First published by Hindustan Times on April 19, 1994.
It was the season when it snows; thick flakes fluttering down imparted a bite to the breeze that sent the chill plunging below zero at our post. At the post’s base was a tiny village and I found the pair of them there on one of those desolate winter afternoons.
Powder and Patch, somebody on the post named them, and soon the pair of Apso pups had become a part and parcel of life on the post. They grew as the winter settled, clawing at the snow, kicking away the overpowering feeling of isolation that every man experiences when confined by that thick blanket of snow.
My room was in a barrack that had corrugated iron sheets outside and wooden paneling inside. In between the two layers was thermocol insulation. Two sets of two rooms each in all in that barrack, so designed with the toilets in between the rooms to accommodate two officers each. In the evening, I would light the Bukhari (a kerosene burner to warm the room; built into a small drum with posts, and an exhaust that ran up through the false ceiling and the roof) as Powder and Patch merrily romped about. Their mischief dispelled the loneliness, keeping me occupied.
Late at night they would jump on to my bed to doze off snuggling close to my sleeping bag. Early risers they were, and I often woke up with both of them bouncing on the sleeping bag or fondly nudging my face.
The winter showed no signs of abating, but as the snow piled up we grew closer, sharing those moments that kept the solitude at bay, developing the intense relationship all dog-lovers go through. They trailed me all over the post, sniffing at my snow-boots. On those occasions, when I would slip and roll down the slopes to come to a halt somewhere along the incline with my face buried in the snow, they would scamper down the slopes to lick the snow off my face.
It was one of those days when the winds bellowed wildly and the snow came down in torrents. A friend from an adjacent post had walked across. With the weather deteriorating by the hour we decided against his returning that night. We sat in my room sipping a drink and as we got to the soup, I had the Bukhari lit in the other room to warm it before he would go into sleep.
Powder and Patch were not to be seen nowhere. The visit of a guest at a post is a prized interlude and, I guess, I ignored the matter of the missing pups. Suddenly, a puff of smoke blew in through some crevice in the ceiling. Immediately alerted, I rushed out to find half the barrack blazing. Fires atop there on the post are nothing uncommon with the howling wind doing the rest.
I raised a fire alarm and ran back for my friend. He was already rushing out. My making way for him at the door cost a few seconds and a part of the false ceiling – dry plywood – came down flaming, blocking the way to the toilet. Beyond it were Powder and Patch, perhaps ! My friend pulled the mattress off the bed and threw it over the blazing plywood, got across and kicked open the door. Thick smoke emanated from the toilet with the plywood wall between it and the next room on fire.
By then the men on the post had joined us. Some one tried making an entry with a portable fire extinguisher belching foam in front. All to no avail, the inferno subsided when it found nothing more to engulf.
The night-long search for the duo or their remains produced no results. Next morning I picked up a shovel and started digging, hoping like hell I wouldn’t find their remains; that they had been able to get out and run away scared; and now, had lost their way. Mercifully I found nothing till I kicked at the Bukhari in disgust. And then, it was face to face with the truth.
I walked out into the shimmering expanse, slipped and went rolling down to find myself with my face buried in the snow. And, the snow stuck to my face, as the winter dragged on mercilessly, adding a mournful strain to the wail of the wind.
- SK Chatterji
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