Chapter 9
The worst thing in the world is to be abandoned; worse is to be forgotten.
Atharva had the honour of both. This wasn’t about him, he tried to tell himself.
This wasn’t about his role, his needs, his feelings in her life.
Looking at her all day, seeing the two parts of her held together by a fine thread, he could recognise how fragile she was.
And yet he couldn't get himself to lend more than a helping hand at this point.
He could not feel the urge to do more than make sure she was safe.
He hated it; he hated the resentment that had risen inside him the moment she had confessed to leaving him and not the babies.
But he could not be a farce to her. Could not fake his way into the tender care she needed right now.
So he drank the poison of his thoughts, locked himself in fight mode and kept going, striding along with her through the back door of the hotel.
The late hour and their earlier preparation had ensured that the route was safe.
The elevator had been held for them, security tight.
Even so, Atharva did not relax again until they were inside his room and closed away from prying eyes.
“Can I go see him?” Iram asked. And he wanted to yell. She was asking permission to go see her own son?
Atharva nodded, nudging his chin to the door. She did not wait for more, her morose frame suddenly snapping to life as she whirled on the balls of her feet and ran. Atharva watched her go, slowly open the door and peep in.
“Begumjaan…” she whispered.
“Come, Iram. He just fell asleep. Close the door.”
Iram glanced back at him. As if she were still waiting for his permission. He blinked a nod and watched her slip inside. A knock sounded on his door.
“Who is it?”
“Me, Fahad.”
Atharva eyed Altaf. He strode to the door and turned the handle, allowing Fahad to enter.
“How is she?” Fahad asked.
“Better. Come, sit. Both of you.”
Atharva looked at the time and then back at the men — “Go have dinner after this. We have a long night. Fahad?”
“The news has been buried. You were right. Dilshad Khan was looking for the CM of J&K to be killed in Pakistan, and India to be the aggressor for something Pakistanis would term as a ‘terrorist’ attack on a mosque of their own town.”
Atharva sat back, taking a deep breath. That gut instinct of a few seconds had saved not only their lives but a war.
India would have had to attack. The assassination of an elected head of state would have been more than reason to go to war.
The insurgency and Sufiyaan Sheikh’s lingering infrastructure in Kashmir which was active again after Usama Aziz’s death would have pushed internal civil strife.
There would have been no mercy. Who knows how long it would have stretched.
He did not even stop to think about Yathaarth and Iram.
For now, he needed his head working in fight mode.
He pulled it together and held it tight.
“I am reiterating what I said this afternoon — No reporting to the Home Ministry or MEA. I will not give him what he wants. Not a war, and not a single more day of strife in Kashmir. Make sure it dies here,” Atharva relayed.
“We haven’t brought press with us for a reason.
All the more reason for opposition and enemies back home to snoop.
Ask Zafarji to keep this afternoon out of my travel notes. ”
“Already done, Bhai. Dilshad Khan agreed to keep mum as well, as if nothing happened.”
“Of course he will. I am alive. The tables have turned on him now because he pushed me. We have it on record. Make sure no other traces are left, Fahad.”
“I have cleaned it up. It’s a small village at the end of the day.”
“What is the casualty?”
“Three dead, twelve injured.”
His nostrils flared.
“Altaf.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Prepare the plane to take off at 3.35 am. No VFR plan, ADS-B disabled.”
“Already relayed.”
“You will go with Iram and Rahim.”
“I cannot, sir.”
“That was not a question.”
Altaf opened his mouth to object.
“I do not trust anybody but you with her.”
“I will not leave you alone here, sir. It’s not part of my job.”
“Can we talk candidly, Altaf?”
He blinked.
“Sir.”
“I know covering Iram’s security is not part of your duty. But you have lived with us for two years. Do you think Iram and I are separate entities?”
Altaf remained silent.
“Flying a plane with ADS disabled is a risk in itself. Flying it across the LoC is a risk I would not take. But there is no other way to take her back. She cannot fly with me on an official plane without her documents and an incoming stamp.”
“I understand, sir, but no. Especially not after what happened today.”
“Gilgit to Kargil is a 25-minute flight. You will land in Kargil, Captain Husain and Amaal will meet you there. Once Iram is safely with them, you will return with the flight and land here before 4.55 am.”
He began to protest but Atharva did not let him.
“And I will sit here in this room right at this place until you walk back in. Station your men inside. I will sit in front of them and wait for you to return. I give you my word.”
Altaf did not have anything to say, so Atharva bulldozed — “Captain Husain will ensure that the LoC airspace over Kargil remains open. My plane is officially returning to bring my son’s medicines and a specific brand of milk powder.”
“Bhai…” Fahad interrupted. “That sounds like a media debacle ready to happen. Momina Aslam, Awaami or your critics won’t let it go.”
“I know.”
“Flying a plane home to bring milk and medicines for a trip that has two days left?” Fahad muttered to himself.
“One day.”
“We are returning early?’
“You want me to stay and give Dilshad Khan another chance to blow us up?”
His mouth snapped shut.
“We will leave immediately after the event at Azad University tomorrow.”
Fahad nodded. “Amaal…”
“Knows about this. She is working on the spin for a later date. Let’s get this over with first. Once we are home, everything else can be taken care of, hmm?”
“Yes, bhai.”
“Altaf?”
The stoic man stared. Then nodded.
Atharva stood to his feet, pushing out of his jacket. “Go, eat. We will reconvene here at 11 again.”
“Your arm, Bhai.” Fahad was by his side, touching the dried blood sticking to his shirt and his skin underneath. “What is this?”
“I’ll have your doctor…”
“No. Nobody needs to step inside this room before Iram leaves. You and a team of your men know about it. That is enough. I’ll take care of it. Go, eat — both of you.”
The men obeyed his command without question, for a change.
Atharva heard the click of the door and reached for his cuffs.
He unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, feeling the burn of skin where dried blood and fabric tore off.
It was a scrape, with a little more blood than he would have liked.
He walked to the mirror, assessing the damage — a laceration on the back of his left arm.
The dried blood made it look bigger. The skin close to this elbow was beginning to crack and redden.
Atharva strode inside the bathroom, pulling his belt off. He needed to clean this up before it began to fester. Eight hours was more than enough time to let it stew.
————————————————————
He took the quickest shower in the history of his life, SFF included.
The extra minute was spent diligently cleaning the back of his bicep.
He dried his body with quick movements right out of his NDA manual and pulled on a fresh pair of pants.
He reached for his belt and looped it in, striding out of the bathroom to find the first aid pouch he never travelled without. And stopped short.
Iram’s eyes widened, zeroing in on his arm.
“It’s still bleeding!”
“It’s fine,” he continued walking, leaning over his bag to dig out the pouch. He held it in his stiffer left hand and unzipped it with his right. Her hand came and dug inside the pouch, pulling out the chlorhexidine bottle he had been looking for.
“Sit.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his arm towards her.
“When did this happen?” She tipped the liquid on a cotton pad.
“Impact with the ground when they pushed me from the handheld missile.”
“Did you clean it properly?”
“Yes.”
“With saline?”
“I don’t have saline here.”
“Where is Dr. Rao? He travels with you wherever you go…”
“He is here but he is not coming in here.”
Iram’s eyes snapped down to his. He saw the functional part of his wife back.
Her fingers holding the cotton pad, hovering over his tricep, her expression forbidding, angry even.
It was like she was the same woman who had dunked him under a bucket of antiseptic water after a fight with Samar and patched him up like a pro. And yet she was not.
“Give me,” she gently pulled his arm close and sat down beside him, blowing on the laceration that actually was as big as it had initially looked. The red, angry wound wasn’t deep though, even if it extended from the ball of his shoulder right down to his elbow.
“Did you and Begumjaan have dinner?”
She applied the stinging antiseptic to the edges and it burned like hell’s worst fire. “Begumjaan had eaten.”
“You?”
She tipped more chlorhexidine on a new cotton pad and went down his wound, turning his arm into a forest fire.
“I am asking something, Iram.”
“I’ll eat with you.”
“Let’s order then. You have to leave by 2. Get some sleep.”
“You are sending me on that secret plane.”
“There is no other way. It’s as safe as I can make it. Altaf is going with you. It’s a 25-minute flight. The Pakistani airspace will open up, as will the Indian airspace. Amaal and Captain Husain will meet you there. Officially, this plane is going to bring Yathaarth’s medicines and milk.”
“Then why disable all that ATS…?”
He grabbed her hand that was busy taping gauze on his tricep. Her eyes came to his — “I would not put you on that plane if I was not sure that it would land safely on the other side.”
“I know.”
“We are disabling ADS-B while leaving Pakistan so that if, by any chance, something goes wrong on the ground after take-off, you are safely able to cross the airspace without detection. You will anyway be out of their radar in the first seven minutes of take-off.”
She swallowed — “And if something goes wrong on ground, you will get stuck here.”
“I am here on diplomatic immunity. Nobody can touch me.”
“Still this morning happened. How is everything so quiet?”
He inhaled, eyeing his arm as she finished taping it and picked up a shirt from his pile in the bag.
It was like routine. Like the last four months had not happened as she began to unbutton the top button, then held it out to him.
Atharva stood, turned and pushed his arms into the sleeves, the left one feeling tight and warm.
He hoped he wouldn’t need oral antibiotics tonight.
He was staying away from painkillers for the time being but if a fever set in, he would have to succumb.
“What do you want to eat?” He reached for the hotel phone.
Iram stared at him, her eyebrows drawn together.
“What happened?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I have quietened everything.”
“Why?”
“To take you out of here and follow safely with my son.”
He regretted his choice of words even before they were out of his mouth. Some childish, wounded animal inside him was rattling a cage. He silenced it, seeing how she shut down. The functional part of her hid behind the veil that fell.
“Is Yathaarth asleep?” Atharva asked, trying to bring that functional part back.
“He cried.”
“Cried?”
“I tried to change his nappy. He cried. So Begumjaan did it. Then she put him in a cot and rocked it until he fell asleep.”
“He doesn't cry often…” Atharva bit his tongue at her stricken face. So much for bringing her functional side back. “I mean, he is in a new place.”
Atharva observed her face carefully. The old Iram, or at least, the pregnant Iram he had last known would have burst into tears at that remark. Or thrown something at him. This one stared at him, blinking, as if she was in deep thought.
“Can you pass me that water?” He requested, hoping to shake her out. She picked up the bottle and handed it to him. Still the same.
“They butchered the dum aloo in the morning. Want to order some local dish…?”
Atharva’s head moved with her as she walked to the sofa and lowered herself there, breathing slowly. Heavily.
“Iram?”
“Yes?”
“Are you ok?”
“Yes.”
Her dark brown eyes came to him and she smiled. It was the fakest of her fake smiles.
“Yes, order something local.”
Atharva did not reach for the phone. Instead, he got up, kneeled in front of his bag, and zipped open the hidden pocket under his toiletry kit. From its depths, he pulled out a velvet pouch and rose to his feet.
“Come here,” he called, pulling the string and fishing his fingers inside.
He expected her to keep sitting but when he glanced up from the pouch, she was on her feet and walking towards him.
Still the rag doll expression. His eyes fell shut for a second as he breathed in.
One partner wounded in a team of two could be taken care of by the healthy one. What did you do when both were wounded?
The scent of her presence made him tear his eyes open and he looked down into her veiled eyes. Atharva reached for her hand and slipped her ring back on her finger, keeping his eyes on hers, seeing if it lifted the veil. Brown still water began to ripple.
“Do not take this off again,” he commanded, throwing the stone in. And the water erupted.
“I did not take it off…”
“I know. It was taken off for your C-section prep.”
Her hand warmed up suddenly. The veil in her eyes fell down.
“Do not take it off again by your own will, that’s what I am saying.”
Nothing changed this time. Iram nodded.
“Can I sit with Yathaarth?”
He nodded. Then watched her go. Again she was abandoning him in this. The childish, wounded animal inside him rattled the cage. He was tense, scared, nervous, broken, angry, in pain. And again she left.