After lunch, the recruits returned to their tents, their bodies still aching from the brutal morning training. The sun was at its peak now, its golden rays seeping through the gaps in the fabric of the tent. Inside, the air was warm and heavy with exhaustion.
Naina untied the sash of her sweat-drenched training tunic and let out a relieved sigh as she changed into a fresh cotton kurta and loose pyjamas. The other girls did the same, moving slowly, their limbs sore from the relentless drills.
Kaveri stretched her arms with a groan. "Agar yeh aise hi chalta raha, toh do din mein hum sirf bistar pakad kar pade rahenge."
Parul, tying her dupatta around her waist, smirked. "Bistar? Fauj mein sirf zameen milti hai, samjhi?"
Before Naina could respond, a loud voice echoed from outside the tent. "Sab naye bharti dhyaan dein! Turant bade shivir mein pravesh karein. Yudh ka gyaan aur pehle madad sikhai jaayegi!"
The girls exchanged glances before rushing to leave. Naina followed them, feeling a mixture of relief and uneaseârelief because at least they wouldn't have to run or lift weights for a while, and unease because she had no idea what to expect next.
The big tent stood in the heart of the training camp, its entrance flanked by two guards. Inside, rows of wooden benches were arranged in front of a massive blackboard propped on a stand. A few oil lamps flickered along the edges of the tent, casting dim shadows on the thick canvas walls.
The recruits shuffled in, taking their places on the mats, their tired bodies eager for a chance to sit.
Naina settled beside Kaveri, glancing around the tent. Unlike the harsh sunlight outside, the shade inside was cooler, but the air was thick with tension. They all knew that this wasn't going to be a moment of rest.
Just as the murmurs started rising among the trainees, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the tent.
"Shaant ho jao."
The recruits immediately straightened as Commander Karan Thakur entered.
He was dressed in his usual crisp military attireâblack boots polished to perfection, his belt fastened tightly around his waist, his sleeves neatly folded up to his elbows. His presence alone was enough to make the air in the tent feel heavier.
He walked to the front of the class with steady, confident steps and turned to face them, his sharp gaze sweeping over the recruits.
"Tum sab yeh soch rahe hoge ki yeh training sirf dande aur talwaron tak seemit hai," he began, his deep voice carrying across the tent. "Lekin yudh ke maidan mein ladna sirf shakti ka khel nahi hai. Agar akal nahi hai, toh shakti bhi bekaar hai."
He picked up a small piece of chalk and turned to the board, where he began sketching rough outlines of a battlefieldâa makeshift map filled with lines, symbols, and arrows.
"Aaj se tumhe yudh ke maidan ki samajh sikhayi jayegi. Dushman ke har kadam ko pehle se pehchanna seekho, warna dushman tumhari har kamzori ka faayda uthayega."
Naina watched him silently, her jaw tightening. The morning's humiliation still burned in her mind, but she forced herself to listen.
"Sirf ladaai nahi, yudh mein bachna bhi zaroori hai," he continued, underlining a few key points on the board. "Isi liye, aaj se tumhe ek aur cheez sikhayi jayegiâzakhm ka ilaaj. Ek yodha tab tak lad sakta hai jab tak uska sharir sahi kaam kare. Agar tumhe yeh nahi aata, toh apni jaan se haath dhona pad sakta hai."
He gestured toward the metal boxes in the corner, and a soldier stepped forward, placing them on the table before unlatching them. Inside, rolls of bandages, herbal pastes, sewing needles, and knives gleamed under the dim lantern light.
Karan picked up a roll of bandages and unrolled it slightly before looking back at the recruits.
"Aaj ka sabak haiâsangharsh mein jeene ka tareeka."
His eyes landed on Naina for a fleeting second before shifting away just as quickly.
Naina swallowed hard.
This was going to be a long day.
The thick scent of oil lamps and dry parchment filled the large tent as the recruits sat in stiff silence. The blackboard behind Commander Karan Thakur was now marked with battle formations and sketches of woundsâdeep slashes, punctures, even burnsâeach hastily drawn but chillingly realistic.
Karan let the silence stretch for a moment before stepping forward, his boots thudding against the packed dirt floor.
"Aaj jo seekhoge, woh sirf kisi aur ki madad karne ke liye nahi, balki khud ki jaan bachane ke liye bhi zaroori hai," he began, his voice even, controlled. "Jung ke maidan mein koi vaidya nahi hota. Agar tumhe apne saathi ko bachaana hai, toh yeh seekhna hoga."
He motioned to a soldier standing by the table. The man stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a long, thin cut on his forearmâclearly made for demonstration purposes.
Naina's stomach twisted. Even though she had seen small injuries in the market back home, this was different. This was deliberate.
Karan picked up a small clay bowl filled with a thick, green paste and dipped his fingers in. He turned back to the class, holding it up.
"Neem aur haldi ka lep. Yeh dukhata hai, magar zehar ko failne se rokta hai," he said, pressing a bit of the paste onto the soldier's wound. The man barely flinched.
Kaveri nudged Naina lightly. "Mujhe toh dekhke hi chakkar aa raha hai," she whispered.
Naina nodded stiffly. She wasn't sure if it was the sight of the wound or the fact that Karan made everything look so effortless that unsettled her more.
Karan turned back to the recruits. "Agar talwar ka ghera zyada gehra ho, toh bas lep lagana kaafi nahi hoga. Yeh dekho."
He picked up a needle and a thin thread, lifting them for all to see.
"Zyada khoon beh raha ho, toh daag lagana aana chahiye," he said, gesturing for another soldier to step forward. "Ek ghayal yodha tab tak lad nahi sakta jab tak uska zakham band na ho."
The soldier placed a tightly wrapped cloth on his arm, and Karan demonstrated how to thread the needle, his hands precise and unwavering as he stitched the cloth together as one would with a wound.
He looked up, scanning the recruits. "Ab tumhari baari."
A murmur ran through the tent. Naina's fingers instinctively curled into her lap.
Kaveri groaned. "Bhai re... yeh toh mushkil hoga."
Karan's sharp gaze flickered toward them. "Tum dono kuch keh rahi thi?"
Naina stiffened. Kaveri shrank back. "Nahi, Sir," they both mumbled.
Karan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Jang masti nahi hai. Jab waqt aayega, tab tumse mazaak karne ka mauka bhi chheen liya jaayega."
His tone sent a chill down Naina's spine.
The soldiers began handing out practice cloths and needles to each trainee. Kaveri fumbled with hers immediately, while Naina hesitated before picking up her own.
Karan walked among them, observing, correcting, criticizing. When he reached Naina, he didn't speak right away. He watched as she clumsily pushed the needle through the fabric, her fingers stiff with inexperience.
Then, he scoffed. "Koi bhi dushman agar tujhe zakhmi kar de, toh tu marne ka intezaar karegi na?"
Heat flared in her cheeks. "Main seekh rahi hoon," she muttered, trying again.
"Dheere seekh rahi hai," he corrected, crossing his arms. "Jang teri aaram kursi nahi hai, samjhi?"
A flicker of anger shot through her chest. But she bit back a retort, focusing on the task at hand.
Karan didn't wait for an answer. He had already moved on to the next trainee.
As Naina struggled to thread another stitch, she clenched her jaw.
I will do this, she told herself.
Even if it meant proving him wrong.
The murmurs of struggling recruits filled the tent, frustration evident in every hushed complaint and exasperated sigh. The sharp scent of medicinal herbs and warm oil from the lamps lingered in the air as the trainees fumbled with their needles and cloth.
Naina, however, did not struggle.
Her fingers moved with practiced ease, guiding the needle through the fabric as if she had done it a hundred times beforeâbecause she had. She had watched her mother stitch delicate embroidery for years, had sewn patterns into dupattas, had mended torn cloth without a second thought. This was no different. The only difference was the intentâthis wasn't meant to make something beautiful; it was meant to save lives.
With a firm tug, she tightened the final stitch, tying it off swiftly before placing the cloth down in front of her.
Done.
She looked around.
The other recruits were still struggling, brows furrowed in concentration. Kaveri let out a quiet curse under her breath as she accidentally pricked her finger. The others were still figuring out how to hold the needle properly, let alone stitch with precision.
And thenâ
A sharp voice broke through the air.
"Ho gaya?"
Naina looked up.
Karan Thakur stood in front of her, arms crossed, his dark eyes studying the neatly stitched fabric before her. His expression didn't change, but something in his gaze sharpened, as if he wasn't sure whether to believe what he was seeing.
Naina lifted her chin slightly. "Jee, ho gaya."
A tense silence stretched between them as Karan picked up the cloth, inspecting her stitches. They were clean, tight, and preciseânot rushed, not uneven.
His gaze flickered back to her.
"Kahan seekha?" His voice was quieter this time, but no less commanding.
Naina shrugged. "Meri maa karigari karti thi, kapde siye hain maine bachpan se."
For a fleeting moment, Karan's jaw twitchedâalmost as if he was caught between being impressed and refusing to show it. Then, his gaze swept the room, taking in the others still fumbling with their needles.
He placed the cloth back down in front of her and straightened.
"Baaqi sab ke liye yeh ek seekh honi chahiye," he announced, his voice carrying through the tent. "Jo tum yahan seekhne aaye ho, woh bilkul naya nahi hai. Kai baar jeene ki kala wohi hoti hai jo tum apne jeevan bhar seekhte aaye ho."
A few of the recruits exchanged glances, murmuring amongst themselves.
Then, Karan's gaze locked onto Naina's again, and whatever moment of acknowledgment had existed between them vanished.
"Agli baar isse sirf kapde pe mat lagana. Yeh seekhna bhi zaroori hai ki asli zakhm pe kaise lagta hai."
Naina swallowed. The weight of his words settled in.
She had won this round. But it was clear that this was just the beginning.
The murmur of hushed conversations and the occasional frustrated sighs from struggling recruits faded into silence as Karan Thakur stepped to the front of the tent, his tall figure casting a commanding presence. The blackboard behind him was filled with diagramsâsketches of human anatomy, pressure points, and battlefield formations drawn with clean, precise strokes of chalk.
Naina sat with her arms loosely crossed, still feeling the lingering weight of his earlier words. Around her, the recruits shifted in their seats, some sitting up straighter, others looking as if they wanted nothing more than to curl into themselves and disappear.
"Ladai sirf talwar chalane se nahi jeeti jaati," Karan began, his voice even, yet filled with authority. "Jitni zaroorat yeh jaanne ki hai ki dushman kaise giraya jaaye, utni hi zaroori yeh bhi hai ki apne logon ko kaise bachaya jaaye."
His gaze scanned the room, pausing on each face, assessing.
"Ek ghayal sipahi... ek mara hua sipahi ban sakta hai, agar uski thik se dekhbhaal na ki jaaye." He tapped the blackboard with a wooden pointer, directing their attention to the sketch of a human body, its pressure points marked with red dots. "Yeh chhoti chhoti baatein kisi ki jaan bacha sakti hain."
Naina's fingers unconsciously brushed against the edge of the cloth she had stitched earlier. She had never once thought of sewing as anything more than an artâa skill meant for beauty and repair. But here, under the harsh glow of oil lamps and Karan Thakur's piercing gaze, it had turned into a tool for survival.
"Koi bata sakta hai, agar kisi sipahi ka khoon tez behr raha ho, toh usse rokne ke liye sabse pehla kadam kya hoga?"
A few recruits looked at each other hesitantly. No one spoke.
Karan's brow twitched in irritation. "Koi nahi jaanta?" His voice dropped lower, but the weight of his disappointment was evident.
Naina hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted to invite his attention again so soon. But her father had told her once, Agar koi sawal samajh aa jaye, toh jawab dene se mat daroâvarna samajhne ka koi fayda nahi.
She exhaled softly. "Zakham ke thodi upar kisi kapde ya patti se daba diya jaye, taaki khoon ruk sake."
All heads turned toward her.
Karan's sharp gaze landed on her once more. He studied her for a second before giving a curt nod. "Sahi hai. Lekin sirf itna kaafi nahi hota." He turned back to the blackboard, drawing a quick diagram. "Agar zakham bahut gehra ho, toh sirf dabane se kaam nahi chalega. Kya karna padega?"
This time, another recruit hesitantly raised his hand.
"Zakham ke andar koi chhoti chhoti kapde ki pattiyan daalni hongi, taaki andar se bhi khoon ruk sake," he answered, though his voice lacked confidence.
Karan gave an approving nod. "Sahi socha. Lekin agar koi galat kapda andar daal diyaâjo ganda ho ya zyada mota hoâtoh zakham aur bigad sakta hai."
A few recruits exchanged uneasy glances. The thought of treating wounds in a battlefield situation had never felt so real before.
Naina listened carefully, her earlier irritation at Karan's strictness momentarily forgotten. As much as she hated to admit it, his teaching had a way of stickingâof making even the most complicated details feel urgent and unforgettable.
"Ek sipahi sirf apne haathon ki taqat se nahi, apne dimaag ki tez dhar se jeeta hai," Karan continued, his eyes scanning the room once more. "Agle din se sirf talwar chalana nahi seekhoge, dimaag bhi chalana seekhna padega."
Naina swallowed.
She had always thought the hardest part of this training would be the physical exhaustionâthe running, the sword drills, the punishments.
But tonight, she realized the real challenge had already begun.