Page 121 of The Circle of Exile
“Atharva?” Samar called.
“Coming,” he took steps away, unable to tear his eyes off them. It had just become ok. His family had just become ok.
“Atharva.” Samar’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“Huh?” He startled.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He did not glance back at his family but kept repeating it to himself.Nothing.Nothing had happened. And he would let nothing happen.
III: THE PRICE TO BE PAID
23. Jammu and January were synonymous with new beginnings…
Jammu and January were synonymous with new beginnings. Or so it had been for her. Iram pushed the curtains open in their new bedroom which was just as she had left it two years ago. Last year, her pregnancy hadn’t allowed her to travel here for the winter session but the furniture, the stock of linens, even the stack of toiletries had been untouched.
“Mmmmm mummm mmm…”
The newest music of her life banged his tiny hands on the wooden bars of his cot. Grey eyes peeped at her as he tried to push up on his butt.
“Does Arth want his mum-mum?” Iram called out loudly. Then pretended to look for him — “But where is Arth?” She came to his cot and bent down to check. Loud chortles and more banging. “Where is Arth? Where is Arth…” she pushed up and squealed down into his bed — “Hah!” She gasped. And he buried his eyes in his tiny hands, about to fall off his bum in glee. Iram scooped him up — “Here is Arth!”
He giggled, burrowing his eyes further into his palms and pushing his face deeper into her neck. Iram pressed a noisy kiss to the top of his curls. “What do you want for breakfast today? Hmm?” She tickled his chin, making those naughty greys peep out of his hands. They were so bright. Darker than his father’s in shade but so, so alive.
“Are we eating banana or apple today?” She hitched him on her chest and began to make her way down the stairs where she had already readied his apple puree.
“Atharva!” She called out.
“In the bathroom, myani zuv.”
“I know! Come down for breakfast.”
“Arth woke up?”
Yathaarth banged his hands together at the sound of his father’s voice. Iram grinned, walking him to the door and letting him bang his hands there.
“Ba-ba,” she whispered in his ear. “Ba-ba.”
“Mummmm…mmmmm!” He banged.
“What?” Atharva’s muffled voice broke through the shower.
“Baba is showering in water. You still want to go?” She booped his nose. He had started to hate the shower with a vengeance. Not a bath. He loved to sit in a tub full of water. What he detested was water falling on him. What he detested more was a wet spot on his person. Even a tiny little splotch was enough to send him into a meltdown. Or as Atharva liked to call it — the tearless wail.
The water shut off and the door opened, steam spilling out around the formidable man in nothing but a towel around his waist. His solemn face broke into a smile at the sight in front of him and he instantly reached for Yathaarth — “Want to shower, Dilbaro?”
Iram bit her lip, letting him do his gradual desensitization thing. Yathaarth went happily. He hadn’t learnt yet with only two traps his father had set him. Iram stepped in after them, leaning against the long double sink as Atharva stepped close to the shower stall and turned the knob. Rain started pelting in front of them and her son, as expected, started yelling.
“Look at this,” Atharva collected water in his palm and brought it to him. Yathaarth pushed it way, turning around and straining himself towards her over Atharva’s shoulder.
“Mama to the rescue!” Iram reached up and nuzzled his nose with hers. Her husband smelled incredible — soap and shampoo.
“And what will Mama do when it actually rains?” Atharva shut off the water, jostling Yathaarth from one arm to the other like he loved it. Instantly, his frowns were done.
“Huh?” Iram peeked at her son from over Atharva’s other shoulder and he was back to cuddling against his father’s chest, the traitor.
