Page 270 of The Circle of Exile
She nodded her thanks. Iram did not wait for her son to settle. His father was here and he would settle him. She needed this done. She whirled on the balls of her feet and walked inside the bathroom. She clicked the door shut and turned the lock.Phew.
Iram turned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She did not have time to think or prepare herself for what was to come. The clock above showed it was already 11.40. His meeting was at 12.
She zipped open her purse and pulled out the three tests.
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Iram unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. Only to find him gone.
“Where is Atharva?”
“Yogesh Patel came out,” Noora informed, throwing a tiny 100 ml water bottle at Yathaarth as they both sat on the floor playing catch.
“When?” Iram strode to the door and pulled it open. A guard was standing there and his eyes immediately cut to her.
“Five minutes ago.”
Iram gaped at the empty Parliament corridor, its gleaming floors reflecting the sun streaming in from the slits of windows. She checked right, then left. He was gone.
“No,” she muttered under her breath.
“What?” Noora asked.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“No,” she smiled at the guard. “Thank you.”
Iram stepped back inside and closed the door. Her eyes whirled to the clock. It was just 11.55. Yogesh Patel had stepped out early for Atharva? She began to reach for her mobile to call him but stopped. She wasn’t his impulsive girlfriend anymore. She didn’t expect him to answer when he was in a meeting this big. Neither did it suit her stature as his wife to call him in the first place.
Trusting in the timing of it all, Iram waited.
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At 12.25 dot, the door opened and Atharva stepped in. That wasn’t too long, Iram frowned. Was he going back in?
“Is it done?” She asked, getting to her feet.
“Yes. Come.”
This version of her husband had made an appearance after a long time. His face was stoic, devoid of any emotion. His stance was tight, all military. His eyes were… different. She did not question him on anything as Noora and she quickly packed up the mess Yathaarth had made in such a short while.
“Do you have everything?” Atharva asked one last time. She checked, then nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Iram walked behind him, eyeing the solid set of his shoulders, wide and muscled, and rigid. They walked down the alley and portraits of Indian political leaders lined their way. Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Ambedkar. She had enough presence of mind now to register them.
They reached the exit of the House and frisking had a small line.
“Sir!” The officer who had escorted them earlier came running out, a chit of paper in hand. Iram frowned, seeing him hand the chit to Atharva. Atharva opened it, read, then folded it back and slipped it inside his pocket. They went through the exit formalities and her eyes squinted as they confronted the bright noon light after the cool dark interiors. The Indian tricolour fluttered against the sun. And she found Atharva’s shoulders hunch a little straighter.
“Baba flag!” Yathaarth came bounding between them and took his father’s hand. Iram stood back as Atharva stepped down with their son. “Yes, Dilbaro, flag. Which colours does it have?”
“Oange, geen, white and… ashok chacha buoo!”
“Ashok Chakra blue,” he corrected. His voice was off too.
Iram covered the distance between them — “What happened inside?” She whispered close to his shoulder so that only he could hear. He did not answer immediately. They took steps down the Parliament House, away from the crowd, their feet in sync.
Then, in a voice as low as her —
“He invited me to become the Prime Ministerial candidate for this election.”
— TO BE CONTINUED —
