“Aap aaj raat ko yahin rukk jaiye? Main aage chala jata hoon”, Bravo-not-victor (I’ll explain the moniker as we go along) told us.
We had woken up that morning prepped to fly on the ALH-Dhruv to Panisagar in North Tripura and 15 hours later found ourselves in the Gomati district in the reverse direction.
The weather played truant and after a 30 minute flight we returned to Agartala. As I mulled over my options, the Deputy Commandant entrusted with ‘babysitting’ us said,” I can ask the 10th Battalion. Your shots of patrolling with mosquito nets may get done. But it is a drive of 3-4 hours to their headquarters.”
S, my shorts-on-shoot comrade, looked at me. Three hours, we thought, was a breeze. And what option did we have.
A bone-jarring teeth-rattling 3 hours later, we had crossed the two of Udaipur and reached the idylic Maharanicherra. That we thought would be our night halt. It was 3 in the afternoon and the sunsets by half past four.
Bravo-not-victor, the 2-I-C, who was now our sitter chipped in: “You’ll find nothing here. We should head to Maharaja.”
“How far is Maharaja?” I furtively enquired. 80-odd kilometres… Good, I thought… we’ll be there in an hour. Nada… it took well over 3 hours in a 4×4 Bolero- that was equipped to handle the off-roads in this wild east.
We had managed to reach Rajbari, a border outpost from where the fence could be seen. Maharaja was further ahead but the road had been washed away. We were told the good old Gypsy being smaller and lighter might make the climb but the Bolero wouldn’t.
It was already sundown and there was little that could be shot. Bravo-not-victor said it was Maharaja (BOPs) officer in-charge’s birthday. He was headed down… “Dine here with us and then head up with him.”
So we stayed… some merriment and a sumptuous dinner later, a small fact came to light — Rajbari was the last BOP with electricity (oh yes, and it had a VIP room).
I wondered how a 100 men survived there without electricity. Stoically the officer-in-charge told us: “We have some to manage with from the generator. But getting diesel up is also an ordeal. Rains have washed some of the roads off. I got some of my men to drive stakes in the road and covered that with tin sheets. It’s makeshift but at least the Gypsy can go up and come down.”
S was looking at me, almost like my wife would, when she wanted me to understand something she wanted done, but didn’t want her in-laws in on it.
“Charge kaise hoga?” he hissed.
That must’ve caught Bravo-Not Victor’s ears. Because what followed was unprecedented. “Aap aaj raat ko yahin ruk jaiye? Main aage chala jata hoon.”
He’s a senior officer. I feebly said we’d manage just fine.But he insisted. It had started pouring— and with the road already in the condition it was – there was a good chance – they may have to trek.
Rajbari’s officer in charge, Rao, had disappeared. He was getting some of the men to tidy the VIP room, seeing if the AC works, etc.
Here are some of the shots we got next morning.
Here are some of the shots we got next morning.
That we managed some very interesting shots is courtesy these very hospitable men of the ‘Dumdaar Dus’.
I doff my hat to them…
PS: Bravo-Not-Victor – the moniker explained. When I was first introduced to Second in Command (2-I-C) Virendra Bajpai, I shook his hand and said, “Nice of you to make such arrangements for us at a short notice, My Vajpayee.” He smiled warmly and said, “Surname is Bravo not Victor.”
