Chapter 28
Life resumed normalcy, for all intents and purposes.
But inside him, two people lived. One — the man who couldn’t give up on his rage, his grief, his disappointment and disillusionment.
The one who had held one of his friends captive and betrayed the other.
The one who was compelled to hold Adil captive until either the recording was found or he cracked enough to hand them over.
The one who couldn’t sell Atharva or his party, and was hence compelled to remain suspended in limbo, a double agent.
If this was hell, then he had experienced it all here.
Because the other person inside him was… softening. Amid the world at war around him, this other part could not leave Amaal’s window alone. She did not always open it, because he did not always make noise. But Samar was now incapable of walking to his room without taking a round around to hers.
As he strode out of the outhouse that morning, without a jacket after a long time because the spring sun was warm enough, he saw Atharva run down the steps of the main house. Samar broke into a run — “What happened?”
Atharva did not hear him, pulling open the door of the first party Innova in the line. Samar reached in time to open the passenger door.
“What happened?!” He managed to pull the door shut just as Atharva raced it out of the porch.
“Connect.” He threw his phone at him. Samar connected his mobile to the car system.
“What is happening?”
“Adil is injured.”
His breath stuttered. Only for a second. Atharva was too attuned to body language. Samar controlled his own with superhuman effort — “Where? What happened to him?”
“Call Iram.”
“Why?”
“She found him.”
“Found him where?” Where the fuck?
“Somewhere in Old Town.”
What was happening?!
“Call her!”
Samar hit Call on Iram’s number and saw the car screen projecting the calling card. Then he pressed the Airplane mode on the side of the phone, and the call got cut. Samar quickly took the mobile off Airplane.
“Try again,” Atharva ordered, busy driving like a maniac. Early morning meant all the roads were clear. And he broke every signal and every speed limit.
“Yes.”
Samar took the silence to grab his own mobile and hit up Faris.
SAMAR
Adil escaped?
FARIS
We are after him
SAMAR
Where?
No response. Samar turned to Atharva — “ Where are we going?”
“Old Town.”
“Where in Old Town?”
“Let me drive.”
Atharva’s mobile shrilled with Iram’s incoming call. Samar gaped at the name but Atharva had hit Accept.
“Atharva!”
“Where are you? We’ve reached Old Town...”
“We are further down that road towards service pass. There is a dargah nearby, I don’t know…”
“I know. Are you inside it? Is Adil with you?”
“No! No! Don’t go there. The men following Adil are there right now. We are in a public toilet near it.”
“A what?”
“A ladies toilet. You will see it. Now come fast. Adil is losing consciousness. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital without you. He vomited blood… he is going to faint, his face is swollen. Can’t even drink water…”
Fuck.
“Iram!” Samar intervened. “Don’t make him drink any water. It will only pump more fluid into his swelling. Just keep talking to him until we come. Don’t let him pass out.”
“Ok.”
“We are coming, Iram,” Atharva steered the car like a rash asshole. “3 minutes.”
“It’s ok. Adil is safe.”
The line went dead.
“Call an ambulance there.”
Samar made the call.
They hit a dense patch, and he noted Atharva focused on navigating it.
That’s when he grabbed his mobile again and pressed call on Faris’s contact.
As soon as the ring went, he cut it. Single ring was their signal to abort.
Samar hoped he had heard the ring. If they came face-to-face with Atharva…
Atharva knew Faris. And he also probably knew some of the new boys.
He knew everything even when he did not participate.
The car came to a screeching halt outside a public toilet and Atharva tore out of his side and ran. Samar followed, realising that one of their security cars had also tailed them.
The steps leading up to the structure were crowded. Women stood guarding the entrance, brooms and bats in hand.
“Aye, hey…kahan ghus rahe ho? Tumhaare doston ko bhaga diya toh tum aa gaye?[96]” They barred Atharva, pushing him. He managed to break through just before Iram appeared from inside the washrooms.
“Rukiye! Yeh humaare saath hai.[97]”
The ambulance’s siren tore through the chaos and Samar rushed inside. Adil was lying on the floor, his face swollen.
“Adil!”
He had passed out. Pulse was strong. Samar went to take his weight from a woman’s lap when his hand fell free from his side. A knife. Buried to the hilt under his sternum.
“What’s wrong?” A paramedic came rushing, stretcher behind him.
“Knife under sternum, vomited blood, passed out, pulse strong,” Samar briefed in a jumble, his own breaths coming rapidly.
It had been a while since panic had hit him in an emergency.
Twelve years, to be precise. He held his hand steady over the knife hilt as Adil was transferred to the stretcher, flowing with the shock, as warm, wet blood flooded over his fingers.
Adil’s blood. He ran with the stretcher, pushed inside the ambulance and did not even think to check if Atharva had seen Faris.
————————————————————
“Please clear the room, sir.”
“I am a doctor.”
“We still cannot allow relatives to remain…”
“I have a permit, I am not going anywhere,” Samar bit out at the nurse. She shrivelled. Adil’s doctor looked up from where he was working on him.
“Doctor, keep it down or we will forcefully remove you. Move back five steps and stay there.”
Samar retreated into the background, holding himself from taking over. Adil’s vitals were not stabilising, his heart rate was consistently high…
Samar felt his mobile vibrate inside his pocket. He pulled it out.
FARIS
He tried to escape and Akram had a knife
He tried to scare him
I will call you
His mobile rang. He silenced it.
“The blade is twisted,” the doctor observed.
“Operate then.”
“Not until his pressure stabilises.”
Samar followed his gaze. The BP was through the roof.
“You said he ran with this in his side?”
“He did.”
“Brave chap.”
Samar did not have the face to look at Adil. “He is a fighter.”
“We will give it an hour. Stabilise this,” the doctor pointed at the knife’s hilt.
Samar began to step forward when he realised that the doctor had called for the nurse.
Samar sat down on a stool. His eyes rose, and there stood Atharva, on the other side of the glass, eyes on Adil.
Atharva’s gaze came to him and Samar took his eyes away.
Everything went on in front of him and he sat there quiet, helpless, listening to the drips, the beeps, the puff of the BP machine.
“Doctor!”
His eyes shot up and found the ECG monitor crashing. The line dipped and the beep deafened him.
Go, Samar, go. Get them.
Not without you.
She is gone.
Where is this hero marching to?
Samar saw the flap of white in his peripheral vision move. The doctor had stepped back, adrenaline unused in his hand, eyes on the clock.
“No!”
“Time of death…”
“Stop!” He pounced up, pushing through the medics around Adil and snatching the syringe.
“Sir, he is gone!” Somebody held his shoulder, pulling it back. “You cannot do this!” “Move him out!” “Get out!”
Samar tore through it all and stabbed the syringe right into Adil’s chest. He grabbed the defibrillator paddles and opened them for the gel.
The nurse did not provide it. She shook her head, shivering.
Hands held him back but he elbowed them away — “I’m an ex-trauma surgeon of the Indian Special Frontier Forces, and I am not going to let this man go. ”
Gel was thrown over the paddles and Samar rubbed them together.
“Three. Two. One. Clear.”
Jolt.
Pause.
ECG was still flat.
“Three. Two. One. Clear.”
Jolt.
Still flat.
“Stop, Doctor, there is no irregular rhythm detected.”
Come on, asshole, have a heartbeat. Have something. Have a rhythm that I can catch. Come on.
“Three, two, one, clear.”
Jolt.
Come on, come on, come on, don’t die please don’t die. Fucker!
He left the paddles and climbed atop the bed, positioning his hands over his chest. Raw, ruthless, desperate for that last line of life in the SFF. 1, 2, 3, 4… Come on asshole! Not the time to go, come on! Please, please, please, please.
“Security! Call security!”
“Take him down!”
“Sir…”
Samar kept glancing up at the ECG.
On his third try, a small curve sparked to life.
“Yes!” He gasped. “He is here!”
“Come down, sir!” His elbow was held. Samar tore it away and pumped again, holding his counts steady as his own breath swelled.
He kept counting, kept going, until P and Q curve were flowing on repeat.
The faint beat fluttered under his fingers.
Adil’s heart was beating again under him. Slow, faint, but there.
“Get down!”
“Come on come on come on!”
The curve went away, leaving a long flat line.
“Adrenaline!” Samar commanded. Now that he had caught it, he wasn’t about to let it go. He saw the doctor inject the adrenaline and heard the machine beep. He glanced up and the curves were back. Stronger than before.
“He’s back,” somebody cried.
Samar finally got off the bed, panting, rubbing at his forehead. He kept his eyes on the ECG, counting down the seconds. Stable, stable, stable.
“Doctor, please step out. Now.”
His arm was pulled, and this time Samar let them lead him out. He walked, trailing his gaze over the machine and then Adil as he was nudged out of the door. He turned and Atharva was there, Iram behind him, grinning. He nodded, feeling his mouth stretch too.
“He made it,” Samar clapped Atharva’s back.
A fist landed across his face and his head spun. Samar froze inside, his ears ringing, as the world went round. He blinked, making sense of what had just happened. He whirled to check if it was Atharva’s fist, and stilled.