“Nothing will happen, myani zuv. He runs down these stairs in daytime.”
“Nighttime is different,” Iram murmured, slowing her panicked breaths that had come on belatedly.
“It looks so good.”
She nudged her chin.
“You, him, under a safe sky.”
Iram’s eyes pricked.I wanted to make Kashmir safe for you again.He had made it safe for her, and in return, had to leave it himself.
“We will be under a familiar sky again, Atharva.”
The soft, liquidy look in his eyes hardened. Like lava turned to rock.
“We will. I have achieved many impossible goals in life. This one too, I will achieve.”
46. Maverick and Ghalib were back…
Maverick and Ghalib were back. And even though the world did not see them,theyeach saw the other. And that was enough. Iram smiled, thinking about that word. How they had started on that word. Not dreamt for the stars or reached for the moon, just tried to touch the glass between them and the sky.Enough.
“Look — Baba,” she pointed, holding Yathaarth up in her arms as the small gathering tightened around the rock by the bank of the pristinely flowing Ganga. This small village near Rishikesh was inhabited by some of the wealthiest and most influential farmers in the region. All low-profile families, third and fourth generation residents. Their days began with Ganga pooja and ended with Ganga aarti.
Atharva had caught them at the dawn of Ganga pooja. The winter sun was already rising, its rays kissing the milky flow of the river as it ruffled over gorgeous, equally fair rocks and white sand. Iram stood to the side with a few party workers, taking in the vista, as well as the locals gathering around Atharva.
“Ganga Maiya ki…” Atharva stepped up on the small rock. No mic, no show-sha, not even his leader-voice.
“Jai!”
“Ganga Maiya ki…”
“Jai!”
“Mera naam Atharva Singh Kaul hai. Main ek Kashmiri hoon. Main yahan Shimla se aaya hoon. Main yahan ka niwaasi nahi hoon. Lekin maine apne jeevan ke kuch saal Dehradun ke IMA mein bitaaye hai. Aur jitna waqt humne institute ke andar bitaya, utna Uttarakhand ke pahadon or gaavon mein bhi bitaya. Officially aur…” he paused with a small smile. “Unofficially bhi.[70]”
Low chuckles caught on.
“Anand Bishtji ne mujhe yahan aane ka nyota diya,” Atharva nodded to one of their residents who had been a close aide of HDP. “Uske liye main unka aabhari hoon. Main ek fauji tha, aaj ek neta hoon. Aur jitna Bharat maine dekha, uske naam par meri ek hi soch bani — iss desh ki pragati aaj tak kaise ruki hui hai? Iss desh ki pragati kisine kaise roki hai? Humare paas sab kuch hai — itihas, shaurya, bal, sahitya, vigyan… aur uss vigyan ko aage badhane ki taakat. Humaare paas jawan hai, aur,” he paused, making eye contact with everybody gathered there. “Humare paas humare annadata, humare kisaan hai.[71]”
Iram felt the roar of the river in her ears and nothing else. She eyed her son, in a rare zapped moment, eyes fixated on his father. A rush of pride shot up her spine. Atharva thought he was failing Yathaarth by raising him away from his home. But didn’t he see he was raising Yathaarth showing him what a fight looked like? Not a physical one, but a spiritual one, one that everybody fought in their lives. Some had mountains bigger than others to climb. The two of them had been confronted with Everests to conquer in storms. And that is what Yathaarth saw — two parents who were climbing against the forces and doing everything in their power to keep him happy.
She smiled brighter, the roar of Ganga in her ears torn by a voice. The voice that had always had a way of tearing through all the clutter, since that very first time under the handcart.
“Kashmir Development Party aaj Jammu-Kashmir ki vaadiyon mein lagi saalon ki aag ki lapton ko shaant kar rahi hai.[72]”
Iram winced inwardly. She had been against using any reference to Kashmir or KDP. But it was inevitable, as Atharva had pointed. That was where everything had begun. They couldn’t brush it under the carpet.
“But what if they question your externment? Question you?”
“Then we answer that it’s under investigation and hence not up for comments.”
“And if they remind you that Kashmir is not as peaceful as you had promised it would be in your election speeches?”
“Then I tell them it’s a process — many steps forward, a few steps back.”
“Or you can tell them that it’s not your headache anymore!”She had huffed, hitting laptop keys too hard to the background score of rich laughter.
“Sirf aag hi nahi bujh rahi balki dugni gati se vikas ke kshetra mein kaam bhi ho rahe hai. Aaj teen dams ka kaam pura hua hai. Dakshin Kashmir ke gaavon mein hydroelectricity paida ho rahi hai. Yeh woh gaanv hai jahan bijli ki sirf kahaniyaan sunai jaati thi. Aaj unki parikalpana na keval unke gharon ko roshan kar rahi hai balki unke khet aur baagon ka utpaad teen guna badha rahi hai.[73]”
