Samar immediately took his aviators off and stood to attention — “Sir!”
“Thought you are the only doctor on this unit and your style will be worshipped?”
Samar’s eyes widened. He tried to take a peek at his Commanding Officer’s face but he was under the glare of the sun now. Blind spot.
“Fifteen rounds.”
“Sir?”
“Fifteen rounds pack drill with your medical supplies.’
His legs shaking, Samar dropped his backpack and reached for the medical kit bag in Singh’s hand. It was the heaviest.
“Did I ask you to drop your backpack?”
Samar put his backpack on, reached for his medical kit, gave MT Singh a look and jogged to the ground. First day, first minute, and he was down. What the hell! Where was his own brain when the driver asked him to enter in style?
Regimental Medical Officer. Running like a joke around the barracks. Samar raised his eyes inconspicuously from the ground and found his Commanding Officer laughing, a troop of soldiers surrounding him. He squinted, keeping pace with his mouth closed, his luggage vibrating with him as he finished the turn of the circular ground and came up close to the troop gathered around his Commanding Officer. He ran closer and closer, and got a good look at the Commanding Officer. So young?
Shining fair skin, a mop of curly hair combed tight to the side, plump face, looking like a cartoon more than a man who commanded this base for SFF. Somebody slapped the man’s back and Samar stopped.Fucker.He dropped his load and broke into a run towards him. He squealed and made a beeline for the longhouse, sprinting at double the speed.
“Who is he?!” Samar shot out to Singh, who was bent in half, howling.
“Adil Hussain!” Came the howling, laughing voice from up ahead as the cartoon ran inside the longhouse. Samar slowed down at the gathering of the soldiers, his breath swelling after just one round. The thin mountain air made running difficult. He wasn’t the one who’d have to run on missions but heavy-lifting would be a part of his job. He needed to get acclimated to doing more than just running in this geography.
Bent over, with his hands on his knees, he squinted up at the gathering of soldiers laughing at him — “You do know Adil Hussain will come to me for his treatment, no?”
“And we will be right outside your window then too!” One of them sputtered from between howls. Samar glanced at the driver. Singh. The one who had dug the first pit. Samar shook his head, straightening to his full height. Ragging wasn’t a first for him, having endured worse in medical college. He gave a begrudging smirk. He just hadn’t expected it in SFF.
“Is it normal here?” He asked the gang, wary of believing the answer that would come.
“Every day.” Singh wiped his eyes. “Daaxsaab, they laugh more than they fight.”
“Only then the balance is restored.” One of the soldiers knocked the side of his head with his knuckles.
“Kaul’s line,” another warned.
“He won’t mind.” The soldier leaned closer to Samar. “Everybody else here will look like a walking-talking duality. Kaulisthe duality. Get on his good side, andstaythere.”
“Kaul?” Samar frowned. “Commanding Officer Ul Haq heads this base, no?”
“Lieutenant Atharva Singh Kaul. He is the man you need when you need anything. Mosquito repellent or pep talk. But don’t try to be his yes-man, he hates those. And don’t…”
A squeal of tires broke through his next words. Samar gaped as the jeep came to a screeching halt metres away from his feet. A soldier with blood soaking his uniform jumped out from the passenger seat, running around to the back — “Quick, quick, quick!”
“Amol sir!” The men around him began to scamper, some to help the injured soldier from the back, others towards a far-off building. Samar took it all in, unable to move or do anything.
“Get the medics!” The bloodied soldier yelled, and Samar startled out. The stench of blood was ripe. It wasn't new. But it was mixed with something gory. Burnt flesh. Burnt cloth.
“Daaxsaab is here!” MT Singh announced, pushing him into the circle of soldiers who had already gotten the man on a stretcher. Samar stumbled and got his first look at the body. His throat tightened. The stomach was open — flesh, innards, blood gurgling with every breath he took, charred, his eyes dark and open.
“Get here quick!” The bloodied soldier bellowed. Men moved for him. Samar took one step. Then stalled, his hands shaking. He had treated patients, performed surgeries, seen it all. This…
“O… sucking… suction…” he managed. “Where is… the dispensary…?”
“For fuck’s sake, come here and see him first!” The bloodied soldier grabbed his arm and pulled him to the head of the palpitating one. Samar wetted his drying lips, holding his hands up in the air over the innards. What would he even suction here? How would he hold down the pressure? Panic set in.My dispensary bag…
“What’s his name?” “Dr. Samar Dixit.”
