Vimana

by Mainak Dhar

  Then came Aaditya's turn, and when he answered that he really did not know what he wanted to do, he almost heard an audible gasp from Sam's father. The awkwardness was defused by Sam's mother wheeling in the dessert. As Aaditya listened to Sam's father talk about how important it was to have a plan for life, he thought how different his life may have been if he had been able to follow his plan. And it wasn't just his career. He wanted to meet someone like Supriya without cringing at the pity that he knew was inevitable when she got to know him better.

  Back home he sat down on the sofa in his living room and turned on the television. He willed himself to not think too much about the things he didn't have.

  Please don't go into a self-pity trip again. We've been there before and it is not a pretty place.

  When he realized that there was little else on offer other than the usual soaps, he turned it off and got up to change. As he passed the side table outside his bedroom, he paused to look down at the photo frames on it.

  For most people, photographs are a way of preserving memories. A way of freezing in time moments that have passed. For Aaditya, they served an additional purpose-they acted as a constant reminder of the life he could have had if only a couple of things had turned out differently.

  There were a few photographs of Aaditya and his father. The elder Ghosh was as tall as Aaditya, and Aaditya remembered his earliest memories being that of looking up into his father's smiling face. There were a couple of photos of his father with his mother, but honestly Aaditya remembered nothing of her. The woman who had given birth to him was no better than a stranger, having shared less than three hours with him in this world. She had died soon after giving birth to him.

  He showered and changed, but before keeping his clothes in the washing pile, he remembered to take out his good luck charm from his pocket. He ran his hands over the raised edges of the round, embroidered patch of cloth. He felt the outline of the Hawk, soaring, its talons bared, two crisscrossing lightning bolts below it. And then just four words embroidered underneath.

  No return without conquest.

  The words mocked him now. There certainly had been no return. Not that evening. Not ever since.

  He put his father's old squadron patch on his bedside table and then booted up his computer. The wallpaper on his computer desktop was a collage of photos-all showing his father in uniform. Most of them had Aaditya standing beside him, and most showed them next to fighter planes. Aaditya smiled as he saw one photo of him and his father in the cockpit of a Sukhoi 30. He had sat in the back seat, devouring every detail, imagining what a joy it must be to fly such a beast every day for a living. Then there was a photo of him receiving the Silver medal in the National Cadet Corps Flying Wing. His father stood a few feet away, pride apparent in his eyes.

  Growing up among fighter planes and pilots, there had never been any real question of what Aaditya would do when he grew up. It wasn't that his father had ever pushed him to follow in his footsteps, but for as long as he could remember, Aaditya had only one dream-to be a fighter pilot. Growing up in various airbases, surrounded by pilots, the dream of flying a fighter jet had long come to define his life. He had done everything he needed to do to make that dream come true-join the NCC, fly as much as he could-often accumulating more hours in the NCC Flying Wing's gliders and light planes than many active duty pilots did, and keeping himself fit through sports and martial arts. It had seemed like a no-brainer for him to join the National Defence Academy straight out of school, and then make his dream come true by joining the Indian Air Force.

  But ultimately none of that had mattered. And here he was, with little left to show for the life he had once dreamed of other than a collection of old photos, and the squadron patch he kept with him at all times. In the drawer of his bedside table was the letter that had changed his life.

  We regret to inform you that Squadron Leader Mayukh Ghosh…

  For three days after his father's jet had gone missing during an exercise over the Arabian Sea, Aaditya had kept his hopes alive. His father's squadron mates and their families had closed ranks around him, ensuring he was never alone, that the seventeen year old boy had food, that the motherless boy whom they had collectively adopted as their own never felt abandoned in this moment of need. Aaditya had then truly appreciated what his father had told him about the Air Force being one big family, and he was grateful for all the support he had got. But none of that could change the fact that his father was not going to come back home again. After three days of frantic searching in shark-infested waters, and with even the wreckage not recovered in the deep seas, Squadron Leader Mayukh Ghosh had been given up as lost.

  In one stroke, Aaditya's life had been turned upside down. His father had perhaps always known, with the instinct of a career fighter pilot, that one day it might come to this. And so, he had prepared meticulously-the apartment was in Aaditya's name, the family inheritances were invested in fixed deposits in Aaditya's name, and a list of contacts had been kept ready, including a good friend in Delhi who had helped Aaditya get into college and into his new life. His father, Aaditya thought, even in death, had proved to be the best father in the world. It was he who had thrown away all the dreams.

  He didn't want to think about the past, but perhaps today, there was no way he could avoid it. If his father had still been with him, tomorrow would have been his birthday. When Aaditya was growing up, an Air Force officer's salary had not been enough to get extravagant gifts, but his father had always made sure that Aaditya never felt the absence of a mother. Every birthday was magnified into a memorable event, including that one unforgettable time when, on Aaditya's birthday, his father had allowed him to sit in the back seat of a Sukhoi. Aaditya wished that his father had been with him so that he too could have done something to make the day special for him.

  But while Aaditya had not been able to follow his dreams, he could still live them vicariously. So, for the next hour, he expounded on the relative merits of the various contenders for the Air Force's new fighter contract on an online forum where he had long come to be recognized as the resident expert when it came to anything to do with fighter aircraft. He then logged onto his favorite air combat sim and flew a mission where he obliterated an enemy nuclear plant and shot down a handful of fighters, once again firmly establishing himself at the top of the leaderboard, and more than making up for the afternoon's aborted mission.

  At midnight, Aaditya lay down on his bed..

  Tonight was a time to remember all the good times he had shared with his father. As he drifted off to sleep, he whispered to himself, 'Happy birthday, Dad.'

  He dreamt of flying a Sukhoi, streaking through the skies at supersonic speed, worldly worries left thousands of feet below. But for a change, he did not dream of flying alone. In the back seat was his father.

  TWO

  Aaditya barely made it in time for his first class the next morning. He had woken up late, and had then decided to ride his bike to college. He had bought his bike just a month ago, and was still getting used to it. At the time, it had seemed like a bright idea, but now that he was faced with the practicalities of kick-starting it, he was yet to work out a routine that did not leave him looking like a circus acrobat, or gasping in pain as he put pressure on his right leg.

  Transfemoral prosthesis. Trust the doctors to come with such a fancy word to describe chopping off your leg and sticking an artificial and inconvenient contraption in its place. As Aaditya entered his class, he reminded himself that he should not really be blaming the doctors for chopping off his leg-he had been the one responsible for that. And as for the contraption he now had attached below his right thigh, it may not be a real leg, but it sure beat hobbling along on one foot and carrying crutches, as he had done for the first three months after the accident. More than a year later, when he walked, nobody could tell that he had an artificial leg. That was of course, unless they wanted to see him in shorts or, indeed, go dancing. The onelegged hop-now that would be a su
re way to impress Supriya, wouldn't it?

  'You seem to be in a good mood. So, did you catch up with Supriya later at night?' As Aaditya sat down at his desk he just gave a look of sheer exasperation at Sam's comment. Sam reached over and whispered into Aaditya's ear. 'Take it from someone who's neither older, nor much wiser, but you need to stop thinking of what you don't have and think of what you do have. Come on, man, — short of casting you in a bloody fairness cream ad, I don't know what else I can do to convince you that the girls have their eyes on you.'

  Aaditya grinned. Trust Sam to break the ice like that.

  After classes, Aaditya had been invited for tea to Wing Commander Asthana's house. The Wing Commander had been a batchmate of his father's and had helped Aaditya settle down in Delhi when he had moved here from Pune after his accident, both for his treatment and also to move into the apartment his father had left for him. Aaditya always felt a bit uncomfortable meeting Dad's former colleagues. They brought back memories of the life he had left behind, and even if he was imagining it, he always thought their eyes reflected the unasked question of how he could have thrown it all away.

  An hour later, Aaditya was on his bike, riding home. While he had not shown much interest to Sam, he had already taken Supriya's number. He may be missing a leg, and he certainly did not want any woman to go out with him out of pity, but he retained enough sense to know that he would be a fool to not call Supriya again. She was a looker for sure, but more importantly, he had really been comfortable with her, so there was really no harm in going out with her and seeing where things went from there.

  His bike was almost halfway home, threading through the dense traffic near the Delhi Zoo, before getting on to the bridge across the Yamuna and then on to Mayur Vihar in the suburbs, where his apartment was. Suddenly, he saw a bus careen towards him from the opposite direction. The bus driver was either drunk, or didn't know how to drive, or both, because he was weaving in and out of his lane. At the last minute, Aaditya swerved his bike to avoid the bus.

  'Bastard!' Aaditya screamed over his shoulder as he continued home. He tried to think what he'd say to Supriya when he called her, but the bus bearing down at him had brought back other, painful memories.

  BK or AK?

  That mystifying question had been the first words he had heard when he had awakened to find himself on a hospital bed. The day after the search for his father had been called off, he had pleaded with the authorities to keep looking. Perhaps his father had just drifted away. Perhaps he was unconscious and had not seen or heard any of the helicopters. The officer in charge of the search, a man who had known Aaditya since he had been in diapers, had looked to be on the verge of tears, but said that there was nothing more to be done. Aaditya should have known better, but he had been only seventeen, and had just lost the only family he had ever known. So he had helped himself to his father's stash of Scotch, and then screaming out his rage at the unfairness of it all, had gone roaring down the highway on his bike.

  By the time he saw the bus, it had been too late.

  BK or AK? Below the knee or above the knee? That was what the doctor had been asking, Aaditya realized later. There is perhaps no good way to lose a leg, but as Aaditya was to learn, if you do lose one, pray it's BK. An amputation above the knee makes recovery much tougher. The Air Force had paid for the best care available, and he had been fitted with a state of the art prosthetic leg, but the doctor told him, with an amputation above the knee, the average patient needed 80 per cent more strength to carry himself along than a normal person. Aaditya had beaten those odds, turning to the gym with a frenzy, building his already strong physique into solid muscle, but he had not been so lucky when, after six months, he had worked up the courage to ask his father's Commanding Officer whether he still had a chance to be a fighter pilot.

  Chopra uncle, as Aaditya had known him for most of his life, had looked up Aaditya nearly every day since his father had been lost. Now he told Aaditya that he could certainly still join the Air Force, provided he could pass the fitness tests. That had been the good news. The bad news was that the doctors had recommended that even if he were to be accepted into the Air Force, it should be ideally for ground duties, since they were not sure his leg could take the strain of flying. At best he could be allowed to pilot helicopters, but fast jets were out. The strains of pulling high G forces could be dangerous, and if he ever had to use an ejection seat, his leg would never be able to withstand the force.

  Aaditya had wondered if he had made the right decision in giving up on joining the Air Force. He knew the answer. No matter how much he regretted not joining the Air Force, working in it every day, next to fighters and fighter pilots, yet knowing he could never be one of them was far worse than being in a world removed from it all.

  Still rattled by the near accident and by the memories it had brought back, he stopped his bike near the Old Fort, wanting to grab some fresh air and clear his head. And perhaps call Supriya.

  It was now almost nine at night. Till a few hours back the grounds had been full of families strolling or taking a ride in the boats on the small lake in front of the fort. Now it was totally deserted. There were a few food stalls open outside the front gates, and he picked up some chips, and munching on them, walked towards the lake. Lost in thought, after a while he realized just how far he had ventured when he turned to see the traffic in the distance behind him, their lights dimly lighting up the darkness. Oh well, he was in no hurry to go anywhere. The cool October weather in Delhi was perfect, so he walked some more and entered the main fort premises, walking through the ruins till he found a secluded spot near a large tree that was just a few metres away from the lake. He sat down there to call Supriya.

  She picked up on the third ring.

  'Hey Supriya, it's Aadi here.'

  'Hey there! So did you decide to make up for ditching me last night?'

  Aaditya smiled. Good looking and nice. They did still make girls that way.

  'Here's a deal, don't ask me to dance, and if you're free tomorrow, I'll treat you to dinner any place you like.'

  A brave offer since he had heard she came from a pretty rich family, but he hoped that she would not ask for the Taj. And if she did, what the hell, Aaditya was feeling happy and reckless enough.

  Before she could answer, someone stumbled into Aaditya, sending his phone flying on to the grass.

  'What the…'

  Before he could complete his sentence, he looked up to see a very large man, dressed in black. Aaditya could not make out many of his features, except that the face was black as the night. Figuring that this did not look like the kind of man to get into a tangle with and not wanting any trouble, he got up and moved out of the man's way to pick up his phone.

  That was when he heard the scream.

  ***

  The scream that pierced the night was high-pitched and shrill, but the moaning that followed left no doubt that it was from a person in utter agony. The man who had just bumped into Aaditya raced towards the sound, moving at a speed faster than Aaditya would have believed someone his size capable of.

  Probably some gang related violence.

  Not wanting to get caught up in it, Aaditya started to turn towards the lake and make his way back to the gate, which was a few hundred metres away. That was when he saw a struggle in the distance. He could not see too many details in the dark, but what was obvious was that a large figure, likely the man who had just bumped into him, was grappling with a much smaller person. The long hair made it obvious that she was a woman.

  Aaditya never liked getting into fights. Always more trouble than they're worth, his father used to say. Walk away if all you're fighting for is your ego. Defuse the situation if you can, and only fight if you're left with no option.

  Walking away was not an option, not when it looked like there was a woman in trouble. However, Aaditya had every intention of settling this with little or no fighting. He figured it was a local goon who was taking advantage of the da
rkness and the secluded location to get frisky with a woman. Most likely he would just scoot when he saw that there was someone else there.

  Aaditya rushed towards them. With his leg, he could no longer sprint like he once did in school, but he moved as fast as he could. When he was closer, he saw a man sprawled on the ground, but the other man and the woman were still locked in a struggle.

  'Let her go!' He screamed at the top of his voice, and the man turned to look at him. Aaditya was now close enough to see the man more clearly. He was huge, at least a few inches taller than Aaditya and much broader across the chest and shoulders. His forehead seemed to have a prominent ridge above the eyebrows. As Aaditya paused, wondering what that could be, the woman struck.

  She was small, perhaps no more than five feet six inches and thin, almost waiflike, but she struck with a speed and precision that shocked Aaditya. Her hand snaked out and hit the large man on the neck, sending him down in a heap, grabbing at his neck and gurgling in agony.

  Aaditya stopped in his tracks.

  What the hell had he got into?

  The woman looked at him for an instant, and he could now see her long, flowing hair, cascading down to her waist. She was wearing a fitting white suit, similar to what divers wore. But what struck him the most was her face. Her eyes were blazing as if on fire, and she had a dark red smear running down the middle of her forehead. Even though she was much smaller than him, Aaditya felt truly afraid as her eyes bore through him.