Page 231 of The Circle of Exile
“Idhar aa jao[55],” he held his arms out and the three kids were passed over one by one. He set them inside the raft and tightened the knots.
“Inko kya hua?[56]” He asked, leaning down and lifting the old man lying between two of his relatives, half sitting in neck-deep water. He was breathing hard, passed out.
“Dum aaya, phir yeh so gaye. Saari dawai ghar pe hai…[57]” the only woman in the group informed, panicked. Atharva reached inside the rucksack and pulled out the medical kit. He kept talking to her, inquiring what were his symptoms, what had he eaten,the name of his medicine. She didn’t know the latter but Samar had given Atharva enough to figure out a temporary solution.
As he helped the man, Dharmi Chacha, with a pump, the children looked on wide-eyed, lost. One of them was Yathaarth’s age. He left the man in his wife’s care as the pump was working its magic, and leaned into the rucksack, pulling out the chocolate biscuits that Iram had packed. Thank god for her wholesale shopping mentality because this was a family pack. He tore the pack open and handed out the now soggy biscuits to the kids. The tiniest one couldn't even hold it. She was so small and shivering. Atharva held her shoulder and fed it to her. She grabbed his hand in both her tiny ones like he would snatch it away and kept gobbling. He met her eyes and smiled, patting her head and holding his hand steady until she had worked through the biscuit. He grabbed another and she smiled this time, not holding onto his hand as he fed her.
“Hum gaaon naav par jaayenge?[58]” The man coughed up, wheezing.
“Yeh raft chhota hai. Sab isspar nahi aayenge. Hum airlift ka wait karenge, Chacha.[59]”
He clawed his hair back, glancing around himself. The water was only rising. Atharva saw what he did not say out loud. A half hour more and it would wash over what little was left of the roof. Atharva did not panic yet. He grabbed the bags of apples and biscuits and passed them around, reaching inside for bottles of water.
As the family settled into eating, he grabbed his ham radio and tuned in. The static was loud. He couldn’t make out the voices.
“Samar…”
“Samar, over.”
“Patient stable. Family of seven. Four adults, three children. Call NDRF. We need airlift ASAP. Water level rising…”
“Atharva?”
“Can you hear me? Over.”
“Repeat.”
“Repeating — Patient stable. Family of seven. Four adults, three children. Call NDRF. We need airlift. WE NEED AIRLIFT. Water level rising. 30 mins to wash out.”
“Srinagar is…”
“Forget Srinagar, call NDRF. Now!”
The water was lapping up to the woman’s chin now. Atharva chucked the radio and grabbed her, calculating how to make her balance inside the raft that already looked heavy.
“Mera sahara leke upar chadhiye[60],” he gave her his shoulder. She stepped up and hung herself on the lip of the raft. Atharva held her there and shuffled the children, distributing them around. The raft began to sink. They screamed.
He pulled the woman out.
“Aap mere kandhe aur naav ke beech mein rahiye. Sahara mera lijiye, lekin naav ko pakad ke rakhiye. Hmm?[61]”
“Hmm…” she nodded, following his order. Atharva stabilised her before reaching for the radio again. He was about to tune in when the loud whirrs of a rotor blade tore through the deluge of rain. They all looked up in unison and there was the bird. Atharva couldn’t make out the colours in the dark and rain. It was coming closer and closer, the wind storming around them. He held the raft tight and pulled the men close, latching them onto the raft too.
It began to sink again and he held tighter, leveraging the oar as the fulcrum.
“Pakad ke rakho, sab log![62]” He ordered, grabbing the tiniest girl and pulling her on his shoulder, his voice coming out stronger. The chopper came closer and light shone on them. The beacon of red on his raft shone brighter. Atharva waved the hand with the band. And the chopper descended.
Rope ladder fell. Atharva glanced up.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” Captain Husain yelled, sliding down.
“Took you long enough,” Atharva handed the eldest child. She climbed like her life depended on it and the younger one followed, motivated. He then pushed the woman up.
“Krishnaa,” she began to reach for the tiny girl still clutched in Atharva’s arm.
“Aap jaaiye, main lata hoon[63],” he commanded. The girl in his arm wasn't even wary. She was latched onto him like a limpet. The woman went hesitatingly, followed by the men. And as soon as they were all climbing, Atharva grabbed the rucksack on his other shoulder and took Captain Husain’s help in getting a boost to the ladder. With both his arms full, he let the Captain push him up until they stumbled into the dry body of the chopper. The girl from his arm fell into the lap of somebody. The rucksack soaked on the floor. And with Captain Husain still half hanging out, the chopper turned and cleaved the clouds, wind and the night.
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