No Man's Land Read Online Free

when almost all the other sepoys had rolled about in their vomit, and hoped he was not going to make a fool of himself now at the end of the journey. Perhaps he had been smoking too many cigarettes, which the Government was distributing free. Or, perhaps, it was the fear of the Unknown, now that they were getting to their destination. But he had slept badly the previous night and had dreamt a weird dream about Nandpur, in which his mother was crying over the body of his dead father, and his brother, Dayal Singh, was rebuking him for running away when they most needed him. Only to him the village seemed far from here now…
    â€˜Oh Lalu! Son of a sea-cow! Let us go and get ready,’ called young Subah, son of Subedar Major Arbel Singh, his round red face flushed as if he had got the direct commission which his father had been negotiating for him all the way, as the boy had been self-importantly telling everyone.
    â€˜You go, I am coming,’ said Lalu evasively, to shake him off, and stood with the hordes of sepoys who leaned on the railings, watching the little tugs which had come out and were pushing and pulling the steamer from where it had slackened over the placid waters of the bay towards the wharves.
    Lalu smelt the rich sunny smell which was in the air, and felt that the entrance of the harbour was a wonder such as only the heart could feel and remember.
    â€˜Boom! Zoom!’The guns thundered from somewhere on land.
    â€˜Oh, horror! The war is there!’
    â€˜To be sure!…’
    â€˜The phrunt !’
    The sepoys burbled gravely, looking ahead of them, fascinated, in wonder and fear, intent.
    But a Sikh N. C. O. said: ‘Have your senses fled? These are the guns of the Francisi warships saluting us.’
    And, indeed, the convoy ships answered back acknowledging the greetings, and the booming stopped.
    Before the ship came to a standstill, a number of French officers came up on board with some British officers and shook hands with the officers of the regiment. The French Sahibs looked like the Indians with their sallow complexions, but very solemn and sad.
    The sepoys looked at them and wondered. They were afraid of talking in the presence of the Sahibs and stood silent or slipped away.
    The shrill crescendo of the ship’s sirens shook the air with an urgent, insistent call.
    Lalu was excited almost to hysteria and went down to look for Uncle Kirpu, Daddy Dhanoo or Havildar Lachman Singh, as he did not know what to do next. But the news had gone round that the sepoys would disembark here, rest for a day or two, then go by train to the front as soon as possible, for the Sarkar was anxious to avoid the disappointment which the troops might feel at not being allowed to rush and defeat the Germans at once. This relieved the tension somewhat, and soon he was hurrying to get ready to alight.
    He sweated profusely as he exerted himself, and he felt a strange affection in his belly as thousands of throats on the harbour burst into an incomprehensible tumult of shouting. Then he rushed towards his bunk, losing his way going down the gangways, till he sighted Uncle Kirpu and ran up to him.
    â€˜Slowly, slowly, gentleman, Franceville is not running away,’ Kirpu said, blinking his mischievous eyes, and shaking his sly, weather-beaten face in a mockery of Lalu’s haste.
    â€˜Being a man of many campaigns, you feel there is nothing new,’ Lalu teased.
    â€˜I don’t feel peevish and shy as a virgin, as you do, son,’ said Uncle Kirpu and patted Lalu on the back affectionately.
    â€˜Where is Daddy Dhanoo?’ Lalu said with a pale smile.
    â€˜First on deck in full war kit! Just to set the young an example!’ Kirpu said.
    â€˜Let us hurry, then, and follow his example,’ Lalu said and pulled the protesting Kirpu.
    As they emerged on deck, the quay seemed to be drowned in a strange and incongruous whirlpool: Pathans, Sikhs, Dogras, Gurkhas, Muhammadans in