Yours, Raven

Seven

Seven

• • •

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'.