Page 137 of The Circle of Exile
“Denial is safe. But the longer it is overplayed, the less credible it becomes, Kaul sahab.”
“I don’t have anything to deny since you have spun nothing but stories so far.”
“Forget about me. I see you, I see your family. Backing off on the grounds of my conscience is not difficult for me. But some in my party don’t see it that way.”
Fuck. Who else knew?
“They think I have something on you and are suddenly confident about some wins,” Momina smiled. “They are uncovering your travel memos and notes and trying to poke holes. We don’t want them to reach somewhere unsavoury, do we?”
“First of all, my travel memos are classified. Second, even if they are not, I have nothing to hide. Poke away.”
She sighed. “Kaul sahab, don’t trust your staff so blindly. Your travel memo from 27th October has a glaring three-hour gap titled sightseeing.”
“Which was exactly what I was doing.”
“A CM’s travel notes are a bit more detailed, wouldn’t you agree? Places, time stamps, security note.”
“Are you here to tell me how my CMO should write my travel memos?”
“And there are no corresponding tickets or bookings in your wife’s name from Srinagar to Ahmedabad on that day or the day before, as was communicated officially,” she went on, unperturbed.
“Momina Madam, how my wife travels, or what mode she takes, is not up for public scrutiny.”
“You mean she took the road?” Her eyebrows rose, mocking. “To ease both of our lives for the foreseeable future, consider my request. Let us bury this together. It’s not much. Amrohi Associates needs help with this new insurgency case you have opened against them. Why would the army think they are linked to militants? Help them out, Kaul sahab.”
“Or your funding is in danger?”
“Or your wife is in danger.” Momina rose to her feet. “Is it worth it? To spend days without peace of mind? To keep spinning narratives in hopes of becoming the messiah they thought you were back in the day?”
She reached for her bag and set the handle over her wrist. Iram walked out with a tray of cake slices in hand and Momina Aslam’s serene smile widened some more — “I am so sorry I have to leave. I will come back another time to eat your cake, Madam.”
Atharva stood up, unmoved as she nodded at him, pushed her hand up in salam and walked out of his house.
25. Kahin beetein naa yeh raatein, kahin beetein naa yeh din…
Kahin beetein naa yeh raatein, kahin beetein naa yeh din
Gaata rahe, mera dil
“Zafarji,” Atharva nodded at him the moment he walked into the CMO. He left whatever he was doing and strode in after him, his junior secretaries behind him with their iPads and pencils, expecting a daily morning briefing.
“Just Zafarji,” Atharva turned and addressed them. “We’ll have our briefing at 9.”
They all took a U-turn as Atharva stepped inside his office and Zafarji closed the door.
“Who writes my travel memos and notes?” He rounded his desk, setting his laptop bag and phone on the table.
“Waheeda madam does. If she is not available, Owais.”
“Who wrote the PoK travel notes?”
“Waheeda madam.”
“And why does it have glaring discrepancies in format?”
Zafarji remained silent.
“Did you check it, Zafarji?”
