“Get it. I’ll take him.”
Atharva turned with his son in his arms and strode down the corridor. He walked down the stairs, one hand on Yathaarth, the other running down the smooth, polished banister. It gleamed in the early morning light.
“Shiva!” He called out.
“Ji, Janab.”
“Go and bring Iram’s boxes.”
Atharva continued down the hall, the furniture being covered with old bedsheets. He looked away from the sight, walking towards his office. He pushed the door open and went around the space, switching off lights and jamming away any stray chargers. He went to his wall of windows and stared out at the sight that was his estate. On one side was his backyard, sloping up into the thickets. On the other were his gardens, now alive for one last time as guards, officers, packers moved around.
“Baba tee…” Yathaarth squeaked.
“Yes,” Atharva nodded distractedly.
“Teeeteee!” He pushed this face into the glass. Atharva followed his happy banging on the window and saw the unfinished treehouse.Hisunfinished treehouse. He had been showing it to him at different stages of its construction.
He wanted to feel the weight of this sorrow. Yathaarth was smiling at the half-finished treehouse, finally having learnt to speak its name. Atharva stepped back. His son’s hand fell away from the glass.
Atharva pushed a button on the blinds’ remote. They began to whirr. Second by second, they came down, rolling and dunking the room in diffused light. He turned. Surveyed his office one last time. He reached inside his drawer, scooped out the keys and strode out. Without thinking too much about it, he shut the door and locked it, slipping the keys inside his pocket that were already heavy with so many bunches.
“Atharva?” Iram was at the end of the alley.
“Coming.”
“I am ready.”
He strode down and found her standing, in her mango-coloured salwar kameez, smiling at him. One shoulder had Yathaarth’s travel bag, the other had her own purse. She smiled even bigger at him — “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go.”
He began to take her load off when his fingers froze. The spot he had surveyed only a while ago passed through his eyes. His estate. His backyard. Mama.
“What happened?”
“Can you take him and go sit in the car?”
Iram frowned but held her arms out. He began to transfer their son but he rebelled, sticking to his shoulder. “Baba! Babaa!”
“I am not going anywhere without you.” Atharva consoled him. Lately, his son had begun to identify that they were going out and would cling to him until he was safely buckled inside the car.
“Come here, Dilbaro,” Iram plucked his protesting body. He cried his tearless cries. Atharva swallowed.
“Go.”
“Two minutes.”
He turned his back on them and strode away.
“Baba is taking you out, shhh, shhh…” he heard Iram console Yathaarth and continued to stride, pushing the back door open. He took quick steps, his path leading up, straight to the edge of his property. To Mama’s tombstone.
Atharva stopped in front of the stone. He knew he had to come here. His legs had carried him this far without any thought but to be here. Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn't one to talk to graves. Never had been able to.
Atharva bent on his haunches. Koels were singing. A cicada was whistling. The wind was whirling wet. He found his hand reaching out and laying on the cool stone. A second, two, and he stood to his feet. He tore his eyes from his mother’s grave, turned and began to stride away. He did not look back, his eyes finding Iram and Yathaarth waiting for him at the back door. Yathaarth was now howling, real tears flowing down his crinkled eyes.
“Come here,” he held his arms out and his son fell into them. Atharva cradled him close, meeting Iram’s eyes. They were watery too. But she smiled.
“We will come back soon,” she said.
