Page 229 of The Circle of Exile
“My buaji and her family.”
Atharva stared stunned for a second. Then quickly blinked out.
“The rest of you,” he mobilised. “All the packs here are tagged with essentials inside them. Carry them up to the high ground. Where is your village sheltering?”
“In our Jagdish Mandir at the peak.”
“Then take this all up. Do you have a team there to sort and distribute?”
“Yes, sir,” Vikram supplied. “I set them up and came down when I knew it was your time to arrive.”
“Good. Take this.” Atharva stepped aside and they emptied the car in a minute, backs laden. Atharva, Vikram and Samar covered the rucksacks and packs with plastic. With torches and sticks, the men set off into the deluge outside.
“Vikram,” Atharva stopped him from following his men. He turned.
“Not the time for it, but are you and that family at odds?”
“No. I was supposed to go to eat today to their hut.”
Atharva gave a nod. He reached into the lone pack left in the dickey and pulled out his windcheater. “Let’s go, Jagga. Are you ready?”
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Rain blinded his eyes, pelting even over the hood of his windcheater that he had pulled low. He stood on the mid-high ground with Vikram and Samar, eyes on the shiny orange band that was dipping and rising out of the water as Jagga returned home. There was nothing but water. As far as the eye could see.
“Could you spot them from here earlier?” Atharva inquired.
“At noon, we could. Now nothing is visible. The rain has also become harder,” Vikram relayed.
Atharva checked his watch. It was just past five. It looked like it was dusk. The reflector band came closer and closer and washed ashore on a ridge below them. Jagga sprang up and sprinted, the GoPro set on his head.
“Si…” he panted, reaching them. “Only six… couldn't see Dharmi Chacha…” he doubled over, holding his knees. Atharva and Samar caught him and helped him turn his head over, relieve any water from his system. Although, with the rain pelting like this, what was even the point?
“Let’s see,” Atharva unstrapped the GoPro and ran to the small makeshift shed they had set up. His laptop looked half-damp even when it was untouched by water. He quickly connected and loaded the files. Hit play.
He could feel movement behind him but his eyes were zeroed in on the footage. Water. Only water. Waves. And then something. He hit the spacebar and zoomed. The roof. Figures on it, hands raised. He counted. Six.
Atharva hit play and it resumed. Waves again. Water. The bedrock that was plain flatland. And then the sky. The roof again. He hit pause.
“There,” he pointed, zooming in. A figure was passed out among the six standing ones. Not sleeping. Passed out in the rain.
“That looks like Dharmi Fufa,” Vikram confirmed his suspicion.
“Does he have any co-morbidities?”
His face screwed in confusion.
“Like diabetes or BP?”
“Asthma!”
Atharva’s eyes met Samar’s. The wind was cold. The water was never-ending. Samar pulled his satellite phone and began to dial. No answer.
“Where the fuck is Adil?!”
“Listen,” Atharva caught his shoulder. “Let’s assume no help is coming at this point. Take your kit and get on a raft. I’ll inflate it. Take Jagga with you to navigate.”
“Good idea.”
