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Akif spoke up next.

‘I have seen the enemy first-hand and witnessed what they do to people. I have seen children lying dead, and their mothers and sisters missing, perhaps now slaves to these monsters. I would not wish that fate on my worst enemy, and the last thing we need to do is divide ourselves further.’

I looked at the General, remembering his words. I had no desire to be a dictator, and certainly did not want to impose my will on others because I was carrying a gun. But I did have a strong point of view and I was not going to ignore it.

‘Mrs Khatri, Anu, Biren, I understand where you’re coming from and, believe me, I don’t have all the answers. But here is what I believe. Before all this happened, there was evil in our world. We had 26/11 in Mumbai, we had terror attacks, and we had women being raped. Most of us were concerned about all this, but never really had to do anything because we assumed the cops or politicians would deal with it. We were so content in the little bubbles of jobs, salaries, EMIs and holiday plans that we tried to ignore all that was wrong till it intruded on our doorsteps. I can speak for myself. The only thing I cared about the night this happened was celebrating my promotion. People were still being killed in terror attacks that night, women were being raped, but that was in a world beyond my own, so I didn’t care. That world is no longer a separate world—we no longer have the comforting filter of the TV screen to excise us from the situation. We cannot change this channel. There are no cops to call, or blame. We have to deal with this. That is all I tried to do, all I have been trying to do.’

Everyone was silent, till Nitish came bounding into the garden.

‘I have some big news!’

He stopped, looking from person to person, wondering what he had interrupted, and then continued. ‘I remembered that Mr Daruwala over at Sovereign had an ancient EC TV. I figured—looking at what’s happened with the auto-rickshaws and buses—that all old electronic stuff should work. The EC TV is an ancient box from the ’70s which used vacuum tubes. It hasn’t been turned on for years, so I spent the last day working on it. And now the TV works and you all need to see what’s coming on it!’

We forgot all about our debate and rushed to the meeting room at my society where Nitish had placed the big, boxy TV. The long wire from it extended out the window and was hooked up to an antenna on a balcony on a higher floor. Mr Daruwala, who looked not a day younger than ninety, was sitting in a corner, flashing a toothless grin and enjoying all this sudden attention. As I passed him, he mumbled, ‘They laughed at me for keeping this TV. Who’s laughing now?’

Nitish turned a big knob and the screen flickered to life.

With static.

A loud groan went up in the room and Nitish tried to placate all of us. ‘Wait, the signal comes and goes. I’ll go and fiddle with the antenna.’

‘Maybe they’ll be showing a rerun of
Desperate Housewives
.’

I don’t know who said that but it got many of us laughing, helping to dissipate some of the tension.

‘Anything?’ Nitish called out from where he was.

I was about to shout back in the negative, when the static disappeared, replaced by a few lines of text. The picture was grainy but the words were unmistakable:
Keep the faith. We and
our allies are fighting back. The war is not over. Our country still
stands and we need you to be strong.

All of us gazed at the screen, our pulses pounding, as the words were repeated in different Indian languages, and then we heard a familiar song which caused every single one of us to stand a bit straighter and I know there weren’t too many dry eyes in the room. The song was one which instantly reminded us who we were, what we were fighting for and of how our petty worries about supplies, and definitions of who were outsiders and who belonged really didn’t matter. A song that reminded us that we all belonged to a much bigger entity—one that clearly still existed. A song that had been created to inspire millions of Indians when we were struggling for our freedom against the British, close to a century ago.

The song began with two simple words.

Vande mataram
.

Later that morning I found myself besieged by a group of eager volunteers. Subin, Prashant and Yash were there, along with a few other kids I didn’t know. Fired up by the TV broadcast and the recent run-ins with the terrorists, they were full of fervour and a desire to do something. Basically, they were proving what my uncle had once told me about combat. The ones who are most keen to wage war are usually the ones who haven’t seen and smelled the blood, shit and piss that come with real combat.

‘Let’s take the war to them! Let’s attack them at the airport!’

‘Those women and girls are still hostages. Let’s try and release them.’

‘We have four Kalashnikovs now. We can take them!’

I asked them all to calm down before we talked of any possible action.

‘Guys, we have no idea how many of them there are. Another plane flew in this morning and that makes three flights that have come in so far. For all we know, there could be two or three hundred men armed with automatic weapons. They would make mincemeat of us.’

‘But you took down so many of them. We could go out in smaller groups and attack their patrols.’

I looked at Yash, and while I knew he was a well-meaning kid who had been fired up by the stories of my supposed exploits, he did need a reality check so he and his friends didn’t get themselves killed from misplaced bravado.

‘Yash, the first guy would have killed me if Mahadev had not shot him in the back, and I surprised the second guy from behind by hitting him on the head. If it had been a fair fight with him, I’m not sure I’d be here talking to you.’

I could see him deflate visibly.

‘This is not a video game and this is not sparring at the dojo. These guys are trained killers.’

Prashant spoke up, defiance in his voice. ‘So that means we give up?’

‘Not at all. It means we need to pick our battles and be smart about it, that’s all.’

Prashant was not about to give in so easily. ‘We have their radios. We know exactly what they’re doing.’

Akif, standing next to me, had been listening in silence. It looked like he had taken upon himself the job of being my bodyguard, and whether or not such a job was required, or indeed if I wanted him to play this role or not, was something he had not asked me nor seemed to care about. Now he spoke up, addressing Prashant.

‘They made mistakes and were probably a bit complacent, which we took advantage of. Now they’re tightening up. They’re using code names for places, so we don’t have the luxury of knowing where they are and what they’re doing.’

The group walked away to resume their patrol duties, and I could see the lowered energy levels in their slouched shoulders and shuffling gait. Mr Sinha had been observing us from a distance, and as I headed to the meeting room to plan increased security cover for the teams that were to go out foraging for food, he walked up to me.

‘They are young and want to do something, even if it sounds reckless.’

‘That’s the point, Mr Sinha. We can’t be reckless.’

He smiled broadly as he replied. ‘Yes, we should not do reckless things like confronting a rapist and putting such a burden on his conscience that he jumps off the balcony, or indeed taking on armed terrorists when we could have avoided them.’

I could see no criticism on his face; only a genuine smile of warmth.

‘My boy, that is why you are a hero and a leader to so many of them.’

‘I have no desire to be either. I’m just trying to do the right thing and keep us alive.’

‘Sometimes the biggest hero is not the one who performs one grand feat of courage, but someone who does the right thing every single day.’

‘Do you think I should let them do what they propose?’

He laughed out aloud. ‘Of course not. If we rush the airport, I fully agree that we’ll have nothing more than a lot of dead bodies to show for it. But what you can do is channel their desire to do something in a way that will build their confidence yet keep them grounded to the realities we face.’

I nodded. ‘Any ideas?’

‘We’ve hunkered down and don’t really know what’s happening beyond our immediate borders, other than of course your forays to the airport. But what about the opposite direction? We have no idea what’s going on near IIT—there may be students stranded there. And there were big markets in front of the institute that might still have food and supplies we can use.’

Something else clicked in my head. A lot of our challenges stemmed from technology not working, and we had very few people—Nitish and a handful of others—who had any level of expertise to help sort this out. IIT would be full of bright kids who may have solutions we had not thought of.

Assuming, of course, they were still there.

And, of course, assuming they were still alive.

As I paced around my living room, Megha told me, not for the first time that morning, ‘They’ll be fine, stop fretting like an overprotective parent.’

My cheek still hurt, and Dr Guenther was afraid it was going to get infected; my hand was badly sprained from the fight of the previous night, something that I’d realized only after the adrenaline rush had subsided, and I was essentially confined to house arrest for the day to rest. Perhaps for incentive, Dr Guenther had given Megha the day off to keep me company. Under normal circumstances, staying at home all day with an attractive woman I was falling in love with would have been great. The problem was that circumstances were anything but normal. I found myself worrying about whether the terrorists would attack; whether our supply runs were secure and, most of all, whether the group that had gone to IIT were okay.

‘Aadi, please relax. Your pacing up and down is making me dizzy.’

I forced a smile and sat down next to Megha, wrapping my arms around her.

‘I should be with them.’

‘Akif and Ismail are there, and they’re both carrying AK-47s. Four of the kids are armed with pistols as well. They can take care of themselves, and even if they do run into trouble, the bottom line is you cannot take care of everyone all the time.’

She was right, but it was hard to let go. I thought I had been committed to my job; I would think nothing of spending long hours and work weekends to help close a deal. However, that totally paled in comparison to the commitment, the passion I felt at a gut level, to ensure that our little community stayed safe. They had trusted me with their lives, and I did not want to let them down.

I held Megha, clutching on to the one person who was keeping me sane and keeping me grounded. She nuzzled against me. ‘I pity your kids when they’re teenagers and you’re calling or texting them every second to check where they are.’

Neither of us said anything for a long time after that. A week ago, Megha’s words would have been an innocuous joke, but now it was loaded with meaning, and uncertainty. Would we ever send texts or call anyone again? Would we live long enough to have children and would they live long enough to be teenagers? Whose kids would they be anyway? Ours? Megha’s and mine? She caught my expression.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’

I put a finger to her lips. Our lives were uncertain, and indeed brutal compared to the world we had grown up in. However, that did not mean everything was uncertain.

‘Megha, if there’s one thing that will keep me going, it’s thinking of us growing old together.’

I leaned forward and kissed her, and then we heard shouting outside. I grabbed my gun and we ran downstairs. While the elevators were working, the unspoken rule was that if you were fit enough to use the stairs, you would do so, so the generators were not strained any more than absolutely necessary. The noise was coming from the direction of Central Avenue and, as we ran towards it, we saw Dr Guenther and Marie coming towards us.

‘I heard some people need medical assistance.’

My heart sank on hearing the doctor’s words. So people had been hurt after all. I should have gone along with them, or perhaps should not have sent them there in the first place. I ran faster, leaving the others behind till I reached Central Avenue, and then I stopped.

Coming towards me were not the wounded I had feared, but what looked like a grand victory procession. Akif and Ismail were on the side lines, smiling to themselves, but Yash, Prashant and the other youngsters were beaming, pumping their fists in the air and shouting. I smiled when I realized these young boys, most of whom would have looked upon patriotism as old-fashioned and perhaps infra dig back when their most pressing crisis was a delayed torrent download, were now shouting ‘
Vande mataram
!’ as they returned home. Yash was bleeding from a gash on the side of his face and Prashant also looked to have suffered a cut on his shoulder, so clearly they
had
encountered some trouble. But nobody seemed to have been killed and what had caused the hundreds of people to arrive on the street, watching this impromptu parade, was the busload of guests they had brought back with them.

Yash ran over to me. ‘There was a big group of looters who were attacking IIT. Seems they’ve hit it three times and most of the faculty and students had left, but there was a pretty big group of students hunkered down in the canteen. We killed three of the looters and the others ran away. We got six country-made pistols from them, which we can use.’

He was speaking so fast, so breathlessly, and was so obviously pumped up with adrenaline, that I had to ask him to slow down and take a breath.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, pointing to his bleeding face.

‘It’s nothing. A guy came at me with a sword and got a lucky cut in before we got him.’

‘Let’s have a look at your guests.’

The students who trooped out of the bus looked filthy, weak and tired, but the smiles of relief on their faces was unmistakable. As I walked towards them, Akif told me the markets near IIT still had food and supplies which would be worth gathering. He and Kundu would take the buses back there.