Chapter 29
Something was wrong. And she had been here long enough to sense when the winds were still.
Stillness was a problem at KDP. No firefighting calls from Atharva.
No yelling from Samar. Something was terribly wrong.
Amaal counted her steps as she entered the Boulevard Road headquarters.
Samar hadn’t come to her window last night.
He had been coming on and off, there was no pattern.
But he hadn’t been at the house this morning or yesterday. Neither had Atharva. Or Iram.
“Amaal, everything is ready.” Fahad came thundering down the stairs, three iPads in hand, looking like he had just woken up.
“Have you not bathed?”
He sniffed his underarm.
“Yuck, Fahad!”
“I applied a deo…”
“What the hell are you doing entertaining the press like this?”
“I was here all night, give me a fucking break.”
“You need a bath more. And language. Go!”
He dealt her a dirty look but handed one of his iPads and strode down the atrium. Amaal snapped open the lid of the iPad, gleaning his notes. Noises on the main door drew her attention and there he was. She shut the iPad and charged at him — “Where the hell have you been all day yesterday?”
Atharva looked just as haggard as Fahad, hopefully bathed, she prayed.
“And what is this?” She lowered her voice, looking at the mess of his facial hair that was neither trimmed stubble nor a full beard. “I messaged you to shave. There are video interviews lined up…”
“Don't start, Amaal!”
“No, you don’t start. You have been going around like this ever since Leh and I haven’t said anything. I thought you would come to your senses and start taking care of yourself soon.”
“I am.”
She rolled her eyes.
Atharva crossed her and she was compelled to follow. They toned down their argument as they walked from between members, party workers, all the people that made this Headquarters the hotbed of activity so close to the election.
“What is this one doing here?” Atharva pointed to a stack of printing material.
“I had bank work,” Noora came scuttling.
“What bank work?”
He crept closer, reaching up to whisper something in Atharva’s ear.
“Who gives you party cash?”
“Shhh!” He hissed. “My personal cash,” he pointed at his crotch. Amaal snorted, needing to throw her head back and scream. Why were all caricatures crossing her path today?! “I can show you, come inside with me.”
Thankfully, Atharva started walking and she didn’t have to wait for more Noora stories.
“Where is Wali?” Atharva bellowed out loud.
“Ahh,” Noora grinned, catching up with them again — “He had to go to the hospital for his grandfather. His sugar is fluctuating bad today.”
“Alright,” Atharva pointed to the mess — “Clear this up, send all the material to Hajan. Why isn’t it there yet?”
“Because they all got typhoid.”
“What?”
Noora nodded — “I called the district magistrate. He is going to the village just now to check on them.”
Atharva stopped. “How do you even have the DM’s number?”
“His wife’s sister’s daughter is an old friend,” Noora smirked, swinging his leg. “Anyway, 18 people have died in Hajan in the last 3 days.”
“Has aid arrived?”
“Our branch manager in Baramullah said that they are managing all by themselves. They tried to contact Srinagar but nobody is available…”
“And nobody thought of informing me? Where is Qureshi?”
“Nobody else knows. I got to know so I pulled back all our boys from going that side for the roadshow and cancelled Qureshiji’s speech. He is in the strategy room.”
“Hajan has one government hospital and three small clinics. Now that we are under President’s rule, I doubt the centre will even know about its existence, let alone aid it. Call for all the available core members in the area to strategy room.”
“But I have to go to the bank…”
“It will be safe there for now,” Atharva nodded at his crotch.
“Atharva,” Amaal glowered. “I have three journalists sitting on my head and I am not sending them back again.” He had cancelled yesterday at the last minute and it had taken personal intervention from her to get them to reschedule.
“Fine,” he glowered back and rushed up the stairs. “Typhoid is running rampant along the fringes of our city and you want me to play tea party with three reporters? Fine!”
“Where were you yesterday? I called Iram, even she wasn’t home. Everything fine?”
“Yes.”
“Atharva,” she warned. “Is Iram ok?”
He stopped mid-stair and smiled at her — “Yes. She is ok. She had to get her plaster removed.”
Amaal sensed there was more. Something was wrong. But she nodded.
“Now, tell me about these journalists.” He resumed climbing.
“There are three of them. Shravan Dheer from Kashmir Times, Mariam from Star Kashmir and Zulekha from Lokmat. You have done interviews with Shravan and Zulekha before.”
He paused outside his office door and extended his hand to her.
Amaal frowned at it, but set her hand in his.
He shook it firmly — “Thank you.” Then he opened the door with his patent ‘Atharva-who-knows-everybody’s-business’ look and beamed at the lot waiting for him — “Hi there, sorry for the delay, guys. Shravan, how is your maa after her knee replacement?”
“Atharvaji, she is very good, you remember?”
“Of course.”
Amaal stood outside as the door pulled shut. She opened her message box and tapped on Samar’s chat.
AMAAL
Are you in Hajan?
No response.
She opened the door.
“…she has to still attend physiotherapy but she is ready to lose weight.”
“I have heard moringa works wonders for the knees.”
Amaal slipped inside and closed the door — “Let’s start.”
————————————————————
SAMAR
No
She stepped out of the car and glanced up at the main house, the outhouse silent in the distance. The morning was chaotic in the porch with cars packing to leave.
“Where?” She asked one of them.
“Hajan. But we are waiting for medical supplies.”
“Did you find doctors ready to go?”
“Only one.”
Amaal glanced down at the open chat box between her fingers.
AMAAL
Where are you?
SAMAR
Outhouse
AMAAL
At this time?
It was 10.30 am, long past his half day mark. Was he unwell?
He did not respond.
Amaal changed course and strode to the outhouse. She opened the door and found the hall empty, as was expected at midday. She walked to the other side of the house, where only one room remained. His.
She had never ventured here before.
Today was different.
He was definitely unwell.
That is why things were quiet in the founders’ circle.
Amaal reached his closed room and knocked.
The door pulled open. But he did not look like he was ill.
He did look… different, though. In his old black T-shirt and a pair of cargoes, a day-old stubble, his specs off, he looked like Jammu’s Samar.
But his face was… off. Not like the emotionless man she knew.
It had some… emotion. Fatigue? Defeat? Fear?
“What happened to you?”
Deja vu struck. She had asked him this exact same thing once, and what that had led to hadn’t let her come back out whole. Amaal sobered.
“What happened?” He asked back instead of shooing her away.
“I am asking you.”
“I am fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Hmm.”
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
He paused. Then shook his head.
“Water?” She craned her neck to glance at what little she could of his sparse room. There were no water bottles.
“What do you want?”
Amaal grabbed the knob of his door and pulled it shut. She whirled and marched around the hall to her room. Hers was just as flourishing as his was barren. Flowers, scented candles, plush pillows… and her snack cabinet.
She pulled it open, grabbed a bag of potato wafers, selected her favourite Good Day cashew butter biscuits that were the closest to Danish cookies, then remembering he liked spicy rajma, she also grabbed the half-finished pack of spicy bhujiya.
She swung by her bedside and plucked her yellow water bottle before leaving the room.
Across the house, she knocked on his door again.
He opened it and stood back, stunned as she pushed through him and walked into his room uninvited.
She was beyond insults now. She did not care if he told her off.
Because she had taken her investment out of him.
As a colleague and friend, yes, she wanted to look after him.
Nothing more. She would have done the same for anybody on her team.
“Amaal…” He followed her.
“This is your room?” She looked at the state. Bare. A bag open on a chair with his clothes. The bed was made with military precision but there was nothing to make. A bedsheet and a pillow. Nothing to cover?
The room smelled clean, though.
“What do you want?” He now sounded frustrated. Even their voices echoed in the empty space.
“Eat.” She turned and held out her stash. He glanced from her to her hands full of dry snacks.
“Eat what? This?”
“My brain has been eaten raw this week so I am fresh out of that. Take this for now.” She deposited the packets into his chest and he immediately cradled his arms to hold them. Amaal pulled the bottle out of her armpit and pressed it into his — “Drink.”
“I am not hun…”
“Just eat it.”
She turned her back on him and ventured to the window. It was closed. The light came in frosted through the stained glass but it wasn’t enough. There was no natural air here. Only the fan. Amaal began to open it.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”