In the Shadow of a Dream

by Sharad Keskar

  ‘Or, you may keep Pannalal and Laxman for a few days after I’ve gone. You can go where you like. I mean, it would be a pity to spend ten to twelve days twiddling your thumbs. It’ll also do me a favour. Dad doesn’t know I got only four weeks. If those chaps return early, he’ll think you and I are on a filthy spree. Dad’s a highly suspicious guy. Keeps a tag on me, so I don’t ruin his marriage arrangements.’

  ‘But you can’t marry before twenty-five, without your CO’s permission.’

  ‘These things take time, and I’ll be twenty-five next year.’

  ‘I could do with a few days on my own. Your talk about Minnie reminded me.’

  ‘Sometimes you can be so bloody mysterious.’

  Dusty grinned. ‘Basirabad is not far from Ajmer. We are ending up at Ajmer?’

  ‘Yes, and no. Basirabad is not far. But explain, you sly…’

  For an answer, Dusty gripped his friend by the back of his neck and shook him. ‘Ask me no questions, and I tell you no lies.’

  ‘Ouch, you’re hurting me. God, Dust, you’re so bloody strong.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m not asking about your intended.’

  ‘Intended? You mean Kamala? I’ll show you her photograph, man.’

  ‘And a moment ago you were talking about prostitutes.’

  ‘That’s different. Dad would never know. The marriage is a business deal.’

  ‘What’d’yer mean, business deal?’

  ‘Kam’s family has even more money.’

  ‘More money? No one can have more money than your dad.’

  ‘Dust, sometimes, you can be so innocent.’

  The Convent of St Mary and St Anne, Basirabad, had a graveyard of mostly white marble headstones, crosses, and angels. Dusty, carrying a bunch of red and white roses, zigzagged his way among the graves, and stared hard at the names. He stopped and stood over what at first looked like a dark brown bundle of cloth till it moved. Two grubby hands that had been shovelling earth, pulled back a cowl, revealing a Franciscan face, twinklng deep blue eyes and a forest of ginger grey facial hair. ‘Oh, hello! Father?’ Dusty asked, defensively. The squatting figure rose on its knees and offered a large open hand. ‘Help me up, young man. I’m Brother Bonaventure.’

  Dusty could not place the foreign accent. He took the hand, pulled and discovered his companion was elderly, short and tubby.

  The figure laughed. ‘Yes, they call me Friar Tuck,‘ he said. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I am looking for the grave of Molly D’Silva.’

  Brother Bonaventure scratched his bald pate and genially noted the flowers. ‘Oh, now…’ave yer been ’ere afore, me lad.’ Dusty shook his head. ‘Will she be a one yer know?’ Again Dusty shook his head. ‘Will yer be knowing when she died?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It could be 1941 or ’42.’

  ‘Ah, that will be at the far wall. Come, I’ll take you there.’

  ‘I’ll find it, father.’

  ‘No. no. Let me. The walk will do me good. A power of good.’ After a few paces he stopped suddenly and held his head. ‘Oh, I’ll be losing me head next. Did yer say Molly D’Silva? Why, we reserved the plot next to her. For one Ester Lobo. Will yer be knowing that lady too. And a very fine lady she is too.’

  The grave was a plain slab of white marble with a simple cross of grey slate on it. Below the cross, written in black, was: “Molly D’Silva, A Mother Beloved by God.” Next to the grave, demarcated by pegs and white rope, a plot of grass had a T shaped piece of box wood. On it, painted in red, the single word “reserved”. Dusty placed his bouquet of flowers carefully on Molly’s grave. He fell on his knees, bent forward and embraced the marble slab with outstretched hands.

  Brother Bonaventure went to him and kneeling next to him, placed an arm round his shoulder. He spoke gently. ‘There, there, me lad. Tell me, what this Molly meant to yer. Would she be yer mother, me lad? Would I be tinking right in saying that?’

  Dusty shook his head. With a sharp intake of breath and a sudden movement, he stood up. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know, father. I should never have come. It was a mistake.’ He turned and started to walk away.

  The monk called out. ‘Don’t go, dear boy. Don’t do this. Wait. Hear me! I’ll take yer to the Military Hospital. Meet Sister Lobo!’

  Dusty stopped. He turned and regarded the monk, who was standing by the grave with open hands. ‘Forgive me, father, I’ve made a big mistake.’

  ‘At least come into the church. I’ll say a prayer for the two of yer.’

  Dusty watched Father Bonaventure striding towards the church. On reaching the little porch, the monk turned round and beckoned to him again. Dusty shook his head and raised a hand in a gesture of farewell. ‘Thank you, Father. Goodbye,’ he said hoarsely, then walked to the car, which was parked under the shade of a mango tree. Pannalal and Laxman were sitting patiently in the front, till Laxman saw Dusty and sprang out to hold open a back door. As the car moved away Dusty heard the tolling of a bell. He looked back at the little bell tower on top of the central gable. He traced the bell-rope down to the wide step of the porch. The monk’s head was covered and bowed against the rope. The tolling stirred a memory. He glanced at his watch. Yes, the Angelus at noon. He had heard it twice, when his school Cricket Eleven played St Joseph’s Roman Catholic Academy, on their superb grounds in Parel, in Bombay. He began to mumble: “The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary and she conceived by the Holy Ghost. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women…”

  ‘Yes, sahib, hookum?’ Pannalal broke in.

  ‘What saying, sahib?’ Laxman asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Dusty hastily said, embarrassed on realising he had been audible.

  ‘Where to? Where sahib want to go?’ Pannalal said without turning.

  ‘Oh, yes, Panny. Could you take me to the station. Then chhutti. You’re free. Tell Cash…I mean, Lieutenant sahib, I have decided to go back to Batiala. My regiment.’

  ‘Here, Basirabad Station? Yah going Ajmer Junction?’

  Dusty thought for a moment. ‘Ajmer, Panny. If that’s all right?’

  ‘Back early! What the hell are you doing here?’ Kishan Lamba raised his brows as he sat at the table and ordered his breakfast. ‘When did you… Join me.’

  ‘I’ve had breakfast. You’re late.’

  ‘Well, it’s Sunday. Come, come. Sit opposite me. Don’t want to shout across the room. Put that bloody book down. Now, tell me, what was it like, the holiday?’

  ‘Hot. Sometimes insufferably hot. Not in the car. It was air-conditioned.’

  ‘Did you get to that place I told you about? The Maharaja’s of Jodhpur’s Hunting Lodge; and the Lake, Sardar Sagar.’

  ‘Yes. We covered every state except Bundi. We even got to Jaisalmer.’

  ‘That’s on the border. You know there’s trouble brewing, with…you know who.’

  ‘What? Oh, good! We’ll see action at last.’

  ‘We, not you. You’re going to Bangalore. Attachment. Three years. You have a happy knack of skipping danger. That bit with China. You were in Tejpore. Now, when the Regiment’s been put on alert…we go North, you go South.’

  ‘I don’t know. My posting hasn’t been confirmed. Being a heavy tank Regiment, I bet you will probably see action somewhere in Rajasthan.’

  ‘Ferozepore, Punjab. But you can take it from me. You’re off to Bangs galore.’

  Dusty chuckled. ‘Bit hard on the Bandharis. The newly-weds.’

  ‘Not to worry, Harry had already planned a long honeymoon for him.’

  ‘Typical of Har Prasad. Decent chap.’

  ‘More wise than decent. As Signal’s Instructor in the Centre and School, Bandy’ll do the least damage.’

  ‘Poor Bandy. The ragging he gets. But I
don’t think he minds. Anyway I’ll agitate like hell, to get off this peaceful posting.’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s an important posting. Whatever action we see, will be little more than a skirmish. When you’re back, you’re due to get your lions, after a Field Officers’ course, of course. Harry’s pushing you to be the youngest Major in the Brigade. He wants to see you command a squadron before he retires, six years from now. He knows how much the men would like to see that.’

  ‘How on earth do you collect all this gossip? And gossip it is. Even the CO can’t juggle the Army List. You’ll make Major before me. That’s how it crumbles, as the Americans say, cookie-wise.’ Dusty stood up.

  ‘Maybe, but Harry’ll oil the wheels to make certain you’re next.’

  ‘I’m going back to Our Mutual Friend. I’m still on holiday.’

  ‘Dickens? That’s heavy stuff. Ah! Here come my fried eggs on toast.’

  Almost a year later Dusty was to recall this conversation with some regret. The trouble, which began in August 1965, was more than a skirmish. The Regiment had suffered casualties, among them Captain Kishan Lamba and Colonel Har Prasad.

  Dusty visited the Colonel’s wife, and promised, on his next leave to call on her at Rajpur and to take her two boys on a trek to Mussoorie and the Shivalik Hills.

  It was generally assumed, within the Regiment, that the Second-in-Command, Major Himmat Singh, would take command of the 9th Rathore Lancers. It, therefore, came as a big surprise to all when Colonel Bisham Chand from Punjab Horse was appointed instead. Himmat Singh, himself, broke the news.

  The Regiment was once again on its annual camp, in the flat, open countryside of West Punjab. It was a typically hot, windy March day; and the officers were lunching under the shelter of their large marquee. ‘It’s a swap, gentlemen,’ Himmat Singh said. ‘I’m going over to Punjab Horse.’ His glance took in their shocked faces and finally rested on Dusty. Dusty met his gaze with a calm that hid his disappointment.

  ‘Strange,’ remarked Captain Bandhari, ‘our Regiment bears the name of Rathore Lancers, yet the latest intake of a subaltern is a South Indian.’

  ‘Trust Bandhari to strike an irrelevant note,’ chuckled Himmat Singh as he drew a chair and sat next to Dusty. ‘We have two Sikh squadrons and a Jat one. Now, make something of that, Bandy, or hadn’t you noticed.’

  ‘What’s the point of the swap?’ Dusty whispered to Himmat Singh.

  ‘Our masters have a peculiar logic.’ Himmat whispered back. ‘Never question any appointment is my parting advice to you.’

  ‘You must be disappointed.’

  ‘More angry than disappointed.’

  ‘But you, you will be commanding Punjab Horse.’

  ‘If that were the case, I would have no reason to be angry. No, this is a sideways move. I’ll be 2iC to their 2iC, who takes over as CO.’

  ‘But that’s iniquitous.’

  ‘Once again, I love your choice of words. It’s a delight listening to you. Somehow it makes me feel better. But I’ve another bit of advice, for you in particular. Do tread with care, because you’ll be treading on his toes. I mean the new CO.’

  ‘Why in heaven’s name, should his toes be in the way?’

  ‘Bisham Chand’s taken an instant dislike to you. He asked me to point you out. Yes, it’s going to be a new experience for you. Till now you’ve impressed all who have met you. Not this chappie. He believes Har Prasad has spoiled you, that you were his blue-eyed boy and need taking down a peg or two. So keep a low profile. The less he knows about you the less he can hold against you. Get on to another course.’

  ‘But I’ve just got back from a three-year spell away from the Regiment. And due a Field officer’s course, ending in a promotion, as you well know.’

  ‘I told him. He thinks you’re too young for that. He’d like to send you to Infantry School in Central India. It’s a toughening course. No one in the Cavalry welcomes it. But for the athletic sort of chap you are, it’s a piece of cake. He hasn’t realised that.’ He chuckled, and gave a confidential wink. ‘It’s a damn good course to have up your sleeve. COs can be so blinded by their petty hates, their moves often boomerang, and slap them in the face. This will. With this in your bag, you can be transferred to any Infantry unit as a liaison or advisory officer. And that’s a cushy job and added rank.’

  Dusty gave Himmat Singh an implacable look, but said nothing.

  ‘You must think I’ve an axe to grind. I have. But believe you me, I’m not using you. Why should I? I gain nothing by getting you into trouble. You’re able to succeed whatever you do, wherever you are. That’s sweet revenge enough. Mind you there’s no justice in this world. God is far too wishy-washy…goody-goody. He ought to be a tyrant. If He wants us to believe in Him, He ought to throw his weight about.’

  ‘Maybe He wants us to leave Him alone. In which case, the last thing He’ll want to do, is weight throwing, and leave us jokers to bumble along.’

  ‘Ho, ho! Brilliant. I like “bumble”. Like the bumble bee which goes crashing into things. That’s wonderful. Poetry in accident-prone mode. Wah, wah!’ He pushed his plate away and stood up. ‘He won’t be CO for long. Three years, most. Maybe why he was given the post. So the poor chap gets a decent pension. You have got youth on your side. I’m sure it’s one reason why he can’t abide you.’ He held his hand out, shook Dusty’s, and left the marquee with a smile.

  ‘‘You know, Sam, Sam!’ Only one of his fellow officers called him Sam. Dusty did not have to turn round. ‘Hello, Bandy!’

  ‘Sam, do you mind? I don’t want to pull rank on you. But…

  ‘Pull rank! But we’re both Captains.’

  ‘Bear in mind that I am your senior by six months. I was Captain when you were still a subaltern.’

  ‘Okay, fair enough. But why this sudden formality?’

  ‘Stop calling me Bandy. I don’t call you Dusty, and I don’t like that smirk on your face when Himmat Singh pulls me up.’

  ‘When did I last “smirk” as you call it.’

  ‘A moment ago. Just before you and Himmat were…were gossiping.’

  ‘Gossip! Anyway, it had nothing to do with you, if that’s what…’

  ‘Then what were you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell. I’d need Himmat’s permission.’

  ‘I’ve tried to be friendly. But you’re so bloody aloof. You’ve even turned down Mohini’s invitation to dine at our place.’

  Dusty looked up. Bhandari’s sad eyes and full mobile lips gave his face a febrile look. Dusty frowned. If only he could tell him how determined he was to keep away from women—especially those who showed signs of finding him attractive. ‘I’m a bore, Bandy. I’ve not singled you out. I live a confirmed bachelor’s life.’

  ‘I know, and books for company. So, you weren’t talking about me.’

  ‘No. It was about the new CO. I can say that much.’

  Events in the Regiment evolved as if Himmat Singh said. After Dusty returned from his course at the Infantry School near Indore, he was ordered to join a Gurkha Battalion in Lansdowne, up in the Himalayan foothills. Barely a year later, an Army Corps was detailed for action on India’s Eastern frontiers and the Commander, Major General Derek Brown, one of the last Anglo-Indian senior officers left in the Army, entered the Gurkha Battalion Mess and with a wide grin thumped Dusty on the back. ‘Lucky dog! Somebody up there loves you. You’ll miss another war.’

  ‘But that’s not what I want, Sir.’

  ‘You mean that? I was going to have you sent back to your Regiment.’

  ‘Sir, am I to understand then, the Rathore Lancers are to see action?’

  ‘No, they’re part of a heavy tank armoured division. We need light tanks. If any.’

  ‘I’d rather be here, sir.
’

  ‘I can arrange that, if you so wish. Could do with a chap like you. Be my ADC. Not for long. Just so that, when later, I’ve good reasons for posting you back here.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘And how old are you now?’

  ‘Forty-four, sir.’

  The Brigadier looked up. ‘Good Lord! I’m forty-one. You look years younger. I take pride in keeping fit. What’s you secret? Squash?’

  ‘No sir, I’m a runner. Sorry, was. Long distance.’

  ‘Hmm. When did…’ He turned a page in the file before him. ‘I see. You’ve been a Major for ten years. That’s rather long for…for one with excellent reports. And I gather, extremely bright. “Bit of a loner” this one says. We’ll pass on that.’ Brigadier Chopra grinned, shut the file and threw it into his desk drawer. ‘You’re here for two years, and I go by first impressions. I like what I see.’ He extended his hand, shook Dusty’s and grunted. ‘This is your second stint as a liaison officer? Good. Welcome to Four Brigade. Our base is Pathankot, but have picquets in Dharamsala, Mcleodganj and two others on the Dhauladhar range towards Dalhousie. That’s our beat. Other Army Units deployed here may want to borrow your expertise. But you will have a considerable amount of freedom. I mean regarding parades and routine.’ He lifted his telephone receiver and pressed a button. A connecting door opened, and a tall, very dark officer, sporting a luxuriant moustache walked in. ‘Ah! There you are. Meet our new liaison chappie. Major Sam Dustoor meet Major Vikram Dutt.’

  ‘Hello, Dusty.’

  ‘Vicky!’

  ‘You know each other?’ The Brigadier raised his brows. Dusty nodded.

  ‘I met Dusty in Ooty,’ Vikram said, ‘we were on a Field officer’s course together. And later in Calcutta.’

  ‘Well, you see Dustoor, you’re not the only Major stuck with ten years. I…’ The telephone rang. The Brigadier lifted the receiver. ‘Chopra here…’

  Dusty and Vikram began a discreet retreat. The Brigadier covered the receiver: ‘Stay! No secrets in this office.’ A moment later he put the phone down. ‘Is my jeep outside? Good. See you this evening at the reception. Vicky’ll explain.’ Chopra rose, donned his beret, picked up his cane and marched out of his office.