Chapter 25
Kahin beetein naa yeh raatein, kahin beetein naa yeh din
Gaata rahe, mera dil
“Zafarji,” Atharva nodded at him the moment he walked into the CMO. He left whatever he was doing and strode in after him, his junior secretaries behind him with their iPads and pencils, expecting a daily morning briefing.
They all took a U-turn as Atharva stepped inside his office and Zafarji closed the door.
“Who writes my travel memos and notes?” He rounded his desk, setting his laptop bag and phone on the table.
“Waheeda madam does. If she is not available, Owais.”
“Who wrote the PoK travel notes?”
“Waheeda madam.”
“And why does it have glaring discrepancies in format?”
Zafarji remained silent.
“Did you check it, Zafarji?”
His mouth pursed. He hadn’t. But Atharva had known him long enough to be sure that he wouldn’t serve excuses. He was a man of ownership and solutions.
“Those notes might have leaked.”
Zafarji’s usually calm eyes widened.
“The 27th October note for sure has leaked to Momina Aslam. Find out the hole and fill it.”
“I will do that in the next hour and report back, sir.”
“There is a specific part there, the three-hour sightseeing part. Fix that. Create another back-dated note and replace it. Stick to the format this time, skipping the mosque and anything related to Iram. The leaked note should look doctored.”
“Won’t it become even more suspicious, sir?”
“To whom? She already has a lot of clues. Her shouting from the rooftops is not in my hands. But if an inquiry comes knocking at my door, keeping the house clean is in my hands.”
Zafarji nodded.
“Get both the notes to me when they are ready. And please summon the Advocate General of State.”
“Do we share an agenda, sir?”
“Amrohi Associates case. Tell him to bring all the material.”
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“Thank you, AG sir,” Atharva stood to his feet, shaking hands and walking him to the door. The open door was shutting in when Ashraf, his head peon, came jogging, tiffin in hand.
“Is it lunchtime already?” Atharva stepped outside and glanced at the office. Half the staff was gone. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was past two, which meant the first lot of his Secretariat had already finished lunch.
“Madam sent this at 1 but you were not to be disturbed, sir,” Ashraf held the steel tiffin up. “Should I set it up?”
“Yes,” Atharva stepped aside, eyes falling on his Private Secretary.
“Zafarji?”
“Sir?” He glanced up from his computer.
“Did you take your lunch?”
“In a minute.”
“You can do this later.”
“It’s done, sir.”
Atharva nodded — “Bring it to me after lunch. Go, eat first.” He stepped back inside his office and walked to his chair.
“How is it going, Ashraf?” He sat down, unbuttoning his cuffs.
“Everything is quiet today, Janab. Singh sir got chocolates for everybody.”
“Is it?” Atharva smiled. “Why?”
“His son cleared his 12th board prelims.”
Atharva brows rose.
“In our times if we passed the final exam it was worth giving gud to the neighbours,” Ashraf chuckled along. “Salad, Janab?”
Atharva nodded, letting him ready his plate and set it in front of him.
“Madam has also sent this box and asked to serve you after lunch.”
“What is it?”
Ashraf opened the small plastic container. “Looks like cake, but it has spoiled or what? It’s so watery…”
“It’s a milk cake. It’s ok. Set it here. Thank you, Ashraf.”
Atharva picked up his spoon and pushed it inside the gooey, creamy mess that was Iram’s scrumptious mango milk cake.
“Madam said after lunch.”
“Madam is not here,” he closed his mouth around the tiny bite, looking at an amused Ashraf leaving his office and closing the door behind him.
Atharva sighed. His mood was slowly picking up, first with the meeting with the AG, and now with this cake.
Today his entire staff was enjoying a dessert thanks to Singh sir’s son.
And Atharva thought about the generational shift.
At this rate, he would have to distribute gold coins if Yathaarth passed midterms in primary school.
That reminded him. He reached for his phone and pulled up Qureshi’s number.
“Hello?”
“Daniyal’s prelim results came?”
Qureshi laughed. “No salam, no dua, straight to results?”
Atharva reached for his roti, breaking a piece and dipping it in the white gravy he did not even check the taste for. It smelled good, and he popped it in his mouth. It was delicious, whatever it was.
“I recalled it just now. So?”
“He got a 91% overall, 93 best of five.”
“That’s amazing!”
“He is not even among the top 100 in his batch.”
“What? Why? Are kids scoring 101 out of 100 nowadays?”
“Something like that,” Qureshi grunted. “I just finished with him over the phone. He has tanked in Science and Maths, both significant subjects.”
“As if his father knew how to wire a transistor on Nathula Pass.”
“His father got enough marks to make it there.”
“93 is not bad at all, Qureshi. You have to know how bright he is. Just a typical boy.”
“I was not like him. I was meticulous, always knowing the next five steps. How will I make him responsible? He is an adult and still acts like a stubborn child. Maha is better on most days.”
“Relax,” Atharva finished his food and got up to wash his hands. “It’s a clash of personalities. You are not the first father-son pair to have it.”
“Maybe not. I hope you have it easy with yours.”
“I am not even thinking that far ahead,” Atharva slotted his mobile between ear and shoulder, washing his hands. “Listen, I remembered you asked me to tea at your office in Vidhan Sabha. We didn’t get to come around to that.”
“It was nothing special. Just a chat.”
“What about?” Atharva shut the door of the ensuite and took a few steps up and down his office. Acid reflux was a real thing in his world now if he did not work his food off immediately.
“The running of Vidhan Sabha. You are absent more often than not…”
“You know these last few months I had to take those breaks,” Atharva strolled up and down his long office, the sun streaming heavily through the windows. “I have kept on top of things. There hasn’t been any untoward incident.”
“Doesn’t mean there is no friction. Some of our own members have not been too sympathetic to us since Usama Aziz. Then you went to PoK and made working with Janta Party difficult.”
Atharva remained silent.
“I don’t blame you, but this year has been slow. Bills get passed in the Assembly but stall in joint committees.”
“I know.” That was one of the many speed breakers in his plans for Jammu & Kashmir.
Atharva had foreseen it, was on top of it even.
But he did not know what to do because it was all procedural.
In spite of having the majority on their side, their hands were tied because even if their own members voted for them, they spent longer than usual studying reports, returning with notes, getting the ball rolling.
And then there was the bureaucracy, less corrupt after his tightening but slithering at snail’s pace as usual.
“Let Samar return to work full-fledged this month and we will call an all-party meeting,” Atharva proposed. “Until then, tighten the screws individually, behind the scenes.”
“Even your MLAs?”
“Yes, all of them. Take Amaal’s support if you need. She will vet them again. If you find an issue, address it. At this point, I am stretched too thin.”
“Alright. How is Iram? And Arth? I wished you yesterday but we couldn't talk more.”
“All good. She talks to Sarah on a daily basis.”
“I haven’t talked to Sarah in a week myself!” Qureshi remarked. “But I know she is very excited to be the tutor for all things babies.”
“Qureshi, I have been getting multiple calls from Iram. I think it’s urgent. Let me call you back.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Atharva ended the call and squinted at the screen, his glasses far away on his table. He needed to blow up the font size on his phone. He pressed call on her name and she let the ringer go on. Atharva rolled his eyes.
“Hello,” she breezed.
“Why would you spam call me in the middle of a workday?”
“Who were you talking to at lunch time for an hour?”
“It wasn’t an hour and…” he frowned. “How do you know it’s my lunch time?”
“I know everything.”
Atharva smirked, feeling lighter than he had last night. He walked to his chair and took a seat.
“It was Qureshi.”
“Oh.”
“Daniyal got 93% in prelims.”
“I know! He was crying after Qureshi scolded him.”
“He cried?”
“Sarah told me. Don’t tell him. He was crying alone and even locked the door on Sarah. His man ego will get hurt.”
Atharva stiffened. “What is wrong with Qureshi…” he muttered to himself.
“Let’s go meet them tonight? After dinner? I can bake something and we can take it for him and Maha?”
“Let’s wait until tomorrow. Their family needs to talk tonight.”
“Hmm, you are right… did you eat your cake?”
He smirked, eyeing the plastic container which he was short of licking clean at this point. “From the container, yes. But I would like to eat it from somewhere else.”
“What happened to your mood, Janab? You left with a sore thorn in your side and now you are all…”
“I am what?” He leaned back in his chair.
“You made a move, didn’t you?”
“Mmm?”
“You did something… set the ball rolling on something.”
“Are you asking or informing?”
“Both. Now cough up.”
“Later,” he laughed, not about to share something so classified over an unsecured phone call. “What did you both do today?”
“Tried to crawl, then slumped back on the floor. Tried to crawl, then slumped back on the floor. At this point I have half a mind to attach sweeping cloths to your son’s hands and knees. Our house will be shiny clean.”
“Send me a video. And get him to nap. I didn’t get any time with him yesterday.”
“Decide — you want cake time with me or crawling time with him.”
“Of course I want crawling time with him.”
“You…”
Atharva lunged for his life and hit End Call.
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