Chapter 27
Five Days Later…
Samar stared at Sayyid Butt, the firefighter of Awaami Party.
Sufiyaan Sheikh’s mentor. White beard, hazel eyes, lean body — an unremarkable Kashmiri grandfather in his bandhgala.
Mohsin Sheikh and Aamir Haider’s third partner, as old as them, and probably more shrewd than both of them put together.
Now, he was the only founding member of Awaami alive.
His eyes were ancient, sharp, focusing on him through rimless spectacles identical to his. Silent. The man behind him grinned. Samar found his eyes moving onto him — the animal. Sufiyaan Sheikh waved from the ledge of the low windowsill of the dilapidated room they had first met in.
“Sayyid sahab,” Samar addressed the mentor. “I only agreed to meet you, but this is going nowhere. We agreed on conditions and he has breached them.”
“Where did you make me sign? Show me.” Sufiyaan Sheikh hissed back.
Samar pressed his mouth tight, regretting the day he had first stepped foot inside this small house.
“No answer?” Sufiyaan smirked. “Just let it go, Dr. Dang… In any case, what’s the big deal? Both of them escaped alive, no?” He lounged back, one foot draped out of the windowsill.
“You bastard,” Samar lunged, but stopped short when Sayyid Butt stepped in front of him.
“We agreed on only keeping Iram away from Atharva,” Samar maintained. “You wanted to have her back in your party and that is why I gave you their location!”
“So, I did talk to her,” Sufiyaan shrugged. “But she wouldn’t listen without some… effort…” he thrust his hips.
“I don’t know how I trusted your brotherly rant about her…”
“Because you hate her.” Sufiyaan shot to his feet, all traces of humour gone. He advanced on them — “You wanted her gone from your friend’s life. Any means possible. You are as much an animal as me.”
Samar crossed the room and had Sufiyaan by the collar before the man could blink. Sayyid Butt couldn’t even come in his way. Even so, Sufiyaan grinned. And then that perfect grin was wiped off when Samar pushed him back and half down the window.
“Ayeee!” Sufiyaan screamed, flailing wildly, grasping Samar’s shoulders, his shirt, grasping for the sides of the window.
Samar pushed him further down and Sufiyaan’s hands slipped from the sides, most of his body out of the short railing.
“…the fuck are you doing?!! Pull me back, pull me…” Samar only held him by his collar now, eyeing the people going about their work in the street, glancing surreptitiously up and then scuttling away.
Samar sensed Sayyid Butt behind him, old fox eyes trained on his hand as it held Sufiyaan half in and half out.
The fall would be nearly three floors, he calculated, appraising the surroundings.
Worst-case scenario — he would be injured, hands and legs broken.
Best case scenario — he would have a paralytic attack and lose some physical and mental function.
Whatever happened, it would be a service to mankind.
“Come now, Samar sahab. You know as well as I that you won’t be able to leave here alive if you drop him,” Butt soothed from behind him, his voice calm and collected, not in the least bit worried that Samar held Awaami’s future between life and death. “Get him back, he will apologise to you.”
“Never,” came a hoarse shout from down below. Samar loosened his grip.
“Ayee… hey!” Wild arms flailed and Samar caught the collar back, yanking hard to bring the bastard to his feet. Sufiyaan crashed into the low table, breaking his fall with two hands.
“Get ready to apologise to Iram Haider and the public.” Samar spat. “I refuse to honour an agreement that was not honoured on your side. So I am free to talk to the police, to the public and to Atharva.”
“No, Janab, you will not,” Sayyid Butt suggested.
“And why wouldn’t I?”
“If you wanted to talk, you would have done it four days ago when Atharva held a press conference from that hospital atrium, still covered in blood, giving a false account of the entire incident.”
“Ooh, that was dramatic,” Sufiyaan interjected gleefully, but stepped back when Butt sliced him a look.
“Samar sahab,” Butt stepped forward, “you are in no position to threaten Sufiyaan. Because what will cause ripples for us, will drown you. Sufiyaan will recover from this allegation, he is a son in mourning of an angelic adoptive father. This state’s beloved CM no less.
The mood is sombre for Sufiyaan. But you?
You will be exposed to your party and your dear friends. ”
“Blackmail will not bind me.”
“I am not blackmailing you, Samar. I am offering you a deal. Think about it, you are better than Atharva in every sense. In experience, in qualification, in wisdom. You understand the dynamics better. You are practical. A clear majority is impossible in this state for any party, let alone your newborn KDP. I could have approached Atharva with this offer but you seem the best person to me, the man capable of leading a coalition with Awaami.”
“You and I both know what KDP is capable of at this stage. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be offering this deal.”
“I agree. But, take it from a man with 40 years of experience in this business — do not overestimate your KDP. Doing theatrics on stage is not the same as getting buttons pressed on voting ballot. You have the popularity, we have the means to get votes. I am offering to merge these two. A coalition, but with you as the KDP head… just a few more days and Atharva will be out of the picture.”
“How?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. All you need to decide is — will you be smart, take our help, and step up to replace him?”
“I don’t get off on power.”
“Atharva clearly does, or why would he be your CM candidate?” Sayyid Butt retorted.
“Have you ever thought about it? You were all equal partners, all founders, all from military. Then why him…? Think, Samar. Be wise, take the chance, and turn KDP around. You are second to only Atharva. And that man has lost his mind to a girl.”
“A girl who is your friend’s daughter.”
“I have every sympathy for Iram Haider. She is a poor, orphaned girl who has faced very tough times. Her father was a good friend, we had dreams for Awaami, for Kashmir. But in our profession, if we let every feeling come in the middle of our decision, there never is going to be one decision. For larger gains, smaller ones need to be sacrificed.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Your cooperation.”
“And then what? We make a pre-poll alliance and this buffoon becomes CM?”
Sufiyaan lunged this time but stopped when Butt slapped a hand against his chest. Samar stared bewildered as Sufiyaan Sheikh’s chest froze. It looked like a conditioned response.
“Samar sahab,” Butt pressed sincerely, “we will decide on CM and deputy CM when the time comes. Probably a rotation. We will talk about it, and you will get your due. My word.”
“Sufiyaan Sheikh stays away from Iram,” Samar commanded, looking only at Butt. He had known that the old man was the real brain behind Awaami. The kingmaker. Now he was discovering that Sayyid Butt — the small, wiry man, also held the reins of the beast that was Sufiyaan Sheikh.
“No!” “Agreed.” Both the student and teacher chimed together. Samar raised his brows at Butt.
“I give you my word, Samar sahab. Now, do we have your word?”
He remained silent, watching carefully as the old man released his hand from over Sufiyaan’s chest. Sufiyaan did not move from his place.
“Do we have an agreement?” Butt repeated.
“Atharva Kaul is coming to my house to give his condolences tonight,” Sufiyaan smirked. “Do I need to have a long chat with him, Dr. Dang?”
“No.”
“Do we have an agreement then?”
Just a few more days and Atharva will be out of the picture.
“Yes.”
————————————————————
FARIS
The recordings are missing
Samar paid for the pack of cigarettes and a lighter and stuffed them inside his jacket pocket. He pressed Call and sat inside his car, turning the wheel.
“What do you mean the recordings are missing?”
“They are not there, not in the equipment or in the laptop.”
“Where are they then? You said you heard them being played.”
“But they are not anywhere. Everyone tried. We even called those experts from Jammu.”
“Ask Adil.”
“He refuses to speak. He hasn’t said anything but ask for water, ORS and whistle some strange film songs.”
Samar pulled the gear back to climb up the slope to the house, cursing his luck. One thing, let one thing go right!
“We can get it out of him by our methods.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Get better experts to retrieve it… reverse engineer…” Even as Samar ordered it, he knew what Adil had done would be nearly impossible for most nerds.
“Won’t work.”
“Give it a try.”
“What to do with Adil till then?”
Samar reached inside his pocket and grabbed the box of cigarettes. He popped the top with his thumb, driving one-handed. His throat was suddenly dry, screaming for a puff. It had been years. Years.
The gate came in sight, and the security pulled it open for him. He drove through, the silence in the car purring.
“Hello?”
“Yes. Keep him where he is.”
“Ok.”
Samar parked the car outside the main house, now gone dim.
He got out and pulled out a cigarette. Without guilt, he placed the cigarette between his lips.
It would kill him. As a doctor, he knew it.
But he had enough wounds to kill him sooner.
He was digging a grave with enough sins to make it even sooner.
Samar inhaled the tobacco, the scent reminding him of the best and the worst days of his life.
Even before it was lit, the cigarette was making him climb down the rails.
He eagerly reached for the lighter, clicked it and lit the cigarette. The puff. That first puff. He inhaled it like he was inhaling all that was alive in the world for him. Very little. Fuck.
Samar exhaled from the corner of his mouth, a cough rising in the back of his throat. It had been years, clearly.