Chapter 3: Fever and Mercy

You all walked through dust and rain, watched the sun rise and the moon set. Sometimes, someone would suddenly collapse on the road and never get up again. The first time it happened, there was a gasp, then only silence. The group shuffled past, avoiding the body. No one dared say a prayer—there was only fear and exhaustion. The world had become a long, endless road.

The officer would just shake his head and say the one who fell was lucky—no longer needing to suffer in this living hell. "Bach gaya re, ab nahi jhelna parega yeh narak," he’d mutter, kicking a stone off the path. But you knew the others saw themselves in that fallen figure, wondering silently, "Agla kaun?"

You collapsed once, too. That time, you got up at night to relieve yourself and caught a chill. The next day, fever raged through your body. You shivered in your torn shirt, teeth chattering, struggling to keep pace. The officer said you wouldn’t survive, suggesting you be left by the roadside. He barely looked at you, voice flat, "Chalo, isko yahin chhod do. Bacha nahi sakte." The group hesitated, pity flickering in their eyes.

Stray dogs by the road had bloodshot eyes, barking twice, as if agreeing with the officer. Their howls rose above the dry grass, eyes glittering hungrily. You tried to recite a childhood prayer under your breath, lips moving in a desperate hope for strength or mercy—"Om Namah Shivaya, Om Namah Shivaya..."

The big fellow wouldn’t accept it. He said he could carry you, begged the officer to show mercy and find a doctor. His voice broke, "Sahab, bas thoda daya kar lijiye. Bacha lein, doctor mil jayega toh thik ho jayega." The others shifted uncomfortably, unsure. But he stood firm, hoisting you onto his back without a second thought.

The officer cursed, calling him soft in the head. "Pagal hai tu. Aise kamzor ladko ka kya hoga? Goli ka khana ban jayega yeh," he spat, turning away. But the big fellow just gritted his teeth, wiping your sweaty brow with his own gamcha.

The big fellow just stared at him, eyes wide. "Even if he becomes cannon fodder, isn’t that still better than dying quietly at the back like this?" His voice thundered, carrying all the raw anger and pain of the dispossessed. The rest looked at him in awe, as if he had spoken for all of them.

The officer was silent for a while, then sighed and said, "Fine, carry him. If he’s still breathing when we reach the next town, we’ll find him a doctor." His words fell like a grudging blessing, but to you, it was the promise of life itself.