Page 164 of The Circle of Exile
“There is a letter. Do you know something about it?”
Azad cleared his throat. “Which letter?”
“A dissent letter.”
“Qureshi bhai brought it to me.”
“And what did you say?”
“Adil bhai… you know the South-Kashmir MLAs have been unhappy for a while. After the way Janab curbed the voices post Usama Aziz’s death, then brought the Indian army… my own people in the constituency are not happy. If I want to get my candidates to win the next municipal election, I have to change my support.”
Adil’s eyes whirled to Atharva’s.
“And you could not bring this to me on your own, Azad?” Atharva asked, firm and solemn.
“Atharva bh…” he cleared his throat. “Janab….”
“How many MLAs?”
“Janab…”
“How many, Azad?”
“Fifteen.”
“What will it take to get them back?”
“I can’t say, Janab…”
“If there is a price for them turning one way, then there is a higher price to turn them back.”
“They turned because of your decision, Janab.”
“Which decision?”
“Indian army. You brought it back to the valley.”
“I spoke to you, and all of them when I did. It was the only way to salvage the rapidly depleting law and order. You agreed. All of you.”
“But it did not end, Janab. And the people are not happy. If Qureshi sahab becomes the CM, it’s a blank slate. Even if the army is not pulled back, they see a new face that they can begin to trust again. The municipal elections will ease for us.”
“You mean this dissent has nothing to do with what’s happening now?”
“No.”
So the vultures from all eras of his life were descending now, when he was weakened. Atharva laughed inside. What had he expected? This was how it was. Why was he shocked? This was how politics was. Samar had done it once. Qureshi was doing it now.
The only difference was, he wasn’t strong enough to thwart it today.
Adil ended the call and three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him. Atharva absorbed the cold waves of the AC, silencing the racing of his heart. This was it. For now, this was it.
“I will resign.”
31. I have resigned…
“I have resigned.”
Iram was on her way to lower Yathaarth into his cot. Her hand tightened on his head. She glanced up and saw the man who hadn’t come home in two days. He was already on his way to the bedside table, emptying his pockets. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Folded papers. He straightened and reached for the top button of his shirt, eyes trained on the bay window as he went on unbuttoning. The Srinagar summer night came and lit up on his face, the moon full and bright tonight. He did not flinch in its light.
