In the Shadow of a Dream (16 page)

‘Oh, my God!’ He burst out involuntarily. ‘I thought it had…Oh, heavens! What am I saying. Please, ma’am, do forgive me!’

‘Don’t give it another thought. Fortunately we’re alone. Even Malti’s left.’

‘Yes. Was I remiss? Should I also have asked her for a dance?’

‘She would have refused. They’re a young couple, and she’s pregnant. Didn’t you notice the way she held her shawl over her waist? Men are so innocent. I don’t think my husband knows either.’ She gazed at him, her eyes very grey, penetrated Dusty’s discomfiture. Then she stood up with a sudden movement and collecting her blue and gold Kashmiri shawl, draped it round her shoulders. ‘I have to say, you have the most extraordinary eyes. Not just beautiful, but unusually hazel and striking. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not Parsee; yes, despite the nose,’ and she laughed. The band struck up a new tune. ‘That’ll be the last dance. I must find my Joe. My husband always has the first and last dance.’

Slowly Dusty stood up. He had not quite overcome his earlier embarrassment. He gazed at his feet. ‘Ma’am, I don’t know how to say…’

‘Then don’t.’ She took a step towards him, and whispered. ‘I can keep a secret.’

He bowed. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘I’ve been married twenty years. If we were lucky I could’ve had a son your age.’

‘That’s hard to believe,’ he said defensively. ‘You look so young…’

‘I was eighteen when I married. There, I must be going.’ She turned and started to walk away. Then stopped. ‘Aren’t you coming? Complete you escort duty.’

‘Indeed, ma’am.’

They had barely taken a few steps when they saw the General, Colonel Abbas and Colonel Dhanraj coming towards them. ‘Rajan, where’s Janaki?’

‘She left early, ma’am, with the Malhotras and Mrs Abbas.’

‘That tune, Minnie that tune, isn’t that that Maori tune?’ Sen Gupta asked.

‘Yes, Joe.’

The General crooned “Now is the hour, when we…” and taking her by the waist, circled round her. ‘Quick, it’s the last dance.’ He led her away, then stopped abruptly and turned to Dusty. ‘Ah, young Dustoor, see you at the Grand Luncheon tomorrow, after the Passing-Out Parade and I’ll remember to find and lend you that book about Colonel James Skinner. And thank you for looking after Minnie. Good lad.’

‘It was an honour, sir.’ Dusty saw the General raise a hand in acknowledgement and turned to face Colonel Dhanraj.

‘Was it, young man?’ Colonel Dhanraj hissed. ‘Was it an honour?’

Dusty nodded and looked over his shoulder. ‘The band will have stopped playing by the time the General gets…’

‘No, they’ll carry on. They expect the General to turn up. But you didn’t answer my question.’

‘Yes, it was, sir. I gather you’re leaving the Army, sir.’

‘Yes, and take what I have to say as a parting piece of advice. Mind how you go. I’ve been watching you closely. You have the makings of a cadet who could win the Sword of Honour. But one false or careless move…and it will slip from your grasp. Keep your head, as Kipling says. Remember it’s not enough to be an officer, you’ve also got to be a gentleman.’

‘I’m a gentleman, sir. My guardian, a most perfect gentleman, was my mentor. Have I given cause for doubt?’

‘You’re on a slippery slope, one of the dangers of being an attractive young man. You may not believe it, but it is because I like you I say this. Just a parting piece of advice; and between you and me: One’s head can be so easily turned, so mind how you go. Tell yourself, a pretty face is not all that rare and that they are human even when they are angelic. Beautiful women also go to the lavatory.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Did you hear the clock strike?’

‘Yes, about ten minutes ago, sir.’

‘Well, it’s past midnight. Join the other cadets. They’re on the Parade ground, and mucking around. Do me a favour. Go out there. Call them to order. Say I sent you, and that I don’t want to come there. If I have too they’ll get three “putty” parades each. Have you had a “putty” parade punishment?’

‘Yes sir, once.’

‘What was that for? Explain.’

‘Back chat. The Senior Under Officer asked if I had shaved…’

‘You said yes and he said “next time get closer to the razor”, I know.’ The Colonel laughed. ‘There’s nothing original in the military. Right, tomorrow, Parade is late, but it’s a big occasion and all of you need to look your best.’

‘Sir.’

‘Tell me, are you leaving soon after lunch? Or by the night train.’

‘Actually, I’m staying the night here. I’ve been given permission by Chi…sorry, by Major Bedi, my Company Commander. I’m not going to Bombay.’

‘You were going to say, Chindi. That’s the nick name you chaps have given Bedi. You can tell me why. I won’t pull you up for it. Now that I’m leaving the Army.’

‘Sir
chindi
is the piece of lint rag we use, with a pull-through, to clean the barrels of our rifles, sir.’

‘I know that.’

‘Well it’s four by two inches, in size. And Chi- , I mean Major Bedi is a shorty.’

‘That’s cruel. The chap won an MC in Burma. And rose from the ranks.’

‘We know, sir, but boys are cruel,’ Dusty said, with an air of maturity.

‘About nicknames, I gather you have one. Don’t look surprised. I didn’t know till yesterday. Your guardian, or someone from Scotland, slipped up. I wasn’t snooping. The postal clerk wanted to make sure that a letter addressed to “Dusty” Dustoor went to the right person.’

‘I haven’t seen my mail.’

“We’ve a copy of your School Certificate, so no one can accuse you of falsifying the records. But what is your real name?’

‘Bal. No surname, just Bal. But I want to be Sam…in honour of my guardian, sir.’

‘You should change your name. Clearly, you’re not Parsee and on record you’re Christian. I missed that bit earlier.’

‘It’s a long story, sir. I’m not a practising…I mean, a church-going one. But I’m a believing one. I find Christ a very attractive figure.’

‘So did Gandhi. Right. Now join the others.’

Dusty found the cadets on the Parade ground as he was told. But most of them had already retired to the barracks. A group of twenty or so fellow athletes were hanging around the steps, and as he came down, one of them shouted: ‘He’s here! Guard of Honour, form ranks!’ The young men formed two rows facing each other, and removing their side caps from under their shoulder lapels, hastily donned them and saluted.

Dusty stopped short of walking into this avenue of uniformed young men, aware he was in for a bit of “ragging”. ‘What’s this about?’ he asked, arms akimbo. ‘Come on, lay off, chaps. If Under Officer Pritpal Singh’s here, say Colonel Dhanraj wants everyone in barracks, in bed, and fresh for tomorrow’s parade.’

‘You lucky bastard! First take your punishment. Take it like a man.’ said a voice in the darkness. ‘Guard of Honour! Present arms!’

Dusty peered under the tunnel of raised hands. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Who else?’ Asked Pritpal Singh. A tall neatly turbaned head bent forward. ‘Open hands only, fellows, or you’ll have me to answer to. Right, Sam, begin.’

As Dusty walked through the double line of cadets, they thumped his back—some harder than necessary—to the accompaniment of catcalls and whoops—till he got to Pritpal Singh. ‘Lucky devil!’ Pritpal hissed. ‘How close did you get to her?’

‘A polite distance.’ Dusty whispered back, adjusting his jacket.

‘Sly bastard. OK, chaps, line up in twos! You too, Sam. No special privileges for champion athletes or especially not someone who’s danced with the Commandant’s wife. Remember, tomorrow I get my commission and will be wearing a subaltern’s pip. I’ll expect all you chaps to salute when you see me. Right! By the left, quick march!’ Someone started to hum the “Colonel Boogey March”, and the rest joined in, with a raucous

Hitler, he only had one ball,

Goering, he had two but small,

Himmler, was somewhat sim’lar

But poor old Goebbels, had none at all:
Ta-ra-ra…

‘Halt!’ screamed Pritpal Singh. ‘Chaps, the war’s over, forgotten. Let’s have the filthy version.’ This was greeted with lewd laughter in the ranks. ‘Keep your voices down. ‘Begin. I’ll cue the intro: “
Where was the engine driver when the engine burst its boiler…
” Come on, Sam you know the words. Be a sport.’

Sam cleared his throat: “
They found his bollocks…
” Sorry. Let me off this once. You’ll be an officer tomorrow. Also, I believe Colonel Dhanraj is within earshot.’

‘Okay Sam. Give him a cheer, fellows! He tried. Right, you lousy lot: Dismiss! Straight to your barracks! No fooling around.’

‘Barracks? Do you realise you’ve pulled me away from mine.’ Dusty laughed.

‘No back chat. Or you’ll get a pack parade.’

‘You can’t,’ someone shouted from the departing band, ‘it’s the end of term.’

‘Wrong, Tiwari. You’ll see. When you get back, there’ll be three pack parades in the book for you. Sneak. Open hands I said. You used a fist. We all envy Sam, but no need for that. Sorry, Sam, I saw you duck, but he got you on the mouth.’

Dusty ran his tongue over his upper lip. ‘It’s not too bad. Tiwari’s a weakling.’

‘By the way, who wrote that German version to the “Colonel Bogey”? The chap, must be a chap, deserves a
shabash.
’

‘It’s been around since the declaration of World War II, and according Sam…my Guardian…he believes it’s by an Irishman, but as he says, who knows?’

As he changed into pyjamas, Dusty looked approvingly at the immaculately pressed uniform his orderly had laid out on the dummy and, next to it, his highly polished army boots. The sight helped to banish that strange unsettling feeling he never had to wrestle with before: love. He inspected his slightly swollen upper lip in the mirror and cursed Tiwari. Yes, she would there, with the VIPs, and not give him a second thought! With a deep sigh he went to bed. ‘Get a grip, Dusty!’ he scolded himself… and was soon asleep.

Chapter Eight
 

T
he “Passing Out Parade” was a grand and precise affair; and in his speech General Sen Gupta paid tribute to Sergeant-Major Vallins. He expressed regret that the Prime Minister was unable to take the salute and was extremely grateful to the Maharaja of Nawaraj for agreeing to stand-in at the last moment. “We were in Sandhurst together and now Nawaraj is Colonel-in-Chief of the Camel Corps,’ he added. Then taking a step to the side, he invited the Maharaja to join him on the dais.

Nawaraj looked grand in his high collared
achkan
of red and gold brocade, white drain-pipe trousers and red turban, with its dazzling aigrette of rubies, pearls, and the large central sapphire. Behind the dais, which formed the saluting base, was the VIPs tent. High above it, from the flag-staff, flew the Indian Tricolour of saffron, white and green. Facing all this, in smartly turned out serried lines, stood four companies of the cadet battalions, patient and still, awaiting Inspection.

The day was bright but cold, as gusts of icy winds swept down from snow-capped mountains. Shawls of colourful Cashmere draped the women’s shoulders; some had even covered their heads. Not Minnie, when Dusty last saw her. The merest glimpse, because he had to stand still and look steadily ahead. That was the drill. And he was unlikely to see her again. By now she would be hidden behind the dais and by those on it; the Maharaja, Sen Gupta and the new Chief Instructor, Colonel Abbas. But he saw her again when the cadets marched past the saluting base. All eyes turned left to salute the flag. She caught his eye and smiled. He was sure she did, but at the buffet luncheon, she ignored him, even though, on at least two occasions, she was within a few feet of him. He shrugged, took his cup of coffee and joined Pritpal Singh for the third time.

‘What’s with you, Sam? Stop moping. Haven’t seen you like this. What’s up?’

‘Nothing…Prit-, I mean, sir. Nothing, sir.’

‘Hey, come on, I was joking. Call me Pritpal, as ever. Now, why the mope?’

‘Just a small worry. Haven’t heard from…from home.’ Dusty lied.

‘Check your pigeon-hole. I thought I saw a letter for you, when I collected my…’