Chapter 6 #2
Then it was like the slow five hours of the morning began to run in fast forward.
Everything happened so quickly and Atharva was up on a high mound under a giant almond tree, a grin on his face.
Amaal stood down — visitors, locals, shop owners, even some tourists around him with the reporters standing front and centre to cover it with cameras out.
She counted a good 400-500 people. Small for the scale of Srinagar, but large to fill a panning camera.
“Mere Srinagar ke logo.” Atharva addressed. “Bahar akhir aa hi gayi![32]”
No sooner had his last word trailed than a loud round of applause tore through the air.
She was shocked and surprised and thrilled at how just those five words meant to start his speech had done this.
She checked over her shoulder to see if it was the group of KDP volunteers hyping him up.
It wasn’t. Everybody was clapping loudly, not ready to stop.
She glanced back at Atharva, standing there in a simple light blue shirt to match KDP’s tents, navy pants, and a smile on his face.
“Badam Vaer mubarak![33]” His voice had to tear through the ear-rending applause because it was nowhere close to stopping. “Myon naav Atharva chhu KDP paath, tim chhus yith aayih mausam tyohar banaavan…[34]”
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“Let me know for sure whenever there are more events like these,” Faizan, the reporter from Rising Roshni shook hands with her. Amaal smiled — “My associate Fahad will get in touch with you. Why don’t we add you to our messaging broadcast list?”
“That works.”
He moved down the line and into the now congested park.
The sun was still heavy for late noon, but nobody seemed to care.
Amaal took the scenery in, standing under the royal pergola in the centre of the park.
Atharva was mingling and being the centre of attention, with multiple cameras on him as he talked.
Organic. Adil was also drawing attention with the way he was playing tag with a bunch of kids.
Now, only if Samar did something interesting, she would have a well-rounded KDP story…
“You are naive if you think he will report this event in its entirety.” Samar Dixit’s voice sounded from behind her.
“Sorry, who?” She turned.
“That reporter. He is from Rising Roshni. They didn’t like it when I criticised their co-founder in a public meeting in Akhnoor. That same week they wrote a long article about Indian military trying to intervene in state politics through four SFF officers.”
“That’s a great negative spin on our party,” Amaal murmured, impressed by whoever came up with it.
Samar did not share in her good humour. She sighed — “Can you see the seven cameras around Atharva there?” She pointed with her chin.
“Three out of those are from The Herald, New Kashmir and Khabar — all of whom are anti-KDP, anti-army, anti-India too sometimes. And four months ago, sure, I would have relied on them to publish about us. Now…”
“Now what?”
“Now I have KDP’s own Twitter page with 36,000 followers, YouTube subscribers up to 1.1 lakh and Facebook page grown to 81,000 last I checked.”
“So?”
“So, my followers get my story on my page, on my terms. If that does not match with some biased newspapers’ narratives, better yet. ‘Questions raised’ is equal to 'interest raised.’”
“I have read your media stats report, 60% of those followers are from outside of Jammu & Kashmir.”
“But their interest in KDP and you all does make you hot cakes for the local media, and hence the locals.”
He went silent.
“Good event.” She went on.
“Good half-day event.” He corrected.
Amaal began to open her mouth to refuse when his chin dipped in warning. She shut her mouth. And hesitantly, begrudgingly, his mouth tipped on one side. He pushed his hands behind his back and walked down the pergola — “Learn when to stop lying.”
A loud gunshot tore through the pandemonium.
Her heart stopped. Birds fluttered. And a stream of gunshots began to fire before screams erupted.
Amaal broke into a run. Samar was running in front of her, down the paved path and through the tunnel of almond blossoms. They emerged into the opening of stalls and there was carnage there.
Everything broken. Deserted. The few people left were injured, on the floor. Crying. Amaal froze.
“Stay back.” Samar caught her arm and dragged her under a half-broken tent. “Stay down.” Her brain had stopped working. She could see everything, hear everything. Nothing processed.
Amaal crouched under the drooping canvas of KDP blue, flinching, shoulders hunched, as more gunshots sounded. People got pushed under the tent with her. She moved, making space for them. More gunshots. Everyone screamed. More gunshots. Everyone plastered themselves to the floor. Continuous firing.
Heavy rounds of firing. Screams.
And then, everything went silent. Long minutes of silence.
Murmurs started in the tent. Men started getting up and stepping out.
Amaal followed on shaky legs, seeing nothing but bright sunshine around her.
She looked left, and there were three people on the ground, Samar between them, on his haunches.
KDP volunteers were running around. Amaal walked ahead, craning her head, trying to see what he was hunched over.
She saw it and reared back. Blood, oozing like a burst water pipe from the little girl in the pink shawl, Samar’s hands pressing down on it. Amaal burst into tears, slapping her hands over her mouth.
“Cloth! Napkin! Give me a cloth!” He was calling out. Adil came running. He got Adil to press her neck. Then he pulled off his own T-shirt, bunched it, and pressed it into her neck.
“Evacuate! Niklo! Niklo,” Atharva’s voice was loud behind her. She turned, only to find him herding the people from the tent behind her out of the park. “Amaal, move. Is anybody left?” He was going from tent to tent. “Koi hai?” He was yelling. “Chalo! Sab surakshit hai, bahar chalo![35]”
She moved with the crowd that Atharva shepherded, her heart thudding.
He passed her, and she saw blood. On his shirt.
An entire side drenched. Heavy iron. She looked down, hoping to take that image out of her mind.
Amaal kept her eyes on the ground beneath her feet.
And the pink blossoms carpeting the ground started to turn red.
She looked up to avoid that and the blue KDP flag at the entrance of Badamwari had been spray painted with black words.
HINDUSTAN HAMAAYAT MA KARIV[36]