Samar pushed open the door and strode inside, seeing the ECI Secretary coming to his feet.
“Hello, Dr. Dixit. Congratulations.”
Samar shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. The papers have been submitted.”
“They have been accepted for consideration. Approval of party name and registration will be communicated to you within 30 working days.”
They shook hands again as a photographer asked them to pose for photos. The members all stood with them, and then he had one as the President of National Development Party.
“Badhai ho, Bhaiya,” Hariraj took his hand. Samar smiled, nodding, as members came to congratulate him one by one. Atharva hung back, waiting his turn. Samar waited for him. When everybody had finished, and Atharva took two steps, Samar opened his hand for a shake. But Atharva’s hand closed in a fist and his face split into a grin. Samar laughed, fisting his hand and bumping.
In a second, Atharva had pulled him into an embrace. He thumped him on the back, and Samar thumped back.
“Pave the way now.” He muttered in his ear. Samar smiled, pulling away. “You show us the way first.”
Atharva chuckled, slapping his shoulder. “Out you go to the waiting media,” he pointed at the fanfare rolled out on the main gate on the other side. Cameras, journalists, vans. For a ‘new’ party, this was too much. But again, they weren’t new.
“You are not coming, Atharvaji?” Hariraj asked.
“I have some work.” Atharva smiled, his constraints not hidden from anyone but not noticeable either. Samar knew it. Atharva’s life was in the shadows. For now, he hoped.
“Have fun.” Samar tipped his chin.
“My money.” Noora’s voice whispered in his ear. Samar whirled his head and he cowered back, scuttling away. Samar nodded at Atharva and began to turn.
“Samar?”
“Hmm?” He stopped.
“To spot Arundhati, first identify Saptarishi. You know that already, so move to the handle. The third star on the handle is Vashishth. Once you spot Vashishth, look to its north. The star that won’t be as bright but will be very close to it will be Arundhati.”
Samar stared at him, speechless.
Atharva turned and walked away without saying anything more.
————————————————————
Amaal waited.
With bated breath and impatient eyes, she waited on the doorstep of her new house.
The construction had been halted for a day, the site a hazard everywhere but the verandah.
“Amaal, come and sit here.” Her mother chided, pointing to the chairs on the verandah.
“I’m good here,” she muttered, eyes on the open gate.
The garden to her left opened up the verandah into the porch, but the garden itself was bare yet. The only parts green were the apple trees, brightened up after the heavy showers of June and July in Srinagar. This had turned out to be a thankfully dry but warm August day. Amaal rolled her eyes and looked at the ceiling of her threshold. Her mother had put up a garland of orange-yellow gulmohars, the heavy sweet scent billowing on the breeze. Amaal glanced back at the interiors — all blocks of wood, sanmica, silicones, implements. Paths were cleared to walk, but it was still a hazard.
An unbidden smile touched her mouth. It washerhazard.
This house had taken longer than she had expected to close, but finally it had become hers. There was a loan, but there was an entire life to spend here as she repaid it.
“Amaal, you are sweating, don’t stand there in the sun.” Mom’s loud scold made her startle. And she realised she was standing directly under the sun’s glare. “Sun and sweat is not good for the jewellery.”
She moved back from the sun’s direct rays, glancing down at the cherry red couture saree and temple jewellery that had all been set in place a long hour ago in wait. She pushed the mane of her smoothened hair behind her ears. A honk reverberated. And she glanced up like she had at every honk for the last hour. And froze.
The door of a party Innova opened and out stepped Samar. Her feet moved back into the sun, unable to hold still now when they had held steady in wait for so long. Her heart rose to her mouth, and began to sing. Because he wore a koti. Not just any koti. It was jet black, custom, moulded to his lean torso, his arms more muscled than they had ever been. She trailed her gaze up, and his eyes were already on her, smiling through the sun’s glare on his specs. Amaal held her breath, suspended in some space between lungs and mouth — waiting, flustered, floundering.
