Before you proceed:
If you enjoy the upcoming chapter, kindly check out more on The Eagle: Shadow of Power on Medium and Stck.me for reflections and behind-the-scenes. They are absolutely free and help you gain a deeper insight into my writing philosophy, character development, and plot twists. Your support and feedback would mean the world to me.
Also, I would like to make it clear that the complete story will be posted on Wattpad. The fact that I'm writing not only on Wattpad but on other platforms too does not imply, in any way, that the story written here will be incomplete or vague. It just means I'm giving out something extra on other platforms — filling in the gaps that I like to leave, because that is my writing style. But since modern storytelling often revolves around filling every gap, I do that part too.
This is just to ensure that readers who like everything to be mentioned get what they want — and I am still able to continue writing the way I want.
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The room is quiet, but not silent, in a way 6 a.m. only in Delhi could be. The sunlight passing through the cream curtains illuminates the Lutyens' flat. The golden table clock shows 6:32 a.m, the same moment when Chhayika was born on achala saptami, 12th February 2000. But, she was not born in the morning, instead in the evening at the time of dusk when the sun had settled and the shadows had crept up, born Chhayika. Ironically, Achala Saptami also called Rath Saptami celebrates sunrise not sunset. Back then in the year 2000, the sun had set at 4:54, setting shadows long before dusk. Chhayika in literal sense has two meanings, the chosen one and the shadow. So, if we consider both meanings, we can imply that maybe, just maybe it means "The Chosen Shadow". But, in that case a question arises, "Chosen, for what?"
Chhayika stands in front of the stove in the kitchen, the air is warm and comfortable, but it is insufficient to eradicate the silence completely. Her hairs are tied in a messy bun when she is rolling the parathas while scanning the mission brief on the tab, scrolling from time to time with her left hand. Focused and sharp, a kind of multitasker that she has trained herself to be in the past years.
"Masi ma, you are burning the paratha ends, again!!", a high-pitched giggle, sounding like a scream comes from behind her. She flinches, Chhayika flinches, then she regains control and turns off the stove. She turns around to see Bhumi sitting on a chair lazily, wiping the drool from her mouth, with the help of a wet wipe, still blinking , adjusting to the light. Chhayika sees the shadow in her eyes, eyes like her brother, Bhumi's father, Shaheed Major Arvind Singh. Those eyes which understand far more than the express.
(Shaheed means martyr, maasi maa means mother like aunt)
"Thoda jala hua paratha toh apko roz khaane ki aadat hai na soldier." Chhayika teases while ruffling her niece's hair and smiling faintly.
("You are used to eat a little burnt paratha daily, right soldier?")
"Only if it comes with double achaar, commander maasi maa!". Bhumi smiles, smiles like her mother, one who hasn't shown any expression in years.
(Aachar means pickle)
The code names are a game between them, except for the part where Bhumi calls her maasi maa, that is the relationship between them, something that can not be exactly fit into modern terms, so they termed it themselves. Only, Bhumi has the right to call her that, it is a ritual to Chhayika, something that she holds on to.
Bhumi takes a small bite, and then comes the ever so dramatic frown as Bhumi lifts the paratha like a foreign object. With a thick voice with playful haughtiness she speaks, " How can someone make something so... so... burnt. Maasi maa, how would you marry if you cook like this? You need to concentrate on your homemaking skills rather than me and these stupid files.", corners of her mouth twitched suppressing a smile as she mimics Chhayika's aunt who recently visited her.
Chhayika raises an eyebrow barely holding back a smile, "Disgusting, isn't it? Mimicry, huh? She is an elder Bhumi, you don't say that way about her, she just comes from a different background and she is not a bad lady. If you really don't like the paratha, give me two minutes, I will make you a better one."
Bhumi grins, ear to ear. " I learnt in school that lying is a bad trait maasi maa, and the paratha is edible, actually it is good, just not as good as last time."
Chhayika chuckles, clearly understanding where Bhumi is coming from, but in no more mood to argue. She adores her niece enjoying the paratha despite the theatrics and smile, bliss is what she is experiencing at this moment. Moments like these, where she wishes her life pauses, but that doesn't happen, right?
"Please don't tell your mother I cook like this, or she may start giving me cooking lessons." Chhayika pleads.
"Don't worry this is our little secret maasi maa, I have my mouth zipped, but you know, I have no control over witches and ghosts that speak without thinking, how about you shut them up forever? Like, I am a good girl, I am not saying that aunt is a witch, no, she is elderly, I respect her, because I should respect her, but we can respectfully kill also, right? I mean, the ghosts of course, you can kill them, but they have already died. Okay, I should shut my mouth up." Bhumi starts cheerfully, but turns gloomy by the end.
Chhayika finally laughs, and pinches the cute girls' cheeks. In the silence that succeedingly lingers, nothing mattered, except for the two strong ladies, trying their best to hide their wounds and smile whole heartedly.
"Maasi maa, do you think papa is still with me?" Bhumi asks in an almost casual tone, with an emotion Chhayika could not let go.
"I don't think Bhumi, I know he's always with you. I can feel him, his pure essence in the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you taunt, the way you love, the way you are."
"But, you know I miss him. I don't have clear memories of him, but just something that always, you know, always stays with me, and yet I long for it. I don't know what this is." Bhumi speaks softly, but her words carry a different kind of weight, a weight too heavy for a four year old.
She looks down at her plate, maybe to hide something, something she can't really hide from Chhayika. She sees it, raw, real, pure and evident. Grief, the way it is.
"I miss him too." Chhayika replies, despite the knot in her heart. Her heartbeat significantly drops and she gulps before continuing, "But, he is in our hearts bhumi, he lives with us. And that, that is enough, just enough!"
The succeeding silence clearly depicts that none of them could articulate the emotions that followed. Bhumi does not ask any more questions, she doesn't need to. Instead she subtly changes the topic, "Maasi maa, when I grow up, I want to be like you, an inspector. But, I will wear a ponytail, not a bun. Ponytail looks more young and free, not bound."
Chhayika smiles despite the heavy weight on her heart, the innocently inevitable bondage, "Be whatever you want to be my princess, but remember, if you become a warrior, the warrior's face it all, all the good, all the bad, and all the ugly. Bruises are the best badges that warriors wear, little soldier."
Bhumi grins, "And I was never scared of the ugly, my queen commander maasi maa.
"Good", Chhayika smiles while brushing hair locks from Bhumi's face, "You will need that courage, it will drive you, when I wouldn't be able to help."
Chhayika walks Bhumi to the car, as the little girl grips the ribbons that tied her hair, and Chhayika holds her bag and water bottle. This was a ritual, something more than just routine, it was love that needed no words, just smiles and hearts. Bhumi waves goodbye, and Chhayika stands there watching the retreating figure.
"That is love.", she whispers. "Not the false promises of wicked relationships, but the ribbons, the parathas, the smiles, the tears, the taunts, the memories, the bags, the code names, and the two hearts beating with each others' support.
Bhumi's laughter echoes in the staircase even after Chhayika returns after leaving her for school. Chhayika stand alone in the silence, loosely holding a coffee mug and steam of hot coffee diluting into the air like incense. One needs to hold on to coffee at least after surviving on 3-4 hours of sleep with an injured body. She walks to the terrace in the early morning sunlight that reaches her skin and seeps into her body, an essence of purity that her body absorbs. The wind caresses her open hairs, a bold representation of femininity in early times. The morning vibes settle in, cleansing the very soul and rejuvenating the body.
The world looks less cruel from this point of view. The edges of buildings reflect the golden sunlight, soft ruffling sound of trees produce their own melody, and the faint sound of mantras and bells from the temple makes the whole scene ethereal.
"Bhumi's eyes, they hold so much.", she thinks. Grief, gratitude, sorrow, softness, memories, and memorials, so much, that no child should ever even know, Bhumi subtly carries those emotions, and makes it look effortless.
Her thumb traced the rim of the mug, and her body experienced a subtle jolt as the haunting memories of the time when the silence of mornings were not an implication of peace but absence, return, and she can't stop them.
FLASHBACK
The time and scene shift to a sacred place, which Chhayika never allows herself to recall, and yet they never leave her.
The air in the hospital room is heavy with whispers and strong scents of antiseptic.Bhumi's mother, Ankita is lying lifelessly on the hospital bed, surrounded by the cold and indifferent machines. Her skin is absolutely pale, and her breath seems borrowed. The woman who had a sunshine smile, is now emotionlessly hanging between hope and despair, life and death.
Bhumi's father and Chhayika's rakhi brother Martyr Major Arvind Singh has just left the world, maybe for a better place. But, the silence he has left behind, echoes too loud, too strong to ignore. Two hearts cry in immense pain, one Bhumi and second Chhayika. The two year old Bhumi is so oblivious as to why her world has shattered apart, that she is left all alone. But, Chhayika understands the loss, the reason for the loss, the outcome of the delay in her actions, the lack of time, and the upcoming shadows, absolute darkness.
Chhayika remembers Martyr Major Arvind's voice, steady, even in the face of death, he trusted her, her who didn't reach him on time, her who could stop it all by shouting at the right time about upcoming danger, but, she tried to handle it all alone, that attempt killed him, still, still he trusted her, with all he had to save, everyone precious to his life, his daughter and his wife.
"I will fight for my nation till my last breath," he said, "But if my last breath arrives... I plead with you to take care of my life resting in hospital after a major brain clot removal surgery, and my 2-year-old innocent daughter."
She doesn't flinch, when doctors' whisper coma, and soldiers murmur sacrifice, Chhayika fulfils her promise to Martyr Major Arvind, what she promised was not a request or favour, it was a sacred vow, and she vows to never break it. Never. She lifts Bhumi, not just in her arms, but to a future that only she had the ability to guard. Bhumi curls her fingers around her, frightened but trusting. That two years old kid, who had no idea what she was doing, made something unshakable take its roots. Chhayika becomes her protector, her guide, and her mother in all ways.
Some promises have the capacity to change everything in you and about you, and when they do, you no longer ask what you were chosen for, you simply become what the moment demands. You just move forward carrying the weight of something, that in no case can be left behind. They become your spine, your compass, and your burden, all at once.
Present Day
Chhayika softly closes the door behind her returning from the rooftop in the apartment. She feels the heavy morning air still clinging to her. Bhumi has long gone, but her soft smile is still vivid in Chhayika's heart. She had her moment with the soothing cup of tea before the storm. After the moment of solitude and bitter memories, Chhayika moves in a mechanical yet graceful manner through the apartment. The gears of her mind are again shifting to the looming mission and undone work.
She moves to the kitchen and sees the utensils she used for cooking earlier lying there. She washes the cup and the utensils, then wipes her hand with the towel. Her eyes drift to the drawer below, she opens the drawer. She pulls out a slim black matte tablet with no logos, no designs. She swipes her finger through the tablet, and a retinal scan starts, within seconds it is completed. Then appears a notification on the screen, one that hadn't been there earlier.
[Encryption Key Verified]
// ACTIVE: SHADOW PROTOCOL//
She gazes at the words, not stares, gazes. An expression appears on her face, not of surprise, fear, anxiety, nervousness or panic, just a subtle tightening of her jaw indicating her anger, or maybe, just maybe, a sharp and darting, needle-like pain in her chest. This time not because of what may happen in future or what started just a few weeks ago, her muscles are remembering an old wound, a grave one.
Her thumb stays hovering over the screen of the tablet for a little longer than expected, depicting an unsure decision. Then, she switches it off, this time sure enough, sure enough that she doesn't want to know anything more, yet. She already knows, enough. She knows that her world has shifted, and she will have to shift with it, willingly or unwillingly, she would ultimately have to.
She walks to the bedroom, all the while she feels a shadow and a weight of inevitability trailing behind her, like her second skin. She opens the wardrobe and looks for something behind the woven sarees and the coats she wears to Bhumi's school orientations, and parents-teachers meeting. She reaches for something that has been untouched for months. She pulls out a worn, green passport.
Fatima Qureshi
The name did not startle her, it just echoed. Alongside it, is a silver ring, modest, sharp and poison tipped. She picks it up, and in the process, it reflects sunlight from it. At this point, it is beautiful and lethal. In a voice, smooth and soft like a caress, she whispered, " Time to become someone else."
But then, her mind circled back to laughter, soft ribbons, and Bhumi.
And the next moment, her thoughts drifted to Aariz, a mistake, just someone from a past mission, only a mistake from a mission. That is what she repeats to herself every time. But if so, why does her chest tighten? Why does she still remember, the weight of his presence, the effect of his eyes,the touch of his hand holding hers, in something definitely more than a professional alliance. Her subconscious questions her if it is only guilt, or something more, but she throws the very thought from her mind.She has no time for this, she can not afford this, not now.
"But Bhumi, my love, I will come back to you ... Always", she says to herself.
A small and bitter laugh escapes her lips before she could stifle it. The truth was, she isn't sure anymore if it was the promise to Bhumi that anchors her, or the ghosts of those she has left behind.
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Author's Note:
In this chapter, we see the fragile balance Chhayika tries to maintain between her personal life and the world she is forced to navigate. The relationship with Bhumi serves as her anchor, but the looming mission, symbolized by the SHADOW PROTOCOL, reminds her that the life she built is always at risk of crumbling. The shift from warmth to tension mirrors the inner conflict that defines Chhayika, torn between love, duty, and the sacrifices she must make to survive in the world of covert operations.
As always, Chhayika's journey is one of transformation, and in this chapter, we witness another layer of her identity taking shape - Fatima Qureshi. This moment signifies a return to a past Chhayika cannot escape, no matter how much she longs for peace.
Thank you for following along, and stay tuned for what comes next in The Eagle: The Shadow of Power.
What do you think Chhayika's next move will be? Share your thoughts and theories in the comments below!