The Lost Time - 4

Panic gripped the camp like a storm, the expressions on everyone’s faces reflecting their rising dread as they surrounded Sia, now cradled in Sanchi's embrace. Sia's unconscious form looked fragile, her pale face framed by strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks. The air was thick with urgency, the faint scent of damp earth mingling with the fragrance of rain-soaked foliage in the Uttarakhand wilderness.

"Sia! Sia, wake up!" Sanchi cried desperately, her trembling hands cupping Sia's face as she tapped her cheeks. Her voice cracked under the weight of her worry. Around her, the elder members of the group whispered fervent prayers, their hands clasped tightly as they beseeched the heavens for the revival of the girl who had always selflessly cared for them.

"Dear Lord, save her," an elderly woman murmured, her tearful eyes glistening under the dim lantern light. She leaned on her walking stick, her frail frame shaking as the chill of the mountain air seeped into her bones.

“Let’s take her to the camp!” someone suggested, and without delay, a group of men gently carried Sia to a sturdy wooden cot near the fire. The orange glow of the flames danced across her still form, her lilac kurta now streaked with mud and dampened by the misty drizzle. Her dupatta, frayed at the edges from her earlier ordeal, clung loosely to her, hinting at the harshness she had endured.

They worked in silent coordination, rubbing her hands and feet to warm her icy skin. "Please, Sia dear, open your eyes," the elderly woman pleaded, her voice trembling with maternal affection as she leaned closer, the lines of worry deepening on her weathered face.

A sudden baritone voice broke through the commotion. “I’ll take care of her.”

Heads turned sharply to see a tall man approaching with deliberate strides. Arya, clad in a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and dark khaki trousers, exuded a calm authority that belied the tension in the air. His tousled hair glinted in the firelight, and his sharp, chiseled features carried a mix of determination and concern. A stethoscope peeked from the pocket of his leather sling bag, marking him as the group’s trusted doctor.

“Arya! Please, do something!” Sanchi’s voice cracked as she turned to him, her own kurta damp from the drizzle, her anxious gaze fixed on Sia. “She’s not waking up!”

Arya knelt beside the cot, his eyes scanning Sia’s form with clinical precision. “The weather here is unforgiving,” he muttered, pulling out his medical kit. “Maybe it was too harsh on her.”

Sanchi bristled, shaking her head vehemently. “Arya, you know Sia better than that! The cold might bother others, but not her. She’s stronger than this!”

Arya sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Even the strongest have their moments of vulnerability, Sanchi. Strength isn’t invincible—it falters when least expected.”

He checked Sia’s pulse with practiced hands, his brow furrowing as he moved to examine her eyes. After a moment, he pulled out a syringe and prepared an injection. "This will stabilize her," he said with quiet certainty, the needle glinting ominously in the firelight.

But just as Arya moved to administer the injection, Sia’s unconscious mind stirred. In the depths of her dreamlike state, she heard the thunderous command of a voice that resonated with power and urgency. "Stop it, Sia," Kaal’s voice echoed, piercing through her mind like a blade through darkness.

Her body reacted instinctively. With a gasp, her hand shot up, gripping Arya's wrist tightly. Though her eyes remained shut, her hold was ironclad, unyielding. Gasps rippled through the crowd as everyone froze, their confusion mounting.

“Sia, what are you doing?” Arya demanded, his voice tinged with alarm. He struggled against her grip, but her strength, seemingly drawn from some unseen force, made his attempts futile.

“Let her go!” Sanchi cried, kneeling beside Sia and tapping her cheeks, trying to rouse her fully. "Sia, wake up!"

Arya gritted his teeth, using his strength to try and free his hand. “She’s unconscious—this is reflexive!” he growled, though doubt flickered in his eyes. With a final push, he reached for her arm again, determined to inject her.

Suddenly, Kaal's voice thundered through her mind once more. "Get up, Sia. Don’t let this happen. Wake up!"

With an intensity that seemed to erupt from her very core, Sia’s eyes snapped open, blazing with newfound energy. Her body moved with the ferocity of a tigress as she shoved Arya away with a force that sent him sprawling across the ground. The crowd gasped, their confusion and fear now mingled with awe.

Sia sat up abruptly, her breath ragged, her chest heaving as if she had emerged from a battle. Her wide eyes darted around, but her mind was elsewhere, still tethered to the vision of Kaal. She clutched her chest, her fingers trembling as she recalled the desperation in his stormy gaze, the urgency in his voice.

“Sia…” Sanchi’s voice trembled with relief, but Sia didn’t respond. The firelight flickered against her pale face, her expression unreadable, as though she carried the weight of a truth too vast to share. The silent forest around them seemed to echo her turmoil, the rustling leaves whispering secrets only she could hear.