The War by Ambuja Mohanty

The bugle of war had already sounded.
India was prepared to strike back at the cowardly attack launched by Pakistan on innocent civilians in Pahalgam. Preparations for Operation Sindoor had begun in full swing, and key personnel were being selected for the mission.

Before the news reached the public, the phone rang loudly at Meera’s residence. Major Meera, ever alert, picked it up. Her orders had come. She had been chosen as one of the lead commanders for the mission. She had to leave for Jammu—immediately.

Her much-awaited month-long leave, which she had taken especially to spend time with her daughter Nisha during the summer holidays, had been cancelled. Duty had called. The nation needed her. Once the operation was successful and peace returned, she would be granted two months of leave as compensation. But for now, there was no room for emotion—only action.

She hung up the phone after quietly saying, “Yes.”

Meera was a soldier. She couldn’t share mission details with anyone, not even with her family. Letting out a deep sigh, she looked at her five-year-old daughter who was playing unaware. Her heart clenched. How many children had already lost their fathers to those inhuman monsters? She couldn’t afford to be emotional. Not now.

She stood up, walked inside, and sat in silence for a moment. Her eyes welled up. This break was meant to be Nisha’s summer joy. But now, the child would have to wait. Or perhaps not just her—the entire nation was waiting for her.

It was time to reclaim the sindoor—the symbol of every woman’s pride, of every wife who had lost her husband to this war. It was time for justice.

As she was packing her bag, her husband, Abhay, came into the room. One look at Meera’s face and he knew—she was being deployed. Without a word, he embraced her from behind and whispered, “Our daughter is brave like you. Knowing you’re going makes her proud, even if she’s too young to say it. I know this is something urgent, something you cannot speak about. Just… take care.”

Meera's voice was trembling, but her spirit wasn’t. She straightened up and replied, “If I don’t return, promise me you’ll raise Nisha well. Give her all the love, keep her safe… and one day, make her join the Air Force. Let her wear the uniform with pride.”

Abhay gently placed his hand over her mouth and said, “Don’t say that. Nothing will happen to you. I’ll pray—for you and for all our brave soldiers.”

And with that, Abhay walked away, leaving her with a silent prayer and unwavering faith.

Fully packed and dressed in her uniform, Meera stepped out of the house. As she approached the gate, little Nisha stood there—silent, unsure of what to say. Her eyes searched her mother’s, then suddenly, she straightened up, saluted, and said with all her innocence and pride,
“Mama, Vijayee Bhav!”
(Be victorious, Mama!)

Meera knelt down, overwhelmed with love and courage, hugged her tightly, and whispered into her tiny ears,
“Not just Mama, my child—may our Bharat be victorious.”

“Bharat Mata Ki Jai!”

(The End)