Chapter 14
Know that if you are alive, there is more to the story. He woke up every day with two thoughts — one, that there was more to his story. And two, that if today was the end, he would make it count. There was not much else to do.
Samar got out of bed and showered in precise, short minutes. He washed his clothes, wrung them out, and threw them over the metal wire outside his bathroom window. It opened in an alcove where nobody ventured. The sun was bright on the cold morning, promising a good rally.
He shaved, shut the window, bolted it, then zipped open his bag.
He reached for his black T-shirt, then stopped.
Formals for events. He picked up the piles of his rotation of T-shirts and found the pair of formals he had replenished recently.
A white dress shirt and black pants. Self-cuffed shirt. He didn't own any cufflinks.
Dressed in the attire that had to be varnished on him for today’s road show, he combed his hair, slipped on his spectacles because he was getting old and needed them, grabbed his mobile and opened the door of his room.
The noise of people instantly invaded the silence that had pervaded his space.
He closed the door, locked it, and slipped the key inside his pocket.
Samar breathed in the relative quiet of this side of the outhouse before pushing his mobile into his pocket and striding out towards the hall.
The early morning was just as messy today as it had been for the last three years.
Only, noisier. The original rooms had been assigned and filled long ago.
Recently, the younger lot from the KDP Logistics team had shifted into the hall, making a college dormitory out of it.
“Good morning, Samar Bhai.” One of them raised his hand, holding a bottle of Coke. At 9 in the morning.
“I hope that is not what I think it is.”
“Oh no,” he sputtered. “Try?”
Samar held up a hand, moving down the hall, nodding at the tenants. His roommates. He was too old for this shit. But what alternative was there?
He stepped out of the house into cold, crisp air and breathed in the day. The noise was left behind as the door closed behind him.
His mobile buzzed.
Faris Calling…
“Yes.”
“Khanqahi to Hazratbal is clear for this evening.”
“Keep an eye on Nowhatta. Aag laga ke blast karna SOP nahi banna chahiye.[79]”
“Kal jo Shehr-E-Khaas mein hua woh nahi hoga,” he hesitated. “Woh log kadal ke uss paar se kab aaye pata hi nahi chala… It was my mistake.[80]”
“Hmm.”
Samar ended the call, breaking into a walk down the back of the lawn and towards the main house.
After Badamwari, this was the first big attack that had shaken them.
Two other rallies had been bombed in the last six months, but both had been preempted in time, the impact minimised. This one had come out of nowhere.
Samar climbed up the steps to the verandah and walked into the house, their office. The hall was full, even this early. He would be worried if it wasn’t, considering they were just three months from the State Legislative Election.
“Is the Media Team in?” He asked Noora.
“Are you talking to me?”
Samar stared at him. A middle-aged accountant that none of them knew who had hired but made a circus out of everyday working here.
“When do they ever go home?” He clicked his tongue. “Dancing and partying all day, then movies at night. Waste of money…”
Samar kept walking, ignoring whatever else came out of his mouth. He turned down the alley with rooms dedicated to most of their back-end teams, from Media to Tech to PR. He began to push open the door to the Media Team’s room when a hand slapped his back.
“Hey.” Samar turned, knowing whose slap that was. “Do you have the reports of today’s news from yesterday’s rally?”
“Amaal must have emailed or left them on my desk.” Atharva pushed him down the alley. They walked down to their office. Atharva’s office now. He was the Chief Ministerial candidate of KDP, and the busiest with this set of teams. Somebody had made a cartoon about it and stuck it outside his door.
Jeeve jeeve Kasheera
Jeeve jeeve A-thar-va
“Who even writes this stuff?” Samar peeled the paper off.
“I thought Noora, but it makes some sense. So no idea.” Atharva opened the door and strode inside, switching on the lights.
“If they spent some of this effort in writing your speeches…”
“I write good speeches on my own,” Atharva turned, offended.
Samar smirked and closed the door. “Ready for today?”
“I am getting started on the speech now. I barely got two hours in last night. Did you sleep?”
“Same.” Samar pulled out the visitor’s chair and sat down. “The route has been cleared for today’s road show.”
“All night I kept thinking, should we cancel it?” Atharva sat down on the chair behind his desk. “There were casualties yesterday and the DGP is not ready to even budge with security…” He grabbed the packet in front of him and held it up. “Amaal has left it here before leaving.”
“Where has she gone?”
“Wooing the Star guy. She knows him from London.”
“She knows half of Delhi from London.”
“Are we complaining?”
“Hmm. So she won’t be there for the road show?”
“She will be back by this afternoon, but she has dinner plans with him again. So maybe not.”
“Won’t you need her at Kashmir University?”
“We’ll manage. Fahad can take care of everything.”
Samar extended his hand for the packet. Atharva passed it, starting his mad double-tasking of taking calls and typing his speech. Samar didn’t know what bullshit he wrote and how it got him the clout it did if he wrote it like that. But it worked for him.
“I am officially resigning from this party.” Adil barged into the office. Samar adjusted his specs on his nose and began scanning the reports.
“Close the door,” Atharva pointed. He banged it shut — “I am done! This is the crazy. It wasn’t even a serious kidnapping but how could this happen? This is not safe… aren’t you concerned what this can do with our members, our staff…”
“We got you back safe and…” Samar eyed him. “Almost sound.”
Adil kicked this chair, making it fly a few metres before Samar pressed his feet to secure it.
He smirked, going back to his reports as Adil fought with Atharva.
He tuned them out for the reports in his hand.
They were as meticulous as the woman who had arranged them.
He pored over them, scanning for common points.
KDP had not sent out any press release, nor had the authorities, to the best of his knowledge.
That meant that if there was a common thread in all the reports, then somebody had sent out a silent press release.
And if a press release had been sent, then it was Awaami that had carried out the attack, not Haq or another militant group.
They were pedestrian in their ways. They did not care about political points or press reportage.
Samar stopped scanning when he saw Amaal’s notations.
She was clearly thinking what he was. He sat back, reading her notes, highlights, asterisks.
“Atharva.”
“What?”
“Did a child from Kupwara die in our rally yesterday?”
“No, but your partner got kidnapped.” Adil retorted, rubbing his forehead.
Samar wasn't one to soften, but something about Adil seemed off. He had been kidnapped by some teenagers out to prove a point for the militants. Adil hadn’t even been twitching when he came home last night.
He would have handled them on his own. But as was the case with him, he came with his rant once a month. The monthly had come.
“Is something wrong with you?”
“I feel like cracking my own head open.” He hammered his fist on his forehead, swaying slightly. He had been injected with opioids. The toxicology report had come out mild to heavy, but Adil had handled it like a pro last night, as he had been trained to.
Samar got to his feet and grabbed his hand, checking his fingertips. He then looked at his lips.
“Hey, stop.” Adil pushed him off.
“No blue lips or fingertips, stable breathing,” Samar pronounced. “Only acting weird.”
“That’s normal,” Atharva deadpanned, distracted, and Adil kicked his chair. Samar chuckled, eyeing Adil. He was over-jittery and unlike his usual self. It would take another 12 hours to get back to normal. If it didn’t, then he would worry about him.
“All casualties were adults,” Atharva remarked.
“Huh?”
“You asked if a child from Kupwara died at the rally yesterday. No. No child died. Who said children died?”
Samar turned the pages in his packet, found the report, then held it up. Atharva wasn’t looking at him but out of the wall of windows, his chair turned.
“Atharva?”
He did not move.
Adil kicked his chair — “He is talking to you, traitor… Who is that?” Adil marched up to the glass and stuck himself to it. “See! A girl in Aamir Haider’s house.”
Samar followed his pointer finger. He couldn’t make out much. Only the head was visible over the short wall.
“She is trying to jump over the wall…” Adil poked his finger into the glass. “Oh no, she is leaving… no, she came back. No, again leaving. Is she mad? What is she doing?”
“Must be planning to sneak in and kidnap you.” Atharva picked up his iPad and began to scroll.
“A girl?”
He did not look up again. Samar frowned down at Atharva.
“She is actually trying to climb into our side!” Adil took quick steps back and ran towards the door.
“You are high today,” Samar called after him. “Sit down!”
But he was gone.
Samar turned to Atharva — “Why are you giving him ideas?”
“Here.” Atharva got to his feet and leaned back on his desk facing the windows, showing him the iPad. “Nobody from Kupwara is on the list of casualties.”
“Many of yesterday’s news reports say that there was a child from Kupwara among those dead.”
“Border village, Baramulla, easy to start the spark against us,” Atharva counted, his eyes flickering between the iPad and the windows. “Their games are just as no-brainer as them.”