straight and to my utter surprise, saluted. I had said the word in a bare whisper, but that was converted into a command by Pandey, perhaps his own old instincts and remembered commands kicking in. He left, walking straighter than I remembered him walking before. I went up to Nitish’s floor and called him down. By the time I returned, Pandey had rounded up Subin, another kid called Prashant and Raju, the other guard.
‘Dogwatch squad here as ordered.’
I began to smile but then nodded at Pandey, who stood at ease. I explained what I had in mind to the guys. Back in the day, this was a drill we trained in all the time—managing a constant sentry duty of at least two hours at a stretch through the night so that the camp was guarded at all times. It meant the relief crew had to master the art of short naps, people had to get from groggy to alert instantly, and build up stamina to stay this way for days on end, if needed, in a combat zone. Falling asleep while on dogwatch meant instant punishment.
I was not dealing with cadets or troops, and I had no formal authority over them, but we needed to keep watch, and relying on just Pandey and myself to do it all night meant risking that one or both of us would lose our concentration or fall asleep when we most needed to be on guard. Subin and Prashant seemed pretty excited at the idea. Subin sniggered, ‘Better down here playing soldier than listening to my mother crib about how she’s missing Big Boss since the TV is not working.’ Raju seemed far less enthusiastic but I suspected Pandey had left him little choice in the matter.
The plan was for Pandey and me to be on watch for three-hour blocks while the others rotated through two-hour watches. We would get through till daybreak without anyone having to be totally without sleep and with at least two pairs of eyes watching our building at any given time.
‘What about me?’ Nitish asked, after I’d outlined the plan.
‘You play an important role, but your talents are better suited to things other than being just a sentry.’
We chatted briefly about what I had in mind and he got to work. It was fun seeing him tinkering with gadgets and lights. He was really in his element and I got the feeling that his real talents had been wasted in his day job as an IT analyst in some multinational firm. But then, how many of us was that not true for? I had made my choices and been happy with them, but why had I been more buzzed over the last couple of days than I remember being for years? Why was the adrenaline rush I had felt on seeing the men at the police station and in contemplating what was to come at night something a part of me had welcomed?
My uncle had once told me that the Army was in our blood; that a soldier somewhere deep within himself fell in love with war, and that even when there was no war to be fought, it would somehow seek him out. I remember my father arguing with him over the influence he had on me, saying something about my uncle suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
‘We’re done.’
I was snapped back to reality by Nitish and when I saw his handiwork, I had to shake his hand.
‘You, my man, are a genius at this.’
Our building was really exposed only on three sides. The rear of the building was next to a thick concentration of trees, the remnants of the forests that had once thrived here. On the two sides were other buildings separated from us by narrow alleys, but both ended up in dead ends, so that anyone coming towards us would be spotted if we watched the approach roads. It was the front of the building that was most vulnerable, facing the main road and with two smaller approach roads leading into it, one weaving through small shops, where it would be hard to spot movement even in good light.
Nitish had set up two small table lamps—one from my apartment and one from his—with long wires attached to a power point the generator was providing juice to, to cover the two sides. They
‘Dogwatch squad here as ordered.’
I began to smile but then nodded at Pandey, who stood at ease. I explained what I had in mind to the guys. Back in the day, this was a drill we trained in all the time—managing a constant sentry duty of at least two hours at a stretch through the night so that the camp was guarded at all times. It meant the relief crew had to master the art of short naps, people had to get from groggy to alert instantly, and build up stamina to stay this way for days on end, if needed, in a combat zone. Falling asleep while on dogwatch meant instant punishment.
I was not dealing with cadets or troops, and I had no formal authority over them, but we needed to keep watch, and relying on just Pandey and myself to do it all night meant risking that one or both of us would lose our concentration or fall asleep when we most needed to be on guard. Subin and Prashant seemed pretty excited at the idea. Subin sniggered, ‘Better down here playing soldier than listening to my mother crib about how she’s missing Big Boss since the TV is not working.’ Raju seemed far less enthusiastic but I suspected Pandey had left him little choice in the matter.
The plan was for Pandey and me to be on watch for three-hour blocks while the others rotated through two-hour watches. We would get through till daybreak without anyone having to be totally without sleep and with at least two pairs of eyes watching our building at any given time.
‘What about me?’ Nitish asked, after I’d outlined the plan.
‘You play an important role, but your talents are better suited to things other than being just a sentry.’
We chatted briefly about what I had in mind and he got to work. It was fun seeing him tinkering with gadgets and lights. He was really in his element and I got the feeling that his real talents had been wasted in his day job as an IT analyst in some multinational firm. But then, how many of us was that not true for? I had made my choices and been happy with them, but why had I been more buzzed over the last couple of days than I remember being for years? Why was the adrenaline rush I had felt on seeing the men at the police station and in contemplating what was to come at night something a part of me had welcomed?
My uncle had once told me that the Army was in our blood; that a soldier somewhere deep within himself fell in love with war, and that even when there was no war to be fought, it would somehow seek him out. I remember my father arguing with him over the influence he had on me, saying something about my uncle suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
‘We’re done.’
I was snapped back to reality by Nitish and when I saw his handiwork, I had to shake his hand.
‘You, my man, are a genius at this.’
Our building was really exposed only on three sides. The rear of the building was next to a thick concentration of trees, the remnants of the forests that had once thrived here. On the two sides were other buildings separated from us by narrow alleys, but both ended up in dead ends, so that anyone coming towards us would be spotted if we watched the approach roads. It was the front of the building that was most vulnerable, facing the main road and with two smaller approach roads leading into it, one weaving through small shops, where it would be hard to spot movement even in good light.
Nitish had set up two small table lamps—one from my apartment and one from his—with long wires attached to a power point the generator was providing juice to, to cover the two sides. They
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