“Then sit somewhere.”
He helped her to one of the many, many empty chairs at the back, because everybody was huddled around the game. She had a splendid view of the screen from here, the game going on in full swing. The violence, top-notch. Something pressed into her hand, and she felt the small plastic glass of water with a straw inserted. Amaal pushed it into her mouth and sipped, raising her eyes to the man who had gotten it. His chin tipped, and he began to move away. She caught his wrist — “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back.”
Samar left her there, with the promise of a return. And strangely, in the year that she had been with him,aroundhim, she corrected, she had discovered that he spoke very few words, but kept each and every one of them. She turned to see where he had gone, but he had again vanished into thin air. Amaal got to her feet, everything stable after the water. Some clean night air would make it even better.
She walked out of the tent, the warm air inside cooling down to the October night of Jammu. The premonition of winter was heavy in the scent of the night, the crispness reminding her of London’s autumn. She had been cut off from London for a long time. In the last week, she had also been cut off from Mom and Dad. Their messages still popped up, but she had been unable to reply to them more than once a day. The last leg of the election had been draining. She patted her pocket to message them now, then realised it was with Suchi.
Amaal took a deep breath, feeling like hardly any time had passed since she had taken this job with KDP. Today, 10 months after joining, she hardly called it a job. She had amalgamated so seamlessly here that… life with another party, another leader, another company looked impossible. She knew she would have to jump if she wanted to grow. But that was for the future. Right now, she was just 24, still picking up the tricks of the trade, enjoying herself, planning her future house in Srinagar, being with decent people in this dirty field…
“Hoye!”
She jolted out of her thoughts, squinting in the dark. Sounds of a scuffle came from somewhere. Leaves rustling. Something thumped. The noise behind her was background noise now. Amaal took quick steps towards the main gate, crossing her arms across her chest. It was deserted.
“… apne Atharva Kaul ko bol dena, yaha jor laga liya hai, Kashmir mein yeh kiya na toh usko zinda jala denge waha.[75]”
Amaal rounded the pillar of the gate and gasped. A man, in the dark, as tall as Samar, was trying to pin him to the wall with his forearm. Samar knocked his knee into his stomach and decapacitated him. He doubled over, roared, and charged forward.
“What is happening here?!” Amaal yelled, walking out of the gate. “I am calling the Police.”
“Ae, Police, andar jaa.[76]” The man began to advance on her, but Samar was quicker, pushing her behind himself with one hand while grabbing his throat with the other. His face came under the streetlight and Amaal gasped. He was from Awaami. She had seen him. He was their Jammu Youth Leader.
Samar did something to his throat, and his flailing arms suddenly fell to his sides.
“Ab nikal.[77]” Samar shoved him so hard that he stumbled a dozen steps back. “Go inside,” he told her.
“I am here.”
“Go. Inside.”
His voice was low, but his tone was menacing. Amaal stumbled back a few steps too, enough to leave his peripheral vision. She did not run inside, though. She stood just at the edge of the gate, out of their sight.
“Tum ch****o ko Sufiyaan Bhaijaan hi theek karenge. Tum keede makode ho unke liye. JMC mein jo haath-pair maarne hai maar lo. Aur kuch nahi milna tumko.[78]”
Samar stood there, silent. The man kept ranting, kept abusing, and his voice went fainter and fainter, until it was gone. The silence of the night fell here too, the crickets suddenly too shrill. Amaal realised her own body was heated, her heart racing, her spine tingling. She stood still, waiting for Samar to come back inside. He did not come. He leaned back on the wall, one leg folding to rest his shoe on the wall. His head fell back, his eyes closed, and he mimed a cigarette between his right hand fingers. He brought them to his lips, took a puff, then released. His chest rose and fell in quick succession, then relaxed. A sigh escaped his lips in the mime of smoke.
Amaal felt like a voyeur again, seeing something she was not supposed to see, being a part of something so intimate. But she couldn’t help it.
He took two more mime puffs, then straightened. His eyes popped open, and he again leaned back on the wall, crossing his arms across his chest, staring into the dark distance of the road.
She stood there with him, across the wall. Minutes passed. He did not move. Just kept staring at the road.
Finally, her patience wore out, and she stepped around the gate and back out. His head turned. Dark eyes met hers, and she gasped. They were red in rage, yes, but there were finger marks on his throat.
“What did he do!” She sprinted to him and grasped the side of his neck without thinking. He pulled it out of her hold, stepping away from her. It burned, but she stood her ground.
His face bent, close to her face, his expression menacing. “Do not listen to me again, and I will personally fire you.”
It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t cute, it wasn’t even hot. It was terrifying. Because he meant it.
“Sa…”
He straightened and turned his back to her, silent again. Dismissive.
“Who was he?”
No answer.
