The morning of the next day brought light—but that very light was destined to cast many homes into darkness.

Near the border adjoining Baramulla district of Jammu and Kashmir, at around three in the early hours, a patrol unit of the Indian Army’s Jat Regiment unexpectedly came face-to-face with a group of armed terrorists lurking not far away.

Gunfire erupted from both sides. The skirmish was fierce but brief, and eight to ten terrorists slipped away, disappearing into the dense forests like shadows vanishing at dawn.

The news of this infiltration quickly reached the Army Headquarters in Srinagar. Without delay, the information was passed on to the National Rifles. Two of their platoons were immediately dispatched to the scene, rushing through the rugged terrain, their boots stirring the dust of uncertainty.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Delhi, Sangram and Naveen were preparing to leave home. Naveen stepped out into the hall with his bag in hand, but Sangram’s belongings lay untouched. Yet, Sangram himself was nowhere to be found.

Kaveri Ji and Yashwant Ji sat facing each other, their expressions softening into faint smiles as they saw Naveen.

“Where is sir?” Naveen asked quietly, but there was silence.

“At Vikram’s room,” Yashwant Ji finally answered. Kaveri Ji smiled faintly, a smile laced with the weight of unshed sorrow. Naveen understood well the effort it took her to do so.

He also sensed how, since Vikram’s departure, Sangram had grown emotionally distant from his own family. Naveen had noticed that Sangram often spent long hours alone in Vikram’s room at night. Kaveri Ji and Yashwant Ji had probably grown accustomed to this silence, choosing to say nothing.

When even one member leaves, how can a family remain the same? Especially when it is the young son of the house who has gone away—nothing ever remains the same.

Lost in his thoughts, Naveen was gently called back by Kaveri Ji’s voice, “Naveen beta, I’m getting your food ready. Come and eat.”

“Sir Sangram won’t eat?” he asked.

“No, he never eats before a flight. It’s a childhood habit; he’s careless about food. But don’t worry, he’ll eat something on the flight. We’ve stopped nagging him over small things,” she chuckled as she set the food before Naveen.

Without a word, Naveen sat down to eat.

Watching the two converse quietly at the table, Yashwant Ji smiled. His wife’s laughter had been so rare lately—it was good to see her this way again.

A short while later, Sangram stepped out of his room. Naveen had already finished eating.

“Shall we go?” Sangram asked as he appeared. Naveen nodded, picking up his bag.

Sangram bent down to touch Yashwant Ji’s feet, seeking blessings.

“May you always be victorious...! Make your ancestors proud, and bring glory to the nation,” Yashwant Ji said with immense pride, gripping Sangram’s shoulders firmly.

Naveen watched them smiling. Sangram motioned to him, and after a moment’s hesitation, Naveen too touched the elder’s feet.

“May you be victorious...! Bring honor to your community and country,” Yashwant Ji blessed him as well.

“Take care of yourself,” Sangram said, hugging Kaveri Ji.

“You too, and please, if you can, find someone for yourself,” Kaveri Ji smiled warmly at Sangram.

He scrunched his brow—a silent expression of displeasure. Words were scarce, but the feeling was clear.

“Kaveri, he’s going out there to send the enemies of the nation to their graves... not to find a girl,” Yashwant Ji joked, making Kaveri Ji glare at him playfully. They both laughed, and Naveen joined in.

“Come here,” Kaveri Ji pulled Naveen into a hug, stroking his head gently. “I want a promise from you—whenever you get leave, you must come visit us. And yes...” She leaned close, whispering into his ear.

Sangram crossed his arms, smiling at them both.

“Keep an eye on Sangram sir. If you see any girl near him, call me immediately. I gave you the number, right? Then I’ll tell you what to do next,” Kaveri Ji whispered into Naveen’s ear.

“I promise,” Naveen laughed, nodding. He wished, deep down, that Sangram had someone in his life who might let him live a little freer. Naveen understood the loneliness beneath that stern facade.

“If you’re done here, shall we go?” Sangram said, and Naveen picked up his bag.

After bidding farewell, the two left home for the airport.

---

Back in Kashmir, the National Rifles had some success. Two terrorists were killed in the dense forests, but six others had escaped under heavy fire, leaving behind much of their ammunition. Yet, their high-tech weapons had vanished with them.

Now, the National Rifles were hunting them like wolves—hungry, frustrated, and angry.

Sangram and Naveen had reached their army base in Kashmir. Upon arrival, Sangram had already received the alarming infiltration report. He asked his senior officer for permission to join the National Rifles with his team, but was denied.

“It’s not yet time for the Para Commandos to deploy. Wait for orders, but be ready,” the commanding officer instructed.

Based on all the information so far, Sangram began planning the mission. He knew special forces orders could come anytime. He studied every map and piece of intelligence carefully.

Major Sangram Singh Sanger of the 9th Battalion, Parachute Regiment, was known for this exact skill—his planning mode switched on instantly, always prepared before orders arrived.

Word spread among the juniors—Sangram was planning a mission. Everyone wanted to be part of it.

Yet, Naveen sat quietly, calm and composed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rohit asked Ajmal as they arrived.

“He’s just calmly prepping his weapons because he’s sure Sanger sir will take him along,” Ajmal replied.

“But I’m definitely going!” Rohit insisted.

“You went last time to Anantnag too, didn’t you?” Ajmal snapped.

“Well, you went too! This time it’s only me,” Rohit shot back.

“Hey boys! Calm down! Everyone will get their chance to go hunting. Lots of targets have come across the border. The Paras’ call is certain—get ready,” Lance Naik Chaudhary arrived and commanded.

---

Twenty-four hours passed, yet no sign of the terrorists. It was as if the earth had swallowed them or the sky had swallowed them whole. Two National Rifle platoons combed the area but found no trace.

Then, a 24-second video relay from Army Headquarters in Srinagar changed everything.

Flying about twelve thousand feet above the ground, an Indian Air Force Heron drone monitoring the border had captured footprints of freshly made shoes on the snow-covered summit of a distant mountain.

That mountain range lay roughly twenty-five kilometers from where the National Rifles had last tried to trap the terrorists, a pursuit that had cost three brave soldiers their lives.

Between those dense forests and the peaks flowed a wide river, which wound its way across the border.

“They’ll fall back across the border through this river,” Sangram’s voice echoed through the control room.

The projector displayed the video as Sangram and several senior officers huddled in the room.

“They don’t have their weapons with them. Most of their ammunition was recovered from their bags. They’ll try hard to escape.”

“But climbing that huge mountain? The river’s an easier route. And yet they chose the peak, where snow still lies…” a senior officer questioned.

“There might be weapons up there!” Sangram suddenly realized.

---

The mission was taking shape, and the shadow of danger loomed large over the mountains, the forests, and the brave hearts who dared to confront it.