Free The Avatari by Raghu Srinivasan Page A

granted when dealing with ‘sources’ who held information.
    They left the camp, following the trail which skirted the village and led to the village of Khemsa. The neighbouring village was ‘white’, which meant its people were loyal to them, but then again, you never really knew. For the past week, Ashton had led his men along this track at the same time every alternate day, the purpose being to form a cordon around the villages further down and follow it up with a search at daybreak. To anyone observing them, the manoeuvres would have looked routine. Even the local dogs had got used to the movement of soldiers and didn’t bark as they passed the village. It was after they crossed the first village that their party had broken up into two groups, one heading along the trail for Khemsa and the other, smaller one, consisting of about twenty men, moving into the jungle. Ashton had been amused at the bickering that had broken out among the men as they were divided into the two groups – one assigned to cover the target area, the other entrusted with carrying out their deception plan; everyone wanted to be a part of the action. He felt the indescribable pride of leading good soldiers. There was, he knew, no greater feeling in the world.
    Ashton’s party was light; they carried just a platoon mortar and three light automatics as they moved swiftly, their khukris out, dodging branches that blocked their way and slicing their way through the undergrowth. Knowing that he had a good scout, Ashton was confident of the way and did not feel the need to look at his compass.
    They covered about six miles before they began climbing. They chose a difficult route through a re-entrant, so they could be shielded from view. With daybreak, they could clearly see where the sun’s rays penetrated the thick canopy of trees. They reached the top of the hill, which was shaped like an elongated sausage, and worked their way along its spine, fifty metres below the crest. At around 3 p.m., they reached the edge of the feature and halted, the men fanning out and the scouts moving cautiously ahead. The scouts came back after some time.
    ‘The camp is visible below,’ Ashton’s corporal reported. ‘There seem to be fifteen or twenty of them. Not a very disciplined group; they have a fire going, with much smoke rising from it. And clothes have been hung out to dry.’
    ‘Any lookouts?’ his company commander asked.
    ‘Not that we can tell. There was one on this hill – we could make out from the cinders – but not for two weeks, at least.’ The corporal paused, looking at the sergeant. ‘And sahib… ’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘There are some women and children too,’ he said, hastily adding, ‘not many.’
    Major Ashton made no comment. Instead, he quickly called out the names of the men he wanted with him. They followed the scouts, crawling through the rocks and dirt till they reached the edge of the hill, from where they could see the insurgent camp. It lay almost 150 metres directly below them across a small rivulet which skirted it. The camp had at one time been a cluster of storehouses for a rubber plantation, which now lay abandoned because of the insurgency. It consisted of three long, barrack-like structures with thatched roofs; stakes driven into the ground marked its perimeter. Ashton allowed the men to take a good look. Then they all drew back and made a quick plan.
    The men prepared their beds after washing down a pre-cooked meal with the bitter, plastic-tasting sterilized water from their bottles. Ashton lay with his head on his rucksack and dozed, waking up in the middle of the night and longing for a cigarette; his eyes stung where the sweat from his brow had washed down some insect repellant. There was a movement. Ashton made out the restless form of Duggy next to him. So the sergeant too had trouble sleeping, he thought.
    ‘ Huzoor …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘There is no other way; it has to be this or nothing.’
    Ashton thought