‘Bhai, can you please get us a guide for a city tour? For tomorrow morning? We are on a business trip from Delhi, but who does not want to explore this beautiful city on their first trip?’ Atharv laughed to the bellboy who showed the two men to their room.

‘Of course, sir, no problem,’ the bellboy responded before bidding the duo a good night.

‘Good morning, sir, this is Dhaval Singh. Sorry to wake you at 8 in the morning,’ the man at the door said and gave a toothy smile.

‘Yes? Good morning,’ a bleary-eyed Atharv could barely come up with a response. They had checked into the hotel at 2 a.m., so sleep, more than anything else, was on his mind.

‘I am the tour guide, sir,’ Dhaval said.

‘Oh yes, sure. Please give me half an hour, then we will leave. You have a cab?’

‘Yes, sir. The agency provides a car, a driver and me, all at your cost,’ Dhaval said.

The smile never leaves his face, Atharv thought.

‘Okay, thank you,’ Atharv said and closed the door.

Atharv could hear Sameer snoring.

Half an hour later, the two men were in the hotel parking lot.

‘Dehradun is at an elevation of 435 metres above sea level and is the most breathtaking gift of nature in the lower Himalayan mountain ranges. It is the gateway to the famous hill station of Mussoorie and to the pilgrimage sites of Haridwar and Rishikesh. Dehradun is the capital of Uttarakhand and was the apple of the British Raj’s eye,’ Dhaval began as soon as the car, a blue Wagon R, drove out of the Happy Valley Hotel’s parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later, on the Chakrata–Dehradun highway, the Wagon R stopped on the side of the road. They were outside the IMA campus, which was split into two sections, one on either side of the road. On both sides, the view was enchanting. To the left was the north campus, its red boundary wall stretching out on either side of an impressive entrance gate flanked by cannons. This was the famous Drona Dwar. Beyond the parade ground was a rectangular official complex with a dark sloping roof. From the middle of the roof, a white watchtower rose at least twenty feet high.

‘This is the Indian Army’s cradle of leadership, the IMA. Since the early 1930s, around 90,000 officers have been trained here, including many from west Asia, southeast Asia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Sri Lanka and Nepal,’ Dhaval said proudly. ‘That big building with the grey sloping roof is known as Chetwode Hall, while the ground in front of it is the Drill Square. The famous Passing Out Parade happens there.’

‘Right. Do they allow visitors inside?’ Atharv asked.

‘No, you need special permission to go inside,’ Dhaval said.

‘Okay,’ Atharv said. As they drove on past IMA, Atharv noticed the sporadic presence of military personnel and, further away, the local police.