A sharp, rhythmic pounding filled the air—boots crunching against frostbitten ground. The crackle of intense gunfire echoed, growing louder with every heartbeat. Smoke blurred the edges of the scene, its acrid tang clawing at his throat.
Arjun stumbled through the haze, rifle heavy in his hands, his breath ragged. Shadows moving around him, indistinct figures shouting in a muffled voice, their words drowned by the cacophony of guns firing. His chest tightened as he recognized the terrain—a rugged hillside cloaked in the eerie stillness that followed violence.
"Varun?!" he called out, his voice desperate, but the name dissolved into the void.
Suddenly, the world tilted. A searing pain shot through his side as something struck him—a bullet, no, three of them. He fell, clutching at the wound, the cold earth leeching the warmth from his body. Overhead, the grey, melancholic sky roiled, dark clouds swirling like a vortex.
A figure loomed above him, silhouetted against the chaos. Piercing brown eyes locked onto his, and a voice, low and guttural, whispered, "You should have saved him." He knew the voice, he'd heard it before, for it was his own. And out of the shadows, the figure revealed himself, it was his own self, his gaze still piercing into his eyes...
Arjun jolted awake, his chest heaving.
For a moment, he sat still, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dim light of dawn filtered through the curtains of his modest apartment, painting long shadows on the walls. He ran a hand over his face, damp with sweat, and forced himself to steady his breathing.
It was the same recurring dream, he'd been having for years now.
Outside, the city began to stir, the distant hum of traffic rising with the sun. Arjun swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples. His mornings had always been regimented—a holdover from his army days—but the dreams had been growing more frequent lately, serving as an unwelcomed reminder of a life he had worked so hard to leave behind.
He reached for the neatly folded clothes on the chair beside his bed, the faint scent of detergent comforting in its ordinariness. As he dressed, he glanced at the calendar pinned to the wall: another day of lectures, meetings, and the predictable rhythm of academia.
By the time he stepped out onto the veranda, coffee mug in hand, the world outside seemed lighter. The sun glinted off the ocean in the distance, and the faint cry of gulls mingled with the clatter of vendors setting up their morning stalls.
His morning routine anchored him, for it provided a sense of stability that the chaotic visions of his bygone years often threatened to erode. By 6:30 AM, Arjun was seated at his small kitchen table, savoring a cup of strong masala chai. The aroma of elaichi and freshly brewed tea filled the air, tugging him back to memories of his childhood in Lucknow—the slow-paced city where life had once been simpler.
He opened a notebook, skimming over his lecture notes for the day. Today's topic: "The Socio-Political Impacts of Decolonization." It was one of his favorite subjects, a reminder of his people's resilience in the face of oppression.
By 8:00 AM, he was out the door, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and black trousers. The streets were alive with activity as he walked the short distance to The New Vikramshila University, where he had been teaching as a professor for the past four years. The campus sprawled across several acres, its modern architecture blending seamlessly with lush greenery and quiet courtyards.
Arjun's lectures were the highlight of his day. He thrived on the energy of his students, their questions often forced him to think critically and push the boundaries of his thoughts. Yet, despite his outward enthusiasm, there was a quiet detachment to his interactions—a wall he had built over the years, one he rarely allowed anyone to breach.
After his classes, Arjun returned to his office, a cozy space lined with bookshelves crammed with history and political science texts. The smell of old paper and ink was soothing, a stark contrast to the tension that lingered in his mind after the morning's dream.
He sank into his chair, staring absently at the half-graded stack of essays on his desk. The day felt off-kilter. His thoughts kept drifting back to the dream, to the whispered accusation: "You should have saved him."
He decided to blow some steam off and stepped outside for a walk.The nearby beach was his sanctuary. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, he walked along the shore, barefooted. The cool sand beneath his feet and the rhythmic crash of waves were a balm for his restless mind.
He paused near a cluster of rocks, watching the tide roll in. The ocean always reminded him of time—its constant ebb and flow, its vastness, its unyielding power. He wondered if it was possible to ever truly leave the past behind or if it always found a way to resurface, like driftwood washed ashore.
Having visited the beach, Arjun returned home, craving nothing more than a hot shower and a quiet evening. But as he stepped out of the bathroom, his wet feet slipped on the tiles. He lost his balance, hitting his forehead against the edge of the sink.
"Damn it," he muttered, pressing his hand against the sharp sting. A thin line of blood trickled down his temple. As he cleaned the cut and applied a band-aid, his eyes caught the reflection of his chisled, but scarred torso in the mirror—three faded bullet wound scars marking the ghost of a life he rarely spoke about. He sighed, shaking his head at the thought of his date the next day.
Dr. Sagarika Rao, a fellow professor of archaeology, had been at the university for a year. Her warmth and curiosity had begun to chip away at Arjun's guarded demeanor, though he was still unsure what she saw in him. He hoped the cut on his forehead wouldn't make him look too disheveled.
Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he settled into his armchair. The amber liquid burned slightly, warming his chest as he sipped. But as the evening faded, so did his calm. The silence brought with it memories he had long tried to bury—laughing with his comrades in an army truck, a Hindi song echoing in the open air.
"मैं ज़िन्दगी का साथ निभाता चला गया ~
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ाता चला गया ~
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ा~
बरबादियों का सोग मनाना फ़जूल था ,
बरबादियों का सोग मनाना फ़जूल था ~
मनाना फ़जूल था, मनाना फ़जूल था ,
बरबादियों का जश्न मनाता चला गया ~
बरबादियों का जश्न मनाता चला गया ,
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ा~"
As the song began to fade , the laughter turned to screams, and the sound of gunfire shattered the moment.
He woke up, startled, his breath ragged, the faint light of dawn creeping into the room. Drenched in sweat, Arjun forced himself on his feet. The cold water of the shower did little to wash away the haunting images. By 5 AM, he was at the gym, pushing his body to exhaustion in a futile attempt to quiet his mind.
Later that morning, he returned home with groceries and rang the doorbell of his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Raquel Alvarez. A frail, white haired woman opened the door, her sharp eyes immediately noticing the band-aid on his forehead.
"Arre, Arjun! What happened now?" she asked, her Konkani-accented Hindi carrying a mix of exasperation and affection.
"Just a small mishap, Aunty. Slipped in the bathroom," he replied sheepishly, holding up the grocery bags.
She clicked her tongue and ushered him inside. "Tu bhi na, Arjun. Kabhi apne aap ka dhyan nahi rakhta. Andar aaja, chai banati hoon."
Handing over the groceries, he followed her into the kitchen, where the familiar aroma of ginger tea filled the air. Mrs. Alvarez, whose children lived abroad, treated Arjun like her own son. "You know, Deepali was asking if you've found a girlfriend yet," she said, setting a steaming cup before him.
Arjun laughed, shaking his head. "Tell her to stop asking and start helping, Aunty."
Mrs. Alvarez chuckled. "Woh toh kab se taiyaar hai. Bas tu bol kar to dekh" Her laughter faded into a warm smile. "Now tell me, how are things going for you?"
As Arjun sipped his tea, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. The warmth of her home and her motherly presence reminded him that, despite his solitary life, he never actually had been truly alone ever since he came to Vishakhapattnam.
Mrs. Alvarez leaned forward, her expression a mix of affection and concern. "But seriously, beta, you're a good-looking boy—charming, too, though sometimes I think you don't realize it. But you won't stay young forever. It's time to think about settling down. You can't do everything alone."
Arjun hesitated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Actually, Aunty... I might be meeting someone this evening."
Her face lit up with delight. "Arjun! That's wonderful! Who is it?"
He tried to wave it off casually but couldn't hide a small smile. "Just a colleague, Dr. Sagarika. She teaches at the university..."
Mrs. Alvarez leaned closer, her curiosity palpable. "Oh ho, a professor sahiba huh? And what does this professor teach?"
"Archaeology," he replied, his voice calm but tinged with amusement.
"Aha, digging up old things. Bring her here sometime, Maybe she'll like me alot." Mrs. Alvarez teased, chuckling at her own wit.
"Bete you better not mess this up. first impressions count you know? Don't go lecturing her about history or politics, okay?"
Arjun laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'll try my best, Aunty. I'll let you know how it goes."
As the afternoon turned to evening, Arjun prepared for his dinner with Sagarika. He dressed simply but neatly—a crisp white shirt paired with a blazer and dark jeans.
By the time he arrived at the restaurant, the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt and jasmine. Sagarika was already there, seated at a table near the edge of the open terrace. She smiled warmly as he approached, her sari fluttering slightly in the evening breeze.
"Good evening, Arjun," she said, her voice tinged with both humor and curiosity. "You're looking sharp today."
Arjun smiled awkwardly, pulling out a chair. "Thank you." He continued with a smile- "I could say the same about you."
"Girls don't look sharp Arjun, They look beautiful." She said, her voice playful.
"Don't push it." Arjun replied humourously.
Their conversation flowed easily over the course of dinner. Sagarika spoke about her latest excavation project in Rajasthan, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. Arjun listened intently, occasionally chiming in with his thoughts.
As the evening wore on, Sagarika leaned forward slightly, her expression turning serious. "Arjun, Am I not the only one talking?", she continued with a smile- " you've always been so… private. Why don't you Tell me something about yourself?"
He chuckled, trying to deflect. "Oh, not much to tell. Just a regular guy, really."
"pfft I don't believe that for a second," she said, playfully narrowing her eyes. "Come on, give me something Arjun...Accha Tell me How'd you come about to be Doctor Arjun?"
Arjun sighed, his tone softening as he began, "My father was a doctor—a real one, not just a Ph.D.," he added with a self-deprecating grin. "He always dreamed I'd follow in his footsteps. But when I was in ninth grade, he passed away in an accident."
Sagarika's expression turned startled and regretful, after a very brief pause she said "...I'm so sorry, Arjun. I should have never asked."
"Oh please. It's alright. It does not bother me as much anymore." Arjun admitted.
" After that me and my mother were left alone. She began teaching the local kids to support us-" , He continued his voice quieter now- " One thing led to another and when I turned 18, I qualified for The Defence Academy. So, instead of following in my dad's footsteps and becoming a doctor like my mother had wanted, I joined the army instead. And although she wasn't approving at first, I convinced her somehow. I thought it was the best way to take care of her."
"Well I don't know about anyone but I for one sure think you have become someone a parent could be very proud of."
Sagarika reached out, resting her hand on his briefly. "Tell me more about it...About your life in the army, all your friends and adventures..."
"haha... why not..." he said, his face flustered.
Arjun's expression shifted as he delved into his memories. "Dosto ka kya hai... wo to kahin bhi ban jate hain...I had my fair share of friends during those days... Vijay, Umang, Junaid, Saini... Varun." He took a sight pause.
"And our battalion was posted in poonch , Kashmir..."
"Kashmir?"
"Yes, That... is where I was shot thrice."
"It must have hurt a lot, no?" Sagarika asked with a bit of sadness in her voice.
Arjun shrugged, trying to downplay it. "When I was shot? Yes. It hurt like hell. But when I woke up in the hospital bed, the pain had dialed down a bit."
"How did it happen?" She asked with a worried expression.
"It was December, And Chillaikalan had just began- "
"Chillaikalan?"
"Yes. the harshest month and a half of winter. The kashmiris call it Chillaikalan."
"...Okay"
As Arjun Delved deeper into his memories, he took them both to the days of his first posting in kashmir.
The chill of the Himalayan winter seeped into every crevice of the army camp nestled deep in Poonch, Kashmir. Heavy snow blanketed the terrain, muffling even the faintest sound. Visibility was near zero, the darkness thick, and the chilly air before dawn, biting.
Inside one of the tents, Captain Arjun stirred slightly in his sleep, pulling his blanket tighter around him. Outside, only the occasional whistle of the wind could be heard-until a soldier named Rajiv stirred awake, his thirst gnawing at him.
Sitting up, Rajeev exhaled a cloud of mist into the frosty air. He reached for. his flask of rum, hoping it would warm him against the bitter chill. He threw on his boots and stepped outside, the snow crunching softly beneath his weight. Something felt off, though he couldn't quite place it.
Frowning, Rajeev's gaze swept across the camp. The watchtower loomed dark and empty, its sentry missing. His unease deepened as he noticed faint, unusual footprints in the freshly fallen snow leading toward the camp's perimeter.
"Aslan?" he called softly, barely above a whisper. The name hung in the air, unanswered.
The silence gnawed at him. He tightened his grip on his rifle, his breath fogging the air. Moving cautiously, he approached a stack of supplies covered in tarpaulin near the perimeter. His fingers hesitated on the edge of the covering.
"Aslan, you better not be sleeping on duty again..."
He yanked the tarpaulin off, revealing Aslan's lifeless body beneath, his uniform soaked in blood. Rajeev's heart raced. Before he could react, a shadow moved behind him.
A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his gasp, as a blade drove into his torso. Again. And again. Rajeev struggled, his boots kicking up the snow, but the figure was unrelenting.The blade plunged into Rajiv's torso with brutal precision, over and over, until the soldier's body went limp. Zaid and his men swiftly dragged the body into the shadows, hiding it beneath the snow.
The rest of the his men moved with coordinated precision, taking positions near the tents. Zaid signaled to them, and they stormed into one of the tents.
Gunfire erupted, deafening and relentless. The terrorists sprayed bullets indiscriminately, shooting down unsuspecting soldiers in their sleep. Shouts of panic and pain filled the air as the sleeping camp jolted awake.
Arjun bolted upright at the sound, heart pounding. He grabbed his rifle and rushed outside, the frigid air slapping him awake. Around him, chaos reigned. The terrain, slick with snow and uneven, became a blood splattered battleground.
Bullets whizzed past as Arjun and his fellow soldiers scrambled to defend the camp. Visibility was poor, the snowfall relentless, but training and instinct took. over. Arjun ducked behind a snowbank, returning fire, his breath coming in sharp bursts. He shot at two of the attackers who were ducking behind a supply truck, managing to shoot one in the eye and another on his temple. He'd neutralised two of the seven hostiles.
"Varun, cover me!" he shouted, spotting his closest friend nearby , engaging two attackers near the northern perimeter.
Varun nodded, his face grim, and moved to provide cover fire. Together, they managed to push the attackers back, in the process , managing to shoot down another but the odds were stacked against them.
"4 HOSTILES DOWN! 1 BEHIND THE SUPPLY CRATES!" yelled a soldier from the far western end. The soldiers flanked near the crates, returning fire 5 fold. The terrorist was soon neutralised.
In the midst of the chaos, Varun spotted one of the terrorists reloading near a tree and charged toward him. But as he got close, Zaid, who had been lying in wait behind a jeep, shot at him from his side.
"Varun, no!" Arjun yelled, his voice hoarse, but it was too late. Varun had fallen down. His blood, pooling in the pristine white snow below him. Though He struggled, Varun managed to fire his last few shots before falling silent, injuring Zaid's arm and catching the one behind the tree squarely in the chest.
"MAN DOWN!" "MAN DOWN!", A fellow Soldier yelled. Suddenly, all the fire was focused to cover Varun.
Arjun's vision blurred with rage. Ignoring the hail of bullets around him, he charged forward, his rifle blazing. Returning unerring precision, his bullets caught Zaid squarely in his chest. He fell down very anticlimatically. His blood pooling beneath him, as he breathed his last in the pool of his own blood.
Arjun's pulse drummed thunderously in his ears as he moved toward Varun, who was lying motionless in the snow. The battlefield fell away in a blur-the crack of gunfire, the shouts of his comrades, the sting of icy wind against his skin. All that mattered was reaching Varun.
"Varun?!" Arjun's voice was shrill, overcome with grief. He kept moving towards his friend. Varun's body was slumped awkwardly, his face turned away. A crimson pool spread beneath him.
Arjun felt cold, as he looked down, he realised blood was dripping down his shirt, But he continued moving towards him- "Varun? Varun? Var...un? Va-..." , he fell down, the world around him blurring, his last sight, the stark contrast of Varun's Crimson blood against the white snow searing itself into his mind.
A familiar song and a vision—Varun's lifeless face came across his mind.
"मैं ज़िन्दगी का साथ निभाता चला गया ~
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ाता चला गया ~
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ा~
बरबादियों का सोग मनाना फ़जूल था ,
बरबादियों का सोग मनाना फ़जूल था ~
मनाना फ़जूल था, मनाना फ़जूल था ,
बरबादियों का जश्न मनाता चला गया ~
बरबादियों का जश्न मनाता चला गया ,
हर फ़िक्र को धुएँ में उड़ा~"
The slow hum of Varun's Favourite song in his head, and a fly fluterring above his friend's lifeless eyes. When you are inching towards death, the mind plays weird tricks on you...
As his vision faded into a Cimmerian shade, all he could hear was his comrades yelling, "2 MEN DOWN! 2 MEN DOW-" , their voices muffled as darkness took Arjun.
"And Varun?" The Question from Sagarika pulled him out of the almost dream like phase he'd drifted into.
"He didn't make it. He was shot eighteen times in the chest. He passed away that same day." He sighed, shaking the vision off.
Sagarika , with a few tears trickling down her eyes, as she had been sobered completely, said "I'm so sorry, Arjun. I shouldn't have took you there."
"Arre it's okay. I don't mind" Arjun said, his voice softening. "We were like brothers. I do think about him alot."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Arjun's story hanging in the air. Then, sensing the need to lighten the mood, Arjun smiled. "But you know, Varun wouldn't want us to be sad, that bastard would be cursing me from afterlife to bring this up on a date."
Sagarika managed a small smile. "You're right."
"Absolutely," Arjun agreed. "And he had a wicked sense of humor. He'd be making jokes even now if he were here."
Sagarika chuckled, and the tension began to lift.
"Well That's what you call a journey. You've achieved so much in this short time. Now I KNOW Your mother is proud"
"She passed away sometime after my exams. But she always told me she was." Arjun said, feeling a bit sad but warmth spread through him at her words.
"And what about you, Sagarika? How did you end up in archaeology?" Arjun quickly said, trying his best to avoid a grim and gloomy atmosphere.
She smiled. "I have always had a fascination with history and ancient cultures. My parents had always supported me. So I pursued it all the way... did my Ph.D. in archaeology. And since then, I got myself involved in various digs and research projects ever since. When the opportunity came to teach here, I took it because the pay was VERY good." A small chuckle escaping her lips.
Arjun smiled and nodded. "That it sure is."
Sagarika raised her glass. "To journeys, then."
Arjun clinked his glass with hers. "To OUR journeys."
Their date continued for another hour and a half, where they chatted continuously about all kinds of things- Coffees, teas, Books, Classes, students , other faculties, and places they'd been to.
They continued to talk, sharing stories and laughter, and both of them felt a connection growing between them, but Arjun had found a good friend to talk his heart out to. As the evening drew to a close, Sagarika looked at him with a warm smile. "Thank you for tonight, Arjun. I had a wonderful time."
"Me too," Arjun replied.
"We should do this again sometime." she said, her eyes sparkling.
"We should?" Arjun asked with the same oblivious face that he'd always adorned.
"Then we shouldn't?" Sagarika was surprised.
"No, No I mean... we must" he said but
("Whoo...What a save") Was what he was thinking.
"Next Saturday, my place then, Doctor Arjun."
"With pleasure, Doctor sagarika" laughing, each at their own lame jokes, They left the restaurant together.
The night air was cool and refreshing. As they walked to their cars, Sagarika paused and turned to him. "Arjun, I'm really glad we got to know each other better. You're an incredible person."
Arjun felt a flush of warmth and confusion "...Thank you, Sagarika, That means a lot coming from you."
They said their goodbyes, and Arjun watched her drive away, feeling lighter than he ever had in the past several months.