It was a vast ancestral mansion, standing silently like a witness to centuries past. At the front courtyard, around twenty to thirty men stood gathered, all clad in regulation military uniforms—crisp, olive-green tunics pressed flat, polished black boots gleaming in the pale morning haze, and hats embroidered with the emblem of their regional authority. Their belts were lined with standard equipment—radio sets, hand torches, emergency flares, and utility knives, each item checked and accounted for. These were not just guards; they were trained Sipahi—state soldiers, proud, disciplined, and alert.
At the far end of the courtyard, an elevated wooden platform had been swiftly assembled overnight. Standing atop it was a man of commanding presence—Dand Nayak Arun Daroga. Aged around forty, his build was solid, not bulky but built with strength earned from years of fieldwork and discipline. His dark eyes exuded wisdom, carved by experiences no ordinary man would want to live. His uniform bore three stripes on the shoulder and a golden insignia at the collar, marking his rank as the district's chief enforcement officer. Having served in the Royal Defence Corps for twenty-two years, his career had evolved from a Sipahi to a leader, a Dand Nayak who earned both fear and respect.
He raised his hand, and the murmuring crowd fell silent.
"Brothers," his voice carried a firm yet calm authority, "a highly irregular event has taken place in the western desert sector. This incident—what I witnessed with my own eyes—cannot be ignored."
The silence broke as a wave of hushed chattering began.
"What kind of irregular event?" one Sipahi whispered to the man beside him.
"Maybe they found water in the desert," the other suggested.
A third man, standing just in front of them, turned slightly and replied sharply, "Use your head. Water wouldn't be called an irregularity—it would be a miracle. They wouldn't summon us at dawn just for water."
It was 6:00 in the morning. The sun had yet to rise, and a gentle chill lingered in the air. Dew still clung to the earth as if the land itself were holding its breath.
Dand Nayak continued, "A laborer from Karimnagar, named Tathaiya, reported something unusual to the patrolling Sipahi in his region. Acting on this report, those Sipahi visited the site. What they found was disturbing enough for them to escalate the report to me directly. I was skeptical... until I saw it with my own eyes."
He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to settle.
"I compiled my observations and forwarded them last night to Naik Vijay Singh," Dand Nayak said. "And today, we act."
The group of thirty or so gathered men—all Sipahi under Dand Nayak's command—stood straighter now, their focus sharpened.
Four hours later, several kilometers away...
A high-security perimeter had been established. Red-and-white striped barricade tape fluttered in the wind, and uniformed Sipahi stood at intervals, ensuring no civilians trespassed. Beyond the cordon, a strange patch of earth had been unearthed—a rectangular pit nearly four feet deep and ten meters wide. The soil bore ominous streaks, dark and slick.
The air felt heavier here.
Forensic units had already set up their tents. Cameras clicked. Gloves were pulled tight. Each movement was methodical, each step cautious.
Naik Vijay Singh—dressed in a tactical coat with reinforced fabric, tactical gloves, and an encrypted radio on his shoulder—oversaw the operation. His eyes were keen. His posture, though calm, revealed a tension that betrayed his concern. He stood next to Dand Nayak, who now seemed less like a man of speeches and more a man of deep, personal reckoning.
"Collect everything. I want every inch of this site documented," Naik Vijay ordered.
Officers and specialists worked in sync. Containers sealed. Samples labeled. Notes written with precision.
"What are we looking at here?" one Sipahi whispered to another.
"I don't know... but whatever it is, Dand Nayak looked disturbed. He never looks disturbed."
The scene's details emerged slowly: fragments of torn fabric, scattered buttons, and something that looked eerily like ancient carved stones—each engraved with symbols long lost to modern understanding.
Naik Vijay crouched near the center, using a soft brush to clear dirt from a metallic object embedded in the ground. It was old, rusted, but unmistakably man-made—a dagger, ceremonial in shape, unlike anything in modern inventories.
"Sir," a forensic officer called, "we're detecting traces of organic material... older than we expected."
Vijay stood upright, looking across the pit.
"This isn't recent," he murmured. "This... this is centuries old."
Dand Nayak stepped forward. "Then why now? Why would it be revealed now? And why in this way?"
Silence answered him.
The Sipahi uniforms shimmered in the early morning sun, now just breaking through the haze. Each bore the embroidered patch of their division: a circular emblem with two crossed swords beneath a flaming torch—a symbol of defense and vigilance.
The Dand Nayak's uniform differed subtly. His hat brim was lined with gold thread, and his boots were custom reinforced. On his right sleeve was a red band with golden thread—only granted after two decades of exemplary service.
On other hand,
"What do you think, Bapuji?" Dev asked with a lingering uncertainty in his voice.
"How would I know? I just want the Royal Army to leave this place so we can return to our work," Bapuji replied wearily, brushing dust off his kurta.
Even as their conversation continued, a commanding voice cut through the murmurs of the gathered villagers.
"All civilians are to vacate the area immediately. This site is officially closed for one week until further orders from above," a Sipahi announced, his voice echoing against the nearby hills.
The villagers exchanged confused glances, and within moments, the uniformed men began pushing the civilians away from the restricted zone. There was no time to ask questions, only time to move.
Dev felt a strong reluctance to leave. He had a task to complete—an urgent delivery of money before dusk to a moneylender's man. If he failed, the consequences would be dire. His prized camel, Jagira, could be seized.
But confronting the officer wasn't something Dev had the courage—or foolishness—to attempt. The stern expression on the officer's face, combined with the weight of authority in his tone, made it clear that any resistance would be crushed swiftly.
With quiet resignation, Dev stepped back. His friend Rasik followed, and faithful Jagira, sensing the shift in mood, ambled behind them. Disappointment clung to them like the desert heat.
"They always do this," a frustrated man muttered nearby. "Storm in without warning and shut down everything. As if our lives don't matter."
"What can we do?" another man sighed.
"We can do something. We should file a complaint with the Havaldar," a third man suggested, his voice carrying a spark of defiance.
Author's Note: *In the rajya Sena hierarchy, the rank of Havaldar is above that of a Naik.*
"Let it go," the first man replied, shaking his head. "That Havaldar is on leave. He went to his wife's family home a week ago."
"How do you know that?" the third man asked, his tone skeptical.
"The woman who cooks at the Havaldar's house lives next to mine. She told my wife."
"But why did he take a whole month off?" another asked, curiosity laced with suspicion.
"His father-in-law fell from the stairs. Broke his leg, they say. The treatment costs more than they can afford. And it's a private clinic—not for common folk like us."
"So?"
"So the Havaldar used his position to get leave and take his father-in-law to the city for treatment," the man said, chuckling softly at the irony.
Dev, trailing a few steps behind, had heard every word. Their words buzzed in his ears like bees, loud and persistent.
He finally reached the boundary of Karimnagar. The once-clear direction of his day now felt like a broken compass, pointing nowhere.
His thoughts swirled. Options dwindled.
"There's one thing I could try…" Dev murmured to himself, recalling a poster he had seen three days earlier. It was pinned to a wooden post in the village market, the ink faded but legible:
TRANSPORT REQUIRED
*Reliable individual needed to deliver a special consignment to another town. High reward upon successful completion.*
He remembered the promise of a good amount. Enough to repay the moneylender. Maybe even enough to keep Jagira safe.
But danger clung to the edges of that offer like a storm cloud.
"The pay is generous, yes," Dev mused aloud, "but there's risk. Bandits. Real ones. Not the kind who shout and wave sticks. The kind who don't ask questions."
He stood still for a long moment. Sand curled around his worn shoes, the wind whispering warnings. Yet within that wind, something else spoke to him—possibility.
His gaze drifted toward the horizon.
Three Days Ago – Flashback Begins
Dev walked through the village square. Stalls bustled with barter, hawkers shouted deals, children darted under tables with sticky fingers and louder laughter. His attention was caught by a poster half-torn but still holding on with defiant glue.
He stopped to read.
> URGENT:
> A respected merchant seeks a discreet and fast traveler to transport a sealed package to Mithalpur. Guaranteed payment on delivery. Must be brave, trustworthy, and silent. Inquire at Madan's General Store.
He had scoffed then, brushing the idea aside.
"Silent and brave? That's how people die unnoticed," he had muttered.
But now, the offer seemed less foolish and more necessary.
Back to Present
Dev stared toward the narrow trail that led away from Karimnagar.
Jagira nudged his shoulder, as if sensing his master's wavering heart.
"You think we should try?" Dev asked the camel softly.
The animal blinked slowly.
He laughed, the sound dry and low. "Yeah. I think we should."
There was no glamour in what lay ahead. Only risk. But for someone like Dev—tired of orders, delays, and debts—it was a chance worth taking.
He tugged Jagira's rope gently.
"Let's find Madan's store. Let's see if this 'package' is worth the trouble."
And so, with the sun casting gold across the sand and trouble thickening like smoke in the air, Dev took his first step toward an unknown that might just change everything.
Aarav lay restlessly on the narrow bed, the silence around him as suffocating as the wound beneath his bandages. The dull ache in his side throbbed with each breath, but it wasn't the pain that bothered him most—it was the stifling boredom.
Unable to bear it any longer, he pushed the blanket aside and stood slowly, grimacing at the sting in his side. Step by cautious step, he made his way out of the dim room, hoping to distract himself with something—anything.
The corridor outside was empty, eerily still. The warm glow of the lanterns revealed no sign of life. As he passed the threshold and looked around, his eyes landed on a cloth draped loosely on the side rail.
Kavya's clothes.
He averted his gaze quickly, unsure why his heart skipped slightly. Shaking the thought away, he tried to focus.
"I need to do something. Anything," he mumbled to himself, the silence pressing heavier on him.
Still uncertain, Aarav walked towards the courtyard, where the golden hue of dusk lit the earth. There, he saw Kavya adjusting something on a wooden stool.
Hesitating, Aarav approached slowly. "I... I wanted to ask something..."
Kavya turned with a gentle smile, sensing his hesitation. "What's with the stammer, Aarav? You can speak freely."
"I'm... I'm feeling really bored," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Kavya let out a soft chuckle and covered her mouth playfully. "Oh, that's all? Well, that can be fixed."
She stepped closer and pointed beyond the boundary wall. "You can explore a bit around the nearby lanes. Just don't wander too far. Stay close."
She paused, her tone suddenly firm. "And whatever happens, don't talk to anyone."
That last sentence struck Aarav as odd.
He frowned. "Wait—why shouldn't I talk to anyone?"
Kavya sighed, then spoke carefully. "Look, you've lost your memory, you're still healing, and most importantly—you're not from Karimnagar. If you talk to someone and say something wrong, people will start asking questions. Questions we're not ready to answer yet."
Aarav's confusion deepened. "But how does that affect me?"
"Because this city has rules," Kavya said, her voice low. "To stay in Karimnagar permanently, every person needs a City Entry Card."
"A card?" Aarav asked.
"Yes. And it's not just any card—it's a rank-based identification. There are five types, based on status, rights, and access within the city."
She walked him to a wooden shelf and took out an old scroll, unrolling it on a table nearby. The scroll had intricate ink drawings of five differently colored cards.
The Five Permanent Entry Cards of Karimnagar:
1. Copper Card:
- The most basic entry card.
- Given to common laborers, workers, or low-income refugees.
- Holders can stay in outer zones only.
- Limited access to city markets, schools, or government aid.
2. Iron Card:
- Slightly higher status, granted to skilled workers or artisans.
- Allows residence in both outer and some middle zones.
- Grants limited health care and educational access.
- Monthly monitoring by city guards.
3. Bronze Card:
- Awarded to merchants, service providers, or those with recommendations.
- Grants entry into most parts of the city.
- Holders have minor influence in local decisions.
- Eligible for business licenses within the city.
4. Silver Card:
- For high-profile individuals, scholars, or retired officials.
- Access to all city zones except royal or high-guarded areas.
- Entitled to personal guards and official assistance.
- Recognized as respected citizens.
5. Gold Card:
- Rare and prestigious.
- Given to nobles, high-ranking officials, or direct allies of the royal family.
- Holders enjoy complete access to every part of Karimnagar.
- Can influence laws, request armed escort, and own property anywhere.
Kavya tapped her finger over the scroll. "Right now, you don't have any of these. If anyone realizes you're here without a card, they'll assume you're a spy, a drifter, or worse."
Aarav swallowed hard. The implications were unsettling. "So, if someone reports me...?"
"Then you'll be taken for questioning, and if your identity doesn't match the city's database... they'll exile you. Or imprison you."
Aarav turned pale, stepping back from the scroll. "Then I really can't talk to anyone."
Kavya nodded, her expression serious now. "Not yet. Until we find a way to get you at least an Iron Card."
He exhaled sharply, the weight of his situation becoming clearer. Not only did he not remember who he was—he was also a stranger in a city that required proof of belonging.
And he had none.
As the last light of day cast long shadows across the floor, Aarav stood in silence. What had started as boredom now spiraled into a haunting realization:
He was invisible.
And in Karimnagar, the invisible rarely survived.