“The cook made it.”
“She doesn’t know how to make soup.”
“I showed her a YouTube video.”
“Is this sorry soup?”
He shrugged.
Amaal’s eyes shone a little lighter. “Which soup?”
“Minestrone.”
She glanced at the clock — “It’s about to be morning.”
“Soup and pepper for breakfast opens all sinuses.” He tapped the space where her dimple would be if she smiled. She smiled, and dented his finger in, her head going limp on his shoulder.
“Go and dry yourself. Change. Eat quickly and sleep. What time do you have to go tomorrow?”
“As early as possible,” she yawned.
“Then come on, dinner and breakfast in one meal, have coffee in the morning and go.”
She nodded. Samar pushed her up to her feet and led her to the bathroom as he himself turned to the kitchen. Long days and longer nights awaited them. He just hoped he found something to do in between those. And kept his head and tongue steady for her.
He checked his mobile. Atharva hadn’t reverted.
48. Amaal stood on the tarmac…
Amaal stood on the tarmac, the lights around her turning on as the moment of arrival came nearer. The wind was biting, the air thin at this height. She glanced around — nothing but dark, even on this small base.
“All the officers here,” she said to Captain Husain standing beside her. “They know Iram is coming on the plane. Won’t that be a problem?”
He shook his head, standing with his feet apart, hands behind his back. He was Atharva’s most trusted man. She had driven with him from Srinagar to Kargil last evening, and he had not spoken more than five words to her on the way. If she hadn’t been working and constantly on calls, she would have gone mad. It reminded her of the old days of Samar, and some of the current days too.
It wasn’t as if Samar didn’t talk. But he went through rotations of sweetness and care with tender words and gruff words that suddenly made her startle. She could never expect one kind of behaviour from him nowadays. But it was still early days in his recovery. She wouldn’t worry about it yet.
The walkie-talkie at Captain Husain’s hip made noises. He grabbed it and listened. Spoke some military jargon, then listened again.
“They are landing in 5.” He set it back. Amaal’s heart began to thump. This was it. Finally. Once Iram touched Indian soil, she was safe. It had all come to this. The last month had been a nail-biting thriller that had turned into horror last afternoon.
Atharva had made enemies out of every ally of his by accepting a doctored invitation from the Azad University of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir, using favours and political manoeuvres to get clearances from the Union Home Ministry, Foreign Affairs and Defence. He obtained the clearances and flew out with Begumjaan and Yathaarth immediately, leaving behind a simmering tension. Kashmir was still burning over an undercurrent of anger towards the CM who had let the ‘martyr’ Usama Aziz be killed, and let the Indian army in again to control the depleting law and order. Their trust in Atharva was shaking, as the pseudo-liberal human rights narratives painted him as the military dictator who was the biggest mistake of Kashmiris. From a developmental hero, he was suddenly the Pundit again.
As his Press Secretary, she had done everything in her power to counter those narratives. But she hadn’t been able to control them. The damage was done, and was now eating into their government’s two good years and countless great policies with high tempers and swaying emotions.
In all of this, his trip to PoK had come as the final nail in the coffin. Or that’s what she had thought when Atharva had departed India yesterday morning. Until, yesterday afternoon, when she had been informed that he had been targeted with a missile outside a mosque in Nagar. And the martyr had gone and silenced the entire attack to the point of altering the note of his tour. Not even the Home Ministry of India had been informed.
Amaal dreaded the repercussions.
He had come out unscathed for now, physically, but this was going to come to haunt them. Sooner or later, it would.
A tiny light flickered in the dark sky, and she saw it descend. Amaal breathed in the suddenly crackling icy air. The hiss of the plane became louder.
Iram was found. And for Atharva, that had offset everything else. For Amaal, it had to be a balance between the emotions of this heightened moment and the optics of this government. Moreover, she wasn’t going to be swayed so easily. She had many bones to pick with Iram. How could somebody just walk away like that?
Amaal saw the plane descend, knowing she would find Iram alone on it. It was a plane off radar, purposefully sent from a blacked-out airstrip in PoK to this small installation in Kargil. She didn’t have papers to chronicle her departure to justify her arrival. She was alone, having just met her son for the first time. That is why Amaal was here. In spite of her anger and the hundred things she wanted to unleash on Iram, Amaal was here to first and foremost take her home.
The plane landed with a loud roar and taxied on the short strip, the white body gleaming closer and closer until it came to a halt in front of them.
