In the Shadow of a Dream

by Sharad Keskar

  Dusty handed the letter back to Sam, but before he could speak, the stocky, pith helmeted guard returned. ‘Please to board the train, gentlemen. It is about to depart. I am about to blow the whistle and wave the green flag.’

  Sam nodded and Dusty climbed into the compartment, shut the door behind him, lowered the window and leaned out. They shook hands and boxed each other’s chins in a coy show of affection. ‘Good luck,’ Sam said, and turning round, saw the plump Mr Deshpande spring up into the Guards Van with unexpected agility.

  ‘Keep up the regime,’ Dusty said. ‘I haven’t seen you looking so well for ages.’

  Sam grinned. ‘From now on you’re on your own. Write.’

  ‘You’re joking. I’ll be back in four days.’

  ‘I’m getting myself a Red Irish Setter.’

  ‘I was being selfish. I know how much you missed Bonny.’

  ‘We both loved that Golden Retriever. So you approve?’

  ‘Yes. Bonny’s death shook me. I didn’t want to go through all that again; but you should’ve insisted. Still, “I bid you beware/ Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.”’

  ‘Ah! Kipling.’ Sam smiled. With a plangent moan the train lurched forward. There was a metallic clang as the couplings engaged, jerked and lunged. Sam held up a grey felt bag, ‘in case you’ve forgotten to pack yours. Best razor I could find.’

  ‘Thanks. Take care, the train’s picking up…I did shave this morning.’

  ‘Next time get closer to the razor,’ Sam teased.

  Dusty compressed his lips. ‘I do care, Sam. In my own way, I really do.’

  ‘I know,’ Sam shouted, as the train picked up speed. ‘Look out of the window when you go over the Ghats, the views are worth it.’ He waited and waved till the train drew out of sight.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Sorry young man, but that’s my berth. Yours is the bunk above.’ The uniformed Sikh scarcely moved his lips, or so it seemed, for the general demeanour of his face was taut. Dusty put it down to his beard. It was neat and tightly tucked inside a hair net that went round his chin from under his turban. ‘No offence meant.’

  ‘None taken,’ Dusty assured him. He took in the Ashoka lions on the Sikh’s olive green shoulder lapels and added: ‘Sir!’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re a brother officer. What, subaltern or a gentleman cadet?’

  ‘The last. I’ll move my stuff in a minute and, when it’s time to turn in, I’ll climb into my bunk. Till then I’ll sit by this window, if I may?’

  ‘By all means. Most welcome. So, it’s to the Military Academy at Tejpore? Your first term, I guess.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Good. You’ll do well. I see you’ve been to a top school. St Thomas’s?’

  Dusty glanced down at the badge on his blue blazer and smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The name’s Amarjit. Major Amarjit Singh Grewal, Army Education Corp. You’ll be seeing me. I’m an Instructor at the Academy. Geography, map reading, that’s my subject.’ His already stretched eyebrows moved a little. ‘You are?’

  ‘Sorry, Dustoor, Sam Dustoor.’

  ‘Parsee? Not many Parsees in the Army.’

  ‘Not many Parsees in India.’

  The Major frowned. ‘I thought, maybe you are Anglo-Indian. And what are you aiming for? Arms or Services?’ He consulted his watch and sat down facing the door which opened on to the station platform.

  ‘Arms. The infantry, if I fail to get the Armoured Corps.’ Dusty said evenly.

  ‘Armoured Corps, Cavalry? Tough. Only the ten best cadets get in. Well, no harm trying.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. I was warned. But I have strong hopes.’

  ‘And your worthy father’s name, if I may ask?’

  Dusty hesitated a moment. ‘Sam Dustoor.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Sam Dustoor Junior.’

  ‘How very American.’

  ‘Well,’ Dusty quickly recovered, ‘Dustoor Senior has a brother in America.’

  ‘And is there a military tradition in your family? I mean, was your father…’ he broke off to spring at the door. ‘Hey! This is First Class. Are you andha, blind? Jao, jao!’ He gestured wildly then sat down again. ‘Sorry, but these damned coolies, oh they’re such crooks, you know. Just as train is about to move, they push luggage in, and then you can’t get rid of the passenger and his stuff till the next stop.’ He again consulted his watch. ‘Good. Soon we’ll be moving. Next stop, one hour away.’ The door handle rattled and the door was pushed open. ‘Hey, First Class! Bloody fool!’

  ‘Get out of the way!’ A voice from outside boomed. ‘I know it’s First Class, I’ve got a reservation, just couldn’t locate the damn compartment! Ah! it’s you, Jiti.’

  ‘Sorry, Colonel Sahib, let me give you a hand. I’ve been saving your berth.’

  Dusty sprang to help. Grabbing a steel trunk by the handle he pulled it in, and as he did so, a tall man in a red striped blazer leapt in, shut the door, and leaned out of the window. ‘Here, coolie!’ He roared. ‘Take it. Come on! Come on, man! Don’t pretend you haven’t got change.’ The train picked up speed. ‘Jaldi, blast you!’ He chortled. ‘There goes a fiver. Still, I made it in the nick of time.’

  ‘Yes, sir. You have but Dhillon missed the boat.’ Major Amarjit laughed.

  The new-comer faced his companions. ‘I see, Dhillon hasn’t made it.’ He mopped his brow and brushed his thin moustache. ‘Typical of Monty. Bad form.’

  ‘Actually sir, Captain Dhillon will board the train at Saharanpur. Next stop. But you won’t have to use the upper bunk. First come, first served.’

  The Colonel grunted.

  ‘This is a five berther,’ the Major went on, ‘and there’s only the four of us.’

  ‘Thank God. I hate climbing up on to those things,’ said the Colonel, then in an undertone he asked: ‘And who’s the whippersnapper?’

  ‘A new cadet. Joining the Academy. Dustoor, this is Colonel…’

  ‘Chaudhary,’ filled in Dusty, ‘pleased to meet you. Your name’s on the trunk.’

  ‘Well observed, young man. But it’s not my trunk. I’m Colonel Dhanraj…’

  ‘Chief Instructor,’ piped in the Major. ‘Why the grin, Dustoor?’

  ‘Sorry, as P G Wodehouse would put it, I feel like a lion in a den of Daniels.’

  ‘Cheeky,’ growled the Colonel. ‘A word of advice, young man. This is your first term. So you keep a low profile. Cheek will only get you punishments. Watch it.’

  ‘The Sergeant-Major’ll put him right, sir,’ grinned the Major.

  The Colonel nodded. ‘But Jiti, I thought this compartment was reserved for us. That’s you, me, and Dhillon.’ He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

  ‘Sir,’ Dusty regarded the Colonel with equanimity well beyond his years. ‘Let me explain. The Guard put me here. My reserved berth was in the coupé next door—the one with two berths. He asked if I’d be kind enough to surrender it to two ladies. VIPs I gather. One is the wife of General Sen Gupta.’

  The two officers sat up, looked at each other, and speaking almost simultaneously said. ‘That’ll be Minnie! You did say Sen Gupta?’

  Dusty nodded.

  After a pause the Major said: ‘So, you’ve already met the Commandant’s wife.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The Guard confirmed that and the lady herself thanked me.’

  ‘Don’t let that go to your head, young man,’ warned Colonel Dhanraj. ‘And when we arrive at Tejpore in the morning, it would be for the best to pretend you did not meet any of us. Particularly Min…I mean, the Commandant’s wife. Get that?’

  ‘That’s as it should to be,’ added the Major. ‘Have you come prepared?’

  ‘Prepared?’ Dusty frowned. Prepared for what?’

  ‘For what, SIR! It’s Janua
ry. Tejpore can be biting cold. Have you got a coat?’

  ‘Apart from this blazer I’ve got a woollen scarf. But I was given to understand I will be issued with winter uniform and a great coat.’ Dusty noted the Colonel had turned away and was busy spreading a blanket on the spare berth.

  ‘Oh, yes. But that’ll take some time. He’s from Bombay, sir. These fellows forget how cold it can be up here, in the north. You’re going to be an officer. Cadets, like officer’s uniforms, are tailored. As I said it will take some time. Till then you’ll wear a band with your cadet number, on your sleeve.’

  ‘I’ll lend him a trench-coat before we get to Tejpore.’ The Colonel said, as he lay full length on the birth. ‘Return it, after you get your stuff. Give it to your batman, I mean orderly, he’ll know how to get it to me.’ He sat up with a swift movement and started to untie his shoelaces. ‘Don’t look lost, young lad. One of the first things you do, after you’re allotted your room in the barracks, is to employ an orderly—actually, they are civilians, just chaps who shine your boots and check your kit. Usually one between two or three cadets, to spread the cost of his salary.’ He suddenly burst out laughing. ‘This is not for you, young man. Shut your ears. Jiti, you know, Sen Gupta, as far as his Minnie is concerned, is in the “being skinned stage”, you know.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t get it. What d’you mean, sir?’

  ‘Remember when Sen Gupta dined with us last month. I thought you were there. Never mind. He said, over the cheese and port, “you know Gentlemen, there are five stages in a man’s love life. Like that of a fish. He is first baited, then hooked, caught, skinned, and finally cooked. Gentleman,” he said, “I am in the being skinned stage.”’

  The Major dutifully laughed. ‘Clearly sir, Minnie’s been on a shopping spree with a friend. And you know who that lady friend will be? Malti, the Adjutant’s wife.’

  ‘You can’t know for certain. Are you just guessing?’

  ‘But I’ll be surprised if I’m wrong, Rajan.’ The colonel drew himself up, but as Amarjit quickly added “Sir”, he relaxed. ‘They say,’ continued Amarjit, ‘Malti wears the trousers. Bit unfair. That her husband’s appointment was due to an HBE.’

  ‘Her bloody effort!’ Colonel Dhanraj giggled, then turned to Dusty. ‘Young man, I think, you ought to climb into your bunk and turn in.’

  Dusty held up a book. ‘I’m reading.’

  ‘I’m reading, Sir,’ prompted the Major.

  ‘But of course, Sir,’ Dusty said. He stood up, removed his blazer and hung it on the hook by the door. He then executed an athletic spring up to the bunk, lay back and turned on the reading lamp.

  ‘Don’t read for long, I can’t sleep when there’s a light on,’ the Colonel said.

  ‘I was glad to do a good deed by surrendering my berth, now sir, you’re making me regret it,’ Dusty mumbled, as he got down from the bunk.

  ‘That’s insolence. You obviously have a lot to learn about the Army, young man. Where are you going now?’

  ‘Sir? To the toilet. To clean my teeth, before I…or do I have to wait till…’

  ‘Sorry, young man, do go ahead. Don’t get me wrong.’ Colonel Dhanraj got up and opened the bathroom door. ‘Weren’t you supposed to arrive yesterday? The cadets of your course would be in and safely billeted.’ He looked at his watch.

  ‘I’ve informed the Academy. My joining up letter gives my ETA a day late. The authorities know the reason. And officially the course starts tomorrow.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, see you in the morning. I won’t forget the trench coat.’

  The train arrived at Tejpore in the early hours of the morning. A cold sun tried hard to pierce the grey, damp mist enveloping the station platform on which Dusty stood shivering.

  ‘You’ll be met,’ said the Colonel as he handed Dusty a khaki trench coat.

  ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll treat it with care.’

  ‘It’s a good fit. Keep it. I mean that, and you need not mention it to anyone.’

  The Colonel climbed back into the compartment just as the Major was getting out. ‘You never see a coolie when you want one,’ the Major said and startled Dusty with a heavy thump in the small of his back. ‘You’re not the only late comer.’ He pointed to two figures at the far end of the platform. ‘D’you always travel First Class? Last year, I was detailed to meet the cadets. Packed the lot off in a Bedford three-tonner. That’s the meeting point, under the station clock. Wait there. Ah! I see they’ve sent the Sergeant Major to collect the stragglers. You’ve made a bad start to your first term in the Academy, young man.’

  Dusty decided not to explain again, though he did wonder why Major Amarjit missed his explanation last night. ‘That very tall man, sir. Is he the Sergeant-Major? But he’s got red tabs on his collar and a red band round his peaked-cap.’

  ‘He’s an Englishman. Sergeant-Major Vallins, Grenadier Guards. Borrowed from the British Army to advise us on matters of drill and ceremonial parades. The last of his kind, I hope. As part of the drive to Indianise the army, the words of commands will soon be in Hindi. Then he’ll hand over to Sergeant Gurung. Jung Bahadur Gurung MC. He is the little Gurkha chap, standing next to him. Well, best of luck, young man.’ He went past the two men, who stamped to attention and saluted.

  ‘Wasn’t that terribly smart?’ Colonel Dhanraj said as he walked up to Dusty. ‘I overheard the major telling you about the army turning native. Yes, but you’ll see our traditions are still very British. Sen Gupta is Sandhurst trained. That reminds me. Minnie. I’d better see to…’

  ‘They’ve left, sir.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I saw them get into the jeep that was parked on the platform.’

  ‘Good. My jeep will be here shortly…ah, there’s Amarjit with a coolie and the driver. There’ll be coolies to help with your stuff.’ He walked on, and keeping his voice down, but loud enough to be audible, addressed the Major. ‘I say, Jiti, do you realise Captain Dhillon failed to board the train. Typically, bad form.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Typical, as you say. He’ll be on the mat this time. He’s asking for it. Mind you he could be on the bus if he missed the train. Gets into town…two hours from now. So I guess he can still make it in time.’ There was more talk between them but Dusty missed the banter for at that moment he felt the Sergeant-Major’s pace-stick jabbed sharply into his midriff. He looked up at a pair of very stern blue eyes. ‘Are you a new cadet?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The pace-stick dug deeper. ‘Don’t “sir” me. It’s yes, Sergeant-Major or “Sar”. Get that? Now did you see that sign which says “Assembly point”.’

  ‘Yes, Sar…’

  ‘That’s where you should be. What’s keeping you?’ Roared the Sergeant-Major, ‘Waiting to be kissed? Get a move on! Sharpish! Never mind your kit. It’ll be taken care of. Smartly, now! BY THE LEFT, QUICK MARCH! Don’t slouch! LEFT RIGHT, LEFT RIGHT!’ The Sergeant Major’s footsteps crunched close behind Dusty’s. ‘Eyes front! Look sharp! Get those legs moving! DON’T LOOK DOWN! The sweepers have been HALT. Stand still. At ease. That means, legs apart, hands behind you back.’

  ‘I know, Sar, we marched and drilled on Founder’s Day, at my school.’

  Sergeant-Major Vallins eyes glared down at Dusty. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, me lad. You don’t speak till I say you can. And that’s never.’ He growled as he circled round Dusty. ‘Yes. I like your jacket, not what’s in it.’ The Gurkha joined them and handed him a clip board and pencil. Vallins tapped the board. ‘Are you Mr Joshi, Mr Tiwari or Mr Dustoor?’

  ‘Dustoor, Sir, er Sar!’

  ‘I’ll get the other two, Sar,’ the Gurkha said, marching away, his small plump legs moving like clappers within his starched-stiff, bell-shaped, olive-green shorts.

  ‘Not to worry, Jung Bahadur. Here they come.’ Then Vallins whis
pered to Dusty. ‘If you lot are the future hope of the Army, thank God we’ve got a Navy.’

  Dusty laughed. Vallins pounced. ‘Nothing to laugh about, you dozy man you.’ Then looking away at the approaching cadets, he shouted. ‘Stop slouching! Swing those arms! Bahadur sahib, tell those coolies to make it Jaldi, jaldi! Right, you lot follow me. There, see the truck? Mount! On the double! That means run; and lift those feet, you sloppy lot, you!’

  The Central Clock Tower of Clive Hall overlooked a large, pristine, tarmacked Parade Ground. Across the width of its asphalt, behind a gleaming white saluting dais, a fifty-foot high flagpole flew the Indian Union Flag from Reveille to Last Post. Built in 1926, Clive Hall, renamed Bharat Sena Hall, is flanked on either side by the East and West Wings of Wellington Barracks—a name, surprisingly left unchanged. These neatly pointed, red-brick, neo-Georgian buildings, form a stately symmetrical arrangement that is the pride of Tejpore’s Military Academy and the hub of the new Military Cantonment. From 1949, to meet the need of an expanding Indian Army, new barracks were raised for the accommodation and training of young cadets. Much of the materials for the barracks were prefabricated, and sadly, because of this haste, the grandeur of the Academy’s original blue print suffered. But since the authorities had placed the project into the able hands of one Pritam Singh, a precocious young architect, who admired Sir Edwin Lutyens and had studied his methods, chiefly the planned layouts for New Delhi, Pritam mapped out a network of tree-lined avenues and barracks in squares to hide much of what he considered ugly. Sunken sheds for washrooms, latrines and bicycle stands, maintained the discreet and tidy look; and not content to conceal both the Cinema and Swimming Pool in a wooded hollow, he had their corrugated tin roofs painted a discreet olive green, to blend with the pine and lush ilex, which cleverly camouflaged these plain buildings. The kitchens of the two dining-rooms had serving counters, that ran along one entire side of these large detached buildings. They were located between the Wellington barracks and the new prefabricated quarters. Behind a line of poplars, a library and science laboratory were near completion and beyond them flat areas of forest were cleared for playing fields and far into the rising foothills of the Shivalik hills, was the obstacle course, a First Aid Centre, a field hospital and the Rifle Range.