Later that day, a member of 8th Battalion sought me out. I had walked down to the stream once more and was watching the sun glistening off the water. We had been ordered to head for Dunkirk, and I was killing time, my duties done. When I first saw the soldier, I thought he meant me harm, but I was wrong.
“I wanted to apologise for Watkins,” he said, holding out his hand.
I shook it and shrugged, as the man sat next to me and pulled out a tobacco pipe. He tapped it against a rock several times, before inspecting it.
“There is nothing to apologise for,” I replied. “He was tired, I’m sure.”
“He’s a pain in the backside,” said the man, filling his pipe. “You’re not the first person he’s insulted. We met some Senegalese chaps, fighting for Frenchie, and he took exception to them too. I’m Lieutenant Cummings, by the way.”
“Private Khan,” I replied. “Company 32 of Force K-6, Royal Indian Army Service Corps. Glad to meet you, sir.”
“Rehearsing for when we’re all taken prisoner?” joked Cummings.
“Is our situation so awful?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Cummings replied. “We’ve been fighting a rear-guard action for days. If we move any further north, we’ll become fish. We’ve sustained major losses – men and armaments, and the Germans have got the beating of us. The situation could not be more serious, Khan.”
“I was thinking the same thing, sir,” I admitted, as I watched a brown mouse scurry across the opposite bank and disappear into a hole at the foot of an ancient tree. “And I’m fearful of what lies ahead.”
“You’re being sent to Dunkirk?”
“Yes,” I told him. “After which, there is no land.”
“Can you swim, Private Khan?”
“A little,” I admitted. “Not enough to call it swimming.”
“Then, here’s hoping we don’t have to swim for it!” he jested.
He was tall and broad shouldered in his uniform, with sand-coloured, oiled hair and a wide, bulbous nose. His eyes were the palest blue I’d ever seen, and his forehead and cheeks freckled. His moustache was neat and clipped, and oiled too, and he had a deep pink scar across his left jawline. After a while, he spoke again.
“Always wondered what India was like.”
I smiled at him.
“It is a beautiful place, sir,” I told him. “My region is rich with fertile soil and plentiful rivers. And the weather is far better. The food, too, although you may disagree.”
“Where are you from?”
“Rawalpindi, in the north.”
“Ah,” he said. “I’m from the English Midlands. A place called Malvern Wells. I miss it.”
“I miss my home, too,” I replied.
“Wife, children?” asked Cummings.
“No,” I told him. “I am too young. You?”
Cummings seemed a little forlorn.
“My wife is called Ida, and we have Harry and James,” he replied. “And little Beatrice – she’s three years old. I fear that I may never see them again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I told him.
“Do you ever worry that we might not make it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But that decision rests with someone else. I will simply carry out my duty. If I am to meet my end, so be it.”
“Don’t Hindustani’s believe in reincarnation?” said Cummings.
“I am a Muslim, sir,” I explained. “We do not believe in that. We believe in Paradise, much like a Christian Heaven.”
Cummings glanced at me.
“Thanks for clearing up my ignorance,” he said, his expression genuine. “I’m fascinated by other religions and cultures. Met a Buddhist in London last year. A very fine fellow. I’m not sure I believe in anything, however. War certainly shakes a man’s faith.”
“It does,” I replied. “But we must try, sir.”
“Perhaps I will visit India one day,” he said. “When all of this madness ends, of course. Seems a distant dream, just now.”
We sat a little longer, before I heard Mush calling for me.
“I must go, sir,” I said. “Thank you for sitting with me.”
“No, no,” said Cummings. “The pleasure was all mine. Bonne chance, as the French would say.”
“Does that mean good luck?” I asked.
“Indeed,” Cummings replied.
“Then bonne chance to you, too, sir.”
Captain Ashdown gathered us together and broke the news we had expected. We were ready to move, and he wanted us to be aware of what might await us. His translator stood by him, as always.
“The Germans have outflanked us,” he admitted. “They are now east and south of us, and drawing in. I’ve spoken to Command, and it seems we’re in a pickle.”
Beside me, Mush began to chuckle.
“So very English,” he whispered. “Why does pickle signify danger to these people? My wife’s pickle is dangerous but only because she puts so much chilli into it!”
“Idiot!” I whispered in return.
“Operation Dynamo has been given the go-ahead,” Captain Ashdown continued. “We will make our way to Dunkirk, and there, we will be evacuated to England…”
The men began to murmur. Some wore fearful expressions – wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“As long as we stick together and follow orders, we will stand a good chance,” the Captain added. “But I must warn you that the road will be difficult, and we will face great danger.”
He cleared his throat.
“This is not what we expected, men, and certainly not ideal,” he said. “But, our orders are clear, and we must obey them. We move out in five minutes.”
Again, the men murmured fearfully, and I took Mush aside.
“This is nothing but a retreat,” he told me. “There is no honour in this!”
“It is practical,” I countered. “We must survive.”
“We should turn and fight,” said Mush. “We cannot run away like beaten dogs.”
I sighed.
“What else can we do?” I asked. “We are beaten.”
Part of me felt as Mush did, but I was also excited at the prospect of visiting England and seeing its glory for myself. My grandfather had been hospitalised in Brighton during the Great War, and I longed to see it and London too. I wondered if I might get the chance. Mush seemed agitated, however, and remained angry.
“So much for this great British army,” he whispered. “How did they ever seize our country?”
I kept quiet and left him there, fuming. I found my mules and checked them one last time.
“Here we go again,” I said to Baba, as I heard the call to ship out. “Don’t worry, friend. I will not leave you behind.”
Baba nudged me with his head, and I patted his haunches in return. A hundred yards away, Cummings held up his hand in farewell. I returned the gesture before setting off.