Chapter 49
“We are not going home, Noora,” Atharva held out an envelope to him. “You go now.”
He gasped — “This is the price you pay for my selfless service?!”
Atharva rolled his eyes. “These are signed MOUs for Adil.”
“Oh,” his face split into a grin. “Then it’s ok. I’ll deliver these and be right back.”
“Noora…” Atharva paused. Then looked away at the window. The garden was empty. The house was empty. This was the only time of a weekday that the house was quiet. Iram was off to pick up Yathaarth from school, Shiva was relaxing in some corner after finishing cooking lunch.
“What, what? Say.”
“Listen,” Atharva found himself smiling. “You came with us three years ago without a single expectation. I thought you would get bored and leave.”
“I never get bored.”
“I know. But now, this is long-lasting. For me, there is no returning for the foreseeable future. You don’t need to stay back. Go home.”
“What will I do there?”
“I don’t know… resume your work, meet your friends, maybe get married.”
“Now you are embarrassing me…”
“What?”
“Fine, you and Iram start looking for a suitable girl but I will not marry outside Pundit…”
“Noora, for two minutes, be serious. There is nothing for you here.”
“Is Shiva also going?”
“I asked him. He doesn’t want to go.”
“Daniyal?”
“No.”
“Then why am I going?”
Atharva squeezed his eyes shut, praying for divine patience.
“Big Brother.”
He tore his eyes open and met Noora’s gaze. It had been an eon since somebody had called him that. Atharva stared at Noora, at one of those rare, solemn gazes that only opened in a real crisis or an intel debrief.
“Whatever there is, is here for me. With you all. I am not going anywhere. If you throw me out, I will climb in from the back gate, I have also planned to dig a tunnel…”
“Just go.”
“What?”
“Deliver these and come back.”
His teeth made an appearance.
“From the main gate,” Atharva warned.
“I will teach Arth all about the tunnels!”
“Noona!”
“Artha!” He jumped around, pushing the envelope inside his waistband. Atharva had stopped questioning his hiding places a long time ago. Yathaarth came running up the driveway, Iram parking the car.
As Noora ran out of the house, Iram strode in — bag, bottle and purse laden on her. “Did you talk to him?”
Atharva nodded, gazing at the two play some strange game of running around a stone.
“He is going?”
“You sound sad,” he smirked.
“No, he must go. He has a life there…”
Atharva eyed his wife. Sad.
“He is going.”
“I know… ask him to courier the attar.”
Atharva shook his head — “He will hand-deliver it.”
Her eyes widened. “He is not going?”
“He is going.”
“You just said he will hand-deliver my attar!”
“But he has to go for that, myani zuv.”
She punched his arm — “Don’t talk in circles.”
He laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her close and into his side. Iram lay her head on his chest — “He will deliver some papers to Adil and come back. With your attar,” he kissed the top of her head.
A long breath left her mouth, warming the cotton of his shirt.
“Are you ready, Atharva?”
“For what?”
“For not going home.”
He opened his mouth but her next words stalled him.
“For not going home and still being happy here?”
He glanced down at her.
“Life will never give me 100%. Something will always be missing,” he ran his palm up and down her arm. “But as long as you and Arth are not the missing ones, I will live.”
Her head fell back, those browns smiling for him like they always had. How had he found a pair of deep, melancholic eyes and had the privilege of seeing them transform into these content, wise ones?
“What will you do?”
“Resign from KDP.”
“What?”
“That’s the final white flag to assure Qureshi that I am not coming for his chair.”
“Do you think he will accept it?”
“What, the resignation or the white flag?”
“Both.”
“Yes to one, no to the other. But I need to break it off now. Stop being connected to KDP. I did not agree with most of their decisions of the last few years, but I stayed. With Awaami in the picture, I will no more put my name behind it, even if it is not important anymore.”
“Your name is important.”
He smiled, swallowing the ball of saliva that rose at that declaration.
“One thing I regret,” he voiced out loud.
“Mmm?”
Atharva glanced down at his wife — “I had plans. Really big ones, ambitious ones. Twelve years. If I had gotten twelve years… I won’t be able to do that for Kashmir now.
With Awaami and Momina Aslam in government, funding to militancy will resume, many will be let out of jails, camps will run openly again…
” The hair on his arms stood to attention thinking about where a society that had just begun to look upwards go again when regressed.
To live in status quo was one thing. To be shown a bright future, step towards it, and then be pulled down again tore the collective psyche of a people. His people.
A warm hand wrapped around his forearm. It slid down and her fingers meshed through his. They interlocked, tight. Iram’s head rose from his chest and she stared into his eyes.
“You made every effort possible to change this. I see your intentions, I see your conscience. If it was not meant to happen, it will not happen. Isn’t that what you told me Bhagwad Gita says?”
He felt his face stretch, as did his neck, until his lips were pressing into her temple. Her fingers tightened around his.
“So then,” her voice smiled. “What will you do now?”
“Meaning?” He pulled back.
“Work-wise.”
“Keep being a political consultant, keep strategising, keep laying groundwork for a solid party for North India,” he smirked. “I am told I can topple sitting governments in my free time.”
She glared at him to talk straight.
“Iram,” he sighed. “Maybe building a party, working to bring it to power is where my destiny lies now. And it’s also an easier life. Not physically, but mentally for sure. Good for my peace of mind. No big decisions, no high-stress stakes, no threats to my family.”
“Mmmm… Atharva Singh Kaul — the Political Strategist. Sounds serious. And gives you free time from your free time to spend with your family.”
“And grow that family,” he pushed his face closer to hers. The smile drained from her face.
“I promised you, myani zuv, that we will start when we go back. But we are still here. Our life does not stop because of this. I failed us, but…”
“You did not fail us.”
His lips turned down.
“What did I say?”
“That I did not fail you,” he repeated like a good boy.
“Good.”
“Then are we on?”
She rolled her eyes, biting the insides of her cheeks. Her colour was already red.
“We are doing it every day, Iram. We just remove protection. What’s that reaction for?”
Her head rammed into his chest — “Gah! A woman can’t even feel it now.”
He threw his head back and laughed. When he came up for air, her head was thrown back again, chin on his chest, those browns proud and preening — “There’s my ten feet tall.”
————————————————————
To,
The President
Kashmir Development Party
Subject: Resignation from Primary Membership
Mr. Samar Dixit,
I wish to tender my resignation from the Kashmir Development Party with immediate effect. This decision comes after careful reflection, as I find that I no longer align with the direction the party has chosen to pursue.
I remain grateful for the opportunities, support, and camaraderie I have experienced during my time here, and I part ways with respect and goodwill.
With regards,
Atharva Singh Kaul
————————————————————
To,
Mr. Atharva Singh Kaul
Subject: Acceptance of Resignation
Mr. Atharva Singh Kaul,
I acknowledge and accept your resignation from the Kashmir Development Party with effect from today. While it is never easy to part ways with a valued colleague, I respect your decision and your reasons for moving on.
On behalf of the party, I thank you for your contributions and wish you the very best in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
Samar Dixit
President
Kashmir Development Party
————————————————————
Atharva was right. Life would never give them 100%.
It never did, to anybody. What was important was that they had what mattered most. And now, after two decades of strife and struggle, Iram had finally learnt to not only live with the threads of sorrow and joy interwoven into the fabric of life, but also appreciate that both would linger together at a given moment. That was life.
If it was Yathaarth’s rock-hard, handmade anniversary cake with white frosting melting like milk over it, then it was also the album of their wedding photographs that came in the courier the next day from Amaal.
If it was the joy on Atharva’s face as he skimmed through those photographs a day after their sixth anniversary, then it was also Yathaarth’s innocent question — “Baba where this?”
“This is Kashmir,” his father had told him.
“This is your Mama’s house,” he had pointed to the almond tree under which they had gotten married.
Then flipped down to the reception collages and pointed to the big house lit up in fairy lights at the hour of dusk.
“This is your great-grandfather’s house. My house.”
“My house?”
“Yes, yours too. Mama’s, yours, and mine. Ours.”
Iram had fought him on their wedding fineries once. Today, as Yathaarth had grinned and clapped and even kissed some of the photographs, Iram had nothing but gratitude for the man flipping those pages for their son.
“Baba, Tiangle!”
“That’s an attic. Like the observatory we have here. But that attic has a sloped roof made of wood. It’s not very high, I have to bend my neck when I enter. It is Mama’s writing office.”
“Kitchen kitchen!”
“Here it is the kitchen,” he had laughed. “But there, it’s the attic.”
“Gamophone?”
“No,” Atharva had smiled. “The gramophone would be in another room, here, see this window?”
“Picnic, Baba! Lezzgo picnic.”