Chapter 14 #2
“But how are they planting these stories so easily and nobody is even protesting or cross-checking? Blatant lies and they get published?! What is Amaal doing?”
Atharva looked at him sharply. “She is doing her best to fight against the tides. Press is just as biased as politics here. The pseudo-liberals hate us, the radicals hate me, and the so-called human rights messiahs are shouting from the rooftops that we are here to massacre Kashmir when our rallies get bombed.”
“Because they are scared we may shut all their shops.”
A knock sounded behind them.
Atharva’s eyebrow cocked — “May?”
Samar huffed. “This Kupwara connection is starting to irk me…” he turned as the door rattled open. There stood Adil, but he was not alone. He had gotten the girl with him. Samar sighed inwardly. He should have tied him up in his office until his drugs wore off. Not too late.
Samar observed the girl beside him. Young, Kashmiri. Fair face with red cheeks. Dark hair. Didn’t dress local, though. Light blue coat, didn't look expensive. A bag on her shoulder.
“It’s Adil’s red lux cozy underwear day!” Noora announced from behind them, making the girl startle. She turned to him, then turned back. And froze.
“Atharva.”
Samar cut his eyes to Atharva, who stood without giving anything away. A rarity. Usually, he was welcoming, even conversational, when somebody walked into a room.
“Nice then, you know thieves Atharva?” Adil hauled her into the room. “Is that how you negotiated my release?”
Samar set the bunch of reports down, needing to stop Adil before he did something crazy. He wasn’t manhandling the girl yet, but it was a thin line.
“What?” Adil demanded. “That hurt. You asked them to keep me. I thought you’d come and fight for me.”
“I also asked them to feed you well.” Atharva finally spoke.
“Before they sacrificed me at the altar of freedom?”
Samar didn't like that they were talking about this in front of a stranger. He eyed the girl. She didn’t look like a reporter. Or a potential member. Enrolment happened at their headquarters in town. Everybody knew it.
She was in Aamir Haider’s estate. Was she his relative?
His blood went cold. And then, began to boil.
“I’m not a thief.” Her voice finally broke free. Samar stared at her. But her eyes were on Atharva. Did they know each other? Or was she just one of his many admirers?
“Says every thief,” Adil retorted.
“Adil!”
Samar cut his eyes to Atharva. He sounded…
tense. And suddenly Samar was thrown back to that day years ago.
When all of them had been caught between court-martial and military prison.
Aamir Haider coming and going as he pleased in his shiny white car with Kashmir’s flag on its hood.
When nobody had dared even joke or smile, or pretend to laugh for months.
When Atharva had not balanced fights with jokes.
This was that Atharva.
“Mind if I see you in a moment, Samar?”
Atharva’s terse voice pulled him back into the room. Samar tipped his chin, needing to get out and get a hold of himself too.
“I will look at Jammu’s electorate in the meantime,” he muttered, pulled off his specs and walked out of the room, passing the girl. She looked to be Aamir Haider’s daughter’s age. He strode at double the speed, telling himself to kill the panic.
————————————————————
The panic drove him. Pain and fear were not even in the race yet.
Samar bulldozed into the nearest room, which happened to be the Media Room, grabbed the first free computer and typed into Google what he had typed multiple times over multiple platforms.
Aamir haider family
No photographs loaded, none were available, except for one of him and his wife from their youth. Multiple links loaded, each one of archived posts or old news clippings. Wikipedia summarised it all.
Awaami Party co-founder and stalwart pro-Indian politician from Jammu & Kashmir, Aamir Haider was murdered in his home by unidentified men suspected to be from the Haq Force.
His wife, Goonj Haider, was found dead in the kitchen while their daughter, Iram Haider, was kidnapped. The case was closed after…
Samar clicked out, remembering the article by heart. His sources had added onto it. Iram Haider had been killed. Chased from her home and killed.
Nobody remained in that family.
His blood was still boiling. Suddenly, he saw nothing in front of him but the empty house of Aamir Haider — no blood, no family, no people left to crush. No daughter or son left to wring the life out of, like Aamir Haider had wrung the life out of all of them. Out of Sia Chaturvedi.
“Samar?”
The haze cleared, and he minimised the window. Adil was standing on the other side. The noises from the people working around them pervaded his senses.
“Hmm?”
“The girl is injured, come and see her.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was she doing there?” He tipped his chin to the place they both knew was the devil’s cave.
“Hell if I know! But she was there at the rally yesterday. Atharva thinks she might need stitches.”
“Then tell Atharva to take them…” Samar bit his tongue, breathing out. He was being unreasonable. She was nobody. Nobody to Aamir Haider. Just some…
“Why are we treating her here? Send her to a hospital.”
“Atharva needs you to come.”
Adil didn't wait for him to rebut that. He knew it was the end of the argument. If Atharva needed, he would go. They all would.
Samar worked to swallow his anger. It had been a while since he had lost the sane part of his head like this. He grabbed the nearest bottle of water and chugged it down.
“Samar Bhai?” One of the Media Team people said something to him about The Lalit and interviews. He nodded without listening, accepting the folders they pressed into his hand. He kept drinking the water, settling the haze.
Concentrate on today. Concentrate on the road show. Concentrate on Kashmir University.
Samar got to his feet, adjusted his specs to see the world around him clearly after the haze, and put one foot in front of the other. As he walked a few steps, the next few became easier.
He strode down the alley and opened the door to Atharva’s office — “You needed me?”
The girl stood trying to put her coat on, with Atharva sitting on the couch. Samar refused to see any connection to Aamir Haider in her. He just saw a patient. Her sleeve was dyed red.
“Check this wound.” Atharva directed, grabbing her arm and pulling her down. “With her permission. I think it’s deeper and there’s shrapnel stuck just above her elbow.”
“Thanks, but I will get it dressed by a doctor,” she glared at Atharva. If Samar were in a better mood, he would have enjoyed that sight.
“Samar is a doctor. Now please, ma’am. Let him see you.”
Samar walked into the bathroom, washed his hands with soap and water, and came out drying them. Atharva had already vacated his place. Samar sat down.
“May I, ma’am?”
She looked at him. She wasn’t as young as she had appeared at first glance. Brown eyes, wary but firm. Like she was running away from something, but not because she was the guilty one. She nodded.
He took her arm in his hands. Atharva had already cleaned the wound on her bicep, the skin clear and the edges clean. It would heal well, no stitches needed. He cleaned the surface with warm water and cotton, tautening his hold around it to feel it. There was shrapnel stuck.
He picked up a pair of forceps from his office medical tray.
He glanced up, and Adil was there, too interested in this.
Thankfully, he did not look as high as he had half an hour ago.
Something good out of this mad morning. Samar picked the tiny shrapnel and pulled.
The girl did not scream. She did not even flinch.
He kept pulling and discovered it was a longer wire.
Discarding it on the table, he cleaned the wound again with a soaked cloth. Then eyed it under direct light. Clean.
“It doesn’t look so bad. Shouldn’t need stitches.”
He disinfected it and secured gauze around it, picking out a Dolo 650 and setting it on the table. “She must have been in the radius, but it was an LE. The injury is minor secondary,” he briefed Atharva just as he was used to.
“There were three blasts at different positions, so…” Adil trailed.
“Give her these. And some glucose.”
Samar got to his feet and left the office, at some peace.
————————————————————
His day began to ease then.
He sat down with the Logistics Team to discuss the merchandise and stationery for Jammu.
And as work took over, his episode receded into the background.
It was a cause for concern that after so many years, Aamir Haider’s name had pierced through him like that.
But he would solve it later, at night, in the confines of his room and his mind. Alone.
“Samar sahab, aapko kahwa?[81]” Hina Khala inquired. He smiled at her — “Nahi, shukriya.[82]”
“Hina Khala,” Akmal, their nosiest intern, leaned close. “Yeh Atharva Bhai ke office mein kaun madam hai?[83]”
Samar cut his eyes to him. He swallowed — “For information sake, that’s it.”
“Iram madam hai koi.[84]”
Samar froze.