Page 207 of The Circle of Exile
“Myani zuv, come, or so help me god.”
She snorted, not even looking at him as she fed Yathaarth. “You’ll what, pick me up and bring me over? There’s no space… aaah!”
He did just that.
“Athafraaaaa!” She squealed as he grabbed her by the waist and tugged her bodily up and on his knee. She shifted, but he held her tight.
“Don’t teach your son all this!” She tried to push back.
“He should learn to always look out for his mother,” Atharva narrowed his eyes. Then, reached out and kissed the open column of her neck. She chin-butted him.
“Oww! You both are out to break my face today.”
“He understands now.”
“Do you, Dilbaro?” Atharva knitted his brows together and gaped at their son. As was expected, Yathaarth began to crawl out of his legs and reached for the plate of his breakfast.
“See? He is hungry! Let him eat in peace. You go.”
“Where should I go?” Atharva leaned back. Iram began to move down but he held her back — “Let him eat on his own. See,” he nudged his chin. Their son was reaching for a piece of roti and trying to stuff it into his mouth.
She laughed — “I have tried, he makes a mess. And he still doesn’t understand that gud is the sweet bit in this combination.”
“Let him make a mess. He will learn soon enough.”
Iram kept gazing at the scene with longing eyes.
“What is it?”
“He will soon be eating on his own.”
Atharva embraced her in his arms and felt her shrink into a small ball. He pushed the hair off her jaw and kissed the shell of her ear. It smelled of saffron and spice today.
“He will still need you, myani zuv.”
“I know. I love it and I miss it. It’s like a recurring thing with his every milestone. Don’t you feel?”
“Hmm,” Atharva smiled, looking at his son reach for a piece of jaggery. He held it like a stone in his palm. Eyed it skeptically. Then brought it to his mouth and licked it. Yathaarth’s eyes widened. Iram gasped.
“Yes, it’s sweet, you like sweet, no, Dilbaro?” She cooed. “What is it? Gud.”
“Guood,” he pronounced right on his first attempt and tried to stuff the whole piece into his mouth. They both lunged and held it off, laughing. Their son looked miffed, ready to cry as Iram pried it from his stubborn fist, brought it to her mouth and snapped it into a smaller piece with her teeth. Pinching it between her fingers, she popped it into his mouth. The crying face was gone.
“Gud, Dilbaro, ask Mama for gud,” Atharva combed his hair back.
“Guood zuv zuv!”
“Yes, gud, here it comes!” Iram held a piece of roti out in front of him, pinched some jaggery onto it, folded it and held it out to his mouth. He quickly gobbled it up.
“You should have Shiva make kesari rob for him.”
“Jaggery and saffron?”
“My Dadi used to make it, then roll it into tiny bullet-sized balls and hand them to me as sweets.”
“It’s a good idea. Winter is coming, saffron and jaggery both are good for the cold…”
Atharva sat back and observed, enjoying every single moment of his son’s breakfast time. He did not know a time as CM when he had this privilege. Maybe Iram was right. If he treated this time as an exile, it would eat him alive. But if he saw this as his time with his family, it would reward him with invaluable memories. And also build his son’s character the way his own was built with his parents’ and grandparents’ quality time.
