About fifteen minutes after Mahindra stalked off, a whistle blew to signal that rifle cleaning was over. The platoons marched off to return their rifles to the armory, and they all passed by poor Akhtar kneeling miserably by the side, ears ringing, head pounding, blushing with embarassment. Not that Akhtar was modest by any means. Normally he was a born exhibitionist, but it was humiliating to be kneeling on the filthy parade ground, the dust from marching soldiers' feet blowing into his pretty girlish face.
The rest of the soldiers went inside. They bathed. And then it was time for games. The soldiers worn thick white vests, khaki shorts, socks and tennis shoes (what Americans would call sneakers). The NCOs wanted to inculcate a spirit of collective loyalty, and so the games were inevitably team sports.
The first game was kabbadi. A recruit from one team would run over to the other team, mumbling under his breath the word "kabbadi." If he ever stopped saying the word "kabbadi," he would be out. His object was to grab a recruit from another team and drag him over back to his team's side, never ceasing to say "kabbadi." Lots were drawn, and Ramesh was the first one chosen.
Ramesh darted across the space between the recruits chanting, "Kabbadi, kabaddi, kabaddi, " eyes darting from side to side to seize up the recruits from the other platoon who were scattering at his approach. One daring Kannadiga boy with a delicate fair complexion and large black eyes, circled behind Ramesh and playfully swatted him on the ass with his palm. The sting of the slap on his behind, and Ramesh's erotic arousal at seeing the cute boy Baliga who had swatted him made Ramesh cease chanting the talismanic word.
The punishment for being out was that he had to run the gauntlet of the opposite team. The recruits from the other team lined up, some of them giggling with delight. After all the punishment they had endured, it was enjoyable to be getting their own back. While they might have been embarassed to hit one of their friends, Ramesh was essentially a stranger to them. They saw him on the parade ground and so on, but each platoon basically kept to itself.
Ramesh bent double and as quickly as possible began running down the row of boys who had been lined up in two long rows. As he ran, soft young boyish hands, black hands, golden hands, hairy hands, white hands, soft yellowish Nepali hands hastily slapped down, getting his arse, getting his back, some even gently clouted his head. And then mercifully he was at the end of the row. Waiting for him there was one of the other NCOs from the other team. But mercifully he did not have his swagger stick. With a broad grin, the NCO just a couple of years older than Ramesh grabbed the recruit by his soft black nose, and twisting his nose (though not very hard) with one hand slapped him with the palm of his hand twice on the face. The slaps were more flirtatious than painful, "Baanchooth, " the NCO joked, "You and your platoon members are women compared to my group."
"Oh yes, " Guruswamy yelled back playfully. "We'll see the game has just begun."
Baliga was the next soldier to draw a lot. He cunningly pretended to be heading toward Devaya but then at the last minute changed direction and rushed toward Venugopal. He grabbed Venugopal around the waist and began dragging him back to the other side. Venugopal struggled in his grasp. Their crotches rubbed against each other. They both fell on the dusty parade ground. Baliga was on top of Venugopal. The Tamilian could feel a distinct bulge in the Kannadiga's khahi shorts as he lay on top of him, mumbling "Kabbadi, kabbadi, kabbadi." Then Venugopal turned over on this front and tried to scramble away, but the Kannadiga had his legs and was dragging him back to the other side. At one point, he seemingly pointlessly slid his soft white hand up Venugopal's shorts, and Venugopal's warm upper thighs felt the pleasurable sensation of his soft cool white hands (he had washed them at the tap before the beginning of the game) resting pervishly on his soft black skin. (In his erotic excitement, the hairy perv has lost all control of grammar. Pronouns are getting vaguer and vaguer as the bulge in his shorts is getting more and more definite.)
All the while poor Akhtar knelt on the parade ground, his knees aching. At one point, he had tried to rest on his haunches, but a passing NCO had yelled at him, and he had quickly straightened up. The last thing he needed was further punishment.
Like Ramesh, Venugopal had to run the gauntlet. But to relieve the tedium, the NCO told one of his team members, Kurian (the cute Malayali who Venugopal had seen kneeling in the sun some hours ago) to get a switch before Venugopal ran the gauntlet. So after being heartily slapped by all the soldiers on the opposite team Venugopal got two or three playful blows from the NCOs switch. Sharp and stinging though the blows were, Venugopal was a little distracted because his mind was still on the unexpected pleasure that Baliga's caressing hands had aroused in him. Ah the enduring pleasures of faggotry!