Chapter 50
Raah kaunsi jaaoon main?
Chaurahe par lutata cheer
pyaade se pit gaya Wazir
chaloon aakhiri chaal ki baazi chhod virakti rachaaoon main?
Raah kaunsi jaaun main?
Sapna janma aur mar gaya,
madhu ritu mein hi baag jhar gaya,
tinke toote hue batoroon ya navsrishti sajaaoon main?
Raah kaunsi jaaun main?
Do din mile udhaar mein,
ghaaton ke vyapaar mein,
kshan-kshan ka hisaab loon ya nidhi shesh lutaaoon main?
Raah kaunsi jaaun main?[76]
- Atal Bihari Vajpayee
NH44 gave way to the roads of the city. Atharva drove his car filled with his family into the National Capital Region of Delhi and straight to Sansad Marg Area. Samar waited outside the Election Commission of India Office, cleaned up as if it were his wedding.
Atharva parked the car and left it idling for the people inside.
“You got your baraat too?” He quipped, stepping out and shutting the door. Samar glanced around him — his team of seven, plus a few members from HDP. He smirked. “We are not making a spectacle but they need to know that it’s not just a small-time party.”
“Heyylo!” Yathaarth’s head popped out of the back window, waving at Samar. Atharva stepped aside as Samar strode to the car and tickled his forehead, like it had been their tradition lately. “Look who is going to see Delhi today.”
“Me!” He jumped without thought but Samar’s hand padded his hit to the window frame. “And Mama, and Noona and Baba!”
“Hi, Samar,” Iram turned her head from her passenger seat.
“Hi, Iram. All set?” He smiled. They had come to a polite stage, which was more than Atharva had ever expected. Amaal had played a role in bridging the gap.
“I’ve kept sugar off but as you can see…” she gestured to their son. And Noora, who was bouncing with him.
Samar chuckled — “Celebrate for us today. I am flying straight to Srinagar after, so party hard in Delhi. Some sugar is good for health. Doctor’s word,” he took Yathaarth’s face in his palm and shook. He loved it. “Again!”
Samar did it again.
“Ok,” Atharva cut in. “It’s 9.56. Samar, you can come home to play this weekend.”
“Noora, come out,” Samar ordered.
“Why? I am on picnic.”
“Join the party, stand with them.”
He scoffed at Iram — “Huh, they need crowd. Biryani and 5000 rupees.”
“How about I give that all to you from your last salary?”
“Works…”
“This month’s salary. That will be your last.”
Noora scuttled out from his side of the door and ran to the group of members already getting impatient. The late summer sun was hot, dry and heavy, even at 10.
“I’ll be back,” Atharva told Iram and walked into the ECI office with a mix of Kashmir, Himachal, Uttarakhand and Punjab members of a party that was the building which had materialised brick by brick over two decades.
Iram stared at his back as it disappeared among the party members.
He was stepping back into an ECI office after years.
That in itself was a celebration for her.
Even if he was stepping in to support Samar and be the silent observer, he was going in with every fibre of his being activated.
She had not married a winner, she had married a hero.
And even in the defeats of life, this man continued to prove it to her over and over again.
“Mama, change.”
“Changing, baby. Which song do you want?” Iram picked up her mobile and found her thumb freeze over her period app. She checked the date on the calendar. She should have logged her period five days ago. How had she not kept track?
How had Atharva not kept track?
But then, their life had been smooth-flowing, at least their personal life.
Nothing had felt amiss. Not even the months that they had tried for this baby.
Iram startled. This baby. Something inside her was certain that there was a baby.
She hadn’t missed a day since they started trying. Not even a day’s delay. She smiled.
“Shola song! Mama, shola song!”
“Sorry,” she startled, pulling up the music app and selecting his Shola jo Bhadke.
As Yathaarth got busy singing along and rolling in the backseat, she kept an eye on him through the rearview but her thoughts veered.
Another baby. Talking about it and trying was one thing.
To think of another human being here, in between them, rolling around on their backseat, was quite another.
She had not imagined another baby since…
Hayat. And Hayat had slowly gone from being a baby to a constant jewel enshrined in her most cherished thoughts.
She had stopped thinking of her as her baby girl whose milestones would have matched Yathaarth’s and started to slowly see her as that soul who had come to deliver him safely, help her and Atharva jump over the break in the bridge across from each other and tie their family together.
A momentary fear inched up from inside those deepest thoughts. Like a needle piercing its way up. What if this baby too…
Instead of arresting that thought, Iram let it finish itself.
What if this baby died too?
She let that thought come, swirl its way around her mind, then she opened the gates for it to leave. Because it was just that. A thought.
Arth’s sing-song turned into ramblings as he began to recount to her one random incident from his school when Ms. Manya had told them a story and had them enact it and he had become the lion.
Iram hummed and smiled and nodded, laughing as he climbed up between the seats and into her lap.
She squeezed him to herself and listened to him mumble half-fiction, half-fact, inhaling his kiddie shampoo scent as he lay his head on her breast. Whatever was meant to come, would come.
Atharva and her would try to hold as much as they could, as much as they were destined to. And let the rest go.
“Done,” Atharva’s deep voice brought her out of her thoughts. His side of the door clicked shut and Noora scuttled in through the back door.
“Where are Samar and the others?” Iram glanced behind him.
“Out the main gate. There’s media there for them.”
“Oh.”
“What happened to you?” He opened the bottle of water stowed on his side of the door.
“Nothing.”
Grey eyes narrowed as his head tipped back to take a swig. She cocked her head too.
“Anyway,” he finished drinking his water. “Next up is Parliament House.”
“I thought we were meeting Yogesh Patel?”
“His office is inside the Parliament House.”
Atharva put the car in reverse and began to pull out of the lot.
“Atharva?”
“Hmm?”
Yathaarth climbed over her lap and jumped behind at Noora.
“Arth, sit down,” his father commanded.
“No seat belt!” He sat in the middle of the backseat. Atharva ignored him. Google Maps anyway showed 100 metres to the Parliament House. They waited in line to get clearance out of the complex.
“You were saying?” Atharva cued.
“Oh… I was just thinking. This thing, with Yogesh Patel, you said it will mean more travel. How often will you be home?”
“Not very often, unfortunately. But it’s just a matter of seven, maximum eight months. By April, the election will be concluded and then I will be back to Shimla. But we can all travel. At least for longer tours.”
“You will accept the offer today?”
“Yes. What’s happening, myani zuv?” He turned to her. “We discussed this.”
She smiled, “I was just confirming.”
“Is there a problem?”
She shook her head. The exit came closer and her thoughts froze, as well as ran into overdrive.
He needed to know. He wanted to be with her through this pregnancy.
But now if he accepted this offer, became the North India In-Charge, it would mean…
but he was also so excited for something after so long.
Iram didn’t know what to do until the exit clearance paperwork happened at the booth.
He toggled the indicator to turn right for the Parliament House.
“Atharva?”
“Yes?”
“Can we go left and pick up a Dolo. My head is splitting…”
“Why didn’t you say it sooner?” He quickly changed the indicator and turned left, leaving the complex. “Input for nearest medical store.”
She grabbed her phone and did just that. It wasn’t too far and the traffic was light.
“You won’t be late, no?” She confirmed, even as she looked at the clock on the dashboard. 11:26. His meeting was at 12. Atharva quietly took a U-turn and parked outside a medical store.
“Go.”
“I am also coming,” Noora began to open his side of the door. Iram closed her eyes, thinking about how to escape that.
“Tell Iram what you want. We don’t have time for a shopping party,” Atharva asserted.
Thank you.
“Five blue Halls and two yellow Halls. And make sure he packs it in the brown paper bag.”
Iram quickly got off and strode up to the store. She asked for a strip of Dolo 650, Noora’s Halls and three pregnancy tests.
————————————————————
Their car rolled through Gate No. 12 of the Parliament House — the entry reserved for members’ families and invited guests.
Iram had never been inside the Parliament.
Just seen it in passing, in movies, in news.
Today, as they went through the standard frisking — both, their car as well as of their persons, she gaped at the vast sandstone circle, its red and cream colonnade repeating itself into infinity. Nothing registered.
An officer waited for them at one of the many doors that led inside and she felt her feet move on autopilot.
Yathaarth was holding Atharva’s hand in front of her, Noora was walking behind her, and the wind was moving along with her.
Her mind was frozen on the three pregnancy test boxes tied together in a rubber band and wrapped in brown paper, tucked inside her purse.
Bathroom. She needed to use a bathroom and know for sure. Five days after a missed period was a good enough place to check. She couldn't tell Atharva she suspected it without actually suspecting it. He was in too positive a space right now to be pulled out without a reason.
She was about to open her mouth and ask for a washroom when they were led straight into a waiting room. A private waiting room, done in rich darkwood polish and accents of gold. Fresh flowers in vases, a table of refreshments, crystal carafes of water.
“Sir is in the House,” the officer informed Atharva. “I will come and escort you as soon as he is in his office.”
“Thank you.”
“Excuse me?” Iram stopped him. “Can you show me to the washroom?”
He smiled, stepped back inside the room and crossed the wide space to the single door at the end — “Right here, ma’am. If you need anything else, there’s a guard outside.”
She nodded her thanks. Iram did not wait for her son to settle. His father was here and he would settle him. She needed this done. She whirled on the balls of her feet and walked inside the bathroom. She clicked the door shut and turned the lock. Phew.
Iram turned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She did not have time to think or prepare herself for what was to come. The clock above showed it was already 11.40. His meeting was at 12.
She zipped open her purse and pulled out the three tests.
————————————————————
Iram unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. Only to find him gone.
“Where is Atharva?”
“Yogesh Patel came out,” Noora informed, throwing a tiny 100 ml water bottle at Yathaarth as they both sat on the floor playing catch.
“When?” Iram strode to the door and pulled it open. A guard was standing there and his eyes immediately cut to her.
“Five minutes ago.”
Iram gaped at the empty Parliament corridor, its gleaming floors reflecting the sun streaming in from the slits of windows. She checked right, then left. He was gone.
“No,” she muttered under her breath.
“What?” Noora asked.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“No,” she smiled at the guard. “Thank you.”
Iram stepped back inside and closed the door.
Her eyes whirled to the clock. It was just 11.
55. Yogesh Patel had stepped out early for Atharva?
She began to reach for her mobile to call him but stopped.
She wasn’t his impulsive girlfriend anymore.
She didn’t expect him to answer when he was in a meeting this big.
Neither did it suit her stature as his wife to call him in the first place.
Trusting in the timing of it all, Iram waited.
————————————————————
At 12.25 dot, the door opened and Atharva stepped in. That wasn’t too long, Iram frowned. Was he going back in?
“Is it done?” She asked, getting to her feet.
“Yes. Come.”
This version of her husband had made an appearance after a long time. His face was stoic, devoid of any emotion. His stance was tight, all military. His eyes were… different. She did not question him on anything as Noora and she quickly packed up the mess Yathaarth had made in such a short while.
“Do you have everything?” Atharva asked one last time. She checked, then nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Iram walked behind him, eyeing the solid set of his shoulders, wide and muscled, and rigid. They walked down the alley and portraits of Indian political leaders lined their way. Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Ambedkar. She had enough presence of mind now to register them.
They reached the exit of the House and frisking had a small line.
“Sir!” The officer who had escorted them earlier came running out, a chit of paper in hand.
Iram frowned, seeing him hand the chit to Atharva.
Atharva opened it, read, then folded it back and slipped it inside his pocket.
They went through the exit formalities and her eyes squinted as they confronted the bright noon light after the cool dark interiors.
The Indian tricolour fluttered against the sun.
And she found Atharva’s shoulders hunch a little straighter.
“Baba flag!” Yathaarth came bounding between them and took his father’s hand. Iram stood back as Atharva stepped down with their son. “Yes, Dilbaro, flag. Which colours does it have?”
“Oange, geen, white and… ashok chacha buoo!”
“Ashok Chakra blue,” he corrected. His voice was off too.
Iram covered the distance between them — “What happened inside?” She whispered close to his shoulder so that only he could hear. He did not answer immediately. They took steps down the Parliament House, away from the crowd, their feet in sync.
Then, in a voice as low as her —
“He invited me to become the Prime Ministerial candidate for this election.”
— TO BE CONTINUED —