She grinned, turned on her heel, and marched to the set-up on her Media counter. She didn’t turn this time, but also couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.
————————————————————
Amaal was in a weird state — bummed, having knowledge of the count not touching the majority mark, but also excited for it to cross 30. The prize didn’t matter. Samar’s promise did. She climbed up on podiums and stones and poles to get her shots, panned her phone around for videos across the ground until her own head was dazed, clapped with the troop for blocks won and made frustrated noises with blocks lost.
Samar was nowhere to be found on the ground. She didn't bother going after him. He was like a ghost. Here one moment, gone the next. She had stopped tracking him or chasing him. He permeated walls.
“KDP ki tally ho gayi 31.[65]”
With the round of applause that went up, Amaal cheered the loudest, holding both hands up and clapping until her palms were sore. She was grinning, pulling Suchi close for a tight squeeze in the side, unable to stop jumping as the troop kept hooting.
“What a win! What a win!”
“Seven more to go, Amaal, relax!” Somebody hollered.
“We are still close!” She reiterated, preparing the crowd for whatever was to come. All that came from here on out was bonus. And her prize was guaranteed.
Where was the rewarding agent, though? She panned her head casually, checking if he had returned. And there he was, climbing down the building stairs with Varun, their phones open in front of them, talking.
A loud disappointed jeer made their heads whirl up and Samar’s eyes came to her, as if she was the only one here. He stared for a second, and she held her hands up —thirty-one, she mimed with her fingers over her head, thumping her shoulders, grinning. His mouth spread slightly, and she saw his chest shake. And then his attention was taken by the candidates and members coming around him, clapping. Samar clapped with them, glancing at Varun.
“Yeh KDP waale Awaamion ka singhasan khali kara kar chodenge![66]” A reporter laughed on TV, just as Amaal saw a news channel van driving into their gate. She had run her round of calls last night to invite all local channels. They had all been sweet and given her the standard — “We will be around.”
Now that the result was coming close, Amaal smirked, seeing a second van follow, reporters and cameramen disembark. Somebody had called a dholwala, and the moment he saw cameras, he struck his dhol. Jammu’s men didn’t need another invitation. And even before the result had drawn to its full conclusion, they broke into bhangra.
“Should we take all this?” Rupesh, one of the junior college volunteers, came running to her, his mobile in hand.
“Go, go, take it.”
Amaal hung back, checking the projection on the white screen.
KDP was stuck at 32, the last seat to be decided. Even if they won it, they would still fall four short of a majority. Amaal huffed, seeing the Jammu KDP still dancing. And she suddenly realised that victory for them was not measured in majority today but in tearing through a bastion that had seemed impenetrable only six months ago. From 5 seats to 33.
Her eyes searched for Samar again. He was again nowhere to be found, Varun leading the charge with the reporters.
Amaal rolled her eyes. At this rate, Samar would never be able to establish himself as a major leader of KDP. She would have to do the pushing.
————————————————————
That night, Amaal saw the craziest kind of victory celebration — dhols, booze, bhangra and video games. There were about fifty of them, the closest associates and members. And everybody was huddled around the white screen, more attentive than when the results had been announced this morning.
“Mar, mar, mar![67]” They cheered on as one of the two players fighting for the girl fell down. Varun set his controller down, accepting defeat from their younger member. Everybody broke into hooting applause.
“My turn, my turn!” Amaal clapped, tearing through the crowd and picking up the controller Varun had abandoned. It was first come first serve. Somebody came to grab the second controller when Samar stepped out of the building, file in hand, looking exhausted under the bright floodlights of the tent.
“Samar Bhaiya! Aa jaaii![68]”
“Tum log khelo.[69]” He continued walking into the office without even stopping.
“Dar gaye.[70]” Amaal hollered. And the dholwala was a fearless fellow, because he drummed up a high beat. People cheered behind her, making her beam, holding her hand up with the controller. “Aa jaaii,Samar Bhaiya,” she stressed. “Ab toh izzat par aai hai.[71]”
Samar went inside the office, unperturbed. Silence settled. Amaal began to lower her arm when his face appeared, the file gone from his hand. The dhol beat picked up. And he marched purposefully towards them. The dholwala rended the air, beating it hard. And the space was deafened with cheers.
“Je baat![72]” She hollered, lowering herself on one of the plastic chairs in front of the screen. People moved away as Samar marched through and into the tight circle. He accepted the controller from the junior member and sat down on the plastic chair next to her.
“Ready?”
“Ready!” Amaal gestured for those behind her to start cheering. They didn’t disappoint, her fans as they were, and drunk on pints of cheap beer.
