Page 141 of The Circle of Exile
“What happened to your mood, Janab? You left with a sore thorn in your side and now you are all…”
“I am what?” He leaned back in his chair.
“You made a move, didn’t you?”
“Mmm?”
“You did something… set the ball rolling on something.”
“Are you asking or informing?”
“Both. Now cough up.”
“Later,” he laughed, not about to share something so classified over an unsecured phone call. “What did you both do today?”
“Tried to crawl, then slumped back on the floor. Tried to crawl, then slumped back on the floor. At this point I have half a mind to attach sweeping cloths to your son’s hands and knees. Our house will be shiny clean.”
“Send me a video. And get him to nap. I didn’t get any time with him yesterday.”
“Decide — you want cake time with me or crawling time with him.”
“Of course I want crawling time with him.”
“You…”
Atharva lunged for his life and hit End Call.
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“Ok, when Baba comes, in 3, 2, 1,” Iram pulled her son up on all fours and hoped he would manage to take at least one crawling step. He lifted one hand, but always flattened with the other, using both palms to scroll his way on their pristine flooring.
“Ooooh!” She made a deflated noise. “Come, Arth! Baba is coming.”
The honks of Atharva’s convoy were closer. And as if Yathaarth knew the sound of those horns, he began to bang his palms on the floor.
“Yes, yes! Go, baby. Baba is coming,” Iram grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up on all fours. She tapped his diaper-clap rump — “Baba is here, come on, Arth, come on,” Iram massaged his forearms. He managed to step up with his right hand and coordinate with his right leg. His left one began to flatten just as Atharva walked in.
“Dilbaro!” He called out with his face splitting into a grin. “What are you doing?”
And their son fell to his tummy, turning on his back and throwing his arms and legs up, chortling. Atharva strode in, coming on all fours over their son, and kissed his chin, then his tummy, then the space under his neck.
“He was about to crawl!” Iram sat back on her heels. “He was half there.”
“Were you?” Atharva blew a raspberry on his cheek. “You smell of…” he sniffed. “Mango cake.Mymango cake!” He playfully spun him on his bum and Yathaarth was thrilled, giggling like he only did when Atharva spun him like a toy. “Tell me you didn’t steal my cake!”
Their son grinned.
“Did myani zuv give you?”
“Zuvzuv,” he repeated. Atharva’s playful gaze whirled up to her — “You gave him my mango cake, zuvzuv?”
Iram got to her feet and made a dash, not looking but knowing that he had already grabbed their son in his arms and was running behind her. Yathaarth’s happy giggles were so loud behind her. She gave them a real run, dashing around the dining room, going one way then the other, and finally crashing into the kitchen. She bumped into Shiva. His peanuts fell to the ground. They all froze.
Iram stared at him. Then at the two humans behind her. Shiva dropped to the floor with eyes still on them and began to collect his peanuts.
“Umm… sorry…” Iram quietly took an about turn and padded back out, passing her two men. Atharva reached out and pulled her cheek. She scowled at him. And then, shocker — Yathaarth’s tiny hand reached for her cheek and landed on her nose. A laugh erupted from her nostrils.
“Baba’s copy cat,” she nuzzled his tiny palm.
