Page 116 of The Circle of Exile
“I had this polished for you.”
She picked the box between her fingers and snapped it open one-handed, holding Yathaarth with the other. Two dangling gold chains were wound on two notches on the velvet bed.
“My Dadi’s ath. I couldn’t find Mama’s. We were supposed to give this to you the day after our wedding but…” grey eyes rose from the box and smiled with a wince. “It’s two and a half years too late.”
“But it made it to me at the end,” she chuckled. “Yamma’s dejhoor are still suspended on those red threads. I’ll wear them today.”
Yathaarth’s palm knocked on the jewellery and she instantly pulled it back — “No, no, no, it’s for girls.”
“You come with me, Dilbaro,” Atharva swooped him up.
“Oh, wait, show me how to change it!” Iram pushed to her feet, straightening her pheran and going to her cupboard in search of her dejhoor.
“How am I supposed to know how to change it?”
“Pundit women know it!”
“Do I look like Pundit women to you?”
Iram craned her neck out of the cupboard door and glared at him, an amused Begumjaan and Amaal standing behind him at their door.
“Go, Atharva. Don’t sit on my head now.”
“I was going anyway,” he turned and stopped short.
“Also, do tell who calls the shots here!” She yelled and saw him shaking with mirth, amusement and mock rage as he left their room.
“Hoo haa,” Ada danced in with her arms out to karate chop. “There’s my DI.”
“Why are you not ready yet?” Amaal went straight for her saree and accessories already stacked on the lounger. “Not pearls, wear gold with this,” she picked up her saree. “It’s your reception saree, right? We can run a picture of that day and this one…”
Iram looked on as she and Ada launched into a whole discussion about full circles and ‘dreamy’ love stories. To bury the PoK debacle, a succession of media stories had been strategically planted for the Chief Minister, starting with his Accession Day parade. Atharva had kick-started the parade this year to commemorate the day of the signing of the Instrument of Accession to India by Maharaja Hari Singh in 1947, holding up the tricolour and encouraging a cultural carnival in Srinagar. That story had been followed by the saffron harvest festival started in Pompore and drummed up across Kashmir, patronised by Atharva for the traders of the valley. It would now be rounded off with his son’s naming ceremony, done in the traditional Indian way.
“Come here, I’ll help you with your ath,” Begumjaan offered. Iram shuffled in their locker and picked out the box of her dejhoor.
“How do you know this, Begumjaan?”
“We all had Pundit friends and neighbours. I had a special liking for dejhoor,” Begumjaan accepted the box and began to pick the small hexagon pieces out of the red threads that hadn’t been touched since her wedding night. “My friend, Godavari, used to wear a spare of her mother’s when we played under tents.”
Iram sat down on the bed as she expertly threaded a dejhoor into one of the gold chains Atharva had gifted her and pushed it through her earlobe piercing — “It’s supposed to be worn here,” she patted the curve in the shell of her ear. “But many wear it in the main piercing too.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Found some video on your YouTube to learn,” Begumjaan fixed one ear and walked around her to do the other.
“No, I mean… with Arth.” Iram eyed her sideways — “I don’t find it in me to even say thank you because it’s so small. And in some strange way, I have come to believe like I have a right over you. Like you taking care of him when I wasn’t here is part of that right. I have never felt like this about anyone except… Yamma.”
“You are too emotional. Stop or you’ll be crying before the ceremony starts.” She finished the fastening, and the long chain dangled down to her shoulder. Begumjaan began to move away when Iram caught her hand.
“You were right.”
“I am right about everything.”
“This land remembers me.”
Begumjaan’s face softened, her smile suddenly bright and a little… watery. She glanced at Ada and Amaal discussing in the background and lowered her voice.
“You are seeing how everything is slowly becoming ok, Dilbaro?”
