Hmm
AMAAL
You and Qureshi are hosting the reception party
What are you planning to wear?
SAMAR
Clothes
She went offline. And in spite of the gloom of the day to come, Samar found his mouth twitching. The plane taxied to the terminal, and everybody was already up on their feet.
His mobile went off. Nasir, his informant outside the Awaami office.
“Yes?”
“Some legal documents are being prepared with Atharva Kaul’s name on it.”
“What documents?”
“I wasn’t there at the shop. My boy xeroxed it. He didn’t understand anything.”
“Were they stamp papers?”
“No. Not stamp papers.”
“Ok.”
Samar ended the call and thought about it, getting to his feet. The line moved, and he moved with it, thinking hard. The voting was over in all of Kashmir. Everything was sealed and done for half of the state. What would Sayyid Butt do now before Jammu? What would turn Jammu away from Atharva and eliminate him all at once?
Atharva’s life was definitely not in danger if legal documents were floating with his name on them. But it was his wedding day and this was floating. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
Legal documents meant two end goals — either the court or the police station. Without thinking, Samar pressed his first Favourites contact. Faris cut the call on the first ring.Fuck you! Show some loyalty.
He opened his chat to tell him the same thing when his mobile rang. A landline number.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
Samar gritted his teeth but understood Faris’s constraints. Atharva was really taking the expertise out of this militia by taking it into his clean hands.
“I am texting you some details,” Samar said, cognisant of the ears around him. “Research and find out what’s going on in the next hour.”
“That urgent?”
“It’s an emergency…”
“Tell me about it!” A businessman rolled his eyes in front of him as he exited his seat, mobile to his ear. Samar returned his exasperated smile with a nod of his own. He adjusted his specs and looked down at himself. Formal shirt, formal pants, face shaven clean, tamed appearance. Who could guess what he was capable of?
“Namaste. Thank you for flying Air India, welcome to Srinagar,” the air hostess folded her hands. Samar walked out into the bright spring Srinagar morning. What a day to return.
————————————————————
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he intoned, stepping out of his cab and taking the outstretched hand of Rashid Ali. He was the President of Awaami Party, reduced to nothing as soon his master, CM Mohsin Sheikh, had died. He was now President in name only. Sayyid Butt and Sufiyaan Sheikh had all but hijacked the party.
“I was curious when you sent this location.” Rashid Ali smirked, glancing around him at the deserted stretch of road behind Hari Parbat.
