“No.” He pushed his shoe over the stain and opened the paper bag.
“When the result comes positive,” he held a yellow strip up. “Take this Lariago once a day, with this for acidity.” He held up another strip. “Do not stop taking your typhoid antibiotics now. Complete that course. Drink milk twice a day, eat more than you normally would for meals. Keep yourself full. Don’t worry about nausea, it only attacks on empty stomach.”
“You are sure the result will be positive.”
“Yes.”
“If it doesn’t, this medicine will go to waste.” She lay her head back on his seat, giggling. The fever was now reaching its peak.
“It’s seventeen rupees. Not a big deal. Return it to me if your test comes negative.”
“Hmm?” She cocked her head and hung it there. “What will you do with it?”
“Give it to somebody who needs it but can’t afford it.”
Her mouth split into a smile.
“Hold it.” He pressed the paper bag into her hand and merged with the traffic. Srinagar was usually pretty easy to drive through, but some lanes did become tighter on weekdays at dusk. Nehru Chowk was tight. It took them double the time to reach back. By the time he helped her up to her flat at a snail’s pace, the night had set completely, leaving the corridor outside her flat freezing. He rang the doorbell. Nobody came.
He raised his hand to ring it again, but she caught his sleeve. Samar stared at her.
“Don’t ring again,” she whispered. “Jameela aunty is anyway conscious about her slow movements after the accident. Don’t make her feel more conscious.”
He took his sleeve out of her fingers, but did not ring the bell again. The door pulled open a minute later, and the older woman was balancing a vibrating hand on her walking stick.
“What happened?” She asked. “What is it?”
“The result should come in some time, or tomorrow.” Samar stepped back to let Amaal enter. His mobile buzzed in his pocket. He held the door as she walked inside her flat and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello? Am I talking to Dr. Samar Dixit?”
“Yes?”
“This is Karanjit from Apollo.”
“Yes.”
“Amaal Durrani’s result is positive. The report is being typed. I thought I must inform you.”
“Thank you.”
“It will be in your inbox in the next hour.”
Samar ended the call. “It’s positive,” he pronounced to the girl who was still trying to get out of her shoes. Her shoulders stiffened.
“Start Lariago.”
“Beta,” her aunty came to the door. “Sit with us, have dinner.”
“Thank you. Another time,” he parroted, stepped back and left the flat.
6. Badamwari Bloom was the real paradise on earth…
Badamwari Bloom was the real paradise on earth — pink, blossoming, and swaying in the wind like a wave of Kashmir’s goose pimples. Amaal tamped her hair down and tied it in a bun at the base of her neck, tucking stray locks behind her ear as the commotion, hustle and bustle of the KDP volunteers and locals went on behind her. She ought to have been nervous this morning. She ought to have had a sleepless night. She hadn’t. Her malaria and typhoid medications had been lulling her into 18 hours of sleep all of Friday and Saturday. And now, here she was.
This event was an expensive one. It was also one that she knew was looked down upon by some KDP leaders. One of them was the doctor who had treated her, then refused to pick up her phone when she had called him to inform him of her progress and thank him for his intervention.
A line of children squealed, running around her and down the line of almond trees that were heavy with powder pink blossoms. She smiled at them. The flowers had already started to fall and carpet the grassland, making this a literal paradise. Japanese cherry blossom, what? This was the Kashmiri almond blossom season. Kawai, cute, and the source of great joy to whoever soaked in the sight.
