Chapter 5
If she could select a leader for a state as hopeless as Jammu & Kashmir, she would select no one but him.
Nothing was official yet, because he had three other partners.
Qureshi was getting stronger in Muslim-dominated districts in South Kashmir.
Samar already had a base in Jammu’s grassroots.
Adil didn't seem too interested in anything other than his IT toys.
Atharva was the only one who had not established his USP yet.
But Atharva was also a Pundit. Amaal knew enough about what Kashmir had done to the Pundits of this state to realise that Atharva as the CM candidate was a one-way ticket to tanking the election even before it started.
But he was such a perfect candidate. He was everywhere and nowhere.
He held the party together, became the voice of reason in a room full of heated debates, disappeared for weeks on end and returned with news of some new development in some remote village, thankfully with photos and videos to show for his absence.
He did good for even those villages from where Pundits had been chased.
He helped even those people who had usurped properties of their Pundit neighbours, and did so without any ill-will towards them.
A man like that could change the entire fabric of hatred in Kashmir, and maybe, one day, make it whole again.
But would a man like that ever get elected? Because from KDP’s own election records, they had never secured a victory in villages with just development. They had only secured it with the right mix of religious and sectarian candidates who also happened to champion development.
Amaal worked with Atharva closely, and had the biggest pang every time she thought about how he could become so much more.
The sounds of pigeons taking flight with a flutter broke her chain of thoughts, and she focused on the view in front of her.
The Zabarwan Hills in the distance, still dusted with snow, wooden houses in the foreground, rising and falling with their sloped thatched roofs, sitting on this bustling road of Nehru Nagar.
Amaal felt the chill from the morning outside permeate the window and into her skin.
She shivered. Spring wasn’t supposed to feel this cold.
She closed the white-framed glass windows one by one, feeling her eyes burning.
It was Thursday already. Burnout was imminent.
She had been feeling the effects of fatigue every weekend this last month.
After almost five months at KDP, she figured it was normal.
Travel wasn’t a problem, but the long hours and trudging home from the office in biting cold was. Thank god, winter was behind her.
With her laptop playing Sigur Rós’s latest on repeat, she quickly went around folding her bedding.
The deathly tune, haunting and chilling, made her feel even colder.
She had half a mind to change the track but walking to the desk to change seemed like too much work suddenly.
Amaal stopped midway folding the blanket, and stared at her bed.
8.15 on a Thursday morning. Her eyes closed of their own accord.
If this were a corporate job or a news agency, she would have fallen into bed and called in sick.
She couldn’t do that here. Not because there was no set leave policy.
She knew the leaders enough to know that they would give her the day off.
But she now also knew that she was so integral to the daily working of the media wing of the party that a day off was a sin.
Her head began to pound.
“No.” She groaned, letting the half-folded bedding slip from her fingers.
“Painkiller. Give me a painkiller someone!” She called out to the thin air like she was used to.
But during her college days, there was a roommate to hear her out and press a painkiller into her hand.
She eyed the bed longingly. Just ten minutes.
She could rest for ten minutes, then leave for the office and buy a painkiller on the way.
She glanced at her wrist watch. Yes, it was just 8.20. She could leave the house by 8.30 and still arrive on time. A little late was also ok.
Squealing, she picked up the blanket, whirled it in a wrap around her shoulders and fell into the middle of the bed.
————————————————————
Samar pushed out of his jacket and hung it over the chair beside Atharva’s. The office was a mess today.
“Are you sure we don’t need to hire somebody for logistics?
” He looked around the desk. The floor was covered with boxes full of party scarves and tarpaulins that they were going to pitch into tents at Badamwari.
Amaal had gotten Atharva sold on the idea of getting together locals of Badamwari area and starting a festival of their own to celebrate the spring bloom of almond trees in their park.
“Ice blue popping in-between pink almond blossoms” — her pitch.
Samar hadn’t been sold on the aesthetic until she had started outlining that they would set up tents and give out free stalls for local craftsmen and women to come and sell their wares.
KDP would sponsor the event, set up stalls, and outsource them to those who needed a place to sell.
A grassroots awareness drive and a media boom. A costly affair.
“Money is tied up for the rest of the year. Either we all pitch in and manage it, or find somebody who is ready to do it at half the salary.”
“Both impossible.” Samar sat down on his chair. “Don’t you think we are doing too many events too fast?”
“This one is big,” Atharva muttered, eyes on his laptop.
“I agree. But we don’t have to say yes to everything Amaal comes up with.”
“Have you sat in on any of our meetings?”
“No. Why?”
He snorted. “I say yes to 1% of what she comes up with.”
Samar’s eyes widened — “What else does she come up with?!”
Atharva shook his head, smiling triumphantly at his screen. Samar knew the ass was smug about this hire.
“She is working beyond the limits of her responsibilities,” Atharva remarked, reading his mind.
“The Kashmir Times fiasco…”
“She is impulsive, but that’s because she is young and trying to prove herself in a world that is ageist towards youngsters. And Kashmir Times wasn’t a fiasco. It could have become one.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Yes, I agree she needs more mentoring. But with time, I can see her passion transforming her into a solid leader.”
“Political leader?”
“Media leader. I am already letting her lead strategies and events. Speaking of,” he finally switched his gaze from his screen and reached for his mobile.
“Where is she? We were supposed to discuss this Badamwari Bloom speech… Hello, Ehsaan? Is Amaal there…? Hmm… I didn’t know, I was on tour yesterday. Let me check.”
Samar pulled Atharva’s laptop closer and began reading the speech he had been working on.
Samar was the last person to vet literature.
Reading and writing for him had been limited to his medical college.
Fancy words, heavy language, motivational jargon — that was Atharva’s thing.
Samar was a doer. If he was given a roadmap, he executed it.
To the T. It didn’t quite translate into writing or giving speeches, though.
“… are you feeling better now?”
Samar whirled his eyes up to Atharva.
“No, don’t worry about that. If the doctor says it’s typhoid, then rest… hmm… It’s common here in this season… Ok, let me know if you need anything.”
“Typhoid?” Samar asked as he ended the call.
“She has headache and high fever every evening for the last two days. Her doctor says it’s typhoid because it’s going around like every year in spring.”
“What? Without a blood test?”
“Apparently.”
Samar gaped — “Headache and high fever…” he muttered to himself. “Is her fever persistent or comes and goes?”
Atharva offered his phone — “Ask. And give me my laptop back.”
Samar traded the laptop for the phone and punched the last-dialled contact.
“Hello?” Her voice was nasally.
“Amaal, it’s Samar.”
“Hi. I just spoke to Atharva, I won’t be coming in today or the weekend…”
“I know. I didn’t call about that. You said you had typhoid?”
“Yes.”
“Your doctor diagnosed it without a blood test?”
“If you want proof of illness, I’ll get a blood test.”
“I didn’t ask for that. I am asking for your fever. Is it persistent or periodical?”
“It’s… mostly been in the evenings. In the morning, I feel better.”
“And headache?”
“Like my brain is banging inside my head.”
“Get a malaria blood test. RDT. But go for the test only when your fever is at its peak.”
“Uhh… I am already taking typhoid medication.”
“If it’s not typhoid, then you are taking the wrong antibiotics. This is my understanding from what I heard. Rest is up to you.” He ended the call, looking up to return the phone and finding Atharva’s narrowed eyes on him.
“What?”
“You expect a girl who is living alone here to go for a blood test when her fever is at its peak?”
“She is not going anyway.”
Atharva stared at him, hard.
“Don’t stare.”
“I’ll go with her or send Fahad.” He snatched his mobile and began to redial.
“She is hellbent on taking typhoid medicines.”
“You are saying it’s malaria.”
“Yes.”
“Which incompetent doctor has she been going to?” He muttered, pressing the mobile to his ear.
“Hello, Amaal. It’s Atharva again. Yes… he told me.
It’s,” he glanced at his watch. “3 pm right now. You said your fever rises in the evenings?… Yes… Let’s get you to the blood test centre.
Give me a call if you have a fever this evening and we will go…
No, I am taking you or sending Fahad. If you have a preference, tell me right now.
” Atharva heard her comment on the other end and laughed.
“Good. Whoever is available then. Take care.”
He set his mobile back down and got back to his laptop. “Treat people like people, Samar. Distance is not the answer anymore.”