March 28, 2014

Suratgarh Airforce Base, Rajasthan

3 PM

A fighter pilot was getting ready for his sortie—an airborne practice mission—dressed crisply in his uniform. On the small side table in front of him, a phone was perched on a stand. A video call was in progress.

“Vikram!” the girl on the screen was almost in tears.

“Baby, relax! It’s not that serious. I don’t even see a single red mark on your face. You’re looking as handsome as ever,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re still joking? Handsome, really? My skin’s completely ruined because of this stupid treatment. I must’ve lost my mind to try something like this just a week before our engagement! I’ve destroyed my skin!” she said, wiping her tears. Her entire face was flushed and red.

“Sanyukta, baby please… You know I love you no matter what. Your looks won’t change a thing about the engagement.”

“Well, it’ll change a lot for me, won’t it?”

“Okay, how about this—on the engagement day, you can draw red marks all over my face too. Fair deal?”

“So you do see the red marks! You lied to me, Vikram!” she snapped.

“Hey, I didn’t lie! I genuinely don’t see them. All I’m saying is, soon-to-be Mrs. Vikram Singh Sanger, do whatever makes you happy—even if it’s messing up my face. I won’t mind,” he said gently, slipping on his aviators with a playful grin.

Sanyukta finally smiled a little. Then something struck her.

“Sangram bhai is coming for the engagement, right? I have a friend, she’s a doctor. I think they’d look lovely together. You have to introduce them, no matter what!”

“You know my dearest elder brother is already married… to the Indian Army. He’s not interested in dating. Our freshly minted Major doesn’t talk in words—only bullets. Why do you want to scare your poor friend away?” Vikram laughed.

“You just tell me if he’s coming or not. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“He won’t be able to make it to the engagement—no leave—but he promised he’ll be there for the wedding.”

“Okay, no problem. I’ll introduce them at the wedding then.”

“Perfect! You can play Cupid that day—bring two hearts together,” Vikram said theatrically.

Sanyukta made a face and giggled.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Time to go meet my Laila. Will call you after the sortie,” he said, chuckling.

“Okay. Nothing else you’d like to say, Mr. Flight Lieutenant?”

“Ummm... what was I supposed to say again? Can’t remember.”

“The wedding hasn’t even happened and this is how you already are!”

“I love you… and I can’t wait to see you,” Vikram said warmly.

Sanyukta broke into a lovely smile.

“Okay, bye, Handsome. Go on, your Laila is waiting,” Sanyukta teased.

“Call me after you land,” she said with a smile before ending the call.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, grinning. He wished he could watch her smile just a little longer—but the call had already ended.

Vikram picked up his flight helmet. His call sign was written across the front: “EAGLE.”

Moments later, he stood before his MiG-21, gazing at it like a man in love.

“Finished checking out your Laila? Can we go now?” came a voice from behind. Another pilot approached, wearing aviators and holding his own helmet.His call sign was there too - “ARROW.”

“You’re going to lose this dogfight, Adhiraj,” Vikram quipped.

“Wanna bet? This time you’re going down.”

“You’re on.”

“Whoever loses has to entertain everyone at the Officers’ Mess. How? That’ll be revealed only after the loser loses,” Adhiraj said, with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously?!”

“Put your pride on the line, Sanger.”

“Done! Start practicing. We Sangers never lose.”

“And we Shergills never surrender.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, we will.”

Soon, the thunder of two MiGs filled the skies as they soared away from the base, but remained in contact with Ground Control. They weaved through the clouds, locking onto each other electronically—trying to score a digital “kill.”

“Eagle, you are approaching the international border. Stay back,” a female officer’s voice crackled through Vikram’s radio.

The sudden warning broke their focus.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vikram replied, adjusting course. Just then, he heard Adhiraj chuckle through the comms.

“Arrow, don’t laugh too hard or you’ll lose your teeth mid-air,” Vikram teased.

“Pick them up for me, you drama queen,” Adhiraj retorted, laughing.

“Who the hell allows these two kids to fly together?” said Group Captain Ajit Grover from the control room. Everyone around him smiled briefly—until he shot them a glare. They went back to work immediately.

Suddenly, Vikram’s cockpit screen flashed a warning that chilled any pilot’s blood—his engine had caught fire.

“Eagle incoming, Control Room. My engine is burning. I repeat, engine is burning,” Vikram reported calmly. In such moments, a fighter pilot’s greatest weapon is not panicking, and Vikram held that line like a rock. His aircraft was 10,000 feet above the ground.

“Eagle, descend to six thousand feet and begin ejection protocol,” the officer instructed.

Vikram brought the jet down to six thousand feet—but he didn’t eject. His MiG was spiraling downward.

“Eagle, start ejection. You are running out of fuel!”

“It’s a densely populated area down there,” Vikram responded. Below him stretched a town of connected homes—one crash could wipe out dozens of lives.

“You can’t delay ejection! Get out now! Open your goddamn parachute!” Adhiraj’s voice cracked with panic.

But Vikram’s mind was elsewhere. He knew he had almost no fuel left. The standard protocol was to eject—but ejecting would also risk the jet crashing into homes. He wasn’t even sure if he’d survive either way.

The flames had reached the cockpit.

Through the radio, he could still hear them screaming—

“EJECT, YOU F**KING IDIOT!” Adhiraj bellowed.

“Eagle, EJECT RIGHT NOW!” came the commanding roar of Group Captain Grover.

But Vikram took a long breath, steady and calm.

“It’s been nice flying with you, guys. See you on the other side.”

He leaned forward, kissed the dashboard, and whispered, “Laila baby… let’s go home.”

That day, sitting in the burning cockpit of his MiG, Flight Lieutenant Vikram Singh Sanger chose the one option that would take him far from life—and he knew it. He knew the base was out of reach, the fuel wouldn’t last. But what mattered more was the town below—those homes and lives that might be lost if he bailed.

With dwindling fuel and fire licking at his gear, Vikram guided his jet far from the town. But by then, it was too late. His MiG was falling fast.

In those final moments, faces flashed before his eyes—his mother, always asking if he’d eaten properly during every video call; his father, silent but proud; his elder brother, more a best friend than a sibling; and Sanyukta… his childhood sweetheart.

“I love you guys,” he whispered, and smiled.

And with that, his MiG slammed into the earth—and shattered into countless burning pieces.

Nariyapur – A remote village in Central India

The same day, 6 PM

A seventeen-year-old boy was hurrying down the dusty trail just outside the village, his steps brisk and tense. The fading orange sun cast long shadows across the cracked earth.

“Navi! Oye Navi!”

A voice called out from behind. Another boy, about the same age, had spotted him and shouted after him. But Navi didn’t stop. He kept walking, his eyes fixed ahead.

The second boy picked up his pace and caught up to him, panting.

“Bro, did you hear? An Air Force jet crashed in Rajasthan. Nothing’s left. The pilot… he died.”

“He was martyred, Mahesh. That’s what they say — attained veergati,” Navi finally turned around, his voice low, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie — it’s written all over your face.”

“…My NDA exam. I didn’t clear it.”

“I told you already — this isn’t meant for people like us, Navi. We don’t have the same kind of education as kids from the big schools. Only those polished Army School, English-medium types clear exams like this.”

Navi stared at him, his heart already shattered, and Mahesh’s words felt like salt being rubbed deep into the cracks.

“Even if you had cleared the written exam,” Mahesh went on, oblivious to the damage, “how would you have managed the interview? They expect fluent English — rapid-fire. You remember our elder cousin tried for years? He went to one of those city schools, and even then, they rejected him at the interview round every single time…”

“Nanda Didi says the language you speak doesn’t decide whether you can become an Army officer or not! I didn’t fail because of English. I failed because… I’m just not good enough!” Navi’s voice snapped, his frustration finally spilling out.

“Come on — Nanda Didi is different. She’s the first girl from Nariyapur going to the juniversity in the city!”

“It’s called a university,” Navi muttered, correcting him with a tired scowl, and walked off without another word.

“Wait! Just listen, man…” Mahesh called after him, but Navi didn’t stop.

His footsteps grew faster, firmer, as he made his way through the village’s narrow lanes until he stood outside his home — an ordinary village house with mud walls and a sloping tiled roof. As he stepped in, the first thing he saw was his mother, Rani Devi, squatting in the veranda, pounding spices with a stone mortar.

“Where were you this late? The sun’s already setting,” she said without looking up.

“Where’s Didi?”

“In the kitchen. But first you tell me — where have you been all this while?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he mumbled and moved toward the kitchen that adjoined the veranda.

The sharp hiss of the pressure cooker filled the air, mingled with the soft sound of a girl humming an old Hindi song. He stopped at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Inside, a slender young woman in her early twenties was busy making rotis. Her skin was dusky, her build delicate. Her hair was tied back in a simple bun, her dupatta knotted at the back of her waist to keep it out of the way.

“What happened?” she asked without turning around, sensing his presence.

“Nanda Didi… I didn’t pass the exam,” he said, his voice hollow, defeated.

Nandini turned at once. For a moment, she didn’t say anything — just looked at her little brother. Then she smiled gently.

“That’s no reason to hang your head like this. You did your best, didn’t you? That’s all anyone can do. The outcome — that’s not in our hands. Only our effort is.”

“But I have to join the Army,” he said, and this time the tears came. He tried to hold them back, but he couldn’t. Not in front of her. Not in front of the one person who’d always seen the fire in him.

“And you will,” she said firmly, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. “One day, you will wear that uniform, Navi. Your dream will come true.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” she whispered, holding him tighter.

Kupwara Army Base, Jammu & Kashmir

The same day, 9 PM

Two men stood facing each other inside a dimly lit room, both clad in the olive green uniform of the Indian Army. The air between them was heavy — with discipline, with duty, and with something unspoken.

“I’ve sanctioned your leave,” said Colonel Arun Shikhare, his voice calm but firm. “You may go to Delhi to be with your family. They need you. Major Narang will lead tonight’s mission in your place.”

The officer standing before him didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. His expression remained carved in stone — unreadable, yet unmistakably powerful. His skin was a deep bronze, his presence sharp-edged like the mountains outside. The Ashoka emblem on his shoulder shimmered faintly in the low light — a silent declaration of his rank: Major.

His nameplate caught the colonel’s eye for a second, though he didn’t need reminding.

Sangram Singh Sanger.

Major Sangram Singh Sanger.

“With all due respect, sir,” Major Sangram said, his voice calm but iron-laced, “I want to lead the mission. My men and I — we’ve been preparing for this for a month. If Abu Hakeem is here, in Kashmir, then I cannot be in Delhi.”

“And what about your family?” the Colonel asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Sir,” Sangram replied, his jaw tightening, “if you ask my parents whether their son should come home instead of capturing one of the most wanted terrorists in the Valley, they’ll only have one answer: He’s a coward. A coward who abandoned his brothers in arms when they needed him most.”

Colonel Shikhare exhaled slowly, his eyes softening for the briefest moment.

“Vikram would’ve been proud of you.”

Sangram’s gaze flickered — just briefly — with emotion. “He made me proud too, sir. He made me proud too.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch across decades of sacrifice.

Then the colonel straightened.

“The mission is yours. Go, Major. And show them — show those who dream of bleeding Mother India — that her sons will stand between her and every bullet. Always. No matter the cost.”

Sangram’s spine snapped straight, his voice ringing with quiet fire.

“Jai Hind, Sir.”

“Jai Hind, Major."