Chapter 28
“The stronger you become, the more powerful your enemies become, Jannat.”
“Then remain small and happy. Why give your enemies all that pleasure?”
Her father laughed.
“Good point. I wonder why I never thought like that.”
“See? Complex problems have simple solutions, Abba.”
“Like churning pista in a mixer when I asked you to pound them on stone?” Her mother hollered. Iram bit her lip. How did her mother always know when it was powdered in a mixer and when it was done on stone.
“No pista in your phirni now!” Ammi threatened. Empty threats, she knew from experience.
Her father held his palm out — “I’ll swap our bowls.”
She chucked his hand and rolled her eyes, throwing her head back on the cushion of her sofa.
“Abba?” She asked, staring at the ceiling of her house.
“Hmm?”
“Do you have enemies?”
“Everybody in politics has enemies. But nobody is any enemy if you are a politician.”
“Are they powerful?”
A pause.
“Abba?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because they don’t know they are my enemies.”
She whirled up from the cushion — “What does that mean?!”
Iram blinked awake, staring at the ceiling of her house.
Not the same one in her dream. It was the ceiling of her Jammu house.
She wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead, swallowing to loosen the tightness in her mouth.
Arth’s cot was still. Iram crawled to the end of the bed and peeped. He was fast asleep.
She sat back in the middle of the bed, the covers suddenly feeling too hot. She rarely felt hot. Never when Atharva wasn’t there to heat her up. Iram pulled her mobile up and checked the time. 4.12 am. She pulled up Atharva’s chat and checked. Nothing.
IRAM
Are you awake or asleep?
No response. She glanced back at her pillow, looking sad and hot next to Atharva’s.
She glanced at the curtained window. It was dark.
She had slept for all of two hours and now nothing could make her go back to sleep.
Her heart thudded with thoughts of him. Momina Aslam had hit him where it hurt — on his nationalism.
This man lived and died for his nation. Iram began to slide down the spiral of guilt.
If only she hadn’t left. If only he hadn’t come after her.
If only she had managed to come back sooner. If only…
No. She screeched the brakes on her spiralling panic.
She couldn't afford to slide down this path. There would be time later to finish this pity party. For now, she needed to stand strong. He needed to see her like the backbone of his home. Last time, after Samar’s accident, she had started to become strong for him before her own spine snapped.
This time, even if it snapped, she would stand tall for him.
Whatever he needed. Whatever happened. She would be whatever he and Yathaarth would need.
Iram squeezed her eyes shut, drank the pungent feeling of fear and grabbed her laptop. If sleep wasn’t coming, she would write. She needed to write. A new book. Because the second one was already on its way to editing.
She pulled up a blank doc and began.
Zoon and Taj 3.0 — what remains when everything passes
Iram smiled. If she could reflect a single percent of Atharva’s lessons here, she knew she would have a good book on her hands. His thought made her reach for her phone again.
No response. Maybe he had gone to sleep.
She set her phone leaning on her laptop screen and set her fingers to the keys.
Atharva’s chat was open. Nothing. She poised her fingers over the keyboard, ready to write.
Nothing came. Her mind wasn’t ready to switch gears.
How had Atharva managed to work and take care of Yathaarth while she was missing?
How had he held everything together without letting anybody get a whiff of the reality?
Guilt began to nag her again. She pushed it away and started a sentence. Backspaced. Nothing. Neither on Atharva’s chat, nor on her doc.
If push came to shove, what was the worst that could happen? Was his position in danger? What was the worst-case scenario? Wait. Was this… treason? Her chest felt cold. No, no, no. The panic that she had tied and held back began to whirr.
ATHARVA
Why are you awake so late?
Her heart skipped a beat. Iram abandoned her laptop and plucked her phone.
IRAM
Can I call?
He read the message and her phone lit up with his call. She swiped it to answer, opened her mouth to ask him if he was in danger of treason, and stopped. What was she doing? Throwing him into a tailspin worrying about her?
Iram took a deep breath, then let it out. And pasted a smile on her face.
“Stop panicking,” his heavy, hoarse croak sounded. It was amused. Slightly better than the solemn voice of last night.
“I was not panicking.”
“What were you doing then?”
Iram grinned, unable to hold her blush even after all these years of marriage, two babies and a situation where a mountain had exploded on their heads.
“Planning tomorrow’s menu.”
“At 4.45 in the morning?”
“My pillow feels too hot to sleep.”
He let out a laugh, rich and rough. Like he was in that place between lots of calls and a momentary reprieve.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“Come home then.”
“I sent part of the convoy home last night. Only Altaf and a few of his men are here. They will have to call everybody back just to ferry me home. I’ll come by 8,” he yawned.
“And leave again?”
“It’s a workday,” he pointed. “What’s the menu?”
Iram opened her mouth to berate him for taking this so easy when she realised two things — one, she couldn't talk about most things she wanted to ask him over this call, and two — he needed a break.
“Leftover rajma rolled into a breakfast burrito.”
“That sounds… interesting. This one thing I love about you since Arth’s birth.”
“What thing?”
“You have taken to the kitchen with a vengeance. I think I have put on a good five kgs since.”
“I never realised how much I liked to cook. And now with Arth, I want him to grow up with his Mama’s food.”
“His father did not deserve to grow up with his wife’s food?”
“His father got enough of his wife’s food. He has remained in shape because of his wife’s green gravy.”
“Which, for the record, you fed me the first time very, very recently.”
“Yes, ok, but you remained healthy and in shape.”
“No thanks to your jaggery in kahwa.”
“Do you know how much natural sugar mango has? You inhale the thing.”
“Once. You made me a mango breakfast once. And that was before we got married.”
“Free trial over. And as if you cooked again.”
“I did. All through your pregnancy!”
“Three things — Maggie, bread-butter-sugar-toast and… I am not counting the cake because I whipped the batter.”
He sighed, laughter audible even in that small sound. She had made his night.
“Now try to sleep,” Iram told him.
“Hmm. What’s Arth doing?”
“What his Baba isn’t doing.”
He chuckled.
“You go to sleep. I’ll come at 8, shower, eat and leave. I am flying to Srinagar tomorrow.”
She didn’t ask why or with whom.
“Ok. See you in the morning.”
Iram ended the call but could not return to her writing. If she wanted to be his backbone, she needed to get her panic moment out of her system right now. She bolstered herself —
“Think the worst-case scenario. Purge it out right now. It is not going to happen, but think it and prepare yourself. Then throw it out of the window before he comes home.”
————————————————————
“…and ask the SPG for a clearing.”
She heard Atharva’s voice trail inside their house.
“Qureshi and Adil will be travelling with me as well.”
Iram unstrapped Yathaarth from his high chair and set him on her hip, leaving his favourite window seat where he had just finished his breakfast.
“I will come back to collect you at 10, sir.”
She reached the hall just in time to see Altaf take an about turn and Atharva turn to her. Iram glanced past him. His convoy was exactly there — lined in their driveway. So he was leaving before 10, then.
“Dilbaro,” Atharva reached for Yathaarth, pressing a kiss to his chin. Iram gazed on as he set Yathaarth down on his feet. Their son, though, done with his circus last night, plopped down on his bum.
“You walked last night!” Atharva tried to stand him up. “Or did you forget?”
Iram observed her husband, sleepless, in last night’s T-shirt and jeans, walking in front of their son, waving at him and beginning a sprint to the staircase. This time Yathaarth scrolled after him, making him roll his eyes.
“I get it, you put on a good show for us so I’ll let it go,” Atharva swooped him up and around, perching him in his favourite Buddha pose on his arm. Both father and son stared at her. Two pairs of grey eyes — one light and one dark.
“Myani zuv?”
Iram smiled — “Hi.”
“Bababaaa…”
“Yes, Baba is home,” Atharva kissed the top of his hair, eyes on her. The lines around his eyes were deep and tensed. His forehead looked wrinkled. This was the first time she was noticing those lines. His mouth though, smiled for her benefit.
“Breakfast or shower first?” She asked.
He opened his mouth to say shower. But Yathaarth yawned on his arm. Atharva glanced down — “He had his breakfast?”
“Just finished.”
“We need to stop this post-breakfast nap thing,” he kissed his son’s hair again. “Let’s eat first. I’ll get to hold him some before he dozes off.”
As Atharva settled on the dining table and played with Yathaarth, Iram scrambled to get his breakfast together.
“Nothing is ready yet.” Shiva droned.
“It’s ok. You do lunch. I’ll do this.”
She didn’t even pay attention to half the things she did.
Not even what she put together for him. Not even what she set in front of him or what he ate.
Iram only sat beside him as he ate and played with Yathaarth.
The morning sun streamed into their house, making the day feel airy and happy, hopeful.
Atharva was a master manipulator. She wouldn’t put it past him to bring in happier sunshine with him.
“Iram?”
She blinked.
“Iram!”