If you want to read the story from the beginning, click here. (https://wp.me/p2b25R-fw)

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The flight to Udaipur is short. We are served a snack of samosa and a soft drink. Uncle Mayur has arranged two rental cars for us. They come with English-speaking drivers.

“You are going to need two cars,” Uncle Mayur had said. “You need not depend on anyone for moving around the town. I know this car rental company. You will be in good hands.”

We stay at the Shiv Niwas Palace, which was the former residence of the Maharaja of Udaipur, Rajasthan. It is located on the banks of Lake Pichola. The luxury hotel is part of the City Palace complex. We learn that the current Maharaja resides in an independent unit at the other end of the Palace. It is also interesting, as we come to know later, that since its conversion into a hotel, it has hosted, among others, Queen Elizabeth II, the King of Nepal, the Shah of Iran, and Jacqueline Kennedy. Some scenes from the James Bond movie Octopussy were shot here.

We plan to stay at the hotel for the duration of Lakshmi’s wedding. I predict the pre-wedding preparations, various celebratory events, and the wedding itself would take a week. It has rained quite a bit in Udaipur, and the lake is full. It is a spectacular sight from the balcony of our suite that overlooks the lake. I will be happy to sit in the gallery and while away the day looking at the lake.

Once we are settled, we visit the Joshis. They live in a suburb. It takes us about an hour to drive. As we are waiting for our cars in the hotel lobby, Mom reminds Dad to ask Mr. Joshi about the catering situation.

“I’ll ask him at the appropriate moment,” Dad answers patiently. “I don’t want to embarrass him.”

Their house is a two-level bungalow covered with bougainvillea and surrounded by a mortar fence. We wait for the watchman to open a metal gate for us. As we pull into their driveway, another servant approaches and opens the car doors for us. First, he opens the door for Dad, who is sitting in the second row (no one is supposed to sit in the passenger seat by the chauffeur) with Mom in one of the cars, and then the rest of us. The servant is wearing a white cotton pajama, a checkered long-sleeve shirt, and a pair of sandals that show signs of wear and tear. He salutes each of us as we get out of the car.

Mr. Joshi is standing at the door to welcome us. He says Namaste to Dad and Mom. No handshakes. He waits for all of us to enter and then follows us. The living room is modestly furnished. There is a sofa along one wall, a glass coffee table in front, and wooden chairs on each side. A copy of The Times of India and the Indian edition of Time magazine is placed neatly on the table. A bookcase with a glass door is placed along the opposite wall, displaying English and local books in Hindi. A daybed is along the wall to the left of the sofa. It has two long bolster pillows. The walls are decorated with framed family photographs and a calendar. A nearby door has a thin curtain, and it leads to the interior of the house.

Mrs. Joshi joins us. The servant who opened the car doors for us brought extra chairs. As we are all standing, Mr. Joshi points to the sofa and the chairs.

“Please, come. Have a seat.”

Mr. Joshi enquires about our flight and wants to know where we are staying and whether we are comfortable.

Dad fills him in on the details.

A lady servant brings a tray full of snacks and tea. Mrs. Joshi pours tea into small cups with saucers and hands them to each of us. She starts filling small plates with the snacks, chakli, and badam halva, but we say we will wait.

Mrs. Joshi looks at Lakshmi approvingly. Lakshmi is wearing a yellow sari with a matching blouse. Mom has helped her with a modest makeup. Mom and Dad had a WhatsApp video call with the Joshis, but this is the first in-person visit with the soon-to-be in-laws for Lakshmi. She is a bit nervous.

“Aakash will be arriving tomorrow,” she says. “He had to work until the last day before departure. Sometimes he works two days straight without a break.”

Lakshmi nods and keeps quiet.

“I understand you are also going to be a doctor.” Mr. Joshi turns to Krishna as he speaks.

“Yes, Uncle,” Krishna says quietly. “That is the plan.”

I notice a bit of reticence in his tone. He squirms in his chair.

Dad cannot resist commenting.

“The University of Virginia is a good school, you know,” Dad adds. “It has a well-recognized medical program. It is not easy to get into their program.”

“I’m sure it is,” Mr. Joshi agrees. “You have a smart son.”

Krishna looks uncomfortable at the ongoing discussion.

“And I am trying to convince Arjun here to be an Engineer.” Dad continues.

“Array Wah! Excellent Vijay Ji. A doctor and an Engineer. What a combination.”

I am not comfortable with the ongoing conversation. I do not want to say anything. I wish Dad hadn’t said that.

I can see Mom is quiet but is getting restless. Perhaps she is wondering when Dad will ask about the caterer. Why are we wasting time in this small talk? She raises her head slightly as she looks at Dad. Dad gets the message.

“Uh, Girish Ji. We have a question.” Dad says as he turns to face Mr. Joshi.

“Yes.”

“It’s about the catering situation. Do you have any updates?”

“Arey, Hey Bhagavan. I’m so sorry. I apologize. I should have mentioned it at the first thing. Not to worry. It’s all settled.” Mr. Joshi appears genuinely sorry.  

“Our son Varun did an extensive search on the computer. You know how young people are savvy with technology. He found a new caterer just starting up in Udaipur.”

“A new business? How can they be reliable?”

“Yes. Their name is Renu Caterers. They claim to have catered for Government events. He has read the reviews and talked to a few customers. All reviews were good.”

“That’s good to know. What kind of food do they cater?” Dad wants to know more details.

“A lot of variety. North Indian, South Indian, Jain, Indo-China fusion, vegetarian, and non-vegetarian. But the best part is they have the means of catering to large gatherings.”

Mom is listening quietly. Dad looks at her as she slowly shakes her head up and down. Perhaps Mr. Joshi notices the hesitancy.

“What do you say if Ruta, Sharada Bhabi, you, and I visit them in person and settle things?” He adds

A few minutes later, Mrs. Joshi escorts Mom and Lakshmi inside. Possibly to continue the ladies’ talk. It’s only us men sitting in the living room outside.

 “So, what are your plans otherwise?” Mr. Joshi asks Dad once the catering situation is out of the way.

“We are here to help you in any way you want us,” Dad answers. “A wedding is a big event. A million things can go wrong. It needs a lot of help.”

“We have booked the wedding hall and ordered the flowers, garlands, and the program for the Mehndi (Henna) application and the Sangeet (Music) night are finalized.” Mr. Joshi adds with confidence to show that he has everything under control.

Dad is listening quietly. We also keep our silence. There is nothing we can add.

“How about the Pandit ji? What kind of ceremony will he be performing?” Dad asks Mr. Joshi, showing concern. “We want to make sure all the steps in the ceremony are covered.” 

“Not to worry. Our Shastri Ji is very accommodating. I will introduce you to him, and we can work out a common deal.”

“It’s good to know that,” Dad responds. “We should meet him as soon as possible. In addition, you know how it is. Nowadays, young people want to make sure everything is to their taste. We want to visit the places you have selected and have Lakshmi take a look. She has the final say. It is her wedding and Aakash’s, of course.”

“Well, of course. Aakash will be here tomorrow. Maybe we can all take a tour of these places together.”

I realize Mom, Dad, and Lakshmi have their work cut out for them for the rest of the week. Krishna and I are willing to help them if they want; otherwise, we are left to ourselves, at least for the first couple of days.

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The next day, Mom, Dad, and Lakshmi take off in one of the cars to meet the Joshis. Krishna and I decide to stay behind. We have a hearty breakfast at the restaurant. The waiters are wearing a white uniform with a yellow cummerbund around their waist and a matching turban. Their politeness is endearing. I am surprised by the abundance of fruits and cheeses presented. The masala omelet, with coriander, green chilies, onions, and other condiments, is just like Mom makes at home.

After breakfast, we walk to the main lobby. The driver of the second rented car is wiping the car to keep himself busy. Upon seeing us, he straightens himself. We are so glad he can speak English.

“Good morning, Sahib,” he says politely as he raises his right hand to his lips. “Where would you like to go?”

We ask him what the attractions are in the city. He rattles off a list: a boat ride in the lake, a visit to the garden, the Jain temple, etc., and lastly the vintage collection of classic cars owned by the Maharaja. We are curious about the cars. We decide to go there first. It’s only a few minutes’ drive.

The museum is a stand-alone building with a brick-and-mortar fence. Each car is parked in an individual garage and is sparkling clean. We hire a guide who explains the unique features of each automobile. I recognize some cars by their logo: the Mercedes-Benz, Chevrolet, and Ford. Other automobiles are from some European brands. All of the cars are from model years dating back to the 1960s.

We listen patiently. Krishna takes pictures with his Nikon camera.

“Anyone drive these cars?” I ask. “Or are these just for show?”

“Yes, Sir. These are not for show. The Maharaja drives them,” the guide answers. “Every year, on Independence Day, the Maharaja takes the cars out.”

“All of them?” Krishan asks.

“Yes, Sir. All of them. There is a procession, and people line up along the streets to see the caravan.”

“I wish Mom, Dad, and Lakshmi were with us to see this,” I say to Krishna.

“Yes. Dad would have liked the vintage cars.”

We are not interested in visiting temples and gardens, but want to explore some things on our own. The next day, we tell the driver we would not need him. We walk along the grounds of the palace. Around the corner from our building, a block away, we see a group of soldiers, about twenty of them dressed in brown military uniforms with matching turbans, each with a tussle, standing in two rows with their leader in front facing them. We wonder whether they are part of the palace guard or the Maharaja’s military. Upon seeing us, the leader gives a command, and all the soldiers stamp their feet, straighten their guns, and stand erect. For the next ten minutes, we watch them perform various routines as dictated by the leader. I am impressed to see soldiers in person. How would I look in a military uniform? I wonder. Did they put up the show because they realized we are from abroad and needed this demonstration to impress us? As their routine stops, we approach the leader and shake hands with him. We tell him how much we were impressed and wished him and his platoon well.

We saunter down the ramp to the left of our hotel to the waterfront and take a boat ride on Lake Pichola. The cool breeze against my face is refreshing. We could see the city of Udaipur with the palatial buildings lined along the coast. Above in the sky, birds fly in a flock.  

On return, we walk down the ramp on the other side of our hotel. It leads to a crowded street with small shops, little bigger than a walk-in closet, all lined up in a row. They are selling knick-knacks, fountain pens, and clothes. Some repair watches. People are hurrying to wherever they are headed. A group of bicycle rickshaws is huddled in a corner waiting for customers. Some young boys are just loitering. Cars, buses, and bicycles are all taking up the same street.

We walk along the street in one direction so as not to lose our way and get lost. If we are lost, very few would understand us if we ask for directions in English. I take pictures of the street vendors, and of a cook frying  Kachoris in a big Kadai. He obliges by giving me a beaming smile, showing his stained, crooked teeth. The kachoris look so appetizing, and I want to try one. Krishna advises against doing that for fear of getting infected or us getting diarrhea or something. Well, he is going to be a doctor, so he should know, I say to myself.

It is four o’clock in the afternoon, and we are getting hungry. We’ve had enough of Indian food. We want to try something else. So, we walk up to the City Palace Complex, which is square in shape with buildings on each side of the square and a huge open space in the middle. It has a museum on one side and more shops opposite it. Young couples are entering the museum or shopping. There is a small restaurant on the side facing the museum offering international cuisine, including pizza. Behind the restaurant is the Maharaja’s private residence. Directly across from the restaurants, on the other side of the square, is an office building.

I sit at the snack counter with Krishna. The snack bar also has sandwiches and Kingfisher beer, a staple in India. I am not of age to drink alcohol, but here in India, they don’t check. As long as Krishna does not tell anyone, I am okay.

I look around from the counter where I am sitting. I notice a small brown dog, a Dachshund, with fiercely intense eyes, making rounds from one end of the complex that has the office to the Maharaja’s private residence behind the restaurant.

The dog seems as if he is on a mission — going back and forth between the two ends of the complex. His gait is straight, and he has a stern stare. I imagine him saying, “Don’t mess with me“.

“Did you see that?” I ask Krishna.

“No. I didn’t. What?” he asks. He has no idea what I am talking about.

“That dog. He keeps making rounds back and forth from the office across,” I say.

“So, big deal. Maybe he’s just a stray dog, wandering.” Krishna is not impressed. He is enjoying his beer and doesn’t even look where I am pointing.

“No. Look at the dog’s determination, the spring in his steps,” I say, trying to make him look.

“It’s just a dog.”

I can’t take my eyes off the dog. Every time he passes us.  He moves as if he is on a critical mission, and no one can come in his way. “I bet if he walked on two feet and someone gave him a gun, he’d look like a soldier.”

“A soldier dog, huh?” says Krishna

“Truly,” I say.

The waiter is standing in front of us, wiping his hands on a cloth wrapped around his waist. I ask him whether he has noticed the dog.

“Oh. Yes,” he replies. “He’s a regular. We call him Bahadur, a hero. He’s the Maharaja’s dog. The Maharaja’s office is at the other end of the Palace Complex. Bahadur makes rounds between the office and the residence.”

“Doing what?” I am curious.

“He’s a trained soldier dog. He has served in the Indian army, maneuvering through the battlefields carrying messages where the soldiers couldn’t go.”

“Wow. I didn’t know dogs could do that.”

“Yes, they do. Bahadur is the Maharaja’s favorite. He adores him.”

I’m amazed to learn that a dog can be like a soldier working in the service of his country.

I think of the book I had with me, Cracker! The Best Dog in Vietnam. Now I am anxious to read it.

The next morning, I sit on the balcony of my room overlooking the lake and start reading about the adventures of Cracker. I learn that he was trained to identify bombs and traps by just sniffing. The more I read, the more I am getting acquainted with military life. The movie I saw on the plane, and now coming across Bahadur. The impressive drill we witnessed this morning.

The valor and sacrifice of the soldiers in service to the country seemed to me to be more valuable than an office job. There is a risk and threat to your life in the military, but if one is lucky and brave, the rewards are immeasurable. In one month, I will be joining college. So, what is it going to be for me? Training for a cushy corporate job with potential for richness or a military career with adventure, risk of death, or potential to achieve glory? My mind is spinning.

Author note: Thank you for reading the story. I would appreciate if you leave a note in the comments tab below.

To read chapter 24 click here. https://wp.me/p2b25R-kk