Chapter 6
This event was an expensive one. It was also one that she knew was looked down upon by some KDP leaders. One of them was the doctor who had treated her, then refused to pick up her phone when she had called him to inform him of her progress and thank him for his intervention.
A line of children squealed, running around her and down the line of almond trees that were heavy with powder pink blossoms. She smiled at them.
The flowers had already started to fall and carpet the grassland, making this a literal paradise.
Japanese cherry blossom, what? This was the Kashmiri almond blossom season.
Kawai, cute, and the source of great joy to whoever soaked in the sight.
She had gone all out with Ehsaan’s help in leveraging local traders, wealthy merchants and brands in getting posters and hoardings up. She hoped there would be some good payoff.
Her mobile buzzed.
“Yes, Fahad?”
“Atharva Bhai had to leave for Pampore for a meeting. He asked me to coordinate with you so that he can come directly there. You said you will inform when the crowd is at its peak. What time are you thinking?”
Amaal scratched the side of her neck, eyeing the stalls and tents all set up, hosts already buzzing behind their shops, hopeful eyes on the entrance of the park.
“It’s still early, Fahad. Give it a few hours.”
“It’s not that early. It’s already 10.30.”
“Hmm…”
“What’s the footfall like?”
“Uh…”
“Amaal?”
“It’s Sunday, people are laid back.”
“Amaal.”
“They will come.”
“AMAAL.”
“They will come, Fahad.”
“Fuck me.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, let’s do that. Nobody will know it ever!”
“Stop. Quiet. I am anyway half-dead thanks to my antibiotics, don’t add to it.”
“Tell that to Samar Bhai.”
“Did he say something?”
“Not to me. But Qureshi Bhai and he are against bleeding any more money for events. If this one fails, our budget for the rest of the year is gone.”
“Let me worry about that. You get your journalist friends ready.”
“To cover what? An empty Badamwari?”
“Stop with your panic! Hold them off until I give you the green signal.”
“Am…”
“Wait, wait, some people are coming! I’ll call you back.”
She didn't wait for his answer and cut the call. Amaal gaped at the stone entrance at the far end of the park. Nobody was coming. She looked down at her BlackBerry. Would it be a bad idea to switch it off until people started coming?
————————————————————
Azaan echoed across the park, borne on the almond-blossom-scented wind. Amaal glanced up from her perch under a tree.
The sun was overhead, at its peak. The stalls were as empty at this time of Dhuhur ki Namaaz as they had been at the time of set-up.
A dozen random visitors had come and gone, and nothing much had been sold except a bottle of water.
She gaped at the line of KDP-coloured tents, the hosts getting restless.
KDP volunteers were lazing around, lost. Amaal hated that this event’s failure would set the media team back in their already meagre budget, but she hated more that these people, these local small-scale craftsmen, these paper-maiche artists and jam-makers, would go home disappointed, without any sale.
Thankfully, they wouldn’t bear the financial burden of this. KDP would. Promotion, tents and permissions’ money was wasted, she sighed, glancing at her watch. 12.55 pm. They had the SMC’s permission until 5 pm. Half the day was already gone.
A small finger poked at her shoulder. Amaal glanced at it. A little girl, in a tattered pink shawl wrapped around her, was gazing at her with a curious expression. Her brown, messy hair was all around her face from playing in the wind, her bright blue eyes just like hers, but bigger.
“Koi aa hi nahi raha hai.” She complained. “Bore ho raha hai.[31]”
Amaal glanced from her to her mother at the wooden toy stall. She had come dressed up in her best Kashmiri wear — pheran, head scarf, silver jewellery. She looked at her apologetically, stepping out to get her daughter when Amaal pulled her into her arms and between her legs.
“Thumb fight?” She interlocked her fingers with the little girl’s.
“Yes!” The little girl giggled, perching herself on her thigh and trying to subdue her thumb.
“Which school do you go to?”
“I don’t go to school.”
“Mmm? Then how do you know such good English?”
“My ammi’s madam teaches me.”
Amaal gazed at the mother, who was busy arranging her wares for the tenth time since this morning. She also worked in houses?
Amaal smiled at the little girl — “What does she teach you?
“Talking, writing, drawing, counting…” she left her thumb and held her hands up, all fingers out — “Till ten!”
Amaal high-fived her — “After ten comes eleven!”
“Leven.” She pronounced.
“E-le-ven.”
“E-le-ven.”
“Nine, ten, eleven.”
“Nine, ten, e-leven.”
“Amazing! Now you can tell your teacher that you know a new number. Who will you say taught you?”
“You,” she pointed at her.
“Yeah but do you know my name?” She asked playfully.
The little girl grinned, her front teeth broken. Amaal squeezed her to her chest and kissed her cheek — “You are so cute. Can I eat you?”
“Naa!”
“Please!” She nuzzled her, pulling her down.
“Nah!” The girl laughed, shrieking to get out. Amaal laughed with her. “Please, na?”
A throat cleared. Amaal glanced up from the little girl’s cheek and found Samar’s dark eyes on her. The reprieve of the moment melted away. She schooled her smile, letting the girl go.
“Hi.” She got up, finding herself so small in front of him.
She wasn’t even that ill anymore. Amaal held her shoulders up taut, knowing the carnage around her did not warrant the stiff spine she was carrying currently.
This was the biting defeat he had been waiting for.
She wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe that he had anything against her.
But she knew that he and Qureshi were against spending so much on media so soon.
“Lunch break?” He pushed his arms behind his back. The skin under the half sleeves of his black T-shirt bulged slightly. Amaal looked away.
“Mmm.”
He looked around too, taking his eyes across the stalls, the food shops, the locals, the volunteers — all clueless and bored. Two visitors were milling at the very back, thank god.
“I thought Atharva had a speech here.”
Amaal had five more hours of time. She would take the disgrace after that.
“It’s in a little while.”
His shoulders widened, as if he was waiting for more of her bullshit.
“How is your fever?” He thankfully changed the topic.
“Better. It was lower last night.”
His eyes blinked, a slow nod. The only acknowledgment.
“Thank you for coming to see me. I called you to say thank you, but I think you missed it.”
“Hmm.”
“I had to pay you seventeen rupees plus the blood test charges…”
“Pay me later.”
She nodded. “When I come to the office.”
“How long should I wait around for the main event? I have places to be.”
“It’s alright,” she tried to act airy. “If you are busy. We can take a bite from you later and add it to the press jacket.”
“What?”
“Media bite… like a comment.”
Samar’s head panned across the park again, his eyes finally coming and resting on her — “How many have visited so far?”
“A decent number.”
“200?”
Amaal wanted to cry. She managed a chuckle — “Give or take.” She was going to hell. Five hours later, she was so going to hell. And if she was unlucky, Dr. Samar Dixit would open the gates with his own hands.
Sudden commotion drew her eyes to the entrance of the park.
A herd. Of men. In pherans and topis. Shit.
What was happening? They had the permissions.
And if some troublemaker started something?
Her first instinct was to reach for the little girl and secure her; her second instinct to get her phone out and start recording.
If these were troublemakers, they were not stopping by her intervention.
But at least she would get it on camera for the record.
Amaal reached for the girl, but she was already skipping to her mother, the stall owners all chirping out happily from their shops.
Amaal gasped as the men spread across the park, a horde of women and children behind them, walking down and spreading too, in droves.
She could not blink and miss this. Was this…
some fairy godmother’s magic? She gaped, as the stalls that had been barren all morning were immediately brimming with cacophony.
And then she saw it. The fairy godmother.
Atharva Singh Kaul was walking down the stone archway entrance, talking to a man who looked like a maulvi, laughing, Adil on his other side. More men came in behind him, looking like they had come directly from their namaz.
The spring wind was chilly, the sun warm. Children were loud, and adult shoppers were bargaining louder. And suddenly the park was in full bloom.
“Why are you looking like it’s the first time you’ve seen the event full?” Samar’s hard drone made her startle.
“No,” she shrugged. “It’s the great crowd management. And Atharva came in… just excuse me for a sec.” Amaal walked away from him, now half-smug and half-grateful. She immediately made a call to Fahad.
“Hello!” She contained her excitement. “Call your journalist friends, contact my list too. Have them all here in the next ten minutes.”
“We are five minutes away.”
“How did you know Atharva arrived?”
“Because he only got the crowd there.”
She had guessed as much.
“But how?”
“He went to the masjid just after namaz, and did some of his thing. I don’t know. I just got a call that he is taking a crowd there.”
“But who told him?”
Silence.
“I’ll kill you but I’ll hug you first!” She grinned, turning and meeting Atharva’s eyes across the crowd. He was at the wooden toy stall, the little girl in his arms. Under the bright sun, he nodded at her. Thanks, she mouthed. Five minutes, she held her palm up.