Chapter 43 It rained, snowed, then hailed so hard… #3
Suddenly, in this grave moment, he had a sick moment of imagination.
Iram in Kishanganga. Fallen. Drowning. Bleeding.
Lost. His arms and limbs were flailing with the rhythm of the waves, his eyes were focused on the beacon of red glow — training setting in.
Panic had dunked him but he swam on, knowing there was a way out.
There was always a way out. A way out because there were people waiting for him on the other side, as well as at home.
His hand caught the edge of the raft and he threw the oar in.
Atharva braced himself and climbed in, heavy with the water weighing him down, panting.
He gaped at the horizon in front of him.
Panted. She had nobody to keep swimming towards.
His breath was swollen and he snorted the water out of his nose, coughing out as much as he could, letting the burn in his throat, nose and eyes settle.
Nobody and nothing to swim towards and yet she had come out.
She had been the flame that kept burning for herself, by herself.
His own strength bolstered at the thought of such a woman standing behind him.
The rucksack he had fastened to the raft hook thrashed with the waves.
He tightened its knot once, then grabbed his oar and began to row again, checking his watch to recalibrate his direction.
“Yahan![52]” He heard that shrill plea.
“Bachao![53]”
Atharva raised the hand with the wristband and waved.
“Bachao! Bachao!” The voices went louder, a group screaming in unison. “Bachaaaao!!”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the whistle. Then blew. Loud and reassuring. Kept blowing.
The waves were rising. He got his first good look at the family on top of the roof. The roof was swallowed in. All that was left now was the thatched joint where seven of them were precariously balanced. Four adults, three children.
“Bachaaao!”
“Haan, ek minute![54]” He yelled back, manoeuvring the boat to them.
Atharva wedged his oar on their roof. When he found some resistance, he buried the oar between what he assumed were tiles.
The raft was still free-floating. He tied the hook to the oar and jumped out on the roof.
It was four feet down. The kids were nearly drowning.
“Idhar aa jao[55],” he held his arms out and the three kids were passed over one by one. He set them inside the raft and tightened the knots.
“Inko kya hua?[56]” He asked, leaning down and lifting the old man lying between two of his relatives, half sitting in neck-deep water. He was breathing hard, passed out.
“Dum aaya, phir yeh so gaye. Saari dawai ghar pe hai…[57]” the only woman in the group informed, panicked. Atharva reached inside the rucksack and pulled out the medical kit. He kept talking to her, inquiring what were his symptoms, what had he eaten,
the name of his medicine. She didn’t know the latter but Samar had given Atharva enough to figure out a temporary solution.
As he helped the man, Dharmi Chacha, with a pump, the children looked on wide-eyed, lost. One of them was Yathaarth’s age.
He left the man in his wife’s care as the pump was working its magic, and leaned into the rucksack, pulling out the chocolate biscuits that Iram had packed.
Thank god for her wholesale shopping mentality because this was a family pack.
He tore the pack open and handed out the now soggy biscuits to the kids.
The tiniest one couldn't even hold it. She was so small and shivering.
Atharva held her shoulder and fed it to her.
She grabbed his hand in both her tiny ones like he would snatch it away and kept gobbling.
He met her eyes and smiled, patting her head and holding his hand steady until she had worked through the biscuit.
He grabbed another and she smiled this time, not holding onto his hand as he fed her.
“Hum gaaon naav par jaayenge?[58]” The man coughed up, wheezing.
“Yeh raft chhota hai. Sab isspar nahi aayenge. Hum airlift ka wait karenge, Chacha.[59]”
He clawed his hair back, glancing around himself.
The water was only rising. Atharva saw what he did not say out loud.
A half hour more and it would wash over what little was left of the roof.
Atharva did not panic yet. He grabbed the bags of apples and biscuits and passed them around, reaching inside for bottles of water.
As the family settled into eating, he grabbed his ham radio and tuned in. The static was loud. He couldn’t make out the voices.
“Samar…”
“Samar, over.”
“Patient stable. Family of seven. Four adults, three children. Call NDRF. We need airlift ASAP. Water level rising…”
“Atharva?”
“Can you hear me? Over.”
“Repeat.”
“Repeating — Patient stable. Family of seven. Four adults, three children. Call NDRF. We need airlift. WE NEED AIRLIFT. Water level rising. 30 mins to wash out.”
“Srinagar is…”
“Forget Srinagar, call NDRF. Now!”
The water was lapping up to the woman’s chin now. Atharva chucked the radio and grabbed her, calculating how to make her balance inside the raft that already looked heavy.
“Mera sahara leke upar chadhiye[60],” he gave her his shoulder. She stepped up and hung herself on the lip of the raft. Atharva held her there and shuffled the children, distributing them around. The raft began to sink. They screamed.
He pulled the woman out.
“Aap mere kandhe aur naav ke beech mein rahiye. Sahara mera lijiye, lekin naav ko pakad ke rakhiye. Hmm?[61]”
“Hmm…” she nodded, following his order. Atharva stabilised her before reaching for the radio again.
He was about to tune in when the loud whirrs of a rotor blade tore through the deluge of rain.
They all looked up in unison and there was the bird.
Atharva couldn’t make out the colours in the dark and rain.
It was coming closer and closer, the wind storming around them.
He held the raft tight and pulled the men close, latching them onto the raft too.
It began to sink again and he held tighter, leveraging the oar as the fulcrum.
“Pakad ke rakho, sab log![62]” He ordered, grabbing the tiniest girl and pulling her on his shoulder, his voice coming out stronger. The chopper came closer and light shone on them. The beacon of red on his raft shone brighter. Atharva waved the hand with the band. And the chopper descended.
Rope ladder fell. Atharva glanced up.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” Captain Husain yelled, sliding down.
“Took you long enough,” Atharva handed the eldest child. She climbed like her life depended on it and the younger one followed, motivated. He then pushed the woman up.
“Krishnaa,” she began to reach for the tiny girl still clutched in Atharva’s arm.
“Aap jaaiye, main lata hoon[63],” he commanded.
The girl in his arm wasn't even wary. She was latched onto him like a limpet. The woman went hesitatingly, followed by the men. And as soon as they were all climbing, Atharva grabbed the rucksack on his other shoulder and took Captain Husain’s help in getting a boost to the ladder.
With both his arms full, he let the Captain push him up until they stumbled into the dry body of the chopper.
The girl from his arm fell into the lap of somebody.
The rucksack soaked on the floor. And with Captain Husain still half hanging out, the chopper turned and cleaved the clouds, wind and the night.
————————————————————
“Hello? Atharva?!”
He sat with his knees folded up, back to the temple wall, drinking hot tea from a paper cup. The sun was rising outside and the rain had slowed to a patter.
“Atharva?! It’s you?”
“Yes,” he swallowed the hot liquid. “Sorry, I was swallowing.”
“Are you ok? Did you reach there safely?”
“Yes, yes, sorry…”
“It’s been a whole day!”
“Sorry, I didn’t contact you…”
“Stop saying fucking sorry…! Sorry,” her voice softened. “Are you ok?”
He laughed, his lungs rattling with the amount of water he had swallowed. “I am fine. Things are better here now. All the people of the village are accounted for and sheltered in one place.”
“Why are you wheezing?”
“It’s raining here,’ he deadpanned.
“Don’t act smart with me…” her voice crackled. The towers had started showing some reception at this height but it was coming and going.
“Iram?” He sat up, crossing his legs, the pandemonium of a disaster shelter alive around him. “Iram?”
“Yes? I lost you.”
“Right here.”
“When are you coming back?”
“A team of J&K Disaster Management is here, we are waiting for NDRF. They are going to land this morning.”
“J&K Disaster Management? Your team?”
“Yes.”
“Atharva, Amaal has arranged for some media to reach there as soon as the water levels lower. She said Samar must get visibility. If NDRF is coming, they will accompany them. Don’t be seen.”
“Yes, ok. I will leave as soon as things stabilise. How are you? How is Arth, and Daniyal and the two daughters-in-law of our house?”
“Arth is in the deepest part of his sleep, Daniyal is about to go to sleep, Noora has gone to the square downtown to help with relief distribution and have breakfast with them, Shiva must still be in bed because I can’t hear anything downstairs.”
“And you?”
“Waiting for you,” she answered without a pause.
And in this grim hour, his mouth turned down and he felt the frisson of joy that always enveloped him whenever she said she waited for him.
“Myani zuv.”
“Hmm?”
He paused.
“Thank you,” he clawed his fingers through his wet hair, eyeing the sun’s rays pierce the temple’s courtyard, even amid drizzling rain.
“Now, Janab…”
“Sir?”
Atharva glanced up. Captain Husain stood in uniform, at attention.
“I’ll call you back, Iram.”
“It’s ok. Do your work.”
He held back his smile and ended the call.
“Captain Husain,” Atharva rose to his feet, beginning to extend his hand for a shake. Captain Husain’s hand went to his forehead in a salute, foot thumping loud.
“That’s not me now,” Atharva chuckled, holding his hand out for a shake. Captain Husain took it. “It’s you, sir. I wasn’t even surprised when they radioed that we would find you on site.”
“They don’t make me wear bulletproof vests anymore, works better.”
“Atharva sir,” Vikram interrupted their conversation. “NDRF trucks are ten minutes away to evacuate everyone to Rampur. Samar sir is looking for you.”
Atharva stepped back — “Captain, will your team be returning now?”
“Adil sir asked me to take my orders from you.”
Atharva shook his head — “I cannot do that. Please contact Adil and brief him about the situation. It will be his call.”
Captain Husain held his gaze. Atharva nodded. “See you, Captain.”
He saluted again. “Sir.”
As Atharva walked out of the temple on bare feet, the people already running at double the speed in front of him to see trucks come for them, his footsteps slowed.
“Is there another way down from here?” He asked Vikram.
“There is one behind the temple. But it’s steep.”
Atharva stepped out of the door and into the courtyard in time for the trucks to splash through waist-high waters. Antenna trucks were painted with news agency logos, cameras out.
“Har har, Mahadev!” Somebody cried out. And more chanted behind them. They began to circle him with the intention to pick him up and Atharva pushed back, gesturing to Samar. Three of them still kept coming, Jagga leading the pack.
“Nahi, nahi,[64]” Atharva laughed, resisting their efforts to wedge their shoulders under his knees. He tugged them up and towards Samar. And easily they went, lifting him on their shoulders, throwing him up, celebrating.
As the trucks were parked down below and the NDRF and camera crew began to climb up the hill, Atharva took quiet steps back. He retreated until he was shadowed in the sanctum of the temple, reached down, searched for his shoes among the hoard littered there and hooked his fingers into them.
Loud applause welcomed the rescue, and cameras were higher than Samar’s head.
Atharva pulled his backpack over his shoulder, turned and began to walk around the temple.
He was not even on the other side of the hill yet when he heard the slapping of bare feet behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
Vikram was coming, barefoot.
“What happened?”
He shook his head but kept coming. Atharva saw it in his face. He turned and kept going, climbing down the steep hillside, Vikram Rana behind him.