Chapter 5 #2
Samar stiffened. Atharva continued to type in front of him. And he forgot why he had come here in the first place.
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Samar parked his car outside the brick building.
256, Nehru Nagar.
He got out and eyed the quiet street. Nehru Nagar was one of the more premium localities here, residential and family-oriented.
Safe. Electricity poles, street lamps, a green park with kids loitering.
These were the vulnerable places when disturbances hit.
Because these were the streets where nobody thought anything could go wrong. Troublemakers chose such streets.
He hoisted his bag high over his shoulder and walked towards the gate under the setting sun.
It opened to a small kaddappa-tiled compound, a bike parked to the side.
Samar walked to the end of the compound where the entrance opened.
He climbed up, checking for the list of tenants on the ground floor.
No name plates. He began climbing the stairs — marble flooring with wood banisters. Rich.
He reached the second floor and rang the bell on Flat no. 6. Some hustle ensued inside. He rechecked the number — 6.
The door pulled open to a middle-aged woman, holding herself up on a walking stick. Samar stepped back, looking at the only other flat on the floor.
“I am here to see Amaal Durrani…” he muttered. “Does she stay across?”
“No, no, she stays here. You are Atharva miyan?” The woman smiled. She was fair, Kashmiri, the side of her face marred with the remnants of burn marks. Glass burns. The veil covering her head had now dropped to her neck.
“No,” Samar began.
“Fahad?”
“I am Dr. Samar Dixit.”
She frowned, her hand trembling as she leaned back from the door — “Amaal? Dr. Samar Dixit aaye hai. Aap jaanti hai inhe?[26]”
“Samar?” Her small voice reached him. “Ji.[27]”
She stepped back — “Aaiye.[28]”
Samar entered the flat and took in the space like he did any enclosed space.
Dark alley leading into the kitchen on one side with a bedroom door in front, the alley itself opening straight into the hall on the other side.
A row of windows brought in the evening sunlight into the hall.
Glass windows, full-size, without a grille.
Easy to get out. He had left the SFF long ago, and yet he eyed escape routes before he eyed anything else in a room.
His eyes came to the sofa set in the middle of the hall. Amaal was slowly sitting up, wrapped in what he assumed was all the winter gear she owned, with a blanket covering her.
“I thought Atharva or Fahad were coming…” She began to rise to her feet.
“It was better if I came and saw you.” He set his bag down and gestured for her to keep sitting.
“May I?” He held his hand over her forehead.
Her eyes popped fully open then. Blue and bright, pupils dilated.
She nodded. Samar cupped her forehead. Burning.
She hissed. He used the knuckles of his other hand to check her neck. Even hotter.
“Did you take the temperature?” He asked.
“It was 102 half an hour ago.” The older woman came up behind him. He turned — “Did you administer any paracetamol or cold water cloths? Anything to bring the fever down?”
She shook her head. “Amaal said she had to go for some test when it was at its peak.”
"Headache?” He reached for his bag’s zipper and grabbed his pouch.
“Very bad,” Amaal groaned.
“Has the fever improved at all from yesterday after you started the antibiotics?” He picked out the thermometer and held it to her mouth.
She took it under her tongue, then shook her head.
He held her head steady, taking her pulse as the thermometer did its job.
A silent minute later, he pulled it out. 105.
“Let’s go.” He jerked it and turned. “Where can I wash this?”
“Come.”
“Get ready, Amaal.”
Samar followed the older woman and washed the thermometer in the basin.
“If I had known about her fever, I would have come from day 1,” she told him. “I got to know when I called her to invite for dinner tomorrow. She said it might be malaria and not typhoid?”
“It is malaria.”
“She is unable to keep the antibiotics down. It’s better if she stops taking them completely.”
“She will have to complete the course now.” He wiped the thermometer on his handkerchief. “Which doctor did she go to?”
“There is a local doctor here, Dr. Umar. He said it’s typhoid, as that’s everywhere. He only gave her antibiotics.”
Samar nodded, tracing his way back to the hall where Amaal was already on her feet, shivering but wrapping a muffler around her neck.
“Ready?”
She nodded, reaching for her handbag.
“Leave it. Just come like that.” He stuffed his thermometer back inside his pouch and packed his bag. She did not argue. Just trudged out of the house behind him.
“Jameela aunty, I will come in some time.”
“It’s alright, I am here. Leave the keys.”
She walked out behind him and Samar took the stairs two at a time. He was mindful of her slow steps behind him, so he slowed down too. He caught sight of her hand on the balustrade over his shoulder and saw it wobble.
“Careful.” He moved aside and caught her by the back before she stumbled. She steadied herself on his shoulder and the balustrade, breathing heavily, her face white.
“I’m fine. It’s the world that is moving.”
“Hmm.” He took her other flank and kept one hand steady behind her until they had reached the ground floor. The sun had set, unleashing a cold wave of spring chill. She shivered. He led her out of her building and to his car, then stood over her head as she settled into the passenger seat.
“Seat belt,” he muttered, slipping inside the driver’s seat and turning the key.
The car sputtered twice, as it was used to, and kick-started.
Samar noted her struggling in his peripheral vision.
She was a ball of wool, unable to move her arms around, trying and failing to pull the seatbelt even halfway.
“One second.”
She halted. He leaned around her and pulled it down, clicking it in place. Without another word, he cranked up the heat, turned the wheel and set off down the street.
“You didn’t wear your seatbelt?” Her hoarse voice broke the silent air of his car. He checked his rearview and concentrated on the road ahead.
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Samar felt like a nurse sitting beside her, holding her layers of wool as she held her arm out, turning her face away, eyes closed as blood was drawn. It was done in under a minute. The clinic was empty. The technician was experienced.
“Can I have the result before tonight?” He pushed up to the reception.
“We close in two hours.”
“This is urgent.”
“We will try our level best. Name?”
“Amaal Durrani.”
“Reference?”
“Dr. Samar Dixit.”
That made the man look at him differently. The suffix in front of his name always did.
“Write your email IDs and phone numbers here. I will call up if the result comes in before 8.”
Samar wrote his contact details, then turned to ask hers. She was looking like she would droop sitting up. So he pulled out his mobile and found her details from his contact list.
“Thanks.” He pushed the card across and paid.
“Amaal?” He called out to her. She startled. Then blinked, as if she had just woken up. “Yes.” She scrambled to her feet.
“Let’s go.”
He handed her sweater back, waiting for her to don it, then held her coat open for her. Once she had wrapped herself tight again, he led her down.
“The payment?”
“Taken care of.”
“KDP’s medical perks for employees?” She sputtered. He opened the door of his car, silent. She slipped in.
Samar drove to a medical store and left her sitting in the car. He returned with a brown paper bag.
“Is that blood?” She pointed with half-asleep eyes at the carpet under his accelerator.
“No.” He pushed his shoe over the stain and opened the paper bag.
“When the result comes positive,” he held a yellow strip up.
“Take this Lariago once a day, with this for acidity.” He held up another strip.
“Do not stop taking your typhoid antibiotics now. Complete that course. Drink milk twice a day, eat more than you normally would for meals. Keep yourself full. Don’t worry about nausea, it only attacks on empty stomach. ”
“You are sure the result will be positive.”
“Yes.”
“If it doesn’t, this medicine will go to waste.” She lay her head back on his seat, giggling. The fever was now reaching its peak.
“It’s seventeen rupees. Not a big deal. Return it to me if your test comes negative.”
“Hmm?” She cocked her head and hung it there. “What will you do with it?”
“Give it to somebody who needs it but can’t afford it.”
Her mouth split into a smile.
“Hold it.” He pressed the paper bag into her hand and merged with the traffic.
Srinagar was usually pretty easy to drive through, but some lanes did become tighter on weekdays at dusk.
Nehru Chowk was tight. It took them double the time to reach back.
By the time he helped her up to her flat at a snail’s pace, the night had set completely, leaving the corridor outside her flat freezing. He rang the doorbell. Nobody came.
He raised his hand to ring it again, but she caught his sleeve. Samar stared at her.
“Don’t ring again,” she whispered. “Jameela aunty is anyway conscious about her slow movements after the accident. Don’t make her feel more conscious.”
He took his sleeve out of her fingers, but did not ring the bell again. The door pulled open a minute later, and the older woman was balancing a vibrating hand on her walking stick.
“What happened?” She asked. “What is it?”
“The result should come in some time, or tomorrow.” Samar stepped back to let Amaal enter. His mobile buzzed in his pocket. He held the door as she walked inside her flat and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello? Am I talking to Dr. Samar Dixit?”
“Yes?”
“This is Karanjit from Apollo.”
“Yes.”
“Amaal Durrani’s result is positive. The report is being typed. I thought I must inform you.”
“Thank you.”
“It will be in your inbox in the next hour.”
Samar ended the call. “It’s positive,” he pronounced to the girl who was still trying to get out of her shoes. Her shoulders stiffened.
“Start Lariago.”
“Beta,” her aunty came to the door. “Sit with us, have dinner.”
“Thank you. Another time,” he parroted, stepped back and left the flat.