The scent of burning mustard oil lamps hung heavy in the air as Naina Rao sat cross-legged on the cool mud floor, deftly threading tiny silver beads onto a fragile anklet. The dim light from a lone lamp cast flickering shadows across the room, its golden glow dancing on the rough, earthen walls. Across from her, her mother worked in silence, her skilled hands weaving delicate embroidery onto a length of fabric, each stitch a testament to years of practice.
The quiet between them was familiar, comfortingâuntil her father spoke.
"Naina," his deep voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
Something about his tone made her pause. She glanced up, her fingers stilling over the anklet. Both her parents were looking at her now, their expressions unreadable.
"Kal subah tujhe fauj ke training camp ke liye nikalna hoga," he declared, his voice steady, unyielding.
For a moment, she simply stared at him, the words hanging in the air like an echo she couldn't quite grasp. Then, with a small laugh, she shook her head. "Baba, yeh koi mazak hai kya?" she asked, setting the anklet aside.
Her mother did not smile. Her father did not waver.
"Yeh mazak nahi hai, Naina," he said.
The laughter died on her lips.
"Kya?" The single word slipped out in disbelief.
"Teri badi behan ki tarah tujhe bhi sena join karni hogi," her mother spoke at last, her voice low, measured. The needle in her hand did not stop moving, as if stitching cloth was more important than stitching together her daughter's fate. "Naye bharti bulaaye gaye hain. Tujhe bhi jaana padega."
A cold wave crashed over Naina. She felt her breath hitch, her heart hammering in protest.
"Lekin... kyun?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "Mujhe toh kabhi nahi kaha gaya ki mujhe bhi fauj ka hissa banna padega!"
Her father's expression remained impassive, but there was a weight in his eyes. "Yeh faisla humara nahi hai, hukm aa chuka hai," he said.
"Hukm?" The word felt heavy on her tongue. "Aur agar main mana kar doon?"
Her mother finally looked up then, her sharp gaze holding a silent warning. "Ye faisla sirf tera nahi hai, Naina."
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air stifling. Naina's fingers curled into fists at her sides. This wasn't her lifeâher world was made of colors and fabric, of music and laughter, not of rigid discipline and battlefields. She had dreamed of following in her mother's footsteps, creating beauty with her hands, dancing to the melodies her father played on his sitar. Never had she imagined standing in formation, holding a weapon, following orders.
She turned to her father, her voice softer now, laced with quiet desperation. "Baba... aap jaante hain na, main yeh nahi chahti?"
Something flickered in his gazeâhesitation, regret, guilt, perhapsâbut just as quickly, it was gone. His face remained unreadable, his voice firm.
"Chahe ya na chahe, tujhe jaana hoga," he said. "Kal subah."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Naina's gaze darted between her parents, searching for even a shred of hesitation, for any sign that they might change their minds. But there was none.
She was not being asked. She was being sent.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stepped out into the night. The cool breeze brushed against her burning skin, but it did nothing to quell the storm rising inside her.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
The night stretched endlessly above, a vast expanse of ink-black sky speckled with trembling stars. Naina sat on the terrace, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the crescent moon hanging low over the rooftops. A cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and distant jasmine, rustling through her unbraided hair.
This was her refuge.
Ever since she was a child, she had come up here to escapeâto think, to dream, to be alone with her thoughts. The world below, with its endless demands and expectations, seemed distant from this quiet place.
She should have felt at peace, like every other night. But tonight, there was a storm raging inside her.
Her fingers absently traced patterns on the worn fabric of her kurta as her mind raced. Fauj? Main? The words felt foreign, like a cruel joke. She had spent her entire life believing her path would be different from her sister's. That she would weave stories with her hands, not wield weapons. That her battles would be with stubborn threads and intricate designs, not orders barked across a training ground.
She sighed, rubbing her arms as the night air grew colder. She had always hated sleeping inside; the terrace had been her bed for years. Her mother had long since given up scolding her for it, knowing Naina would sneak up here anyway. She would spread out an old cotton sheet, lay her head on a rolled-up shawl, and let the stars watch over her.
Tonight was no differentâexcept everything was different.
She reached for the brass lota of water she had brought with her, taking a slow sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Usually, this was when she would hum a tune, something her father played on his sitar, a melody that lulled her to sleep. But tonight, even music failed her.
Instead, she stared into the distance, towards the unseen future looming ahead. Would she be able to wake up at dawn, march in line, follow orders without question? Would she be able to silence the part of her that craved freedom, that despised rules?
She had never imagined a life where she wasn't free to choose.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. "Mujhe jaana hi hai toh jaungi," she muttered to herself, the words bitter on her tongue. But there was no conviction in them.
Somewhere in the quiet distance, a stray dog barked. A lonely owl hooted from the banyan tree beyond their courtyard. The world carried on as if nothing had changed. But Naina knewâeverything had.
With a deep breath, she lay back on the cool surface of the terrace, her arm draped over her forehead. The stars blinked down at her, indifferent to her turmoil.
Tomorrow, she would leave behind everything she had ever known.
Tomorrow, she would step into a life that wasn't hers.
And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
A firm hand shook Naina's shoulder, pulling her from the depths of sleep. "Naina, uth ja. Chalna hai."
Her mother's voice was quiet but held no room for argument. The world outside was still wrapped in darkness, the only sounds being the distant hoots of an owl and the soft rustling of leaves. Naina groaned and buried her face into the thin cotton pillow, hoping for just a few more moments of peace.
Her mother's hand returned, this time tugging at her blanket. "Subah ke char baj gaye hain. Utho."
Reality struck like a cold splash of water. Today was the day.
She forced her eyes open, blinking against the dim glow of the oil lamp her mother held. Shadows danced on the mud walls of her room, familiar yet eerie in the quiet of the morning. The comforting warmth of her bed tempted her to sink back in, but the weight in her heart reminded her that this was no ordinary morning.
Dragging herself up, she let out a sigh. "Abhi bhi andhera hai, maa," she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Zyada der nahi hai andhere ko mitne mein. Chal ab, der mat kar." Her mother's tone was softer now, but her urgency remained.
With reluctant movements, Naina swung her legs off the cot and placed her feet onto the cool mud floor. The chill of the early morning made her shiver slightly, but she knew it was nothing compared to the cold reality that awaited her.
She moved through her morning routine slowly, trying to savor every moment, even if it was just washing her face with the last bit of comfort from home. The water was cold as she splashed it onto her skin, chasing away the last traces of sleep. The neem twig her mother had placed on the ledge felt bitter as she chewed on it, the sharp taste grounding her against the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.
By the time she stood before the small bronze mirror, tightening the ribbon at the end of her braid, the first hints of dawn were creeping into the sky. Her mother draped a light cotton dupatta over her shoulders, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
Her father's voice came from the doorway. "Chalein? Der ho rahi hai."
Naina took one last look at her roomâthe bed she had just left, the small trunk in the corner, the walls that had watched her grow. It was strange how a place could hold so many memories, yet remain indifferent to her departure.
With a final deep breath, she stepped forward, following her parents out of the house. The village was still asleep, unaware that a part of her childhood was being left behind in the darkness.
The village was still wrapped in the quiet embrace of dawn as Naina followed her parents down the narrow, dusty path leading out of their home. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and smoldering wood from dying night fires. The sky remained a deep shade of indigo, the stars beginning to fade as the first streaks of orange painted the horizon.
Her father walked ahead with his usual purposeful stride, his hands clasped behind his back. Her mother walked beside her, silent, her face unreadable. The only sounds were the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps against the dirt and the occasional distant bark of a dog.
Naina clutched the ends of her dupatta, her mind racing with unspoken words. She had spent all night tossing and turning, hoping to wake up and find this had been a cruel joke. But reality was here, as solid as the path beneath her feet.
A few houses still had flickering lanterns, their golden glow seeping through the cracks in wooden doors. The sight made her chest tighten. Behind those doors, families were still asleep, wrapped in their warm blankets, unaware of the turmoil churning within her. She longed for that comfort, for the familiarity of her home, for the simplicity of yesterday when her only worry was finishing a piece of embroidery or humming the right tune to one of her father's ragas.
A soft wind rustled through the trees as they passed the outskirts of the village. Soon, the dirt road widened, leading toward the small chowk where a lone pedal rickshaw stood waiting. The rickshaw puller, a lean man wrapped in a frayed shawl, adjusted his turban and gave her father a nod of acknowledgment before setting his hands on the handlebars.
Her father turned to her, his voice gruff yet measured. "Baith jao, Naina."
She hesitated. This was it. The moment her home slipped further away.
Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly before guiding her forward. Without another word, Naina stepped onto the rickshaw's wooden seat, the rough edges pressing against her palms as she steadied herself.
The rickshaw puller gave a small grunt as he pedaled forward, the wheels creaking against the uneven path. Naina held onto the side, her gaze fixed on the winding road ahead.
With every turn of the wheel, her home grew smaller behind her. And with it, a part of herself that she wasn't sure she would ever get back.
The rickshaw rattled over the uneven path, its wooden frame creaking under their weight. The dim glow of dawn had begun to stretch across the sky, bathing the road in hues of gold and pink. The occasional chirping of birds broke the silence, but Naina remained quiet, her mind clouded with unease.
Her father, sitting beside her, finally spoke. His voice was steady, carrying the authority she had always known but had never feared quite like this before.
"Wahan zindagi asaan nahi hogi, Naina," he said, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Yeh koi mela ya tyohaar nahi hai. Wahan dukh bhi milenge, takleef bhi. Chhoti si bhi galti, aur saza tay hai."
Naina swallowed, gripping the edge of her seat. She had expected harsh conditions, but hearing it from him made the reality sink deeper.
"Subah se lekar raat tak ek kadi reeti rahegi," he continued. "Suraj nikalne se pehle uthna hoga. Training kathin hogiâdaud, talwarbaazi, ghode ki sawari, aur kai aur cheezein jo tujhe kabhi karni nahi padi."
She frowned. "Lekin mujhe toh fauj mein jaana hi nahi tha," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
Her father ignored her protest. "Khaan-paan bhi sadharan hoga. Jaisa ghar par milta hai, waisa nahi."
Her mother, who had been mostly silent, added in a quiet voice, "Kapde bhi alag milenge. Gharwale kapde nahi pehn sakegi tu wahan."
Naina's fists clenched in her lap. Everything familiar was being stripped awayâher home, her comfort, her freedom.
Her father exhaled sharply, finally turning to look at her. "Yeh mat soch ki yeh bas ek saza hai. Teri badi behan bhi yahi seh chuki hai, aur ab tu bhi sehgi. Yeh ek zimmedari hai, jo tujhe nibhaani padegi."
Naina's jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, to tell them that this was not her choice, that she was being forced into a life she had never dreamed of. But she knew it wouldn't matter. The decision had been made.
The rickshaw jolted as it hit a rough patch of the road, making her grip the wooden frame tighter. She cast a sideways glance at her mother, hoping for some trace of sympathy, but all she saw was quiet resignation.
"Agar main wahan galti karun toh?" she asked after a long silence.
Her father's voice was cold. "Toh saza milegi."
A shiver ran down her spine, but she didn't look away. If this was what awaited her, she would face it. No matter how much it burned.
The rickshaw jerked to a halt, the sudden stop making Naina jolt forward slightly. The rhythmic creaking of the wooden wheels ceased, replaced by an eerie silence. She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The training ground stretched before her, a vast expanse of dry earth, its edges lined with rows of tents and barracks. A tall wooden gate marked the entrance, guarded by two uniformed men with stern faces and rigid postures. Beyond it, the faint clang of metal against metal echoed in the air, mingling with the distant shouts of soldiers already in training.
Naina's throat went dry.
Her father stepped off the rickshaw first, adjusting his shawl before turning to her. "Utar jao."
She hesitated. This was the last time she could turn back. The last moment where she was still Naina Rao, daughter of an artisan and a musician, free to dance and dream as she pleased. Beyond that gate, she didn't know who she would become.
Her mother touched her arm, a silent push forward.
Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs over and stepped onto the hard ground. Dust curled around her ankles as she adjusted the dupatta over her shoulder.
Her father led the way, walking towards the entrance with a steady, practiced stride. Naina followed, her mother beside her. With each step, the weight of the place sank heavier into her bones.
As they approached, one of the guards raised a hand. "Naam bataiye?"
Her father straightened. "Naina Rao. Nai bharti."
The guard gave her a once-over, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside and pushed the heavy gate open.
Naina inhaled sharply as the world inside unfolded before her.
Rows of trainees were already in motion, their bodies moving in disciplined synchronicity. Some swung wooden swords at each other, their faces glistening with sweat. Others ran in formation, their breaths coming in heavy, controlled bursts. A loud voice barked orders from across the field, sending trainees scrambling into their positions.
Naina had never seen such discipline before. It was a world away from the rhythm of her old lifeâa world without laughter, without color, without freedom.
Her father turned to her, his face unreadable. "Yahin se tera naya jeevan shuru hota hai."
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
This was it.
The gate shut behind her with a resounding clang.
~~~~~~~