Chapter 7: He isn't that bad, is he?

Naina barely had time to recover before Karan moved on to the next task.

"Ab daud lagayi jayegi," he announced, his voice carrying over the exhausted trainees. "Lekin khali haathon nahi."

A few soldiers stepped forward, placing sandbags in front of them. The weight was considerable—at least fifteen kilos each. Murmurs spread among the trainees. Running was one thing, but running with extra weight?

Naina swallowed hard, her arms still shaking from the rope climb. She flexed her fingers, trying to work out the soreness.

"Sab apne apne bori uthayein aur line mein khade ho," Karan commanded. "Teen kos daud lagani hai. Pehle jo pahunchega, uska bojh kam kiya jayega agle hafte ke liye."

Three kos—nearly ten kilometers. With a heavy bag. Naina's stomach twisted.

The other trainees shifted uneasily but obeyed. Some looked determined, others worried. Kaveri, standing beside Naina, leaned in and whispered, "Yeh toh maar daalne ka irada hai."

Naina huffed. "Aur agar pichhe rahe toh fir bhi maar daalenge."

Karan stepped in front of them, arms crossed. "Main ginti kar raha hoon. Jisne bhi suru hone ke baad dheere chalne ki sochi, use dugna daud lagwaunga."

The threat was enough to make everyone stiffen.

"Ek... do... TEEN!"

They launched forward.

The weight of the sandbag pressed against Naina's shoulders like a boulder, slowing her down immediately. She gritted her teeth, focusing on keeping up with the others. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, dust rising as their boots struck the dirt path.

Within minutes, the stronger trainees surged ahead. Naina fell into the middle group, her breaths coming faster. Her body was already tired, but she refused to fall behind.

Karan and Captain Jain rode alongside them on horseback, watching closely.

"Jo pichhe ho raha hai, use yaad dilaa do ki yeh koi tasalli se chalne ki jagah nahi," Karan said to Jain, who gave a sharp nod.

Jain wasted no time, kicking his horse forward and barking, "Tez! Yehi gati rahi toh aap khud ko nasht kar chuke honge!"

A few trainees groaned, forcing their legs to move faster. Naina clenched her jaw. Her thighs burned, her shoulders ached, but she kept moving.

One kos passed.

By the second kos, sweat dripped from her forehead, soaking the back of her tunic. She felt lightheaded, her steps faltering. The bag seemed to grow heavier with every breath.

Kaveri struggled beside her, her breath ragged. "Yeh... kaise... sambhalein?" she wheezed.

"Mat soch," Naina panted. "Bas daud."

Her own words surprised her. When had she started sounding like someone who belonged here?

Karan rode ahead, glancing at the trainees with his usual unreadable expression. But when his eyes met Naina's for a fleeting second, something in his gaze sharpened.

She didn't know what it was. Approval? A challenge?

Whatever it was, she took it.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself forward. One last kos to go.

The final kos was the hardest. Every step felt like dragging a mountain. The sandbag burned against Naina's back, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her legs felt like they would collapse beneath her any second.

Some trainees had already slowed down, barely jogging. A few had stopped altogether, doubling over to catch their breath. But Naina clenched her jaw. She had never run this much in her life, let alone with weight pressing down on her, but she refused to be among those who gave up.

Ahead of her, some of the stronger recruits pushed on. One of them, a broad-shouldered girl named Rukmani, had taken the lead. Kaveri was still beside Naina, struggling but moving.

Karan and Captain Jain continued their rounds on horseback, scanning the trainees like hawks. Every time someone slowed too much, Karan's sharp voice cut through the air.

"Dheere chalne ka waqt nahi hai! Jo peechhe reh gaya, samjho apne saathiyon ko dhoka de raha hai!"

Naina felt her chest tighten—not just from exhaustion, but from those words. It wasn't just about completing a task. It was about proving she could belong here.

With sheer willpower, she pushed forward, gritting her teeth as the training ground came into sight. The finish line was marked by a wooden pole where a couple of senior soldiers stood, observing.

The final stretch.

Naina forced her legs to move faster, ignoring the fire in her muscles. The sandbag dug into her shoulders, her breath came in short, painful bursts, but she didn't stop. She surged past two other trainees who had slowed down, her eyes fixed on that pole.

And then, she crossed it.

She stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing onto her knees, gasping for air. The world around her blurred, her head spinning. Sweat dripped down her temples, soaking the collar of her uniform.

Kaveri dropped down beside her, groaning. "Main... zinda hoon?"

Naina let out a breathless laugh, still trying to recover. "Abhi tak toh haan."

The rest of the trainees trickled in over the next few minutes, many collapsing the moment they reached the pole. Some had to be dragged forward by their comrades, their legs barely working anymore.

Then, the sound of hooves.

Karan rode up to them, his sharp gaze sweeping over the exhausted recruits. He dismounted effortlessly, walking toward them with measured steps. His posture was rigid, arms folded behind his back as he observed the ones who had finished.

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were labored breaths and the distant call of birds in the morning sky.

Then, Karan's voice rang out. "Jo pehle pahunche, samjho ek kadam aage hain. Jo peeche rahe, tayyari shuru kar do."

Naina lifted her head slightly, her heart still hammering in her chest. She wasn't first, but she wasn't last either.

Karan's gaze flickered over them—and lingered on her for just a second longer.

She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But as she sat there, gulping air, one thing was clear.

She had survived the first real test.

But this was just the beginning.

Naina's throat burned like fire, her breaths still uneven as she sat on the ground, trying to steady herself. Her body ached from exhaustion, but the worst part was the unbearable dryness in her mouth. She swallowed, but it only made the pain worse.

Then, a shadow fell over her.

She looked up to see Karan standing there, his expression unreadable. In his hand was a small brass tumbler filled with water. Without a word, he extended it toward her.

For a moment, Naina hesitated. This wasn't something she had expected. She had seen Karan as a relentless trainer, someone who pushed them to the limits without mercy. But here he was, offering water—not just to her, but to all the recruits.

Around her, other trainees were being handed tumblers as well, some by Captain Jain, others by the senior soldiers.

Naina quickly took the tumbler, the cool metal pressing against her sweaty palms. She brought it to her lips and drank greedily, the water tasting like the sweetest thing she had ever had. The relief was instant, washing away the raw dryness in her throat.

"Aah...!" Kaveri let out a sigh beside her, wiping her mouth. "Isse behtar cheez maine kabhi nahi pi."

Naina silently agreed. She lowered the tumbler, glancing up again at Karan, who had already moved on to the next batch of recruits. There was no softness in his face, no sign that this was anything but routine.

But still, something about the gesture lingered in her mind.

Maybe he wasn't just a merciless commander after all.

Just as the trainees finished drinking their water, the sound of boots crunching on the dirt caught their attention. Captain Jain stood at a distance, his sharp gaze sweeping over the exhausted recruits.

"Sab apni jagah se uth jao!" he commanded. "Tum logon ko aaraam karne ka waqt nahi diya gaya, bulaaya gaya hai. Chalo!"

Groans of exhaustion rippled through the group, but no one dared to protest. Naina wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and got to her feet. Her limbs ached, and she knew the others felt the same. But there was no choice.

Kaveri sighed beside her. "Phir se class? Kal bhi toh diya tha."

"Shaayad naye tareeke sikhaye jaayenge," Naina guessed, stretching her sore shoulders.

The group trudged toward the large tent set up near the training grounds, where they had attended their first theory session the previous day. The midday sun bore down on them, making every step feel heavier. As they entered, they saw the same wooden benches and the large blackboard at the front of the tent.

Karan stood near the board, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp as ever. The sight of him made Naina straighten her back instinctively. She knew he would be watching, and she didn't want to give him any reason to single her out again—at least not for another scolding.

The trainees quickly took their seats, their bodies still aching from the morning's rigorous physical training. Naina exhaled, already preparing herself for another lesson—one that would test their minds just as much as their bodies.

Karan's piercing gaze swept over the seated trainees before he turned toward the blackboard. He picked up a piece of chalk and, in his sharp handwriting, wrote:

"चोट और उपचार - युद्ध के मैदान में प्राथमिक चिकित्सा" (Injuries and Treatment - Battlefield First Aid)

The tent fell silent as the trainees straightened, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

"Aaj hum kisi bhi yoddha ke liye ek ati aavashyak gyaan seekhenge—ghav bharne aur peeda kam karne ke tareeke," Karan began, his deep voice steady. "Yuddh ke maidan mein har pal jeevan aur mrityu ke beech ki rekha hoti hai. Ek sahi kiya gaya bandhan ya ek samay par diya gaya upchaar kisi ki jaan bacha sakta hai."

He walked over to a wooden table, where a few basic medical supplies had been placed—strips of cloth, a bowl of water, herbal pastes, and a few other crude tools.

"Sabse pehle—jalne ka ilaaj." He held up a small clay container filled with aloe vera and sandalwood paste. "Agar kisi sipahi ka sharir jal jaaye, toh sabse pehle, us jagah ko thande paani se dhona chahiye. Uspar mitti ya koi anya cheez nahi lagani, sirf saaf paani."

He dipped his fingers into the paste and smeared a small amount onto a piece of cloth. "Is prakritik lep ka upayog jalne wale ghav ko shant karne ke liye kiya jata hai. Yeh ghav ko thanda rakhta hai aur jalan ko kam karta hai."

Naina leaned forward slightly, watching his hands work with precision. The mention of herbal pastes reminded her of the home remedies her mother used. She made a mental note to remember this.

Next, Karan picked up a long strip of cloth. "Ab—choton aur ghavon ke liye bandhan ka sahi tareeka." He gestured toward Captain Jain, who stepped forward, offering his arm for demonstration.

"Yadi chhoti chot ho, toh sabse pehle, ghav ko saaf karna zaroori hai. Agar ghav se khoon beh raha ho, toh us jagah par zor se dabav dalna chahiye, taaki rakt bahna band ho."

He demonstrated by pressing a thick cloth onto Jain's arm, then swiftly wrapping the bandage around it. "Bandhan itna kas ke bandhna chahiye ki khoon ruk jaaye, lekin itna bhi nahi ki rakt pravah bilkul thamm jaaye."

Naina watched with fascination. She had often stitched delicate patterns into fabric, but now she was realizing that those same steady hands could be used to stitch wounds, to heal.

"Agar kisi ke sharir mein gehri chot lag jaaye, toh suturing—silai karna—kabhi kabhi aavashyak ho sakta hai." Karan's eyes flickered toward the group. "Aur kal ki class ke dauraan, mujhe ek aisi sipahi mili jo pehle se sui-dhaage chalane mein nipun hai."

Naina's breath caught as his eyes met hers for the briefest moment. It was the first time his words didn't carry irritation or scorn—but rather acknowledgment.

"Aaj yeh sabhi seekhna zaroori hai. Kal se tum log ek-doosre par prashikshan karoge," Karan announced. "Jisme tumhe yeh techniques ka upyog karna hoga."

A murmur spread through the trainees. Practicing on each other? Some looked hesitant, others nervous. But Naina remained quiet. Somewhere deep inside, she felt an unexpected thrill—she had finally found something in this place that she might be good at.

Karan continued explaining battlefield first aid, but his sharp eyes lingered on Naina more than any other trainee. He observed how she sat upright, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration, her hands unconsciously mimicking the movements of bandaging as if rehearsing in her mind. Unlike the others, who still hesitated, she absorbed the lesson with quiet determination.

His arms remained crossed over his chest as he paced before them. "Agar kisi ko gehri chot lage aur khoon rukne ka naam na le, toh kya karna chahiye?" His question sliced through the murmurs of discussion.

The trainees exchanged glances, a few hesitant hands began to rise, but before anyone could speak, Naina's voice cut through. "Zakhm ko upar uthakar dabav dena chahiye, aur agar ho sake toh ghav ke thik upar bandhan kasna chahiye taaki khoon ruk sake."

Karan's gaze sharpened. "Aur agar uske paas koi patti ya kapda na ho toh?"

Naina pursed her lips, thinking for only a second. "Phir kapde ka koi bhi tukda ya apne dupatte ka hissa faad kar bandhan banaya ja sakta hai, bas wo saaf ho."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Karan's face. "Ummid nahi thi ki koi turant jawab dega," he muttered under his breath, though there was no irritation in his voice this time.

For the remainder of the lesson, he found his gaze constantly drawn back to her. He noticed the way her fingers traced the knots and folds of the bandages on her lap, practicing even while seated. When he demonstrated pressure points to stop excessive bleeding, her eyes never left his hands, following every movement with an intensity he hadn't seen in the others.

Most of the trainees were still nervous, stiff with hesitation. Some fumbled with the cloth strips, their hands unsure. But Naina? She already understood the importance of precision.

Karan straightened, setting down the cloth. "Aaj ke liye itna hi," he said, eyes scanning the group—but resting just a little longer on her. "Tum sabhi ke liye yeh ek naya vishay hai, par samay ke saath yeh tumhare haathon ka ek hissa ban jaana chahiye. Kal se prakriya aur kathin hogi."

With that, he dismissed them, but as the trainees rose to leave, his gaze remained fixed on Naina's retreating figure. There was something different about her, something that had caught his attention in a way no other recruit had.

And Karan Thakur never let anything—or anyone—catch his attention without reason.

As the theory class ended, the trainees were led back to the open area where they had cooked their meals the previous evening. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the training camp. Unlike yesterday, when they were handed the same simple supplies, today, large sacks and baskets sat before them, filled with different ingredients.

Karan stood before them, arms crossed, his sharp gaze moving across the group. "Aaj tum sabhi ko naye samaan diye ja rahe hain. Tumhe khud samajhna hoga ki inse kya bana sakte ho." His tone was firm but held a hint of expectation. "Yudh ke dauraan hamesha wahi nahi milega jo tum chahte ho. Seekho jo hai, ussi se behtareen tayar karna."

The trainees exchanged glances, some confused, some intrigued. As they moved forward to inspect the ingredients, murmurs filled the air. This time, instead of just bajra flour, there was whole wheat flour, lentils, a few dried spices, and even a handful of vegetables—onions, tomatoes, and green chilies.

Kaveri nudged Naina with an excited whisper. "Iska matlab hum kuch alag bana sakte hain!"

Naina's fingers brushed against the wheat flour sack. "Par kya?" she murmured, already thinking. Unlike yesterday, this required more than just effort—it required thought.

Karan, who had been silently observing, spoke again. "Tumhe ek ghante ke andar khana tayar karna hoga. Jo bhi bekar bana, usse sirf tumhe nahi, baaki sabko bhi bhugatna padega." His gaze darkened slightly. "Samjhe?"

A nervous laugh rippled through the group, but everyone knew he was serious. They had to cook something edible—not just for themselves, but for their team.

Naina, who had grown up watching her mother cook, already had an idea forming in her mind. She turned to Kaveri. "Gehun ka atta hai, dal bhi hai... hum sikhi hui roti aur dal bana sakte hain."

Kaveri's eyes widened. "Par dal toh samay legi!"

Naina smirked. "Isiliye jaldi kaam shuru karna hoga."

And with that, she picked up the pot, filled it with water, and set it over the makeshift fire. As the flames crackled, the scent of roasting spices soon filled the air. Other teams had also started working—some trying to make different flatbreads, some attempting spiced lentil mash, others struggling just to get the fire going.

As Karan continued his inspection rounds, his eyes inevitably landed on Naina's team again. He watched as she took the lead, guiding her team efficiently. She kneaded the dough with swift, practiced movements, her fingers pressing into the wheat with ease.

For a girl who had fumbled so miserably in physical training, she had an undeniable confidence in the kitchen.

Karan didn't say anything yet. He simply watched, arms folded, as the meal took shape.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air. Naina's team had worked efficiently, and the results were nothing short of impressive. The dal had thickened into a smooth, flavorful consistency, seasoned just right with the limited spices they had. The whole wheat rotis were soft yet had the perfect crispness on the edges, unlike the dry, hard rotlas from the previous night.

Kaveri took a hesitant bite first. The moment the flavors hit her tongue, her eyes widened. "Yeh toh bilkul ghar jaisa lag raha hai!" she whispered, barely able to contain her excitement.

The other girls quickly followed, their expressions shifting from exhaustion to sheer relief. After days of bland, military-style food, this meal was a much-needed comfort.

"Bohot badhiya bana hai," one of the other trainees mumbled through a mouthful, nodding in approval. "Jee toh kar raha hai ki aur khau!"

Naina couldn't help but smile. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing everyone enjoy something she had made, something that reminded them all of home, even in this rigid, unforgiving environment.

Just as the team was about to relax and fully enjoy their meal, a familiar voice cut through the moment.

"Kya ho raha hai yahan?"

The laughter and conversation immediately died down as Karan stepped into the circle. His sharp eyes surveyed the group, then dropped to the plates in their hands. For a long moment, he didn't say anything. His expression was unreadable.

Then, without a word, he crouched down and picked up a piece of roti from the wooden plate nearest to him.

The trainees held their breath.

Karan tore a piece of the roti, dipped it into the dal, and took a bite. His jaw worked slowly, chewing with practiced patience. His gaze remained fixed on Naina, though his expression gave away nothing.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he swallowed.

"Dusri teams se accha bana hai," he admitted, his tone devoid of praise but also lacking criticism.

Kaveri's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Sirf dusri teams se?" she muttered under her breath, though low enough that only Naina caught it.

Naina pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Karan had his pride, after all.

He stood up, dusting his hands. "Bhaari bhojan khakar sust mat ho jaana. Training aur bhi kathor hogi." His gaze lingered on Naina for a second longer before he turned and walked away, continuing his inspection.

The moment he left, the team burst into silent giggles, muffling their excitement.

"Mukhya shikshak ne hamari tareef ki," one girl whispered, nudging Naina.

Naina just shook her head, but a small spark of satisfaction burned within her. She had failed in almost everything so far, but today—just for a moment—she had done something better than the others.

And Karan Thakur had noticed.

Just as the trainees were finishing their meals, an unexpected announcement spread through the camp like wildfire. Whispers and murmurs grew louder, and soon enough, one of the senior officers entered the trainees' area.

"Dhyaan se suno sab log!" his deep voice silenced the chatter instantly. "Agle do din—Holi aur Dhuleti—ke avsar par, training shivir mein chhutti hogi."

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, excitement erupted.

"Chhutti?" Kaveri gasped, barely containing her excitement. "Do din bina training ke?"

A few girls exchanged gleeful glances, unable to believe their luck. The past days had been grueling, pushing them to their limits with endless drills, discipline, and exhausting routines. But now, for the first time since arriving, they would have time to breathe—to celebrate.

Naina, too, felt a rush of happiness. Holi had always been her favorite festival. The colors, the music, the laughter—it was a day of freedom, of joy, of forgetting all worries. Even though they were far from home, perhaps this festival would bring them a little piece of it.

But then, just as quickly as the excitement had built up, another thought struck her.

What would Holi be like in a place like this? Would they even be allowed to truly celebrate? And more importantly... would Karan Thakur, the ever-serious, ever-commanding instructor, even acknowledge the festival?

Her eyes flickered towards the area where the senior officers sat, wondering if Karan had been the one to approve the break. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Kaveri nudged her playfully. "Lagta hai uparwale bhi jaante hain ki humse itni kathor training bardasht nahi hoti."

Naina smiled but said nothing. The camp was strict, disciplined—but for the next two days, that would change.

Holi was coming, and for the first time since she arrived, she felt a small flicker of excitement that had nothing to do with training.