It was almost 3 am by the time the reluctant doctor, summoned by the captain against his will, was done fixing up Sena. He’d done as good a job as he possibly could, cleaning and treating the open wounds. The dried blood had been wiped clean, the broken nose was reset and the torn lips were stitched up. Sena’s long hair had been combed back from his face, gathered and secured at the back of his head with a rubber band. A fresh set of clothes had been procured for him, and his shit- and piss-soaked pants had been thrown away. After the doctor was done dealing with the wounds, he made Sena drink a litre of an oral rehydration solution – a cocktail of sugar, salt and water. And he fed him a plateful of rice and dal.
When the captain returned to the interrogation cell just after midnight, the man sitting across him bore little resemblance to the living corpse the havildars had dragged in for interrogation earlier that evening
The captain took a close look at Sena. His face was filled with anger and hate. The captain, on the other hand, felt nothing, which surprised him. In the seven years since they’d last met, he’d often re-imagined the events of their last meeting. In his revised version, he’d fought back Sena’s brutal assault, smashing his smug face into the floor again and again till he begged him to stop.
Now, when fate had delivered Sena to him with his hands and feet shackled, to do with him as he pleased, he felt nothing – there was no anger, no hatred, no regret and no compassion. But that feeling of nothingness gave him power over Sena. It let the captain see Sena for who he really was – another broken man, a victim of circumstances not entirely in his control, whose life had turned into a living hell
“Take off his handcuffs,” the captain instructed the burly havildar who stood guard in the room.
“He’s very dangerous, sir,” the havildar said.
“Better to leave them on.”
“Remove them and leave us alone.” His command was louder than he’d intended.
The havildar took off the handcuffs without further ado. But he showed his displeasure by cuffing Sena viciously on the back of his head with an open fist before exiting the cell and locking it behind him.
Sena and the captain stared at each other for a while. The captain took out his pack of Charminar and a matchbox and lit himself a cigarette. He slowly pushed the cigarettes and the matchbox across the table. Sena stared at him guardedly. Then he picked up the gauntlet, reaching for the cigarettes. He lit himself one and, with the cigarette hanging loosely from his freshly stitched lips, he settled back in the metal chair, looking up at the ceiling as he smoked.
The captain broke the silence. “I’m sorry about what they did to you, Sena,” the captain said softly
It was a mistake. Too much empathy, too soon. It allowed Sena to seize the upper hand. He flung his half-smoked cigarette away and, leaning forward, he banged his fists on the table, glaring at Sammy. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry! I don’t need your damn sympathy, arsehole. You destroyed Martha’s life and ran away from Asakhua abandoning her. You’re a fucking coward!” he spat viciously.
His words stung the captain badly. He reached across the table and slapped Sena across his disfigured face, sending him flying backwards, his chair toppling over. The sound of the metal chair crashing to the ground and the muted growl of pain that followed alerted the havildars outside. They rushed into the cell, their rifles drawn and pointed at Sena, who lay sprawled on the floor.
When Sena was put back in his chair and the havildars had left, the captain resumed his interrogation. He leant forward deliberately and sneered: ‘You pathetic little rat. You think we’re still in Asakhua and I’m afraid of you? Look at yourself, you miserable little fuck. Look at what you’ve become.”
Sena lunged across the table, swinging wildly at the captain. But his feet had been shackled, and that made his movements clumsy and awkward. All the captain had to do was lean back and he was out of the range of Sena’s fists.
“Sit down,” he barked. “The next time you try that, I’ll break your hands. You hear me? I’ll break your hands, I swear.”
That got Sena’s attention. He sat back down in the chair, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he reached forward slowly for the pack of cigarettes and lit himself another one.
The captain began again. “No more games, Sena. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I need answers. That’s what I’m here for.”
After what seemed like forever, Sena turned his face to meet the captain’s gaze. “I have nothing to tell you, you mixed-breed Indian dog,” he said coldly, not a trace of emotion in his voice.
The captain ignored his barb. “Look, Sena, I hate you. I can’t pretend I don’t. But I’m the only one here who doesn’t want to put a bullet in your head. So, you’d better talk. It’s the only way you’ll stay alive. Now, where is Laldenga?”
Excerpted with permission from If I Have To Be A Soldier, Nikhil J Alva, HarperCollins India.