“Because they all got typhoid.”
“What?”
Noora nodded — “I called the district magistrate. He is going to the village just now to check on them.”
Atharva stopped. “How do you even have the DM’s number?”
“His wife’s sister’s daughter is an old friend,” Noora smirked, swinging his leg. “Anyway, 18 people have died in Hajan in the last 3 days.”
“Has aid arrived?”
“Our branch manager in Baramullah said that they are managing all by themselves. They tried to contact Srinagar but nobody is available…”
“And nobody thought of informing me? Where is Qureshi?”
“Nobody else knows. I got to know so I pulled back all our boys from going that side for the roadshow and cancelled Qureshiji’s speech. He is in the strategy room.”
“Hajan has one government hospital and three small clinics. Now that we are under President’s rule, I doubt the centre will even know about its existence, let alone aid it. Call for all the available core members in the area to strategy room.”
“But I have to go to the bank…”
“It will be safe there for now,” Atharva nodded at his crotch.
“Atharva,” Amaal glowered. “I have three journalists sitting on my head and I am not sending them back again.” He had cancelled yesterday at the last minute and it had taken personal intervention from her to get them to reschedule.
“Fine,” he glowered back and rushed up the stairs. “Typhoid is running rampant along the fringes of our city and you want me to play tea party with three reporters? Fine!”
“Where were you yesterday? I called Iram, even she wasn’t home. Everything fine?”
“Yes.”
“Atharva,” she warned. “Is Iram ok?”
He stopped mid-stair and smiled at her — “Yes. She is ok. She had to get her plaster removed.”
Amaal sensed there was more. Something was wrong. But she nodded.
“Now, tell me about these journalists.” He resumed climbing.
“There are three of them. Shravan Dheer from Kashmir Times, Mariam from Star Kashmir and Zulekha from Lokmat. You have done interviews with Shravan and Zulekha before.”
He paused outside his office door and extended his hand to her. Amaal frowned at it, but set her hand in his. He shook it firmly — “Thank you.” Then he opened the door with his patent ‘Atharva-who-knows-everybody’s-business’ look and beamed at the lot waiting for him — “Hi there, sorry for the delay, guys. Shravan, how is your maa after her knee replacement?”
“Atharvaji, she is very good, you remember?”
“Of course.”
Amaal stood outside as the door pulled shut. She opened her message box and tapped on Samar’s chat.
AMAAL
Are you in Hajan?
No response.
She opened the door.
“…she has to still attend physiotherapy but she is ready to lose weight.”
