Battle In a Dungeon

The friction between my eyelids had increased dramatically as it ached for a little bit of peaceful sleep and my head throbbed at the memory of the nightmare filled night. The nightmare had been undoubtedly that of the battle I was going to fight today. The battle that may not decide the fate of anyone else but me. The dress was ironed and laid down on the bed. A simple shirt and blue denims and a hoodie to save me from the harsh winds of winter. My eyes betrayed me and those pieces of clothes felt like bullet proofs and chain mail coats. Wearing them on was yet another big hurdle I had to surpass before setting off for the journey. The plan was clear enough and was discussed over and over again with the seniors, super seniors and my batch mates. The blue print was by hearted, the dialogues mugged up and the operation was cemented into the complex nooks of my brain. Still something somewhere felt like the jerk of a funny bone and was quite distressing in an amusing way.

The identity of the villain was masked well enough to create enough turmoil in the weeny bodies like ours. The villain was none other than the person who was supposed to fire at us. Whose blows we were supposed to block, dodge or react upon. Our fate depended on him. Breakfast felt like bits of gravel inside the mouth and the way it crunched in between my teeth made me cringe. The day was rather a big spoiler. Seeing my batch mates ready to face the new firing squad and his questions made me more overwhelmed of the entire situation.

My friend pressed the fifth floor button on the lift that was even smaller than a washroom.  The machine was about to go into motion that a man stopped it and entered. His pot belly moved ahead of him into the lift and there he stood with a five-eight ft of pride.  I stretched my neck to find a bald head with tiny weak hair making their way out to the world though that would take an eternity. I proudly looked at my ebony black hair that hung on a lose ponytail and reached my waist and smirked at the thought that I had better hair than him! Who cares I was just four-nine. Well, that isn’t too bad, is it? He pushed the fourth floor button with those stubby fingers, a little more pressure and I swear the button would have stopped working. He looked straight into nothing and it seemed to him that other people did not exist in that same machine, and his air of pride put me off. It was the way of the big people right: not noticing the small ones around. The fear of the battle made me pray hard for this goddamn machine to stop working because of the weight of this proud old man and to get stuck somewhere before the fifth floor. When I took a break from my persuading prayers I noticed that his left over hair that had failed to shed was unnaturally black. Surely dyed…I mouthed to myself but before I could reach to a conclusion about that little piece of secret I had unearthed seconds ago, fourth floor reached and he got down. My last hope for the lift to get stuck was gone.

The battle was surely decided to happen, there was no turning away there was no going back. Each steps felt heavy as I trudged along with my friend. How I wanted to flee from that arena of ominous silence. Room number 54 was just in front of us and I stepped in. It was empty but the morning sun rays made it look warm and welcoming. Though the events set to take place here wasn’t full of warmth. Soldiers of my batch marched in one by one, their faces clearly betraying the fear they were trying to hide. My friend took my hand to say that she was nervous but the frozen cells on my palm made her quiver with fear. She only felt a part of what I was feeling.

Our mentor came in and threw us an all knowing glance.

“So…are you prepared?” he asked.

Though we desperately wanted to say ‘No’ we didn’t. Instead repeated the phrase that one gets totally used to in a worn out student life.

“Yes Sir.” we cooed in unison.

“Great, so let me tell you who the external is…its Mr….” before he could complete and reveal the most awaited name, a phone call interrupted the conversation.

We eavesdropped parts of it but couldn’t get to know that name.

“Let’s go to the ground floor.” Our mentor said, his expression was quite clear enough to reveal that the villain of this epic was waiting there to slaughter us one by one. We made a trail behind him and followed, quietly revising the plan and the ways of dodging the probable blows. The end was quite near, not our end but the end of the stairs to the ground floor, not to mention that both meant the same. We reach there: end of stairs, end of us. The way ahead was dark, dimly lit by the yellow bulbs. Our mentor entered the room and the name we dreaded the most was embossed on the door. The villain was none other than the chief commando of our entire force, who only trained our super seniors.

Now this was going to be one little spectacle to be witnessed. The order of our names was put up, I was on the third. The first soldier marched in and the cabin door closed. More than five minutes passed and he hadn't returned yet, my palm was turning sweaty and beads of perspiration formed on my forehead. The whole batch was growing worried when the door creaked open. Our soldier came out alive but severely injured. The next one went in and mean while everyone hurried around him to hear the story of his victory or fall. I couldn't hear a thing as my heart had shifted its position into my throat and I could hear the lubb-dubb so very clearly. A few sweaty, nervous minutes ticked by and the door creaked again. There came our second soldier this one a little less wounded. The little optimism I had within took charge and I knew that there was a chance of survival, though just that of the strength of a spider silk.

I entered the room. No I should say I entered the dungeon. There were no warm rays of sun, forget sunlight there was hardly any light in it. The measurement of the room felt even smaller that the dingy lift I had shared with the fat man with all those furniture fitted forcefully inside. As it happens in old dramatic movies, the spot light fell on the villain. He smiled but I didn't return the favor, not out of curtness but fear. I was to pick a lot to decide which skill I was going to exhibit there. As per the lot I had to fire with left hand. Now that wasn't something I was so good at. Of all the skills I mastered this was one I felt my hands tremble in. I began and in the process had to show all that I had studied till date.

The external fired me continuously, I dodged some but some of my body parts fell prey to the cunning bullets. He threw grenades and I ducked. The war went on for almost ten minutes and he asked me to stop. I did, happily that all had ended. Before I got up he reminded me that I hadn’t sipped my coffee. That’s when I noticed that I had been offered a cup of coffee. Taking the cup in my hand I thanked my mentor and the external and moved out. I could hear someone’s heart thumping in the throat hearing the door creak.

The next soldier entered as I finished the coffee, the caffeine soothing my vein and warming up the blood once again. I walked towards the bin to dispose the cup when someone called out to me. It was my super senior.

“How did your French oral exam go?” he asked.

“Wasn’t even a bit less than a Kargil war.” I said

He smirked at the evident usage of irony and mouthed a bye in French , which I repeated right after. I saw him go and made my way back to the room where nervous soldiers were waiting to hear my version of the battle in search of a chance for survival of course.