The Holi celebrations were overâtoday, discipline returned.
Karan stood at the training ground, his arms crossed, watching as the trainees hurried to line up. The air was cool, but the intensity in his gaze made it feel heavier.
"Aaj se sab kuch pehle jaise chalega. Holi khatam ho gayi hai," he announced, his voice carrying across the ground. "Ab sirf ek soldier ki tarah sochna aur rehna hai. Jo kal tak tumhare chehre par rang the, unki jagah sirf paseena dikhna chahiye."
The trainees straightened, the lightness of the past two days vanishing as they prepared for their grueling physical training.
"20 daud ke chakkar, phir 50 squats, 50 push-ups, aur uske baad rassi chadhna," Karan ordered, his sharp eyes scanning them all. "Jo pehle khatam karega, usse ek faayda milega. Jo sabse peechhe rahega, uske liye saza hogi."
As soon as he blew the whistle, the trainees broke into a sprint. The first few laps were easy, but by the tenth, exhaustion began setting in. Sweat dripped down their faces, their breaths came in quick gasps, yet Karan's voice rang in their ears, urging them to keep going.
Naina, though determined, was struggling to keep up with the fastest ones. She clenched her jaw and pushed forward, her muscles burning with every step.
When the laps were finally over, the squats and push-ups followed, breaking the trainees further. Karan moved among them, correcting postures, pushing them harder, reminding them that a weak soldier was as good as a fallen one.
Then came the rope climbing. It was a crucial skillâone that could mean life or death on the battlefield. The thick ropes hung from sturdy beams, swaying slightly in the morning breeze.
"Sirf taqat se nahi, dimaag se bhi chadhna seekho," Karan instructed, demonstrating the correct technique with ease.
One by one, the trainees attempted the climb. Some succeeded, others failed, and some barely managed halfway before sliding down.
Naina stepped forward, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her hands gripped the rough rope, her heartbeat steadying. She took a deep breath and pulled herself up, using her feet to anchor her position as she inched higher. She could feel Karan's gaze on her, sharp and observant.
Her fingers burned, her arms ached, but she refused to let go. With one last pull, she reached the top and tapped the beam before sliding down carefully.
Karan gave a small nod of approval before turning back to the rest. "Jo girte hain, sirf wahi seekhte hain," he reminded them, making them repeat the climb until their limbs trembled.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Karan signaled the end of physical training. The trainees, exhausted, stood in attention, waiting for his next orders.
"Theory class ke liye tayyar ho jao," he announced. "Aaj ka mudda: goli lagne par ilaaj kaise kiya jaaye."
The trainees, still catching their breath, exchanged nervous glances. Treating burns and wounds had been one thing, but bullets? That was a different kind of lesson.
As they made their way toward the large tent, Naina found herself thinkingâHoli was over, and so was the ease of the past two days. Now, it was time to face the harsh reality of being a soldier.
The large tent was dimly lit, the morning sunlight filtering in through the small openings in the fabric. The trainees sat cross-legged on the rough ground, their backs straight despite the exhaustion from their earlier training. A blackboard stood at the front, and in its center, a large diagram of the human body had been drawn in white chalk.
Karan stood next to it, his arms crossed, his face unreadable as always. His sharp eyes scanned the room before he finally spoke.
"Aaj ka sabak haiâgoli ka ilaj. Jab kisi sipahi ko goli lage, toh sabse zaroori cheez hoti hai uska jeevit rehna. Ghabrana nahi hai, sochna hai."
The room was silent, every trainee focused on him. The thought of bullets tearing through flesh was enough to unsettle some of them, but this was warâthey had to learn.
Karan picked up a piece of chalk and drew a small circular mark on the diagram's chest. "Goli lagne ke baad sabse pehle dekhna hota hai ki goli andar atki hai ya paar ho chuki hai." He pointed to the mark. "Agar goli andar hai, toh usse nikalna hoga, lekin bina soch-vichar kiya toh zakhm aur gehra ho sakta hai."
He turned to a wooden table beside him where a cloth-covered box lay. Pulling off the fabric, he revealed a collection of surgical toolsâtweezers, sharp knives, and metal probes, all gleaming under the dim light.
The trainees stiffened. This was no ordinary class.
Karan picked up a metal tweezer and held it up. "Goli nikalne ke liye yeh sabse zaroori cheez hai. Lekin, sirf yeh kaafi nahi." He turned back to them, his voice steady. "Tumhe yeh samajhna hoga ki ek galti kisi ki jaan le sakti hai."
He then demonstrated the process step by step, explaining how to:
Locate the bullet wound.Assess whether the bullet was still inside.Stop excessive bleeding before attempting removal.Sterilize tools using fire or alcohol before touching the wound.Use the tweezers to extract the bullet carefully without causing further damage.Bandage the wound immediately to prevent infection.
His voice was clear and commanding, ensuring that every trainee understood the gravity of what he was teaching.
After the demonstration, Karan's sharp gaze fell on the group. "Kisi ko koi sawaal hai?"
A few hesitant hands rose, and he patiently answered their questions, correcting their doubts with precise explanations.
Then, he set down the tweezers and took a step back. "Ab tumhari baari hai."
A ripple of uncertainty passed through the trainees. Treating wounds was one thing, but handling bullets? That was another level of responsibility.
Naina, however, leaned forward slightly, her brows furrowed in focus. She had grown up watching her mother's steady hands sewing fine embroidery onto fabric, and in some way, this wasn't so different. It required patience, precision, and a steady grip.
Karan noticed her expression and gave a small nod. "Dekhne se seekhne wale sirf shabdon mein atak jaate hain. Seekhne ke liye haath ganda karna padta hai."
With that, he motioned for them to begin. The trainees hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, one by one, to try their hands at the lesson that could one day mean the difference between life and death.
The class had stretched longer than usual, the air inside the tent thick with concentration and nervous energy. Each trainee had taken turns practicing what they had learnedâsome hesitating, others fumbling, but a few, like Naina, showing surprising steadiness.
Karan observed everything in silence, his arms crossed over his chest. His sharp gaze lingered on Naina for a fraction longer before he finally spoke, his deep voice breaking the heavy silence.
"Aaj ka sabak yahin samapt hota hai." He placed the tweezers back onto the table, dusting his hands before turning to the trainees. "Tum sabko ab samajh aa gaya hoga ki yudh ke maidan mein sirf ladna nahi, zakhm bharna bhi utna hi zaroori hai."
The trainees, exhausted yet more knowledgeable than before, gave small nods. Some still looked unsettled at the thought of dealing with actual injuries on the battlefield, but Karan knew experience would teach them more than any words ever could.
Stepping back, he clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the group. Then, his next words sent a jolt of surprise through the room.
"Kal se, ek naya adhyay shuru hogaâtum sab bandook chalana seekhoge."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the trainees. Naina's eyes widened slightly. Guns. Until now, their training had focused on physical endurance, discipline, and first aid, but this... this was different. This was real.
Karan watched their reactions carefully. Some faces lit up with excitement, others with nervousness. He let the murmurs settle before speaking again.
"Jo soch rahe hain ki bandook uthana asaan hoga, unka bhram tod diya jayega. Yudh sirf taqat se nahi, dimaag aur anubhav se jeeta jata hai. Kal subah, taiyaar rahna."
His voice was calm, but the weight of his words made it clearâthis was not going to be a simple lesson.
With that, he dismissed them for the day. The trainees slowly stood, stretching their sore muscles before making their way out of the tent, whispering amongst themselves about what was to come.
Naina lingered for a moment before stepping outside. As the warm afternoon sunlight hit her face, she took a deep breath. Guns.
Tomorrow, everything would change once again.
The evening had settled into a quiet lull. The trainees, exhausted from the day's rigorous training, sat inside their tents, talking in hushed voices, some simply resting, staring at the fabric of their temporary shelter as their sore muscles begged for respite.
Then, the silence was shattered.
A sudden wave of heat surged through the air, and the acrid scent of burning fabric invaded their senses. Someone screamed. The trainees scrambled outside, their eyes widening in horror as flames devoured their tents. Sparks crackled, wood snapped, and thick smoke coiled into the sky like a serpent.
British soldiers stood a short distance away, torches in hand, their faces cold and unmoved as they watched the destruction unfold. And there, standing between them and the chaos, was Karan Thakur.
He was speaking with a British officerâhis stance rigid, his jaw clenched. His voice was calm, but the tension in his body betrayed his fury.
Naina, standing amongst the trainees, could barely make out the conversation over the roar of the flames. The British officer, a tall man with sharp, angular features, was saying something, his voice laced with venom.
And thenâ
A gunshot.
A gasp ripped through the air as the trainees watched in shock. Karan staggered back, his body jolting from the impact. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, where a deep red stain rapidly spread across his skin.
The British officer lowered his gun, his face impassive. "Yeh sirf shuruaat hai," he sneered before turning on his heel, barking orders to his men. In moments, the British soldiers mounted their horses and disappeared into the night, leaving only destruction in their wake.
The flames still raged, but the soldiers rushed in, guiding the trainees away from the burning remains of their camp. Orders were shouted, boots pounded against the ground, and through all of it, Karan remained standing.
His posture was firm, his expression like stoneâunwavering. As if the bullet wound on his chest was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Sabhi trainees ko surakshit jagah le jao!" he ordered, his voice sharp despite the pain.
The soldiers obeyed, ushering the trainees away. But amidst the commotion, Naina's heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.
She couldn't shake the image of him getting shotâthe way his body jerked, the way his blood stained the ground beneath him. The firelight illuminated his figure, the wound on his chest stark against his skin.
Her fists clenched. She had to see him.
As the others were led away, she hesitated for only a moment before turning on her heel and making her way toward his cabin.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, a small lamp casting flickering shadows on the wooden walls. Karan sat on a chair, his shirt discarded to the side, his breathing controlled but strained. Blood dripped slowly from the bullet wound as he pressed a cloth to it, attempting to slow the flow.
Naina's heart clenched.
He was injured, alone, and yet he hadn't asked for help.
She stepped inside, her footsteps light but firm. Karan's sharp gaze snapped to her.
"Tum yahaan kya kar rahi ho?" His voice was rough, edged with pain, but still carried authority.
Ignoring his words, she quickly grabbed the first aid box from the shelf, pulling it open. The scent of antiseptic filled the air as she took out the tweezers, bandages, and thread.
Karan's eyes darkened as he realized her intent.
"Ruko, Naina. Yeh zaroori nahi haiâ"
"Zaroori hai." She cut him off, her voice steady as she met his gaze. "Aapne hi toh sikhaaya tha humein ki kaise goli nikaalte hain, yaad hai?"
For a brief second, his expression softened, but then he scowled. "Main khud kar sakta hoon."
"Aur agar behosh ho gaye toh? Fir kaun karega?" she shot back, raising a challenging eyebrow.
His silence was her answer.
Without wasting another second, she knelt beside him, carefully examining the wound. Her fingers worked quicklyâdipping the tweezers in antiseptic, positioning them just right, and thenâ
Karan tensed, his muscles flexing as the metal met his skin. A sharp inhale, a flicker of pain in his eyes.
Naina's grip didn't waver. Her hands were steady, practicedânot from experience on wounds, but from years of helping her mother with delicate embroidery. If she could thread a needle without mistake, she could do this too.
The bullet was lodged deep, but she didn't let doubt creep in. She worked swiftly, carefully, her movements precise.
A bead of sweat rolled down Karan's temple. His knuckles were white from gripping the chair's armrests, but he didn't make a sound.
And thenâfinallyâthe bullet slipped free.
Blood oozed out, and Naina wasted no time pressing a clean cloth to the wound. "Zyada hile mat," she muttered, reaching for the bandages.
Karan let out a slow breath. "Tum bina poochhe sab kuch karti ho hamesha?"
She glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Agar poochhti, toh kya aap manne wale the?"
Silence.
She focused on threading the needle next, her movements swift as she stitched the wound shut with practiced ease. Karan watched her the entire time.
By the time she tied the final knot and pressed the bandage over his wound, he was no longer looking at her with irritation, but with something else.
Something unreadable.
She packed up the first aid box, placing it back in its place before standing up. "Ab araam kijiye, Commander Thakur," she said, voice teasing but soft.
He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Koi bhi trainee apne trainer ko aise daant nahi sakta, Naina."
She simply shrugged. "Aapne hi toh sikhaya ki zaroorat padne pe apni soch pe bharosa karna chahiye."
This time, he actually smirked. A rare, fleeting sight.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Shukriya."
She paused, glancing back at him, her expression unreadable now. Then, with a small nod, she stepped out into the night.
The flames had died down outsideâbut inside, something had just ignited.
But why had britishers attacked all of a sudden? what did Karan and that head man talk? why did that man shoot karan?
Karan sat in his chair, his breathing steady, but a dull throbbing pain pulsed through his chest. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flame of the lantern casting long shadows on the walls. His bloodstained kurta lay discarded on the side, and though the wound was now dressed, the weight of the evening still pressed on his mind.
Naina.
He exhaled slowly. He hadn't expected her to barge in like that, and more than that, he hadn't expected her hands to remain steady as she treated him. She was stubborn. Very stubborn. But... she had done what was necessary without hesitation.
His fingers absently brushed over the bandages on his chest. The pain was manageable, but that wasn't what troubled him the most. What truly haunted him was the reason behind the attack.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as the memory of that evening replayed in his mind.
"Zyada udne lage ho, Thakur," the British officer had said with a smug grin, his English crisp and arrogant. "In logon ko... auraton ko bhi, fauj ke liye tayyar kar rahe ho? Tum samajhte ho ki yeh jung lad sakenge?"
Karan had met his gaze without flinching. "Haan, tayyar kar raha hoon. Aur ladenge bhi."
The Britisher had laughed, shaking his head. "Jung? Hamare khilaaf? Yeh log kuch nahi kar sakte. Hamaare samne, yeh bas keede-makode hain."
"Ek haathi bhi tab dar jaata hai jab chhoti chhoti cheetiyaan kaatna seekh jaayein," Karan had replied coolly.
The amusement on the officer's face had vanished instantly. "Tumhe zyada chhoot mil gayi hai, Thakur," his voice had turned sharp. "Tum hamari sena mein ho, hamari hukumat ke neeche."
Karan had clenched his fists. Yes, he was an officer under the British rule. It was necessary. A compulsion. But that did not mean he was their servant.
And the British knew that too.
That was why they had come tonight. Not just to burn the tents. Not just to send a warning.
They wanted to plant the seed of fear.
They had fired that bullet just to make a statement.
Karan gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Cowards.
The British wanted submission. They wanted obedience. They wanted these young soldiers to flee, to return to their homes, believing that they were weak, that they were nothing.
But what Karan had seen in the eyes of his trainees tonight was not fear. It was anger. It was resolve.
And Nainaâshe had walked into his cabin instead of running away.
Good.
Karan exhaled deeply, his mind now clear. The British had sent a message, but they would be the ones to regret it.
Starting tomorrow, he would push these trainees harder.
Starting tomorrow, he would ignite a fire in them that no British flames could ever extinguish.
He picked up his discarded kurta, carefully slipping it on over his bandages. The pain was there, but it didn't matter. He had endured worse.
He stood up and extinguished the lantern.
The British thought they could break them?
Now they would see that a soldier's spirit holds no room for fear.