Two men, both soldiers, Thakurs and almost like brothers in every way, squared off in the village street. They had guns in their hands and blood in the eye. Words were not enough, swearing was not enough, and threats to kill were not enough. It had to be to the death. As Thakurs and as faujis they had fought Pakistan in 1965, and they knew the way fights with guns could go. But neither would back off.Intoxicated with bhang, instigated by their women, they faced each other—brothers w