The oil lamps flickered as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows inside the training tent. The recruits sat stiffly, their bodies aching from the day's relentless drills and lessons. The afternoon heat had turned into a dull, stifling warmth, making the air feel heavier with exhaustion.
Karan Thakur stood at the front, his arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His presence alone was enough to keep them from slumping in their seats, despite their evident fatigue.
Finally, he spoke. "Aaj ka din yahin samaapt hota hai." His deep voice echoed through the tent, sending a quiet ripple of relief through the trainees.
Naina exhaled slowly, stretching her sore fingers. She hadn't realized how tense she had been until now.
Karan's gaze lingered on the group for a moment before he continued. "Tumhare sharer ko taqat ki zaroorat hai. Aaj se tum sabko roz shaam ko ek ek glass taja doodh diya jayega. Shareer ko mazbooti dene ke liye yeh zaroori hai."
At the mention of fresh milk, the trainees perked up slightly. It was the first time since morning that something remotely pleasant had been mentioned.
But Karan wasn't done.
"Lekin khaane ke liye jo milega, woh tumhe khud banana padega." His voice was firm, leaving no room for complaints. "Yeh koi rajmahal nahi hai jahan pakaya hua bhojan mile. Yudh ke samay kabhi tumhe khaana mil sakta hai, kabhi nahi. Issi liye, ab se tum sab apne khaane ki vyavastha khud karoge, minimum saamagri ke saath."
A few recruits exchanged uneasy glances. Cooking...? With minimal supplies? Some of them had never even cooked before.
Kaveri leaned in closer to Naina and muttered, "Agar mujhe roti belni padhi, toh mujhse zyada roti toh belan hi khayega."
Naina stifled a laugh, but the reality of the situation was settling in. She had seen her mother cook thousands of times, had even helped here and there, but never under such conditions.
Karan watched them closely, as if sensing their hesitations. "Jo jeevit rehna chahta hai, usse jeevan ka har pehlu samajhna hoga." His voice was final. "Jaao. Shaam ka doodh lo aur apna bhojan tayar karo. Kal subah naye din ki shuruaat hogi."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, leaving the recruits to process the day's final challenge.
Naina stretched her arms, groaning slightly. Kaveri nudged her. "Chalo, chalo, doodh lene chalte hain. Warna koi aur do glass le jayega."
Naina sighed and got up, already bracing herself for the night ahead. If today had been any indication, this place was going to test her in ways she never imagined.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a dim golden glow settled over the training grounds. The recruits gathered in small groups near their respective tents, preparing to cook their first meal with whatever meager supplies they had been given.
Naina and Kaveri, along with five other girls, sat in a small circle near their makeshift chulha, a simple mud stove that had been built earlier in the evening. The only ingredients provided to them were bajra flour, a little salt, and a few chunks of jaggery. Their meal for the night: bajre ka rotla with either milk or jaggery.
One of the girls, Parvati, sighed as she stared at the coarse millet flour in her hands. "Mujhse toh yeh bhi nahi pata ki aata kitna paani lega."
Another girl, Meera, rubbed her temples. "Mere ghar mein hamesha ma ne roti banayi hai. Maine kabhi haath bhi nahi lagaya."
Naina, however, felt a strange sense of familiarity. She had grown up watching her mother knead dough, cook over a chulha, and prepare meals with the same simple ingredients. While she had never been asked to cook on her own before, she knew the process by heart.
She rolled up her sleeves and reached for the flour. "Koi baat nahi. Main bana dungi."
The girls looked at her with relief, moving aside to let her take charge. "Pehle aata chaan lo, phir paani dheere dheere daalna," Naina explained as she poured water carefully into the flour, kneading it with strong, practiced movements.
Soon, she had a firm dough ready. Breaking it into small portions, she flattened them into thick rotlas, patting them between her hands before placing them on the hot griddle over the chulha.
The aroma of the bajra roti roasting over the fire filled the air. One by one, Naina flipped them expertly, letting them cook just enough to turn golden brown. The other girls watched in amazement.
Kaveri nudged her playfully. "Arre wah! Yeh toh sach mein kamaal hai."
By the time all the rotlas were done, each girl had a fresh, warm piece in hand, ready to be eaten with either milk or jaggery. Just as they sat down to eat, a shadow loomed over them.
Commander Karan Thakur.
The girls immediately straightened, their expressions turning tense as Karan, along with two other senior officers, approached their tent. He was making his inspection rounds, checking each group's progress.
Karan's sharp gaze fell on the neat stack of rotlas resting on a cloth. Unlike other groups, where burnt or unevenly cooked rotis lay scattered, this team had prepared them perfectly. He reached out and picked one up, breaking off a small piece. The recruits watched in nervous silence as he popped it into his mouth.
A brief pause. Then, an almost imperceptible nod of approval.
He turned his eyes toward Naina. "Yeh tumne banaya hai?"
Naina hesitated before nodding. "Jee, Sahib."
Karan's expression remained unreadable, but his voice held a hint of something... approval, perhaps? "Tumhare haath ka kaam sahi lagta hai. Agar tum training mein bhi aise mehnat karti, toh aaj din bhar tum itni daant na khaati."
A quiet ripple of laughter spread among the girls, though they quickly suppressed it under Karan's watchful eyes.
"Aage bhi aise hi karna," he said before turning away.
As soon as he walked off, Kaveri let out a dramatic sigh. "Haye! Pehli baar kisi cheez ke liye taarif mili."
Naina exhaled, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. She wasn't excelling in training, but at least she wasn't entirely useless.
Maybeâjust maybeâshe could survive this place.
The officers' dining tent was dimly lit, the flickering glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the canvas walls. The scent of freshly cooked foodâbajre ka rotla, lentils, and buttermilkâlingered in the air as Karan Thakur took his seat at the low wooden table, surrounded by his senior officers. The day had been long, and though his body demanded rest, his mind remained sharp, tuned to the discussions at hand.
Captain Jain, an experienced officer in his forties, poured himself a cup of buttermilk before speaking. "Aaj naye bharti toh theek lage, magar zyada ladke kheti-baadi se aaye hain. Unmein se kitne asli ladayi ke laayak honge, kehna mushkil hai."
Karan picked up a piece of rotla, chewing thoughtfully before responding. "Ladai toh unhe seekhni hi hogi. Humare paas samay kam hai."
Across from him, Lieutenant Arif Khan, a man with keen eyes and a sharp tongue, leaned forward. "Sirf samay ki baat nahi hai, Karan. Samasya yeh bhi hai ki angrez ab har naye bharti ki khabar rakh rahe hain. Unko har pal yeh dar hai ki humari sena kabhi bhi unke khilaf khadi ho sakti hai."
Jain scoffed. "Wahi toh chahte hain. Humare log unki training se guzar kar sirf unke talwe chatte rahein." He slammed his cup down. "Magar angrez samajhte nahi ki hum unke chamche nahi bane rahenge."
Karan remained silent, his thoughts darkening at the mention of British interference. It was no secret that the British were closely monitoring Indian military camps. Any signs of defiance, any whispers of rebellion, and they would act swiftly. They feared a united Indian force. And they were right to.
Arif continued, his voice measured. "Pichle hafte mujhe ek sandesh mila haiâCompany Sarkar naye bhartiyon ko angrezi fauj mein dalne ki koshish kar rahi hai. Jo unki taraf chale gaye, unko zyada ration aur paise diye ja rahe hain."
Karan's jaw tightened. "Bikne waale hamesha milenge, magar jo apni mitti ka karz samajhte hain, unko sirf paise se nahi toda ja sakta."
The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of reality pressing upon them. The British knew that controlling the Indian soldiers was the key to maintaining their rule. But Karan knew that loyalty wasn't boughtâit was forged, tested in fire.
Captain Jain sighed. "Toh ab? Hum kya karein?"
Karan looked at him, his dark eyes unwavering. "Hum un ladkon ko sirf ladna nahi, sochna bhi sikhaayenge. Angrez ki chal samajhna zaroori hai. Agar hum ladayi sirf talwar se ladenge, toh harenge. Par agar hum dimaag bhi lagaayein, toh jeet sakte hain."
Arif smirked. "Toh kal subah se naye bhartiyon ki aankhein kholne ka kaam shuru kar diya jaaye?"
Karan nodded. "Haan. Shiksha sirf talwar chalane ki nahi honi chahiye. Dushman ke iraadon ko samajhne ki bhi honi chahiye."
Outside, the camp was quiet, the flickering flames of the recruits' small fires glowing in the night. But inside this tent, the fire of a greater war was already beginning to burn.
The night was cool, a soft breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the cooking fires. The camp had finally settled, the low murmur of voices fading into the rustling of canvas tents. Karan Thakur stepped out of the officers' tent, adjusting the shawl draped over his shoulders. His boots pressed against the firm ground as he made his way toward the recruits' quarters.
A commander's duty did not end with sunset. Discipline had to be maintained even in rest.
The moon cast long shadows over the training ground as Karan walked past rows of tents, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings. He could hear faint snores from some tents, the steady rhythm of exhausted bodies finally succumbing to sleep. But it was not everyone.
He slowed as he approached the women's section. From one of the tents, hushed whispers carried in the air. His brows furrowed.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward, lifting the flap slightly.
Inside, a dimly lit oil lamp flickered, casting warm glows on the seven young women who occupied the space. Most lay still, curled up in their simple blankets, but two figures sat close, their heads bent together in quiet conversation.
Naina and Kaveri.
Kaveri was murmuring something in a hushed voice, while Nainaâwho had already been on his radar during trainingâlistened, her expression drowsy but alert. Karan's eyes narrowed.
"Sona nahi hai kya?" His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Both girls startled, turning toward the entrance. Kaveri's eyes went wide with alarm, while Naina stiffened.
Karan stepped inside, his presence commanding even in the small tent. The other girls stirred slightly but did not wake. His gaze flickered between Naina and Kaveri before settling on the former.
"Training ke dauraan sabse kamzor thi tum," he said coolly, his voice low yet firm. "Din bhar mehnat ki wajah se neend toh sabko aani chahiye. Tum alag ho kya?"
Naina opened her mouth to respond, but he didn't wait.
"Agar kal bhi wahi haalat rahi toh mujhe iska ilaaj karna aata hai." His eyes held a silent warning before he turned to Kaveri. "Aur tum? Tum bhi aise baith kar raat kaatogi?"
Kaveri quickly shook her head. "Nahi, sir... bas thodi der baat kar rahe the."
Karan huffed, then reached down, taking the half-melted oil lamp in his hand. "Iski zaroorat nahi hai," he muttered, blowing it out in one swift breath. Darkness engulfed the tent, save for the moonlight filtering through the canvas.
"Sone ka waqt hai. Kal subah deri nahi honi chahiye."
With that, he turned and strode out, his steps measured, his expression unreadable.
As he resumed his round, he could still hear the slight rustling inside the tent as Naina and Kaveri hurriedly settled back into their blankets. He exhaled through his nose. If Naina Rao didn't learn discipline fast, she would struggle.
And Karan Thakur had no patience for weakness.
Karan Thakur finally reached his tent, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders like a silent burden. He pushed aside the thick canvas flap and stepped inside. The dim glow of a lantern illuminated the spaceâsimple, functional, and devoid of unnecessary comfort. A small wooden table stood at the corner, covered with neatly stacked reports, an ink pot, and a sheathed dagger. Against the opposite wall, his neatly folded bedroll lay over a firm cot, the only luxury he allowed himself.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The day had been long, but he was used to it. A soldier's life did not allow indulgence in exhaustion.
Crossing to the small brass basin in the corner, he poured cool water from a clay pot and washed his face, letting the chill sharpen his senses. The scent of earth and iron filled his nostrils as he ran wet fingers through his hair, pushing back the dark strands that had loosened from their neat hold. He then unfastened the belt around his waist, setting aside his sword with practiced ease, before rolling his stiff shoulders.
Sitting at the wooden table, he pulled out a fresh parchment. There was always something to be recordedâprogress of the new recruits, details of supplies, reports for his superiors. He dipped his pen in ink and began writing in crisp, measured strokes, his mind efficiently cataloging the day's events.
His thoughts briefly flickered to the recruits, particularly to Naina Rao. The girl was a contradictionâunskilled, yet sharp. Weak, yet stubborn. Karan had no patience for incompetence, but he had seen something in her today. A spark. Whether she would burn bright or fizzle out remained to be seen.
With a sigh, he set the pen down and leaned back, flexing his fingers. The lantern's flame flickered, casting long shadows along the tent walls. The camp had fallen into deep silence now, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional crackling of dying embers.
Standing, he stripped down to his inner tunic and loose cotton pants, shaking off the stiffness from his muscles. Sitting on the cot, he reached down and pulled out a small pouch tied with cloth. From it, he retrieved a single rudraksha bead, rolling it between his fingers in quiet contemplation. A habit from years ago, before the uniform, before the war of loyalties.
After a moment, he placed it back, laid down, and exhaled slowly. His body welcomed the rest, but his mind remained sharp. There was always another day, another battleânot just with the enemy but with fate itself.
As his eyes finally closed, Karan knew one thing for certain. Tomorrow, the recruits would suffer under his command once more. And he would make sure that none of themâespecially Naina Raoâforgot it.