By evening, a nervous energy had replaced the awe at the archery academy. The news of the CHAKRAVYUH pilot program in Nashik was the only topic of conversation. Some of the younger athletes saw it as a futuristic novelty, talking excitedly about enhanced security and the "coolness" of the tech. The older ones, including Coach Singh, were more somber, muttering about privacy and the unsettling speed of the rollout.
Parth was silent through it all. He sat cleaning his archery equipment with meticulous care, the repetitive motions a balm to his thrumming nerves. He wasn't a citizen worried about surveillance; he was a soldier looking at the enemy's first line of fortification.
Later, Coach Singh found him sitting alone on a bench overlooking the now-darkened practice range. The floodlights were off, and the only light came from a distant, newly installed streetlamp that cast long shadows. The lamp post was new, and mounted just below the light was a sleek, white orb with a softly glowing blue lens—a CHAKRAVYUH camera. It was positioned to cover the entrance to the academy. The unblinking eye was a stark reminder that the battlefield had arrived.
"I saw your shot today," the coach said, his voice low as he sat beside Parth. "The Robin Hood. I've been coaching for thirty years, Parth. I've seen maybe one of those in a real competition. Never in practice. What happened at the river this morning... it changed you."
"It gave me clarity," Parth replied, his gaze fixed on the glowing blue lens across the field.
"Clarity about what? The Olympics? Your future?"
Parth finally turned to look at his coach, his eyes holding a depth that made him seem far older than his years. "Coach... do you believe that some fights don't end? That they just sleep for a while?"
Coach Singh considered this. He looked from Parth's intense face to the camera and back. "After what I've seen... I believe that you believe it. And that's enough for me. So, what does this clarity tell you to do?"
"The gold medal... it feels small now," Parth admitted, the words tasting strange and true. "It's a target, but it's not the target. Not anymore. What Suyodh Mehra is building isn't for security. It's a cage. He's building it to control people, to crush anything that doesn't bend to his will. It's an old, old fight, Coach. And I'm on the other side."
A heavy silence fell between them. The coach understood. This was no longer about helping his star pupil overcome a mental block. This was about standing beside a young man who was preparing for a war only he could see. "This isn't a war you can fight with a bow, son," he said, his voice heavy with concern. "They have lawyers, politicians, and now... this." He nodded toward the camera.
"I know," Parth said. A new thought was taking root in his mind. "I can't do it alone. The Pandavas didn't fight alone." He had no idea where he would find allies in this modern world, people who could fight a war of information and technology, but for the first time, he knew he had to look.
He stood up. "I'll be back," he said, before walking purposefully towards the academy's equipment lockers.
A few minutes later, he emerged, melting into the shadows at the edge of the field. He wasn't carrying his powerful Hoyt competition bow. In his hand was a simple, lower-poundage training bow, the kind used for beginners. In his other hand, he held a single practice arrow with a blunt, rubberized tip.
He moved silently along the perimeter fence, using the darkness as cover until he was about 30 meters from the lamp post. He was directly perpendicular to the camera. He could see its blue lens panning slowly, methodically. An unblinking eye for an unblinking system.
He nocked the blunt arrow. This wasn't a shot of power or destruction. It had to be one of pure, surgical precision. He wasn't trying to start an overt war. He was sending a message.
He drew the string, his form perfect even in the dim light. He timed the camera's slow, mechanical pan. His target wasn't the device itself, but the delicate gimbal it was mounted on.
He released.
The arrow made a soft whiss as it cut through the night air. There was no loud crash. Just a sharp, plastic click.
The camera's smooth panning motion jerked to a halt. The blunt arrow had struck the mounting joint with pinpoint accuracy, knocking the orb upwards. Its glowing blue eye was now staring uselessly at the dark, starless sky.
Parth watched for a long moment from the shadows. The first shot of his new war had been fired. It was a small act of defiance, a single blinded eye in a network of millions. But it was a start. He had answered the enemy's advance with a move of his own. As he slipped back into the darkness, he felt not triumph, but the immense, chilling weight of a conflict that had just truly begun.