"The war is inevitable," the old man said. "And you know that very well."
The man beside him didn't respond. He just stared into an empty corner as he slowly mixed rice with curry on his plate. Then, he took a bite—quietly, thoughtfully.
"What are you planning, Bhairav?" Still, no response.
"Are you thinking something?" the old man asked, his patience thinning.
Finally, Bhairav answered, "Yes, Dhairya Kaka. I'm thinking about her."
That was the breaking point. The old man grabbed the young man's collar, his voice trembling with frustration.
"For God's sake! Stop thinking about her! Hundreds of people died so you could live. And you're here, wasting your mind on a woman!"
Bhairav looked up at him—not in fear, but in realization.
"What am I doing..." he murmured. "Nothing looks clear, Kaka."
Dhairya's voice softened,
"Control your restless mind, Bhairav. Don't let it control you."
"You're right. She is my peace. But peace has no place in war. I understand what's happening now."
"Then speak."
"What's our strength?"
"Around a million."
"And how many can join the war?"
"Three thousand at your command. With a few days, maybe five thousand."
"What's the main problem?"
"There are more soldiers than there are swords for them."
Bhairav's eyes narrowed.
"Then we must secure iron. Quickly."
"Exactly. But that's the tricky part. We'd have to capture Lohaghar. The iron stored there could supply us for years."
"And how do we capture it?"
"I'm planning to take seven hundred troops to seize it."
Bhairav blinked. "You know the odds. The chances are very low. That's a huge risk."
"Wars are fought on risks, Bhairav. If I die, it will be for the betterment of our people."
"Why can't I lead the charge?"
"Because your life matters. You must guide the army through the war. I'm just a soldier. If I die, the cause continues."
Bhairav shook his head. "That's not true, Kaka. You're the wisest among us. Without your guidance, the revolt is bound to fail. I'm no king. I'm just a slave to freedom."
Dhairya placed a hand on Bhairav's shoulder.
"Trust yourself. I don't want to hear any more of your suggestions. Tomorrow, I march to Lohaghar. That's final."
"Then let me assist you—as a backup. Let me serve under you, Kaka."
The old man paused. Then nodded slowly.
"As you say. But only as a backup. If I need you, I'll blow the shankh. You must not enter Lohaghar until then."
Silence settled between them. Both men knew the result.
Bhairav stood and embraced his uncle—perhaps for the last time. His eyes with tears.
And for once, Dhairya Kaka didn't scold him for them. He simply held him, comforting him in the dark silence of fate.
"Why must those who thaught us to fight be the first to fall, kaka" Bhairava said, trembling as tears ran down his cheeks.