Bolting of the door.
The screams of the wind silenced.
She heaved and silenced that memory, putting chalk to blackboard again. She was down to the end of the board. She crammed her words and wrote smaller.
Uprooted from the only family I knew
You
His face came to her. Iram jolted. Her palm went to erase that word, not ready to see what it would look like now, what it would have looked like on that day… she jumped over that thought too. But her palm could not erase his name.
“Chai, baby, chai…[5]”
Warm glass. Her hands hurting, cold. The tick of the clock. 10 pm. He would be back. I need to go.
“Mujhe waapis jana hai, Chacha.[6]”
Atharva. Atharva. Atharva. Your babies are gone.
“Yeh lo, baby, phone karlo.[7]”
Phone in one hand, cup in another. Atharva’s number. 9820… she blanked out. Tried again. 98205… nothing. Shivers. And searing pain.
“Baby, kya kiya![8]”
The cup was snatched, cooling cloth on her burning skin. Moving. Walking. A basin. Water flowing.
She glanced up and recoiled. The blankness blanked out. Who was this? She was looking at herself in the mirror? Iram. Iram? Iram Haider?
Blanked.
“Iram Kaul!” She called out to herself. Lost.Lost.
Iram, stay, hold on, stay, go to him.
“Laao, main karta hoon, baby.[9]”
“Nahi!” She snatched the phone back. “Mat karo. Chacha, mat karo.”[10]
Her throat burned. But it wouldn’t relieve. Why couldn't she cry? She pulled her jaw muscles. Tried again. No tears. Iram screamed inside as she was helped onto a small seat. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Her stitches began to throb. She ignored the pain. There were painkillers in her bag. She didn’t want them. This feeling, she concentrated on this feeling. Something had to help her come back.
The pain was real, her hands were real, the burning red skin on the back of it was real, Rahim Chacha was real. She was… she couldn’t identifyherself. She wasn't real.
“Baby, kya karna hai?[11]”
Iram stared at the small window, the chinars of Dal thrashing in the lamplight outside. What will she take back to him? She had to come to herself before going back. He had lost his children, how would he cope with her in this form? And what if she could never return to herself? What was the way back to herself?
Mir Qadri Rehman Ali.
Where it all started.
Nagar.
Seeing that would jolt her. It wouldhaveto jolt her. There was no other way.
Hearing about it had started it all.
She stared down into her cupped palms, burned skin reddened on one side. Sitting and staring would drown her. She had to move. Do. Seek. Finish.
