“Quiet,” he warned. “He is sleeping.”
She winced, glancing at the door to the observatory.Sorry.
“I heard you both talking right now, you know?”
Samar smiled self-consciously. “I don’t know what Atharva was thinking telling me to not disturb him.”
“You didn’t enjoy with Arth?”
“I did, surprisingly a lot.” His eyes came to her. “But I am still at a loss as to what to censor from him. I haven’t talked to children unattended.”
“From what little I heard, I think you censored well.”
“Hmm?” He tugged a lock of her hair. “Always eavesdropping on my conversations, Amaal.”
“You come and have them outside my window, what do you expect?”
“Today you came up to my tower.”
“Because you left the door open for me.”
“And why is that?”
“Why?”
“Because you breached me, you damn Trojan Horse.” He grabbed her head, tilted it and stamped his mouth on her neck. She giggled, pushing her fingers into his hair. Bolstered by her sounds, he nipped at the skin, holding his palm over her mouth. Amaal sputtered on his skin but also felt heightened, through every sense. Her hand went to palm him when a sound upstairs broke them apart.
“Amaal…” Yathaarth’s sleepy voice preceded his tiny frame, dragging a blanket behind him. “This boys seepover…”
She began to rise to go and get him but Samar was already on his toes, taking the steps two at a time and picking him up before he stepped on a stair with one eye closed.
“Back to sleep…” Samar began to turn.
“No… Amaal!” He strained to come down. Samar turned, debated for a second, then climbed down to settle beside her, wrapping the blanket around Yathaarth’s body. He cosied up on Samar’s chest and squinty grey eyes frowned at her. Amaal kissed his pudgy little chin — “Oh, baby, who woke you up?”
“Dis guy.” He pointed up. They burst out laughing.
“This guy, huh?” She nuzzled his nose, making his sleepy mouth smile. “This guy disturbs everyone.”
“You can’t tell your Baba, but.”
“Samar.” She glared at him.
What?He mouthed.
“He is a baby.” She held back her laughter, looking down at Yathaarth, who was already half asleep again, dozing on Samar’s chest. “And asleep.” Samar pushed his chin down and followed her gaze. A line of drool fell down the side of his mouth and into Samar’s kurta. And Amaal knew she was marrying the father of her baby when he used the hem of that kurta to gently wipe the rest of the drool off his mouth and lay him in his lap. She lay her head on the open side of his chest, and found his arm wrap around her neck and squeeze.
“I hope we have this.” She whispered.
“We will.”
61. Samar donned the koti…
Samar donned the koti from his garment bag and stepped out of the back of the party Innova.
“Aadhe ghante mein airport nikalna hai, zyada andar park mat karna.[209]” He told the driver and shut the door. Delhi’s heat hit his face and his already melted skin as he began buttoning up the jet black koti over his blinding white kurta and pyjama, both hand-stitched and custom-made. He ran a hand through his hair and strode down the parking lot towards the Election Commission of India Headquarters. The tricolour fluttered high over the building, and a chant from a life long passed blew into his ears.
Vande! Mataram. Vande! Mataram.
