Page 23 of The Circle of Exile
OTP extended the phone to him. Atharva froze inside, even as his hand closed around the small, heavy metallic object. He brought it close to his face, his eyes blurring more than usual at this distance. They went out of focus and the pixelated picture became a blur. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled on his glasses, hoping the trembling of his hand was a feeling and not a visual.
The fog cleared and he saw his wife’s face after four months. He wanted to cry but he returned the phone. Nodded. Her, in a deep green pheran, dupatta veiling her head, the covering from her jaw slipped just enough for the picture to capture her face. He had seen everything around her — the brilliant orange tree, the embankment under it, the women sitting down, another woman wearing a rich pheran like hers, talking, some others standing behind them, security bubbled. Armed security — a mix of Pakistani army and local men.
“When was this taken?” He hardened his voice.
“Yesterday, Janab. Here in Nagarkhas.”
“Are there any engagements like this today?”
“No, Janab. They are returning to Soni’s house in Sikardarabad.”
“We will be in the palace between 11 and 12 today. Find out where they are at that time.”
“Soni’s daughter plays in the garden and they all get together there with village women to talk. That’s what they have been doing this past week.”
“Map?”
OTP drew his phone back, clicked the old-school buttons on his keypad and turned his phone back. Another image, this was not so blurry. It was that of a garden, now carpeted in red and maroon leaves, the pillars high around it, a stone fountain half-broken. Bench seats and small stone stools to a side signified an age-old place where royal women must have held court.
Fahad snapped a picture of it.
“Next.”
OTP clicked next and there was a map of the palace. Atharva opened his camera and snapped a picture too this time. If Fahad and Altaf failed, he would have to do it. Because he wasn’t leaving that palace without her hand in his. Especially not now that he knew she was leaving for another town, where he wouldn’t be able to reach her with his engagements starting tomorrow.
“I can send a message to her if you want,” OTP offered. “I have some people inside.”
“No.”
He wasn’t sure what alias she was using here, or if she had even informed her siblings about her identity. Moreover, he wasn’t sure she would remain in the palace if she knew he was coming. She had run a deceptively clear path from his home in Srinagar to this palace in Nagar. He didn’t doubt her capacity to escape him yet again.
“I want another driver, Fahad,” Atharva commanded.
“Already been arranged. OTP got him.”
“Is he reliable?”
“Ji, Janab. My brother, HTP. Haroon Tariq Pasha.”
“He knows?”
“Ji, Janab. Only he knows. He will not betray you. Your Dadijaan’s Abbajaan gave our family not only food but a roof and work here. The house we live in was yours. My parents, my uncles and my grandparents have always been indebted to your family.”
Atharva nodded.
“Would you like me to do anything else, Janab?”
He paused. Then. “Do they make dum aloo here?”
“Ji Janab?”
“Dum aloo.”
“Uh… I will have to check with the chef. It’s not on the menu.”
Atharva didn’t flinch when he ordered — “Have them make it for lunch.”
If OTP thought he was crazy, he didn’t voice it out loud. Fahad looked at him like he was going crazy but held his tongue.
