03:02

by Mainak Dhar

  It was a clear morning and I could see the control tower at the airport and the terminal with several lights on. I thought I could see some vehicles moving but it was too far to be sure and I wished I had one of the binoculars with me. Megha grabbed my arm as both planes climbed and then dove down at the airport, one after the other.

  ‘Get those bastards!’

  I don’t know who yelled out those words, but every single one of us probably had the same thought. Two rockets detached from the lead plane and, as they ignited, they streaked towards the airport, accompanied by our cheers and screams. The rockets exploded in a cloud of smoke and I gripped the balcony railing hard, hoping that the rockets had hit their intended targets. The first aircraft climbed again as the second came in for its attack run.

  That’s when things began to go terribly wrong.

  Rounds from heavy weapons reached out towards the aircraft, with at least two lines of red tracer rounds converging on it. Two smoke trails also rose from the ground, reaching up towards the plane as rockets or missiles were fired at it. The pilot tried to manoeuvre his plane out of harm’s way, but with all the firepower directed at him, he didn’t really have a chance. As the plane was hit, it seemed to stop in mid-air for a second, and then it dove vertically down, spinning as it did, trailing smoke before it impacted the ground well short of its target. We heard the explosion and saw the pillar of black smoke rising where the doomed plane had fallen.

  Megha’s eyes filled with tears, as did mine. We looked up to see the second plane come in for another attack. The poor, brave pilot was not giving up—he could have gone back to base when he saw the odds he was up against, but he was diving in for another strike. My heart swelled with pride at his courage but also felt like it was breaking because the pilot seemed to be flying in to certain death. He managed to fire one of his rockets before his plane too was shredded by anti-aircraft fire and went spiralling down to the ground, exploding in a fireball.

  The combat had lasted just a few minutes, and our neighbourhood was now completely silent, all of us stunned by what we had just seen. The sun was now rising in the sky as a new day began, but it felt like the blackness that had engulfed our world just got darker.

  TWELVE

  There was not much conversation that morning, as we all tried to deal with the implications of what we’d seen. The euphoria of our government and armed forces still being functional and attempting a fightback had been quickly crushed by the realization of just how meagre that effort was, and how easily the enemy had quashed it.

  To add to this, within thirty minutes of the failed air strikes, we heard sounds of heavy gunfire nearby and saw some apartment buildings in the distance being raked by ammunition. Windows shattered and chunks of walls were torn apart under the barrage. Several rockets streaked into balconies, sending clouds of dust and smoke rising from inside the apartments as they exploded. The assault was as sudden as it was vicious. I recognized the buildings as belonging to the Raheja Vihar complex. While we had not made contact with them yet, we had seen some lights on there, and it was clear they too had at least one operational generator and were holding out under the circumstances.

  It wasn’t clear what had brought on the sudden onslaught and I could only imagine what they were going through, being attacked by heavy machine guns and rockets with no means of fighting back. It told us a lot about the ruthless nature of the enemy we were facing and, together with the failed air strikes, it weighed heavily on our morale.

  The only real way to stave off despondency was to get busy with whatever chores each of us had, and many of us did just that. Kundu had his crews out, working double time to get water supplies; Rani was planting another row of beet and saying how, in just a couple of weeks, her first lot may well be ready. She had managed to salvage some seed potatoes from the nursery, she said, and we might have our first potatoes in three more weeks. I had no way of knowing if that was actually going to happen or if she was being optimistic, but at least it gave people hope that our days of scavenging for packaged food would come to an end. As I walked on, I saw Mangla helping out in the planting and she smiled as I passed her. I realized that each of us was summoning up reserves of courage we probably never realized we had, and for Mangla to be back at work after the trauma she had been through was no less brave than any of us going out to meet the enemy, gun in hand.

  Megha was at the hospital with Dr Guenther and Marie, training a group of teenagers to act as medics. I think she could sense that bad days lay ahead and that we would need more people who could administer first-aid or tend to gunshots and other wounds. Mohit and his friends were hard at work, the events of the morning seeming to have given them even more impetus, and he had dropped by to tell me that he was planning to power-up common areas in at least four buildings with his existing solar panels by the end of the week.

  However, not everyone was putting their nervous energy to constructive use. I had been jogging from one checkpoint to another, both to inspect each of them and to ensure that the guards there still had their chins up, but also because running was my way of dealing with my own anxieties. It was when I passed the Meluha hotel on the way back from the Ghatkopar checkpoint, that I saw a large crowd gathered around a bus and several raised voices. As I approached, I saw that Mahadev was in a heated argument with Suri.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. I could see that Mahadev was really worked up. He was tiny, perhaps only a little over five feet tall, and reed thin, but now he looked ready to pounce on Suri. The fact that he had the .22 in his belt made me even more worried about the prospect of imminent violence.

  ‘This man wants to take away one of our buses and food.’

  I looked sharply at Suri, but he stared right back, not willing to give any ground.

  ‘We all saw the so-called attack by the government. Nobody is coming to rescue us, and I, for one, don’t want to sit here and wait to be massacred. A group of us has decided to take a bus and get away from here. Maybe drive to Lonavla or Nashik and wait things out till they improve.’

  I looked him in the eye and saw not just a man who had made up his mind, but one who was very afraid—and being scared can make a man desperate. As much as I disagreed with Suri, I had to defuse the situation. Mahadev was livid and I saw his hand inch towards the gun at his belt. The last thing we needed was to shed our own blood. I tapped Mahadev’s hand and he got the message and moved a step back.

  ‘Mr Suri, I am nobody to tell you what to do or not, and indeed if you and others believe you are safer elsewhere, I cannot stop anyone from leaving. However, the bus you are taking belongs to the community, as do the boxes of food I see inside.’

  Suri’s eyes darted to the boxes that had been put inside the bus and the guilty look on his face told me all I needed to know. He had meant to steal our food and had not counted on being caught. However, he was not going to give in so easily.

  ‘Look at all the kids with us. Surely you don’t expect us to walk out without any food or water? This bus doesn’t belong to you any more than it does to us.’

  ‘Then at least talk to our leaders and leave like friends who have decided to part ways, rather than steal away like a thief.’

  He glared at me and then, to my immense relief, an auto-rickshaw arrived, carrying Mrs Khatri and the General. When I explained what was happening, I was dumbfounded when Mrs Khatri said, ‘Look, Suri, this is Aadi’s decision to make. If he says you can leave, then you can walk out of here.’

  Suri looked as surprised as I was. ‘Who the hell is he to decide? What right does he have to stop me?’

  The General smiled, though I could see little humour in his eyes as he addressed Suri. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, Suri, we are now at war, not just dealing with a bloody power outage. In times of war, the military takes over and decides how best to protect a nation. In our case, our own little armed forces, as they are, happen to be commanded by this young man here.’

  Suri threw up his hands in e
xasperation. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind? When did he become our bloody commander?’

  The General leaned forward, a hard edge creeping into his otherwise polite voice. ‘Ever since he risked his life time and again on our behalf. So, Aadi, what say you to this coward making a run for it?’

  Suri was fuming, but the reality of the situation was that Mahadev and I had guns, and he knew that the others who were armed would likely not take kindly to his making a run for it, stealing our stocks of food and water. Still, I felt sorry for him. The General and Mrs Khatri may have been trying to support me, but the last thing I wanted to do was to use any position of power, real or assumed, to bully anyone, and certainly the thought that I would expect others to listen to me simply because I carried a gun repelled me.

  I looked around at the group and saw a bunch of scared people; people with families, who simply wanted to try and find some security for their kids. Sure, they may not have wanted to stay and face the enemy, but should losing one’s nerve lead to a death sentence? Because that’s what sending them out on foot and without supplies would amount to. I stood there, looking from one kid to another, and then finally I stepped around Suri and addressed the others gathered there.

  ‘Just as I don’t give myself the right to decide for everyone here, I don’t believe Mr Suri should have the right to decide for all of you.’

  I could see a change in their demeanour almost instantly. Where there had been looks of resentment and hostility a minute earlier, I saw some openness.

  ‘I cannot tell you what to do, but I can share what I believe. This is our country and our city, but even if talk of patriotism doesn’t mean much, this is our home, the place we have lived for years, where we have formed friendships, built careers, and for many of you, built your dream homes. There is an enemy out there who is threatening all of that. They have already destroyed the world as we know it, and we know that they do not hesitate to murder the unarmed and helpless. I have seen little boys with their brains blown out. We can expect no mercy from them.’

  I let that soak in before I continued.

  ‘But the question is, how do we react when our homes and families are threatened by such an enemy? Do we run or do we fight? I know what I will do. I will fight. I have no family here, but every single person here is now part of my family, and I will not leave. Can we win this battle? I don’t know. But someone I respect a lot once told me that it doesn’t matter if you stand a chance or not, but whether it’s a fight worth fighting. And if our homes and families are not worth fighting for, then what is? When do we stop being cautious and become cowards? And think of this—here we at least have each other. I will not be petty. Take the bus and the food, but what will you do if looters attack you? What will you do if the terrorists aren’t just here but in other areas as well? You can decide what you want to do, but know that if you stay, I and many of us will die before we let your families and children come to harm. I have seen the enemy face-to-face and they are but men, and men can be killed. I intend to kill as many of them as I can before I die. When you’re out there in the bus, away from our community, who will die for your families?’

  I walked away then, and asked Mahadev to drive me home. I was drained, and wanted to focus my energy on preparing for the attack we knew would come sooner or later. Also, I wanted nothing more to do with Suri. As I was getting into the auto-rickshaw, the General stopped me.

  ‘All but four of them are staying. Suri, his family, and three others are leaving. Poor buggers won’t last a day out there. One bus and some food wasted, but I can bet you nobody else will bug out after what you said. And one more thing, my boy, before you go. Don’t talk of dying, son. Let’s kill the bastards if they come for us.’

  I had come to accept my job as being a jack of all trades, other than security of course, so in the free time I had, I was trying to make myself useful with whichever group could use an extra pair of arms and legs. That morning it happened to be Kundu and his supply corps, as some of us had started to call it. It was a joke, but born out of genuine admiration for the military precision with which he ran his teams. It was in large part due to his planning that we had faced no water shortages, and while people grumbled at times about having only canned food and bhaji, nobody had gone hungry.

  That day, he was overseeing the creation of a bona fide warehouse for food stocks. Till then, we had kept our food stocks where we could, but the fact that he was putting a lot of effort in creating a more systematic storage space spoke both to his organizational skills and also the fact that we all now knew we were in this for the long haul.

  ‘Guys, we need a clear separation between products based on shelf life. Anything with a shelf life of twelve months or more goes in the far corner. Then comes nine months, and so on. All perishable stocks come closest to the sorting table. Then, remember, daily cleaning rosters are up on the door. We cannot have rats or pests get to these.’

  One of the kids grudgingly passed on several packs of cookies to be put in the far corner. Kundu saw his look and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Varun, taste can’t be our first priority now. We have to consume items which will spoil first.’

  The boy, who was probably no more than fifteen years old, looked at the squash courts that were acting as our warehouse and then at Kundu. ‘Do you think things will be the same even after twelve months? What happens when we run out of this stuff? I guess there aren’t factories churning out packaged food anymore.’

  I had been helping stack some of the heavier boxes and I smiled at Varun. ‘By then, we’ll have freshly-grown onions, tomatoes, potatoes, beetroots and god alone knows what else Rani has planned. Also, just wait for Mohit to nail his solar-powered or biogas systems, and we’ll be having hot baths.’

  The kid’s eyes seemed to light up and he got back to work.

  ‘What day is it today, Aadi?’

  I was momentarily stumped. Days and dates no longer really mattered. There was no weekday or weekend, no office day or day off, and certainly none of us had social calendars beyond the immediate neighbourhood. I calculated the days and nights that had passed. It seemed like it was in a different life that I had been celebrating my promotion with my colleagues from work. That had been a Saturday.

  ‘I think it is Tuesday. No, wait, it’s Wednesday.’

  Kundu stopped what he was doing. ‘It’s been almost two weeks, hasn’t it? My god, how things have changed in just a few days. Before the Blackout, I would be in office on a Wednesday morning, wondering why the weekend couldn’t come faster.’

  I smiled as I put a carton of chocolate cookies in the far corner of the room. From obsessing about stock options and bonuses to ensuring we’d have food to eat a few months down the line. Things surely had changed, hadn’t they?

  I heard three loud whistle blasts and then I was running outside. Mahadev was there with his auto-rickshaw and I jumped inside.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Ghatkopar.’

  He drove like a maniac, literally flying off some of the speed bumps and landing with bone-jarring impacts, but I wasn’t complaining. The whistle had been blown three more times. There was some big trouble and our guards there needed help. We hadn’t heard any gunshots, so it couldn’t be an attack, could it?

  When we reached the checkpoint, we saw all four boys there looking totally rattled. Akif and Ismail were there as well, and the first thing they did when I reached was apologize profusely. Akif looked down, as if unable to meet my eyes. ‘Sorry, we screwed up. One of us should have been here at all times. We were changing over when he came.’

  ‘Who came?’

  I walked over to the four kids. Two of them were carrying pistols and the others had hockey sticks. Why would the arrival of one person spook them so much?

  ‘Yash, what’s going on?’

  Gone was the cocky demeanour I had come to expect from Yash at the dojo before the Blackout. Even with all that had happened, he’d managed to keep his spirits up, and been a great h
elp in training others in unarmed combat. Now his face was pale and he seemed to be on the verge of breaking down.

  ‘Yash, what happened?’

  He composed himself before responding. ‘A guy came by on foot. He looked like just another refugee and he was all alone so we didn’t think much of it when he walked up to the checkpoint. Then he said he was a messenger and had come to deliver a message.’

  ‘A message? From whom?’

  With shaking hands, Yash held out a sheet of paper. ‘He said they would come later for our answer.’

  I saw the black emblem on top of the paper with white Arabic text within, then I read the contents, which had been handwritten in English. I looked at Yash.

  ‘This is not the time to get scared, kid. This is the time to get seriously pissed off.’

  In return for your continued safety and existence as subjects in our Caliphate, you are required to pay tax in any one or all of the following forms: food stocks, drinking water or willingness to help our warriors as guides. Failure to pay tax will invite suitable punishment including taking of girls of a suitable age as brides for our warriors or conscription of boys into our forces.

  I read out the notice to the hundreds of people who had gathered at Central Avenue and the paper was passed around from one incredulous reader to another, wanting to make sure that what they had heard was true.

  ‘That’s why they punished the society we saw being attacked this morning.’

  ‘Oh my god, they have rockets. What can we do against that?’