Page 118 of The Circle of Exile
“Already done with me?” Atharva eyed his grandmother. She rolled her eyes — “Be a good boy and tell him. He has brought along his Viking books.”
Atharva’s eyes widened. “Far be it from me to keep you,” he pronounced. “She is upstairs. Let me show you to your room first…”
“You look busy here, just tell us where and we will find our way,” Grandma waved him off.
“We have been here for your Mum and Da’s wedding. Nothing much has changed, innit, Jane?” Pops remarked, looking around.
Grandma nodded — “Even the dining room is unchanged.”
“I have kept it all the same, just polished it and kept it up to date.”
“Pops!” Iram’s voice sounded from behind him, and Atharva saw his grandfather’s face light up.
“Oh, look at you,” Grandma was faster as she raced him to the stairs. Atharva turned, just in time to see her wrap Iram in an embrace, Yathaarth squished between them.
“Show me my little one,” she tickled his chin. Atharva stood proudly as his son smiled shyly, hiding his face in his mother’s hair. Grandma moved for Pops to greet Iram and that’s when Atharva got a full look at his wife. His breath was knocked out of his chest.
He quickly turned his eyes away before somebody noticed how affected he was by her.
She wore their wedding reception saree, and contrary to her claims, it moulded perfectly to her new curves, her face glowing. And… he took his eyes casually back to her, hidden in Pop’s chest as he held her and Yathaarth. Atharva found gold winking from the waves of her hair. His Dadi’s ath, his Mama’s dejhoor.
“Janab, the room is ready,” one of Shiva’s minions informed him.
“Yes, show my grandparents upstairs.”
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Their son was very well-behaved as the guests were beginning to file and settle in their hall. But the moment Iram passed him to Atharva to sit down in the mandap created for the ceremony, he let out a loud cry.
Atharva began to take him in the cradle of his arms from his shoulder but Iram was faster. She plucked a marigold and held it out to him. He reached for it, his sound gone from 60 to 0 in a heartbeat. He tried to cram it into his mouth and this time she was even faster. She pulled out his chewy toy and pushed it into his mouth with a practised hand as the priest began to chant.
“Shishu ki aavashyakta nahi hai, aap dono baithiye.[39]”
Atharva caught Begumjaan’s eye and passed Yathaarth to her. The havan kund was lit to life and the hom began. They sat through the havan, invoking the deities to partake in the first meal before it was fed to their son.
The ceremony itself wasn’t elaborate. Iram had cooked a batch of kheer with the basics — rice, milk, and honey instead of sugar. Poor baby, Atharva smiled as the kheer was now served into separate silver bowls. Mantras were recited over them, then Iram was directed to take one to the threshold of their house.
“Dubh se shishu ko ashirwad dijiye, Janab[40],” the priest passed him a few wisps of grass. Atharva accepted Yathaarth back into his lap and set the tiny grass blades atop his head, followed by the yellowed grains of rice. Iram followed suit.
“Ab munder ki kheer, prasad-swarop, shishu ko khilaaiye. Ghar ke bade aarambh karein, Dada-Dadi, Nana-Nani?[41]”
Atharva’s gaze went to Begumjaan.
“Jane,” Begumjaan called out. “Please, come.”
Grandma made her way to the mandap but stood back clueless — “What am I supposed to do?’
“You are supposed to feed him his first solid meal,” Begumjaan stepped back.
“Oh, that’s an honour. But you must go first.”
“You are his great-grandmother…”
“Begumjaan,” Atharva pronounced. Her eyes met his. He smiled. She had done his first tilak before his wedding, she had danced the hardest, she had also fed him his first sweet on the discovery of Yathaarth and Hayat’s conception. She had picked up Yathaarth in the NICU before he had ever had the courage to. And held him close to her chest until Iram returned. And even when she did, Begumjaan had just as gracefully stepped back.
Iram held the silver bowl out and Begumjaan looked unsure.
“Jaan Dadi,” Iram joked, and Atharva felt it land deep inside him. Begumjaan’s eyelids dropped, then rose, and she accepted the bowl. She bent on her haunches and held a tiny spoonful out to his son in his lap. Yathaarth’s tongue immediately came out to lap at it but the moment the spoon was pushed into his mouth, he sputtered. Laughter rose up around them. And he broke into an angry cry.
