Chapter 2: Orders and Insults

I guarded the border for the government for five years. By rights, I should have already retired, gotten married, and settled down!

In our world, such things are spoken of over chai on the verandah, as elders recount their sacrifices and youth is expected to move on. But, having grown up with him—my commanding officer, once almost a brother—I know very well what kind of man he is! The talk among the jawans and officers, swirling like the hot wind outside the mess, is that this whole state is the Singh family’s personal fiefdom. "Yeh raj toh Singh logon ka hai!" people mutter, glancing over their shoulders.

He holds grudges—oh, does he! So, the very sword he’d gifted me when I went to war, the authority he showered on me—now he wants it all back. He uses my wound as an excuse, strips away my command, and then, as if to wipe away his own guilt, arranges a marriage for me. As if I was some pawn to be moved off the board.

"The daughter of Mr. Lal, the carpenter from Lucknow, known for her boldness. Colonel Arjun Singh is loyal and unmatched in courage, and has rendered great service defending the border. I hereby grant this marriage, to honour his virtue!" he declared, voice echoing across the old durbar hall, sunlight catching on his ring. He lounged on that antique high-backed chair—almost like a raja—his eyes dancing with mockery behind his thin smile.

My hand tightened around the wheelchair’s armrest, knuckles pale, but I kept my face blank. This government-arranged marriage was nothing but a slap in my face, and a blight on a young girl’s life. The idea of it burned me; it would be spoken about in every drawing room from Hazratganj to Chowk. Dragging my half-disabled body, every limb aching, I knelt and pleaded—voice thick, pride crushed: "Sir, the doctor says I don’t have long to live, please, please take back your order!"

He only glanced at me, his voice cold and final: "Arjun, the government’s grace is vast. The favour I bestow, you must accept!"

That was the end of it. We are nothing but officer and subordinate. If the sahib wants you out, you have to go—no arguments, no dharna, only silence and surrender.