Page 28 of The Circle of Exile
“You are a fan of old Indian classics?”
“Fan? Sabse bada fan kahiye. Umar dekhiye humari,[27]Janab. I have grown up on these.”
“Where did you listen to the songs? Records, tapes, TV or radio?”
“TV? There were no TVs for so many decades. Where there were, the cable rates were so high. Those days there were radios only. And then sometimes during wars or tense times they would switch off radio transmissions across the border. But even we were ustaad.”
“What would you do?” Atharva cued.
“Tune into Indian-occupied Kashmir’s frequency,” he laughed, his voice throaty. Atharva’s jaw tightened. There was more that had happened on alternate frequencies across the border.
“We can go to lunch after Nagar Jami. I have arranged the best kebabs for you at my office.”
“I would like to return to my hotel if you don’t mind. I feel bad declining your invitation for lunch but my son is alone and I have to connect back with offices in Srinagar. I hope you will understand, Dilshad sahab. Your hospitality has been nothing short of impeccable.”
“Arey, bilkul, bilkul. I have been like an overbearing grandpa taking you around all day. Go to your son. We will take dinner together.”
Atharva returned his easy smile, wondering why he had relented so easily. Dilshad Khan’s phone buzzed. He took it, conversing in easy, happy Burushaski. Atharva observed his face slowly dimming.
He ended the call.
“I am so sorry, Kaul sahab, I will have to take a detour to my office. It’s an emergency…”
“Not a problem. We can do this final place tomorrow, or another time.”
“No, no, we are almost there… let me lend you my secretary. I will hop into my car behind and my secretary can come with you to show you. Now you have come so far, don’t go without seeing it. It’s one of the rarest relics of both our Kashmirs’ unity.”
Atharva had to relent. No point in wasting time arguing. If Dilshad Khan wasn’t here, it would be easy to do a cursory round of the mosque and get going.
Their fleet of cars was flagged to a stop. No protocol, no roofs — only one guard came to open Dilshad Khan’s door.
“Theek hai toh fir[28],” he held his hand out. Atharva shook it. “I will see you at dinner. This time I won’t hear no for an answer.”
“Of course.”
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Atharva recognised a trap when he saw one. But the golden rule about traps was that if you had walked into one, immediate evacuation or retreat was 100% fatal. The manual in that case? Halt, assess, and control the field of decision.
He was halfway inside the mosque, the alleys empty of devotees. The marble flooring was pristine, freezing in this autumn cold. And yet a few late lingerers sat without any carpets to cushion their butts. They were all in the same age group, too. On a weekday, at 12 noon, even in a small village like Nagarkhas, strong-bodied youngsters wouldn’t be found lounging in a mosque.
Atharva gave Altaf a raised eye. Altaf’s body did not react, but his jaw twitched. He, and five others had deposited their weapons outside with the rest of the security detail. They were seven of them inside the mosque with no ammunition. But it wouldn’t be hand-to-hand combat, Atharva surmised as the Imam of the mosque went on talking about the history of the place, the current affairs around it, its role in Hindu-Muslim unity during the freedom movement of 1947.
What was this? Dilshad Khan had dropped out for this reason. But what was planned? Atharva slowed his footsteps, purposely veering from his path to walk towards some carvings on a pillar — “This looks like Deccan work,” he observed. The Imam followed him, droning on about how it was not Deccan design but patently Indo-Saracenic. Atharva observed the body language of late lingerers.
Uncomfortable.
So, instead of following the path that the Imam was trying to lead him down, Atharva walked perpendicular, wandering away.
“Iss taraf, Kaul sahab,” the Imam pushed. “Yahan se ghoom ke raasta bahar nikalta hai.[29]”
“Yahan se?[30]” Atharva frowned, giving Altaf time to plot a peaceful exit. “Lekin hum toh iss taraf se andar aaye the…[31]” he began to walk out towards the main door of the mosque. The body language of late lingerers? Fidgety. Eyes moving but not moving.
The Imam was running behind him — “Aapne naam toh dekhe hi nahi…[32]”
“Haan, hum yahin se toh andar aaye the, Imam sahab,[33]” Atharva stopped at the gate, the sun streaming down on the small hilly market outside. The walls of the mosque glinted and Atharva gave it a perfunctory once-over.
Altaf and team reunited with the rest outside and immediately collected their weapons.
