Chapter 43 It rained, snowed, then hailed so hard…
It rained, snowed, then hailed so hard. For days, there was nothing but a blanket of white. Who would say this was February and the time for thawing was nearing? Iram pushed her palm across the fogged glass, looking over the forest of deodars, now all dusted in white. Nothing green.
“Arth has to seriously grow out of needing Noora for entertainment,” Atharva’s annoyed voice travelled up before he did. Iram smiled, clearing some more of the fogged glass of the observatory. It fogged up just as quickly because —
“Why is the heater off here?!!”
Iram winced.
“I am asking you,” his footsteps thudding loud, even on the thick carpeted floor. The whirr of the heater followed. “Did I install this here to enjoy the view?”
“It makes noise,” Iram droned, lost in the calm, serene scenery outside.
The hail had softened to tender swirls of snow, gently floating down from the sky.
She wouldn’t mistake this as the end of the storm though.
The last five days had started with hail at dawn, then softened to snow by noon, picking up again to rain and then hail by evening.
A warm hand came up and tucked her hair behind her ear, tugging the earphone out.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“The last song ended.”
She was sure he had planted the loose earphone in his own ear. Iram couldn't get herself to tear her eyes from this view.
“Your book doc is open.”
“I know.”
“Did you save it?”
She heard clicks of keys. He was saving it for her, just in case. Iram gazed up into the sky, grey on a morning. She smiled.
“Iram, we need to…”
The buzz of his mobile phone cut him off. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass, idly listening to him talk. That was the most soothing sound in all the world, aside from Yathaarth’s quiet sounds when he was suckling his milk from his early morning bottle — the only bottle he was allowed now.
“No, eight voter lists have already been vetted…”
Atharva could be talking voter lists or BLA selection, booth logistics or Panchayat reservation modules, it always soothed her, especially after a long writing session.
She was having more of those nowadays. Yathaarth was growing up.
He was 20 months old, walking, talking gibberish, understanding almost everything, and happy to be raised in this household of men.
If he wasn’t hanging out with Dani bhai, he was in the kitchen singing around Shiva.
If Atharva wasn’t taking him along to run tiny ‘errands,’ then Noora was stealing him to talk his own brand of ‘katha.’ He now came to her for food or when he was tired or sleepy.
Iram loved that he was preparing for a greater circle at school. But she missed him too.
She didn’t dwell on the negative though. She had upped her writing speed instead, enjoying getting back to her earlier gruelling pace. And she discovered all over again that momentum begot momentum. The faster she wrote, the easier words flowed.
“One minute, I am getting another call. Let me call you back… Yes, Vikram… Time?”
Iram’s lost mind snapped back to the room. His voice had changed.
“Casualties?”
She turned, catching his gaze.
What happened?
He blinked reassuringly.
“Which axis is blocked?” His eyes went to his watch.
Iram now knew something was seriously wrong.
“Communication…? Hmm.”
Iram waited, eyeing that face that didn’t give anything away if he didn’t want to.
“Get hold of every ham operator you know around the village… what do you mean you don’t know?
We worked on that list last month… yes, that one.
Private one. I will get the retired army personnels activated…
identify schoolhouses, temples, anywhere on higher ground.
Mark them and start moving families. Preferably in one place.
Don’t wait for orders from district office. ”
“What is happening?” Iram asked him, now worried.
“There’s been a cloudburst in Sirmaur,” he muttered quickly to her before issuing commands on the call.
“Get your local HDP workers activated, rope in any young men around, split them into search, medical, and supply teams… Search, medical and supply…” he repeated.
“Hmm. Keep them working, or they’ll panic.
I’ll be on the road in fifteen minutes.”
He ended the call and began to make another.
“Who was that? Your Vikram Rana?”
Atharva nodded, plastering his phone to his ear. “His village is washed out in just an hour. Looks like a cloudburst.”
“In winter?”
“There was a forecast of a warm weather system hitting South Himachal.”
“And the people?”
“They are taking headcount and making distress calls. Things will get clearer soon… Samar? Yes, I just got a call from there. Who do we have there…? Aside from him? Hmm… This is your time to step up.”
Samar’s voice was louder. Iram pushed closer to Atharva, listening to it — “…to come? I know you have Iram and Arth at home but I thought you would.”
“I am leaving in 15 minutes.”
“Let me pick you up. I have my Thar.”
“He mentioned neighbouring towns are also affected, including Paonta Sahib and Nahan. I have asked him to mobilise ham radios.”
“Good call. Let’s talk more on the road.”
Atharva ended the call and glanced at her — “Myani zuv, I have to go…”
“What are ham radios?”
“What?”
“Ham radios.”
His mouth pursed in bemusement. But he answered — “Private radios. A lot of private citizens in Himachal own radio sets for fun. A lot of retired military personnel settled here also own their own radios. Lines are broken down, so we will use those to communicate.”
“Ok.”
“I have to…”
“Go.”
His eyebrows shot up — “Are you saying this in fear, frustration or helplessness?”
She reached up on her tiptoes, grabbed his cheek and planted her lips on his.
“I am saying this as Atharva Singh Kaul’s wife.”
His eyes lit up.
“Do you want me to pack food?”
“Yes, whatever dry rations that can be eaten raw. Check the pantry for dry fruits, biscuits, breads, anything that is…”
“I meant for you and Samar to eat on the way,” Iram smiled. “But I’ll pack up ration too.”
“And clothes. I know it’s short notice but anything you can spare — yours, mine, Arth’s… baby things. Do we have Arth’s old bottles, the boiler… and…? It won’t be enough but it will be something.”
“I’ll pack it all up.”
“Thank you. I will check for medicines.”
He turned and dashed, her running speed not enough to catch up with him.
“Atharva?”
“What?” He slowed on the first step of the spiral staircase.
Iram knew he had fifteen minutes to get everything together and leave. But this was the live flame of her husband. She would be a fool not to take a good look.
“What, Iram?”
“Take Noora if you need.”
“Good idea,” he rattled down the stairs. “We will drown him there.”
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Samar tore his Thar down the glistening serpent of the road, the back and the dickey full of equipment, rations and medicines. Atharva sat observing the weather turn from white floating down from the sky to a mild patter of rain. It became warmer, sunnier, and more ominous as they travelled south.
“Has NDRF been deployed yet?” Atharva asked, scrolling his phone for the latest news.
“It is being mobilised from Delhi. Once they are here, we will be able to go easy. No news yet.”
“Did you call Srinagar and ask Adil for what I told you?”
“Yes. Jammu-Kashmir is the only state close by that has its own Disaster Management Force. Even if things are a little muddled right now, Adil said he will manage.”
Atharva read the last message from Vikram and locked his phone, jamming the charger in. He would need the battery once they reached there.
“Check ETA.”
“You’ve made me check it thrice in an hour,” Atharva remarked. “Checking it doesn’t make it come sooner.”
Samar was on edge. Atharva could see it.
What’s wrong with you was the wrong question to ask Dr. Samar Dixit.
“Did you speak to Amaal?” He threw the stone instead.
“Why would I speak to her?”
Bingo.
“Because you should, before leaving for such a place at such a time.”
“What will she do from there?”
“Maybe say something nice to you to make you drive safer?”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I am driving safe.”
Atharva rested his head back and eyed the road eating up in front of them, the wiper now slowed down on the windshield.
Deodars were not dry or frosted anymore.
But they were sure swaying harder. The wind was picking up.
Cars were driving across them, in the opposite direction.
Theirs was the only one driving towards the storm.
“She asked me to go and blow my dragon fire over the rain.”
Atharva snorted — “Don’t put it past her.”
“I snapped at her.”
“Don’t put it past you.”
“What’s happening to me?”
“You were always like this.”
“Was I?”
Atharva glanced at his long-time friend-turned-foe-turned-friend.
His platoon doctor. His shadow. The man who was his senior in age but who, Atharva now knew, looked at him for direction even when he didn’t explicitly ask for it.
The burns on his neck were whitened, puckered and apparent.
The signs that he had taken that death meant for Iram and their twins on himself. Samar was an anomaly, a dichotomy.
“Your best trait is your self-awareness,” Atharva observed what he had known for a long time. “And your worst is your refusal to accept that self-awareness.”
Rain began to beat faster over their car and the noise drowned out whatever little peace there was to talk.
“I am trying to do it,” Samar whispered.
“Do you really want to do it, is the question.”
Samar’s profile hardened.
“Because if the answer is yes, then there will be no trying.”
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The village was peeping out of a waterfall. That’s how bad it looked. Their car had to gun through the outpouring rain. That was the thing with cloudbursts — they didn’t come in drops, they came in waves.