Chapter 3 #2
“Bhai, this looks like a free ticket into the palace but something is fishy,” Fahad repeated what was blaring in his own mind.
Atharva closed the door to his suite and stared at the wide wall of glass panes that showed a clear view of the Karakoram Ranges beyond.
A steep fall of the valley loomed below.
The view was like a giant’s mouth, its jaws closing in on him, the peaks of mountains like canines ready to chew him alive.
Without her, this place felt like a trap.
And for a second, Atharva wondered if he had willingly walked into it.
But he flicked that thought away before his skin broke into cold sweat and Fahad noticed.
“I know,” he nodded, going around to the settee and doffing his jacket.
Fahad followed suit, looking a lot more jittery than he was showing.
He was the perfect man to bring on this mission — ballsy enough to come but also smart enough to balance the hunt.
Mirza couldn't be brought on an official trip that had already raised too many questions.
“This Dilshad Khan also wants you to visit their mosque in Nagar. We scratched that out of the itinerary his team offered but he put it back on, saying it is a symbol of Hindu-Muslim unity.”
“Check the security there,” Atharva joked, crossing the hall to the connecting door and opening it to Yathaarth fast asleep in his cot.
Begumjaan was napping sitting up on the bed’s headboard, her head falling forward.
He quietly strode in, set a pillow behind her head and gently pushed her head back.
She did not wake up, her mouth opening in a tiny snore.
He took soundless steps back. She still did not wake up.
Atharva pushed the guilt down. She was spending too many sleepless nights and too much precious energy on him and his son.
“Altaf is…”
“Shhh,” Atharva stepped out of the room, clicked the door shut and turned.
“Go on.”
“I was saying that Altaf is already doing that. If it were up to him, we would be packed and on the plane back home before the hour is up.”
“Where is our man?”
“I just ordered tea.”
The suite bell rang and Fahad shot to the door.
Atharva crossed his arms across his chest, turning in time to see the butler roll a trolley of tea and snacks into the suite, the security bubbled outside.
The entire hotel was booked for his staff and family and yet, Altaf had made sure that this floor was sealed tight.
The rooms had been swept for bugs, and five had been found, switched off and kept aside in case they might have use of them later. All recording devices, none live.
Fahad closed the door behind him and the butler — OTP: Omar Tariq Pasha, bowed with a salam — “Janab, I have arranged two people’s tour to the palace at lunch because…”
“That won’t be needed now,” Fahad informed. “We are already going there in an hour. Officially.”
OTP deposited the trolley in the centre of the room and stood tall — “That’s even better. Soni is there since last week with her chaperones and friends. She will be leaving for her home after lunch.”
“Soni?” Atharva asked.
“Soni Mehrunisa, your wife’s friend.”
“Right. Mehrunisa.”
“Mirza told me to keep an eye on their movements but because of what happened in Srinagar and all the internet issues, I couldn’t send updates.
Here,” he reached inside his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a small phone.
“They have been out on some occasions, talking about finances and banks with the women. They keep their faces covered most of the time but I got this.’
OTP extended the phone to him. Atharva froze inside, even as his hand closed around the small, heavy metallic object.
He brought it close to his face, his eyes blurring more than usual at this distance.
They went out of focus and the pixelated picture became a blur.
He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled on his glasses, hoping the trembling of his hand was a feeling and not a visual.
The fog cleared and he saw his wife’s face after four months.
He wanted to cry but he returned the phone.
Nodded. Her, in a deep green pheran, dupatta veiling her head, the covering from her jaw slipped just enough for the picture to capture her face.
He had seen everything around her — the brilliant orange tree, the embankment under it, the women sitting down, another woman wearing a rich pheran like hers, talking, some others standing behind them, security bubbled.
Armed security — a mix of Pakistani army and local men.
“When was this taken?” He hardened his voice.
“Yesterday, Janab. Here in Nagarkhas.”
“Are there any engagements like this today?”
“No, Janab. They are returning to Soni’s house in Sikardarabad.”
“We will be in the palace between 11 and 12 today. Find out where they are at that time.”
“Soni’s daughter plays in the garden and they all get together there with village women to talk. That’s what they have been doing this past week.”
“Map?”
OTP drew his phone back, clicked the old-school buttons on his keypad and turned his phone back.
Another image, this was not so blurry. It was that of a garden, now carpeted in red and maroon leaves, the pillars high around it, a stone fountain half-broken.
Bench seats and small stone stools to a side signified an age-old place where royal women must have held court.
Fahad snapped a picture of it.
“Next.”
OTP clicked next and there was a map of the palace.
Atharva opened his camera and snapped a picture too this time.
If Fahad and Altaf failed, he would have to do it.
Because he wasn’t leaving that palace without her hand in his.
Especially not now that he knew she was leaving for another town, where he wouldn’t be able to reach her with his engagements starting tomorrow.
“I can send a message to her if you want,” OTP offered. “I have some people inside.”
“No.”
He wasn’t sure what alias she was using here, or if she had even informed her siblings about her identity.
Moreover, he wasn’t sure she would remain in the palace if she knew he was coming.
She had run a deceptively clear path from his home in Srinagar to this palace in Nagar.
He didn’t doubt her capacity to escape him yet again.
“I want another driver, Fahad,” Atharva commanded.
“Already been arranged. OTP got him.”
“Is he reliable?”
“Ji, Janab. My brother, HTP. Haroon Tariq Pasha.”
“He knows?”
“Ji, Janab. Only he knows. He will not betray you. Your Dadijaan’s Abbajaan gave our family not only food but a roof and work here. The house we live in was yours. My parents, my uncles and my grandparents have always been indebted to your family.”
Atharva nodded.
“Would you like me to do anything else, Janab?”
He paused. Then. “Do they make dum aloo here?”
“Ji Janab?”
“Dum aloo.”
“Uh… I will have to check with the chef. It’s not on the menu.”
Atharva didn’t flinch when he ordered — “Have them make it for lunch.”
If OTP thought he was crazy, he didn’t voice it out loud. Fahad looked at him like he was going crazy but held his tongue.
“Will Jannat madam be coming back here with you?” OTP asked instead.
Jannat, Atharva muttered under his breath, not betraying his shock at the alias she was using.
“Yes. Jannat will be coming back here with me.”