Seven

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The next day itself, Nicholas and a few of his comrades left for Paratroopers training in Commado Training Camp, Belgaum, Karnataka despite his mother's resistance. Decision was decision. He knew what he was doing, and he was willing. To make his mother feel better, he'd even told her he could give up and leave it any day if it turned out too taxing for him. However, in his own mind, he knew he would never leave until the Para commando's maroon beret sat on his hat. He could tell in his gut that this step would be life-changing for him and he looked forward to seizing it.

Ninety days of testing will-power, fearlessness, confidence, endurance, physical fitness, and mental toughness; pushing young men to the limits of limits. The moment he stepped out of the train wearing jeans and windbreaker jacket, reporting for his probation in the dead of the night at 2:30 am, his probation ustad (instructor) told him to change into his combats, handed him a twenty-kilogram backpack, and told him to start running towards his unit location. . . Which was twenty-one kilometers away. Just as it was rumored, the probation proved to be nothing short of hell.

From the very beginning of the probation, each one of the probationers was kept under constant watch for any signs of weakness, either physical or mental. One was required to be perfect and fit in every aspect. And no matter how well anyone did, everyone was pretty much miserable. 'Hell's Week' was for real, grilling up the young soldiers.

Moreover, the training was far more intense and harder on the officers since they were training to be the future squad commanders. It was hell of another level for Lieutenant Ronglo. The first two weeks were the toughest, and although Nicholas gradually learned to get used to the schedule and the hardships, there was still no way anyone could call it easy.

Day after day, the squad kept reducing from a hundred men to lesser and lesser. Most people failed the confidence training and the test of will power. Walking rounds after rounds for continuous nine hours without water and food but with eighty kilograms weighing logs to carry, there was only so much a man could take.

Sometimes in life, physical strength wasn't just enough. There were times Nicholas felt that it was all too much, but then he remembered God, his mother, and all the people he cared about, and his own promise to himself, that he would not leaven until the Maroon Beret was on his head. He was young and high spirited. He wanted to seize the day. But who said it was easy?

'I am stronger than I think I am,' Nicholas continually kept on motivating himself as he strove on.

Once he was caught dozing one evening after days of sleep-deprivation. As his eyelids sank over his eyes, a thump of his ustad's boots jolted him awake. He looked up to find him sneering at him before he was made to do front and siderolls on a sticking swamp.

As it were, everything was tougher on the officers. Nicholas' hands and feet were tied up (while the rest of others weren't) before he was thrown into a 12ft deep tank to see if he would panic in high stress situation, or if he could survive with the least oxygen available through simulated drowning. He thought this was end of the line for him too but after struggling as though his life was dependent on it, he made through. He'd never been more surprised. Honestly.

Many had blacked out because of Hypoxia. Many had given up. Many were told to leave. But he lay near the tank, drained and drenched, gasping for air and coughing almost to death. As he stared up at the clear blue sky, blinking the water out of his eyes, he chanted again in his mind, 'You're stronger than you think you are. Don't give up'.

His training ended with him being commissioned to an actual operation where he was going to be tested in a real-life scenario. He was sent to Jharkhand, for three day's operation with Para SF. For three days, they combed the jungles, chasing down naxal insurgents who had bombed two police cars, killing all seven of them. On the third day, a firefight broke out between the SF and the insurgents in the jungle, where they killed three insurgents and injured five of them. Nicholas killed one himself, shot him in the neck.

In six months time of surviving in a hellhole and fifty jumps from 33,500 ft in the air and a real life commission, Nicholas had overcome his biggest fears and the most hostile trials. Along with thirteen other new recruits for the Paratroopers, Nicholas finally got to wear the Para Wings badge, the Free Faller badge, the Special Force badge, the Red Beret he'd fought and looked forward to and the most coveted Balidaan (sacrifice) badge after his confirmed first-kill . . . And after drinking a glass of Patiala peg and eating the glass itself. Traditions.

Nicholas had become one among India's youngest, toughest, bravest, smartest, and deadliest group of soldiers, a Paratrooper, a glass-eating red devil. He had proved himself. The weight of the maroon beret, which had been dipped on rum punch, resting on his hat reminded him of what he'd been through and all things he could do now - confidence. And every single time he let his fingertips run at the edge of it, he smiled. He'd been born again.

The new recruits to the Special Forces were all handed the letters that had arrived for them as they headed back to their dorm after enjoying their glory. Nicholas too got a bunch of letters from home. He'd longed for them. When things would get too hard, these words from home would fill him with a fresh dose of spirit and steel him to go on. After all, he was doing it all out of love; love for the country, love for the people of India, love for home.

"Mujhe apni premika se hazaaron patr mile hai! (got thousands of letters from my girlfriend)!" One of their comrade Rana Singh began singing and dancing with a huge cheeky grin as he checked out the sender of the bundle he got.

All of them in the dorm groaned and laughed, throwing pillows at him for his cringey usage of old Hindi words.

Dev Raichand, Nicholas' closest friend from the Academy who had also qualified as a Para Special Force, commented with a light chuckle, "You're so cheesy. You just got recruited in the Special Forces so try to act a bit cool."

That made everyone laugh again. Dev was a good-looking, cheerful guy from New Delhi. He came from a family of soldiers. Nicholas and Dev met in the Academy in Dehradun on the first day. Their beds were adjacent to one another in the dorm and late at nights, they'd sneak into the mess hall with few other friends to steal extra-food because no matter how much they ate, nothing seemed to fill their stomachs.

In the probation, the instructors recognized their bond. Because of that, Dev and Nicholas were always made to fight each other off in hand combat practices; which further led to Dev standing right next to a coin Nicholas had to shoot during practice. . . with real guns. And vice versa. The instructors never failed to scare the daylight out of them.

"Aur tumhara kya, Lovely? Tumhe bhi kya hazaaron patr mile hai apni premika, Raven, se? (And what about you, Lovely? Have you also got a thousand letters from your girlfriend, Raven?)" Dev turned to Nicholas who was sitting behind him on his bed, nudging him teasingly.

Ever since Claudia stopped writing to him, receiving letters no longer lifted Nicholas' spirit like it used to. So, Dev had turned to teasing him with the little girl who faithfully wrote his parents' letter to him.

"Saale chutiya - Fucker," Nicholas replied.

"Ahre chutiya, abhi tak woh teri girlfriend kyun nahi hui?! - why isn't she your girlfriend yet?!" Dev laughed as he flipped through his own letters.

Nicholas whacked him across the back of his head. Dev laughed.

Most of the letters Nicholas got were from his mother. Two or three of them were 'group letters'; from his mother, Moicha Tracy and Pushel Jon combined. He could practically imagine all three of them basking under the sun at Elliot's place on Sundays, laughing together, as they dictated what they had to say to Raven.

Of course, he knew Raven was the one who literally wrote all the letters. His mother was uneducated, so she'd need help and he could recognize Raven's handwriting all too well, clean cursive. He enjoyed reading them. Their words made him happy but, every time he read them, he also felt something amiss. There was something he looked forward to but never got.

For sometime, he thought it was Claudia. But then he realized that Claudia had stopped writing to him a long time ago and he had even stopped expecting anything from her. It still saddened him once in a while to think about her, but he had learned to accept that him and Claudia were no longer a thing. He kept telling himself that he had seen this coming even before he left home, so he shouldn't feel too bad about it. This was expected.

And yet, even after getting over Claudia, the void in his heart grew each time he received his letters. He also noticed that so far, Raven hadn't written a word to him. He kept reading her handwriting but not a single word from her.

He suddenly realized he'd been nothing but ungrateful. In all these years, Raven had always been an important part of his life, writing his mother's letters, reading his letters to his mother, but not once had he address her in any of his letters. Not even a Thank you. He should've been the one writing to her.

He called home that evening, hoping he could talk to Raven too. He talked with his mother and Moicha Tracy but Raven had gone out with her friends then. He asked about Elliot and he got news from Tracy that Elliot was wasting away his life in Delhi.

Tracy cried in the phone, "Please talk to him, Nick. We've tried but he won't even listen to us. I'm so worried. He's drinks everyday. He doesn't even go to his classes. You talk to him, he'll listen to you. I'm so worried he might die out there."

"I'll talk to him, Moicha. I will," Nicholas answered.

"He's got a new number. Lost his old phone. I'll forward it to you."

"Sure."

Once he finished talking with them, he called Elliot right away.

"Yeah. Who's this?" Elliot answered.

"Don't you even have my number, Huithu- pussy?"

Catching the voice of his best friend's, Elliot exclaimed at once, "Huithu! Where the hell have you been?! How long has it been again since your last call?"

Elliot cursed. Elliot laughed aloud. Elliot was excited. This only meant one thing. Elliot was drunk.

Nicholas laughed in return nonetheless. "More than six months that I'm sure. How're you doing?"

"Still alive. I missed you, okay, buddy?"

"I missed you too, asshole."

Elliot laughed again. "Huithu. Huithu."

"It's kinda loud there."

"Yeah. I'm in a club right now. Wait. Hold up."

Elliot walked into the restroom, sat down on a toilet seat. "So how's it going? Mom told me you continued with the Special Force."

"Yeah. I did. I got through it and got commissioned today. Leaving for Kashmir soon. Got posted there."

"So, another year of no contact?"

"Yeah."

"Man," Elliot sighed, "And Kashmir. Stay alive, dude, else I'll kill you."

Getting posted in Kashmir wasn't the best news. The state was one of the most hostile zones in the country. Elliot couldn't imagine how Nicholas would survive there. But at the same time, he trusted him. Nicholas knew how to get his way around things.

Nicholas chuckled back, "I won't. At least not until you get married. No one can take my place as your best man."

"Huithu."

"How's university?" Nicholas asked as though his Moicha hadn't told him anything.

Elliot scoffed, leaning over on his knees with his elbows, "I don't even remember the look of the building."

Laughing, Nicholas replied, "Your father will get a stroke if he hears that. And what's with the background noise?" Nicholas asked when he started hearing some banging and weird noises

Elliot broke out into a line of stifled laughs. "It's two people fucking in the next compartment."

"You haven't done that, have you?"

"Bro, Christian boys take girls to the church first before the bed."

"Right. Right. Amen," Nicholas chuckled at how the two of them had taken this so seriously. He could vividly imagine Elliot smirking on the other side of the phone. They'd discussed this a lot when they were growing up together at home, and they'd even chanted this line more than a million times like it was one of their bro things.

In that split second of a moment, the memories of their time together-when they pretty much rocked each day in their teens and college-came rushing back like flashes of pictures in his eyes. Those were the days when they owned each day like their own, when they even owned the village, when they dared to dream and believe in them.

"So what do you do? You still playing your guitar?" Nicholas asked.

"Yeah. Occasionally. But mostly I'm just. . . doing nothing. I don't know," Elliot returned, rubbing his forehead now with the pad of his fingers.

"Is it getting really that bad?"

"I'm fucked. That's all I know. I don't know what the hell's going on with my life. I can't even see anything ahead. Being alive is hard, dude," he sighed and chuckled.

With the responsibility of being the only male in the family and the guilt of not being able to be what his parents expect him to be, life was weighing down on Elliot with all the expectations and pressure like a punishment, slowly draining his blood and the will to live.

"It sure is."

A moment of silence later, Nicholas said, "Don't think too much about what other wants for you, Elliot. Forget that you have anyone to prove yourself to and just take the path that's best for you. I will be with you."

Elliot sighed, "I know you're there. I'm just sick and tired of everything."

"Why don't you give up drinking first. For starters."

"I can't. Nick, I don't know. . . I'm not the same person you used to know anymore."

"You are still the same person, Elliot. And you're so much more than what you think."

Elliot swallowed, his eyes beginning to burn.

"Nick, I know you're there but my parents. . . they don't even listen to me. Especially my dad. I've tried. I just can't be what they expect me to be. I'm not good or smart enough for them. I'm just a waste!" How his voice trembled.

"That's not true."

"Easy for you to say!" Elliot retorted.

Nicholas bit his tongue and remained silent for a while, listening to his friend vent his pent-up emotions at him. In every quiver in Elliot's voice, Nicholas felt the pain reach him too. Elliot had been all on his own for a long time, battling his own demon, almost on the verge of giving up. Being an introvert that he was, there was no way Elliot would confide such personal thoughts and feelings to anyone except his most trusted friend. Elliot had been waiting for Nicholas this entire time.

The banging in the background continued.

"I understand you've been having a hard time on your own. And you're right. I would never truly know what it's been like for you. . ."

Elliot groaned, "No. Nick, I'm sorry. You were just trying to help."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Let's make a plan instead."

"What sort of plan?"

"Something that has music in it."

Elliot gave a bitter laugh. "My parents would love to hear that."

"They won't interfere anymore. I know." Nicholas said. "You just try to give up drinking first and pull yourself together."

"And what after that? Go back to college? That's a dead end."

"Yeah. Go back to college. Your course will be over in a few months. At least get your certificate by hook or by crook, and then you can forget about it forever. It's a win-win situation. You lose nothing by holding a Master's degree. Meanwhile, I'll send you money to help you start over. Do whatever you want with it."

"That's great but, Nick, I can't accept that. That's too much. And who knows, I might not even make it. Don't waste your money on me."

"You've always been helping me. Now it's my turn and you don't get to say no. Also, have a little faith in yourself. You deserve that. I know what you're capable of."

"I can't." Elliot shook his head. "I can't, Nick. I can't."

Every penny that Nicholas had earned were honest money, fruit of his service and sweat. He had toiled and traded for it. And it was no secret that Nicholas needed as much of them to pay back his parents' debts and support his mother. Elliot wouldn't let his friend use them on him, not without a guarantee that he'd make something worthwhile of it.

Nicholas knew how much this would mean to Elliot. They were talking about his life and future. Nicholas had been saving up money to pay back the debts and renovate his house but those, he could always cover up later. Here was his friend in need and he wasn't ever going to choose anything over him. There's a time for everything. And it was his time to help his friend.

But Elliot kept refusing.

"Man, we're more than just friends. We're brothers. We're allowed to help each other. You just have to promise me one thing in return. Just give up drinking. It doesn't help with anything."

Elliot clenched his teeth tight and turned his face to the floor, drops of tears falling to the floor. Nicholas would never ask him to be what he is not or what he can't do. Nicholas, his friend, his brother, hadn't asked him to be successful but only to give up drinking. Just that. Nothing more.

Elliot nodded, unable to answer. He kept nodding furiously, a flood of tears streaming down his face. He couldn't understand why and for what Nicholas still trusted in him. None of this made any sense, but he loved Nicholas with every beat of his heart and Nicholas loved him too, to the point he would give everything he had to save him.

"Elliot, I have to go now," Nicholas told him, "I'll talk to you again once I get the chance. Until then, stay strong and don't give up on yourself. You're stronger than you think you are. Give yourself another chance."

Elliot nodded again and pulled in a snotty breath. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and said, "Stay alive. Else I'll kill you."

"Yes, sir." Nicholas chuckled through the phone and ended the call.

"And Nick?"

"Yes."

"Don't send the money."

"Elliot. . ."

"Just come over one day when you have time. I miss spending time with you."

"Sure. You'll be the first person I meet once I get some time for my own. Hanging up now."

Elliot sat mulling over their conversation. By now, the banging from the next compartment had ceased, and they'd probably left. Elliot couldn't understand one shit Nicholas was doing but as he recalled each word he'd spoken to him, he felt the love and concern wash over him like a flood and this time, Elliot saw a flicker of hope for his life.

Clutching the phone tight in his grip and dropping his head towards the floor again, Elliot sobbed aloud with all his heart in the enclosed compartment, pouring out all his bottled up pain and guilt, mellowed with love and gratitude.

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