Chapter 32
The treehouse building was in full form, the backyard of her house a blaring sound system of hammers and electric chainsaws.
Iram finished stirring the fragrant orange powder into cold water and poured it into two glasses.
Atharva’s mobile was on the kitchen platform from when he had come in earlier.
It was buzzing quietly. She grabbed it and set it on the tray along with the glasses, then left the kitchen, not needing to call out to Janab because his chainsaw was making enough noises for him.
Disaster spread around him now — pieces of plywood, boxes of nails, stray tools. Iram bit back a laugh.
“Somebody told me that they learned all survival skills in the military,” she wondered aloud, plucking a glass of chilled orange-flavoured Glucon-D and taking a sip.
It was delicious on this hot day. Srinagar wasn't known to have sweltering Junes or Julys, but the last few years had brought early summers.
Not only early summers; she glanced up at the sky gathering with light grey clouds.
June and July in Srinagar had also started to bring mild monsoons.
“Somebody was supposed to bring me something to drink,” Atharva grunted from his perch, trying to hold the ply still to saw a straight line through it.
Iram set the tray on the verandah and walked down the steps to him.
Their backyard was not really a backyard.
It was a buffer into the forest behind. A wide buffer.
Iram reached him under the heavy sun and crouched to hold the ply still.
“Do it now.”
“Leave it, you’ll get hurt.”
“Just do it!” She snatched the half-sawn ply from his dodgy hold and glared up at him. The sun hid most of his expression but she recognised Atharva Singh Kaul’s scowl even if it was in pitch dark. Iram couldn't help but laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“I am looking at an ex-SFF Maverick battle it out with a saw and a piece of wood. It is a little funny.”
He huffed, covered one of her hands with his own to keep the ply steady and her fingers safe, and began to saw the rest of the way. Iram held it tight. And within a minute, they had managed to get two equal pieces. She examined the edges.
“Neat enough, but can do better.”
Atharva straightened to his full height, holding his hand out to bring her up. She took it, the naive fool she was, and shrieked when she went right into his sweaty arms.
“You married a thinker, myani zuv,” he kissed her mouth.
“Who also happens to shoot and punch,” she pushed him back.
“People, not…” he glared at the mess of materials around him. “Construction material.”
“You promised to build the children a treehouse.”
His playful smile wobbled.
“I mean…”
“I did,” he cut her off softly. “But I also warned you not to mistake my DIY for skill.”
“Arth is too young to understand if his house’s roof is square or trapezius. So, go ahead, Baba.”
Atharva smiled, looking a little pleased, even a little proud of himself.
She surveyed his handiwork of the last week.
All his free time, when he wasn't at the party office or at this inquiry or that, was spent prepping to build Yathaarth’s treehouse.
Iram had, at first, been worried. The way he had thrown himself into ordering and stacking material, it had looked like a rebound, something that would turn more disturbing than consoling.
But now, looking at him half-annoyed-half-amused, in his patent leader mode — if not ordering then building, she was confident in this project.
“Did you get me something to drink?”
“Yes,” she walked back and grabbed their glasses, scooping his phone between her fingers. “Your mobile was going off.”
He frowned, wiping the sweat off his brow.
He thought for a second — possibly of his commitments for the day.
They were far and few. KDP was keeping him on the lowdown for now, especially with the media interest that was nowhere close to dying down.
Qureshi had sworn in one week ago. It had been a closed-door ceremony where Atharva had been present among very few dignitaries.
She had been invited but Iram had chosen to stay back.
Sarah was awkward over the phone and Iram knew she was clueless about her husband’s long-winded plans.
Even if she wasn’t, Iram wasn’t as level-minded as Atharva to stand in the same room as a snake of his own closest circle and see his own coup result in his crowning.
Iram saw Atharva now, dumping his tools to the side and dusting his hands off the sawdust. In an old T-shirt and tracks, building his son a treehouse under their Chinar, he had sat on the CM’s chair only a few days ago.
“Iram!” He held his hand out and she snapped out of her thought, striding to him and depositing his phone in his hand. He switched it to his other hand and held his hand out for his drink. She passed him the Glucon-D and watched him sip, not a care for his mobile.
“Where is Arth?”
“Sieving flour with Shiva.”
Grey eyes bugged over the rim of his glass. He stopped drinking.
“Our Shiva?”
“Yes,” she widened her eyes. “Two bowls of flour have already been upturned. Half a kg of flour has been licked clean. And Shiva has not scowled even once.”
“Who would have thought?” He drained his glass and swiped the back of his arm across his mouth.
“Atharva, your phone was seriously blowing up. Check it.”
“I’ll check,” he took a long, deep breath, taking in the last of the cool air left in his mouth from the drink.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Just ask, don’t make me balk with these pre-questions.”
“Do I look fat?”
His face twisted, baffled.
“Hmm?” She raised her brows, pushing her face closer to his.
It took him a good few seconds. But he caught her teasing. He was getting better at picking up the signs after all these years of marriage.
“You have put on a healthy amount of weight and I like it. Now ask your real question.”
She didn’t want to blush. Who blushed at words like those from a man you basically lived with 24X7? But her face suffused with heat. He smirked.
“I was asking,” she gathered herself. “Why are you so laid back? This entire week, you have been nothing but calm and patient. And it’s not an act.”
He smiled.
“I thought it was, at first. But now I know it’s not. What are you thinking, Atharva?”
“I am thinking that I should make the most of this break to finish Arth’s treehouse.”
“Serious. For one minute, serious, Atharva.”
He sighed, solemn — “My hands are tied so tight right now, myani zuv, that there is no room for manoeuvre. I go outside and there is media waiting. I go to an inquiry or hearing and the same questions are repeated. I can’t even switch to autopilot because then something I don’t want might slip out of my mouth.
KDP wants to keep its distance from me until Qureshi stabilises, and rightly so. What is there to do but keep calm?”
“Are you… content for now?”
“Can’t you see?” He waved around them. Iram smiled — “You look content.”
“And have I ever pretended in front of you?”
She stepped closer to him, raising her hand to cup his jaw.
It was bristly, the stubble heavier now that he didn’t have to look perfectly put together all the time.
She liked it. It reminded her of that old Atharva who would travel for days to interiors on tours, who would make the centre of villages his home for a week, who would go like Santa Claus and come back like Superman.
“You make me want to kiss you.”
“Then who is stopping you,” he edged closer to her, not even touching her and raising her body temperature by a few degrees.
“Umm mmm…” she scrunched her nose. “I’ll make one minute here feel like a hundred hours for you. And then you will complain that you lost time.”
“Overconfident. Come here and show me.”
“No,” she acted pricey. “Let it be. You’ll waste half your afternoon thinking about me when I go.”
His head cocked to one side as his arm stretched out to capture her. She stepped away in time.
“Myani zuv.”
“You’ll be lost in the memory of my kiss and forget to finish my son’s treehouse before his birthday.
” Iram kept taking steps back. He lunged and she turned, breaking into a run inside the house.
He was close behind when she heard the telltale blare of his ringtone.
Iram had rushed up the steps to the verandah when she turned back.
He was still on the ground, phone plastered to his ear.
“Hmm…”
She took steps back down, seeing the playful air around him vanish slowly. Like a bubble was dissipating.
“Zafarji is still there.”
Her brows rose.
“No… fine. I will come and see you at your house. Mine is watched at all times.”
He ended the call and pushed his phone into his pocket.
“What happened?”
“I will take a quick shower and go out for an hour. I have to meet Singh sir.”
“But wouldn’t he be at the Secretariat right now?”
“He has taken a sick leave.”
“Why does he want to meet you?”
“Qureshi. He is undoing a lot of executive decisions without due bureaucratic procedure. And he has started to dig into my PoK travel documents.”
“But aren’t they already with the SIT?”
“The original ones. There is a dossier on your plane and the passenger count.”
“But Qureshi knows I came on that plane. He doesn’t want to hurt me… or does he?”
“Not you, myani zuv. But if he gets a way to prove your presence in this issue, he can subdue me.”
“More than this?”
Atharva chuckled bitterly — “I am the biggest threat to him today. Because I have nothing to lose, position-wise. And he has everything to.”
“What will Singh sir do?”
“I will find out today.”
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