Rudra's consciousness drifted through a haze, unmoored from the present, untethered by time. The last thing he remembered was the searing heat of the cockpit, the cold rush of air, and that strange, creeping fog. Now, everything felt different. The pain in his body was replaced by a heavy, disorienting pressure in his head. Slowly, he began to regain his senses, but something was off—this wasn't the battlefield, and the sounds around him were muted, as if he were underwater.
As his eyes fluttered open, Rudra found himself lying in a dimly lit room. The ceiling above him was low, the shadows long and deep. Outside, the world was shrouded in darkness; it was clearly the middle of the night. He tried to sit up, but a throbbing headache pulled him back down.
Voices reached him, low and concerned. He turned his head and saw three figures standing beside the bed—a man in casual night clothes, a woman with gentle eyes, and a doctor, his expression serious as he checked Rudra's vitals. Rudra blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. The man, tall and imposing despite his civilian clothes, looked deeply concerned. The woman beside him placed a comforting hand on Rudra's shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring.
They spoke to him, their words soft and full of care, but Rudra couldn't quite process what they were saying. It was all a blur, a muffled sound that barely reached his consciousness. The room felt surreal, almost dreamlike, as if he were caught between worlds. He tried to focus, to ground himself, but the disorientation was too much.
Through the fog in his mind, the man's voice finally broke through. "Rudra," he said, his tone both firm and gentle, "are you feeling any better? Any pain?" The words struck a chord deep within Rudra, a strange familiarity that sent a shiver down his spine. As Rudra's vision cleared, he noticed something odd—the man and woman looked younger than he remembered, their faces less lined, as if unburdened by time. This subtle difference nagged at the edges of his awareness, adding to the growing sense that something was terribly amiss. But in his current state, Rudra could only catch fragments of their conversation, too disoriented to fully grasp what was happening around him.
Commander Karanveer Batra turned to the doctor, who was now packing up his medical kit. "What do you suggest, Doctor? Is there anything else we can do?"
The doctor nodded, his face thoughtful. "Keep his fever down. Wet cloths on his forehead—keep them cool and change them regularly. That should help stabilize him through the night."
Commander Batra nodded in understanding and escorted the doctor to the door, their conversation fading into the background. As they stepped out into the hallway, the doctor spoke in a hushed tone, "Commander, we must keep a close eye on him. His fever is unusually high, and given the circumstances, we should be prepared for any complications."
Commander Batra sighed, rubbing his temples as he tried to calm his nerves. "Thank you, Doctor. We'll do everything we can. He's like a son to me... losing him is not an option."
The doctor placed a reassuring hand on Batra's shoulder. "He's a fighter. I've seen men pull through worse with far less care. Just make sure he's never alone tonight."
Karan nodded, his expression resolute. "We won't leave his side." With that, the doctor departed, leaving Batra to face the long night ahead.
Meanwhile, Kiran Batra began gently applying the wet cloths to Rudra's forehead, her movements careful and practiced. The cool sensation against his burning skin brought a slight relief, but the throbbing in his head remained.
Just as Kiran started caring for Rudra, soft cries echoed from down the hallway—her son, only a few months younger than Rudra, had woken up, frightened by the darkness. Kiran hesitated, torn between her two children, but when Rudra's breathing steadied and he seemed to slip into sleep, she made her choice.
She hurried down the hallway, her soft voice carrying through the still night. "I'm coming, beta... don't be scared, Mama is here," she called out gently.
She reached her son's room and found him sitting up in bed, his small body trembling. "What's wrong, my love?" Kiran asked as she sat beside him, wrapping him in her warm embrace.
"I... I had a bad dream," the boy whispered, his voice quivering.
Kiran stroked his hair soothingly. "It's just a dream, darling. Dreams can't hurt you. Mama's here, and I'll keep you safe."
The boy buried his face in her shoulder, and Kiran rocked him gently. "Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?" she asked.
He nodded, still clinging to her. Kiran smiled softly and began humming a lullaby, her voice barely above a whisper, as she laid down beside him. Within moments, the boy's breathing slowed, and he drifted back to sleep, comforted by his mother's presence.
Rudra wasn't truly asleep. Though his eyes remained closed against the pain, his mind was wide awake, struggling to piece together the fragments of his reality.
He guessed that he must be in an army hospital and that the effects of the medicinal drugs were taking a toll on his mind and senses. As he lay there, thoughts of the battle gnawed at him. Had they managed to fend off the Pakistanis? What would be the future repercussions of this conflict, and how would it impact India's readiness if a two-front war with both Pakistan and China broke out?
With all these questions swirling in his mind, Rudra slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.