen before someone told him that there was nothing wrong with his friend. Just then, they noticed Turbo entering the hallway. Turbo walked up to them. He grabbed Chop Suey by his arm and turned him around to face him. ‘What is everyone talking about? Why didn’t you tell us anything? You knew about all this, didn’t you?’ he shouted at Chop Suey, catching him unaware. The old man looked at them over the newspaper he was reading and the baby wiggled in his mother’s arm. Before Chop Suey could even react, Turbo took a firm grip on his wrist and pulled him towards the lavatory, not wanting to create a scene in front of the others. Chop Suey allowed himself to follow him like an obedient child. Turbo’s temper did not allow Virender to interject. He simply walked behind them. At the end of the corridor, Turbo repeated his question but Chop Suey had as if lost his voice at this sudden flare-up. His face fell and his lips parted slightly. Unable to hold himself back, Virender pushed Turbo aside. ‘Why are you shouting at him?’ he said. ‘Oh, I thought you already knew about this by now. But you please wait, let me talk to him first.’ Turbo said and shifted his focus back to Chop Suey. ‘Talk about what dammit? Why is no one telling me anything?’ Virender yelled at him. ‘Why don’t you ask him that? He knows everything, every bloody detail! Bastard kept this truth away from us!’ Chop Suey hung his head in disappointment. ‘Speak up for God’s sake. What’s wrong with Govind? You were going

to tell me something…tell me right now or I will punch your bloody face!’ Virender chucked Turbo aside and grabbed Chop Suey by his collar. With tears showing up in his eyes, Chop Suey just gaped at him. His voice seemed stuck somewhere down his throat. So Virender had to turn back to Turbo. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘This guy kept us in the dark but Paramjit told me...’ ‘Told you what? You two are trying my patience now,’ Virender breathed. Turbo looked at him with a sudden shift of expression on his face. ‘They are boarding him out. Govind is not passing out with us. He is…he is very sick.’ ‘Have you lost your mind?’ Virender shouted, as if somebody had stabbed a bayonet deep into his chest. He turned from Turbo to Chop Suey, who with a mild nod of his head communicated that whatever Turbo was telling him was right. ‘Can you please take this somewhere else? This is a hospital,’ a nursing assistant scolded them on the way. They moved to the officer’s waiting room outside the ward. There are situations when no matter how strong you try to act, emotions get the better of you. Turbo dabbed at his face and demanded an explanation from Chop Suey. Virender stood facing them. Chop Suey cleared his throat, to recount the happenings of last 24 hours—every detail of what had transpired since the previous morning when Wadhera had called him and Govind to his office while the rest were waiting in the classroom. When they had reached the office, Wadhera had enquired from Govind when was he supposed to meet the doctor with his reports. The day before, that is, Friday, Govind answered. Without wasting a second, Wadhera picked up his scooter keys from the table and asked them to reach the section hospital and meet Doctor Sharma who wanted to see Govind urgently. He said he would meet them there. At the hospital, Wadhera was already waiting for them in Sharma’s office. Busy pouring over some printouts in his hand, Sharma asked them to take their seats across the table.

At first, Govind thought Sharma would be mad at him for not getting back to him with the reports on time. Instead, Sharma kept the papers in his hand aside and asked him about his health. Govind said he was fine. Indicating the investigation room, Sharma asked him to go there and lie down on the bed. Chop Suey got up along with Govind but Wadhera asked him to sit down. Govind walked outside the door. Sharma asked Chop Suey if he had ever seen Govind complaining of any pain, such as a headache, or some kind of weakness in his hands or legs, for that matter. Chop Suey said Govind had suffered a blackout during the runback and after that he remembered him mentioning a severe headache twice. Once, when they were out on the field, he had this fleeting pain again when he had to sit down holding his neck. But he was just fine in the next two minutes, he replied. ‘What was he doing on the field?’ Chop Suey paused and looked at Wadhera. ‘We were helping a friend prepare for his tests. Govind is training him every day,’ he said. ‘See,’ Sharma said, shaking his head at Wadhera. ‘How careless these boys are. When I asked him to get his X-Ray reports to me in time, he did not turn up and again for the MRI, I had to send an invitation through you. I had clearly told him to take rest and now....’ He stopped and abruptly got up from his chair. He left the room to check on Govind and when he saw him lying down on the bed he returned, drew the curtains across his door, and took his seat. He picked up a big X-Ray film from the table and held it against the light. Chop Suey could vaguely understand that something was wrong and that Govind’s condition had been ignored probably for quite a long time. He noticed the grim expression on Sharma’s face as he started explaining the diagnosis to them. Govind had suffered an injury last term during the football match. That injury had aggravated and that was the reason behind the pain he had been experiencing. It was a typical symptom of a brain disorder that causes impairment of the motor functioning of the body. His condition had worsened because it was ignored. Sharma said he was referring Govind to Army Base

Hospital in Delhi for a specialist’s opinion and so he would have to leave by the first train the next morning. What hit Chop Suey like a solid punch to his gut was when Sharma said that they would be putting Govind’s life at a big risk if he continued with his training. Before his condition deteriorates any further, it would be best to board him out. Chop Suey said he was unable to comprehend or process anything that Sharma was trying to tell them. He felt Sharma was gradually pouring poison in his ears. Barely three weeks were left for the convocation. Board him out at this stage? Does this man have any sense of what he was talking about? ‘We have to go by what the specialists decide. His health is more important at this point of time and any stress, of any sort, would only make things worse for him.’ ‘Doc, he is one of the best boys I have and I certainly don’t want him to get boarded out at this stage,’ Wadhera told Sharma, asking him what the chances were of Govind returning to the academy from Delhi. ‘Very slim,’ Sharma replied succinctly, though he added they could not rule out Govind getting cured eventually. He said he was going to admit Govind right away. He had to be kept under observation until he left for Delhi in the morning. Chop Suey could taste the saliva thickening in his throat. Listening to the officers’ talk about the formalities to be completed, every word amplifying his fear, he felt his mind had no more strength left to face the situation. He pushed his chair back, got up and walked towards the door. Sharma’s words were hammering him inside. He pushed the curtains apart to step out but stopped at the door abruptly. Govind was standing there in front of him. He had heard everything. They looked at each other. The bustle in Chop Suey’s mind stilled to silence. Blinking at his surroundings, incapable to frame the right sentence that could soothe Govind, he placed a hand on Govind’s shoulder, ‘He knows nothing. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’ Govind simply smiled at him. With Wadhera, they came out of the hospital. They walked towards the parking when Wadhera told them that he was going to the battalion office to meet Col Sidhu, to inform him about this case. He promised Govind that they

would do everything possible to get him back to the academy, but for the present, he said, all he needed to do was to be strong. At that moment, what came as a surprise to Wadhera was Govind’s request, ‘Can I be allowed to stay back in the academy for just one more day? After that, you can send me to Delhi anytime.’ Wadhera and Chop Suey looked at him. ‘Just one more day sir, please. One day won’t make any difference,’ he insisted. Chop Suey watched Govind’s eyes. Then he knew. ‘Why do you want to stay back?’ ‘Virender has his final test tomorrow morning. It is important for me to be with him.’ Chop Suey knew it, no further explanations were required, and he could sense Wadhera swelling with pride inside. But he also knew that not everything was in his hands. ‘It’s not in my hands. They will not let you stay when the doctor has already spoken to higher-ups and he wants you in Delhi as soon as possible.’ Comprehending this request won’t lead him anywhere, Govind chose to ask something he thought was doable for Wadhera. ‘Then, sir, I will ask a favour from you, from both of you, in fact. The thing about my medical condition, and that I am being moved to Delhi, should be kept a secret, at least till tomorrow, until Virender runs his test.’ Chop Suey stopped himself from breaking down in front of Wadhera. The pain was travelling through his veins but never made it to his face—he wanted to stay strong for Govind. Wadhera promised Govind that Virender would not come to know about his health until his test was over. And true to his word, he ensured that this news was kept a secret. Govind’s admission was written. He stayed at the hospital, while Chop Suey was sent back to his room to get the stuff he was going to need in the hospital for the night and later at Delhi. Chop Suey returned to Sinhgarh. He went to Govind’s room. Grief had his stomach locked up tight. He sat there for a while, trapped in a situation that was too difficult for him to handle alone. He did not want to run into Virender or Turbo because he did not have the heart to face their questions. There was no one with whom he could’ve shared his pain. At once, he thought of Avni. On impulse, he decided to call her up and talk to her. Little

did he know that there was another surprise waiting for him. He left her soul crumbling. She listened to him silently, every word that he had to tell her about Govind, his medical condition and the foul game that God was playing with him. Talking to her, he thought he was able to breathe, that the initial surge of pain had mellowed down but what he did not know was that this news had choked Avni completely, as if he had stolen the air from her lungs. By the time Chop Suey returned to the hospital with Govind’s bag, the nurse had already shown Govind his bed. There were four beds in the cadet’s ward, two out of which were occupied—one by Govind, the other by a first-termer with a stress fracture in his right leg. The nurse kept the medicines on the table next to Govind’s bed and checked his blood pressure. After she left, they went out for a walk. Chop Suey could tell Govind was tense and needed someone by his side to talk to. Most of all, the burden of Virender’s test the next morning was weighing heavily on his mind. He could think of nothing else at that moment. Repeatedly, he asked Chop Suey, ‘What if he comes to know? Will he do it without me, what do you think?’ And every time, Chop Suey assured him that Virender would do just fine after all the training he had given him. There was not a thing to worry about, he said. But there was. And not just one. By six in the evening, the hospital had become much quieter. When they got back to the bed, the first-termer was in the anteroom watching TV. It was not too long when a surprise struck them when they saw Avni standing at the door. With that dishevelled expression on her face, she looked from Chop Suey to Govind and then back to Chop Suey. Even before Chop Suey could ask her anything, she walked up to Govind and threw her arms around him. After whatever she was told on the phone, her heart as if snapped in two, she couldn’t have let him go away without seeing him or without talking to him. Chop Suey stood there for a while, looking at them. His brain formulated no thoughts other than to register the fact that he was shocked. He realised that he had been unaware of this development. Avni was fighting her tears. Chop Suey could tell she was very upset. Govind, aware of the reason that had brought her here, insisted that she shouldn’t have come to the hospital. He said everyone was unnecessarily making a fuss over his reports and that there

was nothing wrong with him. He even got up from the bed and walked a few steps to show them that he was perfectly fine. Then he told Avni that they were good friends and nothing more and asked her not to complicate things for him. Avni did not say a word. ‘Well, I guess he was…was just being himself,’ Virender interrupted. ‘What do you mean?’ Chop Suey asked. ‘I mean he was only pretending to be indifferent towards her. I am sure he loves her but imagine what he must be going through. His reports are serious and they are boarding him out a few days before the POP. How is he supposed to react? Probably, he knows how uncertain his future is, and that is why he didn’t want to encourage Avni to have any foolish hopes, and wanted her to get on with her life without waiting for him to make a complete recovery. Recovery that he himself is not too sure of.’ ‘You think I don’t understand that?’ Chop Suey said. ‘Still, I needed to know the truth. Why do you think I came to your room last night? To find out if you knew exactly how involved they both were. I am sorry I couldn’t tell you much at that time and had to leave.’ ‘Oh...’ ‘It was for your own good. We did not want you to be upset before the test. It was on Govind’s request that Wadhera did his bit to keep the news from you. He made sure that you had no contact with those of us who knew the truth.’ Virender’s mind zoomed back to the minute when Wadhera had come to meet him just before the test. Wadhera had only been looking out for him, like Govind. Damn, what a lout he was, thinking he got up from the chair and walked over to the window, to stare absently out, if the light could soothe him. ‘What?’ Chop Suey said. ‘Nothing, what happened after that? Did Govind sleep well last night?’ ‘I’m not sure. I think they gave him some medicines to make him feel relaxed through the night. They did not allow me to stay with him. I had to get back to the hospital with Paramjit in the morning.’ Chop Suey picked up from where he had left.

That morning, Wadhera had asked Paramjit and Chop Suey to go to the railway station with Govind to see him off. A medical attendant was detailed from the hospital to attend to him during the journey. The Dehradun–Delhi Special was due to leave at half past four and they reached the station well ahead of time. But all the way to the station, and even later, until it was time for the train to depart, Govind had only one thing on his mind. He was not worried about his health. He was worried because he was breaking the promise he made to Virender that he would run with him in the test. But Chop Suey calmed him down by telling him that Virender had practised enough and that there was just no way he could fail. Before they got off the train, Chop Suey and Paramjit squeezed Govind in their arms and said they would wait for him to come back soon. They stood on the platform waving out to him till the train picked up pace. Govind waved at them, and soon he was out of their sight. They returned to the academy before the test began. Chop Suey said he was as shocked as Virender, perhaps even more than him, to see Govind turn up at the academy. They had actually seen him off at the station and he should have been on his way to Delhi. How the hell was he here then, Chop Suey had wondered when he saw Govind sprinting towards them. Even before they could react, Govind snatched the stopwatch from Turbo’s hand and darted behind the runners, faster than they had ever seen him run before. Paramjit and Chop Suey couldn’t wait for the test to get over and get hold of Govind. They wanted to know from him how he got off the train and got back to the academy. When the train had left the station, and this was what Govind told them after the run was over, restlessness and anxiety started feeding on him heavily. He was constantly thinking about Virender. He knew he was betraying him at the last moment. So, when the train slowed to a halt at a local station a few kilometres ahead, he requested the attendant to get tea for the two of them. The moment the man got off on the platform, Govind jumped out of the train from another door. ‘Bloody freak!’ Turbo exclaimed.

‘Govind!’ Virender ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I felt so helpless watching him risk his life, at the speed he ran to get hold of you and then the way he was running with you. With the damage probably already done, he ran fast and hard,’ Chop Suey looked at Virender. An uneasy silence followed as Turbo and Virender let what Chop Suey had just told them sink in. Virender could feel his senses numbing. He did not know how to react, what to say or do. Govind had risked his life to keep his promise. He had cocked a snook at the doctor’s warnings just to make sure that Virender passed his run. He dreaded to think that if anything happened to Govind now, it would all be because of him. Moreover, even if he did survive this horrible episode, it would still not lead to something pleasant. They were not going to let him continue his training in this condition. Govind was one of the best and now someone as undeserving as Virender would pass out, but not Govind? How was that fair? They waited for the update from the ICU. The door opened after about two hours and a nurse came out. The patient was still unconscious but they could go inside and see him, she said. They immediately rushed inside. Virender’s heart sank when he saw him. He was sleeping peacefully like a child, surrounded by IVs and heart monitors. There was a frail curtain that separated his bed from the rest. They drifted towards him. Virender stood hesitantly next to the pillow. He could not believe that, just a while ago, the man resting quietly on the bed was running next to him, screaming at him. Govind’s eyes were shut tight. The silence was intimidating. Virender wanted to shake him up and talk to him. Turbo signalled him to sit down and not make a sound. While they waited for him to regain consciousness, arrangements to move him to Delhi were being made. The section hospital had only basic facilities to handle such serious cases. It was eight in the evening when Govind finally opened his eyes. He caught sight of Virender sitting alone by the headrest. Virender looked at him and quickly got up from his chair. But from the way Govind was looking at him through the corners of his eyes, he realised he was not able to move his

neck properly. Those dark circles under his eyes told how rapidly his health had deteriorated. Virender bent over him. Govind struggled to move his arms. Virender was desperate to hear his voice but that would’ve put extra strain on him. It consumed all of his will power to not say a word, and wait for Govind to initiate. Govind tried to touch his hand and he moved his hand closer. ‘How do you feel?’ Virender asked finally. With a slow blink of his eyes Govind conveyed that he was okay. ‘This is not a place for you, brother. You will get out of here very soon,’ Virender had to muster all the courage to tell him this. How could they board out someone of his calibre? And that Sharma, Virender felt like killing him for not realising how serious Govind’s injury was after his first reports came in soon after the football match. Wasn’t he to be blamed? What would he have lost had he diagnosed his reports correctly the first time? Chop Suey had gone to the wet canteen to get something to eat for them. Virender hadn’t eaten anything since morning. Turbo had gone to the duty room to find out about Mandy’s shift. She could have helped them at the hospital. Virender made an effort to somehow cheer Govind up. ‘Did I tell you,’ he said, ‘that I heard Wadhera talking to an SF officer the other day? This officer wanted to pull you to his regiment.’ With a great effort, Virender smiled at Govind. But inside, he was crying. Govind was a Special Forces optee; he had once requested Wadhera to help him get his choice of battalion, though only his friends knew the story behind that choice. Wadhera had proffered a strong recommendation for him and things were already in place. Choice-of-arms was the next day and today fate had made its dirty move— look where Govind was, battling for his life inside the ICU. Govind shook a no. ‘You are not going anywhere. You will get your choice, trust me,’ Virender clutched his hand tight. Govind continued to gaze at the ceiling for a while and then looked at him. ‘You think Rohan will…’ His voice broke. He tried again. ‘You think he will forgive me?’ he whispered and turned his head towards the ceiling again. This was Govind, Virender thought. Virender remembered Govind

telling him how he wanted to live his brother’s dream of donning the maroon beret. That was not going to happen. ‘Rohan is so proud of you...’ Govind tried to get up, but couldn’t. ‘Water…I’m thirsty,’ he said. Virender asked him not to move, quickly poured out water into a glass and gave it to him. ‘The nurse told me to give you these medicines once you wake up,’ he said picking up the plastic receptacle from the bedside table. He put the tablets on Govind’s free palm. In front of Govind, Virender was trying hard to act normal but inside guilt was tearing him apart, holding him back from looking directly into his eyes. Govind paused before putting the glass to his mouth. ‘Look into my eyes,’ he said softly. That’s what he was good at—reading Virender’s mind. Virender could not even try. He did not have the guts to meet the eyes of the man who had gotten into this situation because of him. Chronic guilt is not a great sentiment but one thing was sure, it was going to stay with him all his life. ‘I-I am sorry,’ he mumbled, in a small voice, wiping the tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘Why are you crying? You don’t have to feel bad about anything,’ Govind said, and lifted the glass to his lips. He tried to take a sip but the water spilled out from the left side of his mouth. The glass in his hand rolled off the bed, fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ shouting in panic, Virender ran towards the duty room for help.

The second attack that Govind suffered brought on immediate action by the staff. The ward was active again. The ward boy rushed to call the doctor while the nurse ran inside the ICU, Virender was asked to wait outside. When Turbo and Chop Suey returned, he told them what had happened. Within no time, Sharma arrived with two more doctors and disappeared into the ICU. Another round of treatment began. Mandy came to the hospital for her shift at 10:00 PM. Turbo explained her everything. Govind was now unconscious. His mother, who had waited for

him to reach Delhi that morning, was probably on her way to Dehradun. Doctors discussed how they could send him to Delhi as soon as possible. The duty officer came to the hospital at midnight. He asked Virender, Turbo and Chop Suey to get back to Sinhgarh and come back the next morning. They weren’t allowed to stay at the hospital that late. No request worked for them. Before leaving, Turbo asked Mandy to call them on the Sinhgarh’s landline for any update, or for anything Govind wanted. They walked out of the hospital. Chop Suey rode pillion on Turbo’s bike. He had escorted Govind in a jeep to the hospital in the morning. Squad discipline was the last thing on their minds. Virender was pedalling in a trance. ‘Eat something,’ Turbo said as they headed towards Sinhgarh. Chop Suey offered him the samosas he got for him. ‘I am not hungry,’ Virender mumbled. The truth was that the hunger pangs were hitting him hard. His body was dehydrated and exhaustion made his brain feel like it was being stretched like an elastic band. Suddenly, he was scared to go back to the platoon. As they neared Sinhgarh, instead of turning left from the field, he turned the handle towards the ground. ‘What are you...watch out! You will fall!’ Turbo yelled and stopped his bike. He ran behind Virender as his bike wobbled towards the rope gallows. It was dark, save for the light falling from the street lamps. He stopped in front of the chin-up bar. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ Turbo came running behind him. Soon Chop Suey came in riding Turbo’s bike. Panic dominating his senses, Virender looked around—at the dark corners of the field, at the moonless sky, the row of eucalyptus standing like ghosts staring at him, at the gallows, as if the ropes hanging from them would coil themselves around him, rubbing on his neck or like anacondas swallowing him whole. He looked at the chin-up bar. He used to practice here every day with him. He used to get him here after the run. Virender had passed his test today because of him and now instead of celebrating with him, Govind was there, lying on the hospital bed.

With no energy left to think or even feel anything, Virender felt his surroundings move, as he stood there gawking at the silhouette of the ropes. Suddenly, his stomach cramped. He fell to his knees and then squatting with his arms around them, began wailing like a baby. Chop Suey took a step forward but Turbo’s hand blocked him.

Latest update came at 3AM when Mandy told them that Govind hadn’t opened his eyes yet. Virender had stayed back in Turbo’s room. He had wrestled his thoughts all night but sleep came to him eventually. Turbo woke him up to go to the hospital in the morning. When they reached the hospital, the only thing Virender wanted to hear was that Govind was recovering and that he felt much better. He wanted Sharma to assure him that with some days of rest Govind would be able to participate in the parade. Govind had always led the Sinhgarh contingent; he wanted see him doing that once again. Mandy’s shift was over but she was waiting for them near the reception. She looked pale and had something bizarre to tell them. ‘Govind’s mother arrived early in the morning and took him to Delhi,’ she told them. ‘What?’ ‘I was attending to an emergency when she came here with Dr Sharma. And by the time I went to check on Govind, he had already left with her.’ They rushed inside the ICU ward. Govind’s bed was vacant. Virender hit his hand on the wall. ‘Please, no. God, please, no!’ Turbo held him tight. ‘I was here with him until five thirty,’ Mandy said. ‘He opened his eyes. I checked his pulse. He talked to me, he asked about all of you.’ ‘When did his mother arrive?’ Chop Suey asked her. ‘Everything happened so fast, within the next half hour or so. I asked the ward boy to look after Govind while I was away and by the time I returned, he was gone,’ Mandy said, remembering the ward boy telling her how surprised Govind was to see his mother. With his back towards the others, Virender was listening to this

conversation. He was annoyed because they had moved Govind out of the hospital without even letting him know. He was vulnerable because even though the anger was churning his insides, so much so that he could’ve put the entire hospital on fire, he knew he could do nothing to get back at the authorities who had played this trick with him. And he was mortified because a thought hit him—how would he face Govind’s mother now? What would he tell her for doing this to her son? ‘Could they have not let us meet him just once before sending him away?’ Turbo said. But Chop Suey cut in. ‘At least his mother is there with him. She will definitely take better care of him. Don’t worry. I am sure Govind will come back.’ ‘Stop saying that! He is not coming back!’ Virender turned back with a burning rage in his eyes. ‘Trust me, no one can stop him from getting commissioned at this stage. Just think how much the government spends on the training of each cadet. It is not that easy to board someone out just like that.’ The only thing Virender wanted to believe at that moment was what Chop Suey had just said.

FIFTEEN

Stars of Despair ecember 1998. Allahabad—Virender Pandey’s SSB (Services Selection Board) interview. Virender sat nibbling on his pinkie, seated on a wooden bench outside Brig Singh’s office, waiting for his interview turn. At nine the sun had risen enough to fill the corridor with its brightness filtering through the clouds. That was Virender’s fifth and the final day at Allahabad. He was surprised he had survived so long. Virender was nervously staring at the door of Singh’s office when it opened and a boy came out. He was tall, had high cheekbones accentuating his face, and wore a white shirt with navy blue tie and black trousers. Virender quickly got up, adjusted his shirt and tie, closed his eyes briefly and took a few steadying breaths. It was his turn next. When the boy came closer to him, they exchanged a glance. Virender noticed his deep brown eyes. ‘All the best,’ the boy wished him. Virender returned a nervous smile before he walked into the office in even strides. Brig Singh, the board president, was a man close to being in the fifth decade of his life. He was stout, had grey hair, an average height and a prominent moustache. ‘Sit down,’ he welcomed Virender with a warm voice. Virender thanked him and took his place across a huge mahogany table at a distance from it, sitting upright on the chair. He noticed the tastefully decorated office. Every object was aesthetically placed. The walls were painted pale white and the room had a big square window that faced the road outside. On the wooden desk was a stack of papers sitting under a dolphinshaped paperweight. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling and on the wooden chair underneath sat Brig Singh.

D

What was his reason for joining the army, Singh asked Virender without much ado. He had framed that question in Hindi, ‘Aap pehle ye batayein ki aapko fauj mein aane ki prerna kahan se mili? (From where did you get the inspiration to join the army?)’ Judging Virender by his looks, that was an obvious question anybody would’ve asked. ‘Prerna se, sir,’ Virender answered, looking straight into his eyes. That answer had slipped past his lips spontaneously. Singh’s sardonic eyebrows at once contorted into two big question marks behind his thick bifocal glasses. He was taken aback, as if this boy had vaulted over the table and plucked at his moustache. ‘Uh... um...actually Prerna is the name of the girl I love,’ Virender stuttered. ‘Interesting!’ Singh rested the pen in his hand on the table. ‘Is she the reason you are sitting here in front of me today?’ his tone was casual, the light-heartedness in his voice suggesting he had now decided to have some fun with Virender. ‘Sir, to be honest, yes,’ he said without any hesitation. But, honesty backfires sometimes. ‘Very interesting!’ Singh pursed his lips in an attempt to keep his infamous creeping grin at bay, while Virender’s eyeballs ruefully followed the file cover that was closed shut in front of him. He almost flinched. No, wait! Are we done? Is the interview over? There was no way to undo that blunder. ‘I think I like you, young man,’ Singh said. Huh? Virender’s breath caught in his throat. ‘T-thank you, sir,’ he groaned so heavily a smile appeared on Singh’s face. ‘Don’t you thank me, son. I did not say that you are selected. I just said I like you. I like you because you are a funny boy.’ Singh’s reply sent Virender’s heartbeats racing again. ‘In my last two years here, I have interviewed so many boys that, and I am being honest with you, I am bored of listening to same answers every time—I want to serve the country; my dad is a colonel; my nana fought the British; I am the third generation brat; it was my dream to see myself in uniform; I am a Manoj Kumar fan…but girlfriend?’ he asked and paused,

took a sip from the glass of water on the table, held out a kerchief to dab his lips. ‘No one ever gave me “that” as a reason for joining the army.’ While Singh continued his talks, Virender noticed the framed portrait of Mahatma Gandhi hanging at the centre of the wall behind the brigadier’s chair. Even Bapu seemed amused at his Experiments with Truth at such a crucial stage. He kicked himself in his mind. ‘Well, coming back to your story, I think I should at least listen to whatever you have to say. Maybe you could help me decide your fate. You have exactly five minutes to impress me and if no black cat crossed your way this morning, you stand a chance, otherwise... you know where the door is.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Shoot!’ 1998: Raebareli—sepia-coloured sleepy lanes of Maheshganj

Prerna and Virender were school friends and their friendship continued into their college days. He was deeply in love with her but she did not feel the same way about him. Moreover, he could never gather enough courage to express his feelings to her. Prerna got her admission in a medical college in Bangalore. She was happy because this college was in her wish list but Virender was upset because she was leaving Raebareli and going away from him. One late afternoon, they were returning home after watching a movie— the first time they had ever done something like this—walking down the street that led to Prerna’s house. The road was cracked with age and looked grey at that time of the day. At 6 pm, most workers head for their homes through that route but today the stretch was quiet. Few minutes away from her place, they noticed four men standing with two motorcycles parked next to them. When they came alongside them, one of them said in a coquettish tone, ‘O manchali, kahan chali, wo bhi is dhol ke saath? Humen bhi uda le chal meri titli...ye jhingur kaha se pakad laayee?’ Virender sizzled, the anger reddened his face, he clenched his fist hard. Prerna touched his hand and said, ‘Ignore.’ She increased her pace. Ignore?

How dare he say anything like that to her? Virender stopped and turned back. ‘Ignore them. These losers hang out here every day,’ Prerna tugged at his hand to hold him back this time. Asking her to wait where she was, Virender started walking towards those men. He had no idea what was he going to do once he was on the other side of the road. He was angry but scared all the more that this fight might end up very ugly, that he might even get beaten to death. ‘Virender, are you crazy?’ her shout fell on deaf ears. And the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of those men, with the sternest look on his face. ‘Kaun bola?’ he asked, standing with his legs apart, hands on hips, eyes narrow, rigid and cold, trying to sound braver than he actually felt. The shortest of the four men suddenly jumped forward and gave him a tight slap on his left cheek, sending his sunglasses flying like a boomerang that was not made to come back. The slap was loud and his face stung. On impulse, Virender’s hand moved and cracked across that man’s face, smashing him into the very earth. He had never hit anyone before. He was incredibly surprised at the pain that rocked through his arm as his hand connected with the man’s jaw. He couldn’t believe the force in his blow. The other three men leapt at him and grabbed him from behind. Prerna screamed for them to stop but they pushed him to the ground, started hitting him with their hands and legs in solid sickening force. Wrapping his arms around his head, while those men pounded blows on him, he looked at her through the cloud of dust. She was screaming at them to stop, she was crying for help. He wasn’t worried about the blows, he was only worried about her. Hearing Prerna shouting for help, some passers-by and people from a nearby farm ran towards them. The men fled on their bikes, leaving Virender sprawled on his stomach, blood stains all over his white shirt. He was left a bloody mess on the side of the road. Prerna ran up to him. With every muscle seized up, he struggled to turn around, bloody spit drooling from his jaws. By the time people had gathered around him. Prerna stopped where he was and screamed. ‘What do you think of yourself? You think you’re some superhero? Phantom ho tum? Trying to take four of them on, all by yourself? Did I not tell you to ignore them? Now

just look at you. A loser you are! I always knew you were a loser!’ her voice quivered in fear. Bursting into angry sobs, she turned back and ran towards her house, leaving him there on the road, bruised and bleeding. Virender flinched in pain, he curled himself conceding to his wounds and her words, as if she had hit on his fresh wounds again and again. Three men helped him to get on his feet. Someone from the crowd handed over his glasses. He thanked them and limped towards the bus stand, her words continued to play in his head as the bus roared towards his house. A swollen face, multiple bruises and two fractured ribs. Not just that, he lost his self-confidence, stopped talking to people, or meeting his friends. He never saw Prerna after that. She never tried to find out how he was. The episode continued to haunt him for days, when one day he came across an advertisement in the newspaper to join the Indian Army. Virender finished his story and looked at Singh. Singh had an intent look on his face, as if he was processing a yes or a no in his mind. Getting through this interview was his only redemption and in the fraught pause that followed between Singh opening that file again and disclosing his fate, Virender thought as if the earth would soon open a crevasse and he would be swallowed inside. He watched him jot down something on the paper. Singh scrolled his signature at the bottom, put the pen down on the table, and raised his head to look at Virender. ‘You may go now,’ he said objectively. He quickly gathered his thoughts and got up from the chair. He composed himself to thank his interviewer and walked out of the door. He was sure that he was rejected but when the results were announced, during the final conference later, he stopped himself from falling unconscious when ‘chest number 51’ was called out. Singh met him outside the hall. ‘Welcome aboard, Phantom,’ he said and shook hands with Virender. Virender jerked his thoughts back to the present. Almost 18 months after his interview, he was seated in his room by himself, thinking how one by one people he loved had drifted away from him, like they weren’t meant to be a part of his life in the first place. Prerna had walked out on him long ago and now Govind was gone too, making soreness a part of his routine. He could

easily pacify himself for Prerna; he could tell that they were not meant to be together, that she took up so much than he gave, but Govind? His absence was unbearable. Without him, his world became insignificant. With his memories haunting him day and night, he could not focus on anything. He stopped talking to the others. And though he tried to keep off Govind’s room, he repeatedly ended up there. Sometimes he’d only stand outside his room wondering how that small room could contain so many memories. Sometimes, he would just sit there and do nothing. Without fail, he would go to the PCO every day to dial the base hospital in Delhi to find out about Govind. But the phone would ring and no one would pick up on the other end. Then he would dial Govind’s home, aware that there could be no one to receive his call. The call got through to the hospital one day, but the person who attended could not give him much information. All he knew was that a cadet from IMA was admitted to the hospital some days back. Virender asked him if he would take a message from him and although the man noted it down on his insistence, he did not receive any call back from Govind. Gloom seeped into his skin. Sleep abandoned his eyes. Trapped into the absolute blackness of his thoughts, if he would sleep for a moment, he would drift into some bad dream and suddenly wake up. Then he would go to Turbo’s room and wake him up at odd hours to talk about Govind. But suddenly, he would just leave and go to the field; there he would get on the bar and start doing chin-ups, to the point where his muscles would explode and his body would quiver, as if punishing himself, as if Govind will appear out of nowhere to lift him up if he stopped. He would go for a long run, alone, sometimes making it tough for his eyes to hold his tears on the way, remembering how Govind used to run with him every day. Ten days to the convocation, there was an update on Govind. Chop Suey had gone to take orders from the company office when Wadhera told him that Govind’s treatment in Delhi was going to take time. One thing was confirmed —Govind was not coming back to IMA. Ten days passed by, each slower than the previous one. The night before the convocation was starless. As a ritual, Virender was

walking towards the PCO again, the streetlamps stretching his shadow on the road, like a ghostly outline of his existence. He had not been able to talk to Govind since he had left for Delhi, and today he thought, if God could make it possible, he would tell him that it was his last day at the academy and that he wanted him to come for the convocation if he was well enough. He knew he was being selfish. Some lady at the base hospital received his call but she had no clue which cadet he was talking about. He disconnected the call and dialled Govind’s home next. No one picked up again. He gave up on the calls and returned to his room. Dejected, his eyes fell on the blue bag under the bed. He pulled it out and placed it on the bed. He opened the left pocket and took out a small red coloured book—the Hanuman Chalisa. Dadi had kept it there for him to read on Tuesdays. His mother had reminded him every time but he had not touched it even once. He was desperate to try anything that could help his mind escape. He touched the book to his head and started reading. He couldn’t really understand the meaning of most of the verses but they were certainly helping him—as he calmed down—to connect to God. ‘Sankat kate mite sab peera, jo sumiraye hanumat balbira (whosoever remembers brave Hanuman gets relief from all the pain).’ His thoughts soared back to Govind while he read those lines. He closed his eyes, asking God to relieve his buddy of the pain he was going through. He finished reading the prayer and kept the book back in its place. He did not even try to sleep. He hadn’t slept for days but a short nap seemed like a remote possibility even today. It was pointless trying to steal a snooze; he eventually gave up and got up from the bed. It was ten minutes to four. No, he shouldn’t be disturbing Turbo at this time, he thought. With nothing much to do, he decided to try on his new uniform, the one he was going to wear for the parade in the morning. Outside, the platoon was soundless. He changed and saw himself in the mirror. Fresh olive green uniform, with shining buckles, glittering stars and sparkling shoes, his body had leaned out, with almost no fat to carry around, sharp commanding jawline, the rugged tan of the skin—last one year had sculpted him from a laidback blimp that he was; today, the look that his face carried should have been of triumph,

of pride, of a winner, but he did not see a proud young lieutenant in his reflection. In its stead, there was a loser shying away from him, with guilt in those dreary eyes—one who had lost everything. Ruefully, he tried to adjust the peak-cap on his head. The cap felt tight on him. He flipped it over and realised something, raised his head to look at the almirah in front, and that’s when he saw his peak-cap hooked outside the door. His heart choked up at once. ‘No!’ he shouted. He sank into the chair, holding the cap he had just taken off in his hand. It was Govind’s peak-cap. Govind had left it in his room after his last parade rehearsal. Next day he was admitted in the hospital. Virender buried his face in that cap. ‘Please come back…please!’ He wailed inside, as though the cap was made from glass shards—the tighter he clung to it, the deeper it sliced his hand. What he dreaded that moment was that just like this memory, every object and every emotion was going to remind him of his friend, and he had to live with it. They had great times together to remember but then too many bad memories were going to dwarf the good ones. He could only wish to bury them deep underground. He got up and carefully placed Govind’s cap over the clothes stacked inside the almirah. Just then, there was a knock at his door. At four in the morning, who could it possibly be? Puzzled, he opened the door. It was pitch dark outside, save for the faint light of the bulb glowing in the corridor. He saw someone standing at his door. He could not see the face clearly but the person wore a cap and his head slanted slightly towards his right. Virender stooped for a closer look. God! Is that? His heart as though clogged. He thought his eyes were playing a trick on him. Was it an illusion? Govind? ‘Govind, brother!’ he cried out in delight. Govind tried to lift his head and his eyes beamed at Virender. Virender threw his arms around him but Govind appeared too weak to even lift up his arms and embrace him. ‘Wh-what...how did...you...’ not able to frame a sentence properly, Virender looked around the platoon area outside. ‘Is there somebody else with you? Your mother?’ ‘No.’ He looked again. Right enough, there seemed to be no one with him.

‘Can I come in?’ Govind whispered and walked inside, as if hauling himself. Virender made way for him and closed the door. ‘What a surprise! You never fail to blow me out of my mind.’ He said as Govind sat down on the bed, himself sitting by his side. Seeing Govind after so long, he couldn’t have thanked God enough for this wonderful present. Govind seemed to be using his eyes to communicate silently that he was in a lot of pain. He had turned frail. Lost weight. His tanned, handsome face had withered. The soft-yarned ascot cap covered the stitches on his head, he said. But Virender could see a glistening joy in his deep solemn eyes. ‘Wait, let me go call Turbo and Chop Suey. They will go bonkers,’ he said, getting up to leave. ‘No, wait,’ Govind tried reaching out to his hand. ‘Let them s-sleep. I will meet them later. I have come to congratulate you for today.’ Virender sat down again. ‘Something told me, almost every day, that you will come back. No one believed me, you know…’ Govind shook his head. With a great effort Virender stopped himself from telling him that he had grown so weak. The firmness of his muscles, the bulk of his shoulders, had shrunk many shades. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I still won’t use my second arm to lift you up.’ Govind chuckled softly, shaking his head, gazing at his feet. His chuckle was dwarfed by Virender’s put-on laughter. They talked—about everyone. Turbo, Chop Suey, Wadhera, other course mates. And Avni. ‘She would be happy to see you,’ Virender said. ‘You’ll meet her today. She will be here with her parents. By the way, the news of you being boarded out hasn’t gone down too well with her.’ ‘S-she is a strong girl. I’m sure she understands whatever h-happened.’ Virender told him what all had happened at the academy while he was away—how he went to the PCO every day to get some news about him, how Aiyappa replaced Govind to lead the Sinhgarh contingent in the parade, and how Wadhera had called his own parents in Raebareli to congratulate them. And then he said something that took Govind by surprise—‘I opted for

Special Forces in the choice of arms. If all goes well, I will wear the maroon beret one day soon.’ ‘You?’ ‘I requested Wadhera and you know he recommended my name.’ ‘You f-fool. You cannot even r-run two kilometres to save your life, how will you even c-clear the probation? And what will you do in Special Forces, get yourself killed?’ ‘Shut up,’ Virender said. ‘Just wait and watch how many kills I get. What do you think I am?’ In his heart Virender was determined to create a new life for himself, a life Govind wanted to live, a life that was Rohan’s dream. ‘And if I am in danger you will be there to help me, right? I know you have my back, brother.’ ‘Well, I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.’ Govind said and he said that earnestly because he knew what Virender was getting himself into was not a joke. ‘I know it, better than you, all right?’ Govind could tell Virender knew it better than him this time. Something in his eyes told him that. ‘I have your back. I will be watching over you. Listen, I have to go now. Looks like you haven’t slept at all. Take a nap. It’s a big day for you.’ Govind looked into his eyes. ‘But before I leave, I want to tell you something.’ ‘What?’ ‘I don’t want you to blame yourself for whatever h-happened to me.’ He had once again read that in his eyes, Virender thought. He steered his gaze away. ‘It was because of me that...’ ‘It was n-not because of you,’ Govind said firmly. ‘It was not your f-fault. Promise me you will n-not think about this ever again.’ Virender lowered his head. He tried to summon more strength to face Govind’s statement because no matter whatever he said or promised, he knew he was going to regret his decision for the rest of his life—that moment, when Govind ran with him, like an unforgiving sin it would be back tomorrow to haunt him all over again. In his heart he retracted all the actions he had done, all that he could’ve

avoided, his indolence, because of which his friend was paying the price. ‘Say it,’ Govind insisted. Virender shook his head in a yes. ‘Say it.’ ‘I promise,’ Virender grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. All he could feel was bones. Govind, so frail? ‘Go to sleep. I will see you again.’ Govind got up and slowly walked towards the door. ‘Where are you going at this time? I am not sleepy anyway,’ Virender said, not sure whether to touch his shoulders, to request him to stop, or just hold his hand and shove him back to the bed, not let him go. But Govind kept going. ‘Let me just help you with this...’ Virender pulled the door open for him. ‘I wouldn’t have come here if I were sick. I can open the door myself. And you don’t have to follow me.’ There was a touch of anger and helplessness in his voice. ‘Whatever you say, coach,’ Virender stepped back for a salute in perfect attention. His eyes followed Govind as he watched him slowly walk away and then disappear around the corner. Virender returned to his room. Surprisingly, he fell asleep soon after. The alarm woke him up as soon as he had slept. He took a deep breath to gather courage to face the day. The morning looked bright with a subtle warmth in the sunshine. Last so many days had been upsetting, playing on Virender’s mind, but thankfully, now that Govind was back, he believed the worst had passed. Since the day Govind had left for Delhi, he had called up home only twice— once to tell his mother that he had passed his tests and then to confirm his parents’ time of arrival at Dehradun railway station. He felt so much better today. He was done with the phase of pain and sorrow, and now he could stop cursing himself. Thinking how happy Turbo and Chop Suey would be when he told them about Govind, he changed into the ceremonial dress. At the appointed time, 740 gentlemen cadets, from 12 company contingents, lined up at the drill square outside Chetwode. Today Aiyappa led

Sinhgarh. Chop Suey stood in the second row of the sword appointments and Turbo stood diagonally behind Virender in the last row of the contingent. The drill rifle in his hand had felt so much heavier in Govind’s absence but now, thinking Govind was watching him sitting somewhere in the guests’ enclosure in front, it felt light as a feather. Soon the drum rolls shook him out of his brief reverie. The boys marched past the crowd of spectators gathered since early morning for this mega event. It was difficult to spot Govind in the crowd. It seemed as if the entire Dehradun had come to watch the passing out parade—ministers, esteemed social figures, retired veterans, celebrities, media, school and college students and, of course, parents, relatives, and guardians present to witness this proud moment in the life of the cadets. There was a time when Virender had planned this day differently. He had planned to invite Prerna and introduce her to his friends, to Govind. Well, God had some other plans. He tried to shake such thoughts away and focus on the parade instead. When Sinhgarh crossed marching in front of the guest’s enclosure, Virender spotted his parents in the first row where Chop Suey had got them seated. Avni sat next to them with her parents. Just then his eyes twinkled to see Govind’s mother standing in the last row of the second enclosure, as though keenly watching the parade. He must be sitting somewhere near her, Virender thought, looked around, but could not spot him. It was too crowded, and he had to focus on the parade. The march past ended where the boys crossed the Antim Pag, the final step at the Chetwode hall. Three Aviation Corps ALH helicopters flew above their heads, showering flower petals. The media persons and the parents went into a frenzy clicking photographs. The academy had produced yet another batch of Indian Army officers. Virender was one of them. He could not wait any longer to see Govind. Later, with Turbo and Chop Suey, Virender hurried to the Khetrapal auditorium lawn, while the guests moved there from the parade ground for the piping ceremony, in which the parents had to put stars on their sons’ shoulders, a proud moment for everyone. Emotions were high. Teary-eyed mothers embraced their sons, fathers became rounder in size swollen with

pride, sisters couldn’t stop posing with their brothers and the reporters were randomly interviewing freshly commissioned officers. Virender and Chop Suey spotted their parents standing together. Avni was there with them. It was unsettling to see her normal face. She greeted them with a smile. How excited would she be to hear that Govind was back, Virender thought. Virender’s mother blessed him while his father stepped ahead, more than ready to perform the ‘stars’ ritual. ‘Papa, wait,’ he said, scanning the crowd around them. ‘What happened, beta?’ his mother said. His eyes continued to search, just when he heard Wadhera call his name. He turned around. ‘Somebody has come to meet you,’ Wadhera said, mushrooming his excitement. ‘Thank God!’ He sighed. Finally, Virender thought, he gets to see what he had been yearning for so long. Wadhera took them to a moderately crowded corner of the lawn where Govind’s mother was standing under the shade of a tree. Virender, Turbo and Chop Suey were delighted to see her. ‘Govind?’ Chop Suey asked, looking around to see if he was standing somewhere. ‘He said he would never talk to me again if I did not come here today,’ she said as she looked at all three of them. Her tranquil face had lost the glow it had when she had first met them in the cafeteria. She looked exhausted. She took out two pairs of golden brass stars from her purse and stepped closer to Turbo. ‘May I?’ she said and began opening the flaps on Turbo’s shirt. ‘Congratulations, your mother would be so proud of you. See, I kept my promise,’ she said as she pinned two stars on Turbo’s right shoulder. She requested Wadhera to help fix the other two on the left one. Wadhera did the needful. On this most important day of his life, Turbo was alone. There was no family member present for him, worst fate for a child on this day, and he hadn’t spoken to his mother for over six months. But to keep her word, Govind’s mother was here, like the rain bringing new exuberance to the

parched soil, to fill the void in Turbo’s heart. Greatness is genetic, Virender thought as he watched her run hands on those stars. ‘Govind reminded me that I had to do this. For me, you are just like him, my son,’ she said. ‘His father wore these when he got commissioned. We believed one day Rohan would...and then Govind...’ She choked up at that and could not say a word more. So typical of Govind, Virender thought. ‘Where is Govind? Haven’t seen him since morning,’ Virender said at last. She gave him a curious look. ‘Govind? He is in Delhi, still recovering. The operation was on Wednesday. Doctors say it is going to be a very slow recovery. Several months perhaps.’ Did he hear that right? ‘Is he in the hospital?’ Chop Suey enquired. ‘Y-yes. He is still in the ICU.’ ‘You mean he has not come here with you?’ Virender said, his eyes flared with disbelief. ‘I know you all think that I should’ve been with him. But he wanted me to be here today. You know how stubborn he can be.’ ‘What are you s-saying, ma’am?’ Virender exclaimed. ‘How can he be in the hospital when he was there with me early this morning? He came to my room and talked to me.’ She looked stumped. ‘He came to your room?’ ‘Yes...at around four...this morning.’ ‘When I left from the hospital last night at around eleven, Govind was fast asleep. All of us have been under so much tension in the last few weeks, perhaps you had a dream.’ A storm of conflicting emotions raged inside Virender’s head. ‘It was not a dream! I met him, I swear!’ His reaction made the heads turn. Watching the crowd drift towards the Khetrapal auditorium, Wadhera interrupted them. ‘All right, let’s be done with the stars quickly and proceed to the auditorium for the oath ceremony. We shouldn’t be late.’ While the parents circled around Virender and Chop Suey to fix the stars on their shoulders, Virender remained as if rooted to the ground, his mind in

a muddle about Govind. Chop Suey and Turbo had to drag him towards the auditorium. He kept turning back to look at Govind’s mother, wishing she was just pulling a prank on him, wishing he could once again see Govind somewhere around her. Then he saw a man whispering something to her and then leading her away as if there was some emergency. He was only going to believe what he saw, he decided. He was damn sure he wasn’t dreaming all this while. Govind had come to his room—there was no doubt about that.

Virender, Turbo and Chop Suey were running like there was no tomorrow. The dust their strides whirled up was flying all over their starched olive green uniforms, forming layers over the stars on their shoulders, covering their flashy DMS boots, but they couldn’t have cared less. From the auditorium, they ran to the nearest PCO in the north block. It was crowded and an elderly woman, perhaps in her late 60s, was waiting for her turn next. Turbo walked up to her, and requested her if she could let him make a call, it’s an emergency he said. She smiled at him and asked him to go ahead. It was their turn next. They hurried inside the booth. With the phone receiver to his ear and his hand to the keypad, Turbo dialled the base hospital. ‘It’s ringing,’ he said. ‘Hope someone attends to the call,’ Chop Suey said while Virender had his eyes shut. He was in his room; how can he be in Delhi? That’s impossible. ‘Hello,’ Turbo said. ‘Thank God,’ Chop Suey crossed himself. ‘He is not in the hospital,’ Virender opened his eyes and said. ‘He was with me this morning. Remember how he had escaped from that train? He must be hovering around somewhere.’ ‘Shh...’ Chop Suey indicated to him to stay quiet. ‘Yes, IMA, yes... Govind Mahajan… yes, yes, I am his course mate… Sinhgarh, the same company...’ Turbo responded to the queries. Listened for

a minute or so, wordlessly. And then, suddenly, the receiver fell and thumped on the floor. Turbo was staring at the phone. ‘W-what?’ Chop Suey nudged him by his shoulder. ‘Not there, right?’ Virender inched closer. ‘I told you.’ Turbo turned back, with a look of dread in his eyes. ‘What?’ Virender said. ‘H-he is no more. Govind is no more,’ Turbo said. Chop Suey fell on his knees. Numbed like a log, Virender started to shiver. ‘D-did he tell you the time when it h-happened?’ Virender barely managed to speak. ‘At four this morning.’ Virender stood there for a second. Then, without saying a word, he turned back and stumbled out of the PCO. He could feel his body as though rapidly turning cold. He looked ahead at the road in front of him, and he saw something. He saw someone slowly dragging his feet, walking away from him. ‘I will be watching over you,’ he heard Govind, before he finally disappeared round the bend.

EPILOGUE

The Shadow Runner September 2004: Four years later, Delhi She was sitting cross-legged on a cane settee next to the window of her dimly lit room, knitting a sweater with two white iron needles in her hands. Intermittently, she would look through the wide gap of the curtains, at the golden sunlight entering the lawn, casting the shadow of the boundary wall over it. It was an otherwise bright monsoon morning. At once, she stopped knitting. Some strange thought had as though struck her mind. She turned anxious. What if Govind said he did not like the design? What if the pullover did not fit his neck? And the colour? She tried to blink away her thoughts and forced herself to return to interlocking the red woollen threads. The next moment, she was smiling to herself, working on the sleeve again. Just then she heard the gate open outside. ‘Geeta, look who is there!’ she called out, without stopping the needles. An elderly looking maid rushed out of the kitchen door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, and headed to open the main door. She pushed the door open and saw two young men walking in through the gate. ‘Didi, they are here!’ The maid said and went back to the kitchen. She got up. The woollen ball fell from her lap. She picked it up and holding the sweater in her hand, walked out of the room. Unhurriedly, she crossed the hall and walked towards the door to find the two visitors standing there—Turbo and Chop Suey. With a bag on his right shoulder, Turbo was in a white shirt and dark mud coloured corduroy pants. The sun glinted off his aviators. Chop Suey wore a green shirt over light blue denims. They walked towards her and touched her feet. She extended her arms over their heads.

They stood up and smiled at her. Her lips betrayed even a hint of smile in return. ‘How are you, Maa?’ Turbo asked as he took off his shades. She shook her head. ‘He will be happy to see you,’ Chop Suey said. ‘How is he now?’ she asked. ‘Will take a few months to recover, doctors say.’ ‘You both must be tired, let me make something for you to eat,’ she said as the maid returned, bearing a small brass tray, on which rested two glasses of iced water. ‘Later Maa. The taxi is waiting outside. Let us go,’ Chop Suey said as they took their glasses and the maid once again disappeared into the kitchen. Turbo noticed the sweater in her hand. ‘For your friend. He doesn’t like wearing readymade sweaters, you know,’ she said. Chop Suey and Turbo looked at each other. ‘Give me one minute, I will get my bag,’ she turned and went inside her room. Turbo drifted towards a wall. In front of the wall, golden and silver trophies and mementoes were neatly arranged on top of a mantelshelf. Three photographs with wooden frames hung above them. He looked closely. The first photograph was of a young boy standing on the co-driver seat of an open military jeep—Rohan—holding a carbine in his right hand, posing like Stallone in the movie Cobra. His father sat next to him. The second was a family photograph—Col Mahajan in his three-piece royal blue suit, sitting on a black leather couch, and on his right, his wife wearing a rich white dress with a high neckline, long sleeves, and a pleated skirt. Turbo thought of Govind’s mother, how she had grown so much older for her years. Her eyes as though recited some sad story. Her dishevelled hair made her look so different from the well-groomed lady they had first met in the cafeteria. The wrinkles on her face, every crease on her dried-up skin, was as though a clean testimony to her tragic past—past, a glimpse of which whenever flashed in her vision, probably made her feel as if somebody had pierced a thousand knitting needles in her heart—past, that had withered all her ‘presents’ four

years back. He then looked at the two handsome young boys standing behind the couple. He shifted closer to look at the third frame. A smile appeared on his face. He called Chop Suey to have a look. Chop Suey closed in. ‘Remember, that night with Sudda?’ Turbo said. Chop Suey’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the photograph. ‘Chindits!’ he smiled, looking at Govind, Virender and Turbo standing in waterlogged dungarees, having as if enjoyed a free, all-day, mudcleansing treatment. Govind had Virender and Turbo squeezed in his arms. Both of them stood there for a while, staring at those photographs. Every year, Turbo and Chop Suey visited Govind’s mother. After Govind’s death, they both had decided that if not together, they must take turns to meet her. From IMA, Turbo was posted to a Signals regiment in Tezpur, Assam, and Chop Suey joined an Armoured unit in Jaisalmer, Rajasthan. They weren’t surprised to see Govind’s mother in that state today because every time they had visited her, in the last four years, they had found her living in a false hope, waiting to see her sons and husband someday. Sometimes, they would find her preparing her husband’s uniform, arranging his study, or cooking Rohan’s favourite dish for him. Sometimes, rearranging Govind’s room, cleaning and dusting his guitar, putting his IMA kit neatly in the closet, or talking to his photograph, promising him she would never leave him alone. Every time Turbo saw her like that, his mind would fly back to the day of their convocation, their last day at the academy, when she had travelled all the way from Delhi to Dehradun on Govind’s insistence. She should put stars on Turbo’s shoulders was Govind’s wish but had she known that it would be his last, she would have never left him alone in the hospital. The news of Govind’s death was delivered to her just before the oath ceremony when Virender had turned back to see a man talking to her. Today, once again they found her knitting a sweater for Govind, as though, interlacing the moments of remembrance and deceptive assurance in that fabric. ‘What type of man he was and what he has become...’ Chop Suey said, gazing at Virender standing next to Govind in the photograph. Virender. After IMA, deep down in his heart resolved to redeem himself,

he cleared the probation and got into Special Forces. For a very long time Govind’s absence made him feel desperate, lonely and devastated—his instinct was to talk to his best friend who was no longer there to support him. Resolved to live Govind’s unfulfilled dream, he then isolated himself from the world. Set out on a killing spree, he became unstoppable. He had as though taken a vow to eliminate every terrorist from the valley. There were times when Virender could feel Govind’s presence around him. He could hear Govind’s voice in his head. People in the fraternity gave Virender a name, the crazy paratrooper. He could hear Govind stir him, guide him, talk to him. He was awarded three gallantry medals in four years. Every time, with Turbo and Chop Suey, he would send his photograph with the medal to Govind’s mother with a note, ‘From your son.’ Turbo and Chop Suey always insisted Virender to come along but he would decline every time. He did not have the heart to face her. He hadn’t met her even once in the last four years and today, after all these years, she was going to see him at the hospital. With Govind’s mother, Turbo and Chop Suey left the house. The white Maruti Omni waiting outside drove them to the Research and Referral hospital, Dhaula Kuan.

Almost at the same time, somewhere in Dehradun, inside the academy, two boys could be seen running on an isolated road near Sinhgarh. It’s an early summer morning; there are cloudy smudges in the bronze sky with the mist scattering the nascent rays of rising sun. Tall Eucalyptus trees stand along the road that turns around the corner, towards the stadium. The last stretch of 300 metres, between the swimming pool and the equestrian centre, meets the stadium at the finishing point of 2.4-kilometre run. People have gathered at the field, under the rope gallows, near the finish line. One man, in all whites, stands on the road, waving a yellow flag in a frenzy. Few boys could be heard shouting at the runners, cheering them up. These two boys, as they run besides each other, gasp for breath as the sweat streams down their body and the rising heat turns their faces red. The cheering grows louder as the two get closer to the finish line. In a matter of

seconds, in this mercy attempt—if they pass or fail—their fate would be sealed. Soon they would know if they get to cross the Antim Pag or they pack their bags to go back home. ‘Faster!’ people have started to close-in, cheering hard, but the boys seem to have nearly given up. One of them, with his hands themselves forming tight fists, is making every possible effort to keep going but, eventually, his run turns into a slow jog, and then he stops. Experiencing shortness of breath, as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs, he bends. He looks ahead—it’s impossible to tackle that short distance within a minute, to reach where that man is waving the yellow flag. The other boy looks at him, ‘D-don’t stop, please!’ he shouts, all the while struggling to keep up himself. ‘You go…’ The first boy gasps, wiping his tears from the back of his hand. Looking at him, and slammed by the dread of failure, the other boy slows down as well. Something tells him that they both aren’t going to make it. Just then, to his surprise, the first boy feels he saw something from the corner of his eyes. At first it was nothing but then he feels a sudden change in the density of the air which has as if started to swirl violently around them. ‘W-what’s going on here?’ the other boy asks in a voice, high and fearful. Huddled with eyes wide, they turn back. A blinding light flickers, and then they see someone running towards them, the figure as if appeared from the flash. ‘Who is he?’ a dark, shady fear envelopes the first boy. It’s nothing but a shadow running towards them and it’s downright startling. No one—just a silhouette. ‘Run, or I break those legs!’ the air, at once, is filled with the shadow’s piercing scream. That wounded noise no living thing could ever make, makes the boys feel blood surge in their veins. They forget about the pain and with that dark figure coming rapidly closer, all the while becoming more intense, they sprint towards the finish line.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Little by little, this book, my dream, has become a reality. Making it happen was never my effort alone. To begin with, I would like to thank Tushar Dwivedi, my editor and old friend, for providing terrific direction and insight that made this book fastpaced and engaging. I am indebted to them all for reinforcing my belief in this story, and for their advice and support: Veena Patwardhan, my guide, who said I could. Thank you, Ma’am, for going through and editing the initial drafts, and for every precious suggestion that made this book richer. A big shout out to Lomush Naithani for his insightful critiques that were often accompanied with life-threatening feedback; Tanvi Udyawar, for the laughs, for the cries, and for everything in between while reading this story; Shubhodeep Chattopadhyay, Shweta Kumari, Bhaswati Banerjee, Sana Mohan and Suveer Dhyani for going through the manuscript, providing exhaustive review, and for all the words of encouragement. I am grateful to Yogesh Sati and Vivek Bardia, my dear course mates, and my senior, Sujeet Bhosale, for believing in me from the start. I also acknowledge my debt to Mr. Bhupendra Kainthola, Director, Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), for connecting me to Shambhu Sahu, my agent and a dear friend now. Thank you, Shambhu, for your unfading patience and for manifesting the dream I had for so long. My endless gratitude goes to every single person at Bloomsbury, especially Paul Kumar, Jyoti Mehrotra and Satya Mishra, for their guidance and support because of which, finally, ‘The Shadow Runner’ is being put out to the readers. There aren’t enough words to thank the Indian Army and my alma maters, the Indian Military Academy (IMA) and the Cadets Training Wing (CTW), for making me who I am and for inspiring me to write this story. And, finally, I am eternally grateful to my family – my parents and my

brother, Vaibhav. They kept me going, and without their support this book would not have been possible.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Major Vishal Bahukhandi, a self-confessed ‘accidental fauji’, graduated as a commissioned officer from the Indian Military Academy (IMA), Dehradun, in 2004. He served in the Indian Army for a decade and now oversees cybersecurity operations, safeguarding the assets of one of the largest global financial services firm. Vishal served in the areas recording highest insurgent activity, such as Jammu and Kashmir (J&K) and the Northeastern states, and he attributes his survival through these postings, and through the constant challenges of life, to the ‘ragda’ days of the academy. The Shadow Runner, his debut novel, is not only a tribute to the academy and the men in uniform, but also a kaleidoscope to a world that many aspire to be part of. Through this book, Vishal talks about the transformation that military training brings in the fresh off the boat boys to make them extraordinary. To know more about Vishal visit vishalbahukhandi.com or email him at [email protected]. For more updates, you can follow him on Twitter(vishfulthoughts), Instagram (vishal_bahukhandi) or Facebook(vishalbahukhandi).