Page 15 of The Circle of Exile
“Hmm?”
She took a deep breath and sat down again.
“Give me a list of names of all those people who know.”
“Know what?”
“About this, about Iram and Nagar.”
His face tightened. “To neutralise their voices?”
“In a manner of speaking. As your Press Secretary, it is my job to protect you. Even from our friends. I need all the names so that…”
“You can find dirt on them and keep them in your back pocket. I know. I understand.”
She reached for a pen on his pen-stand and pulled a legal pad toward herself. “Ready.”
“Then,” he tipped his chin, “start with yourself.”
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It was after three days of tireless planning and airtight confirmations that Amaal, in the status of the Press Secretary to the Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir, issued a statement to the press in the Secretariat’s Media Auditorium. To be precise, she was bullied into issuing that statement. It was an announcement of the CM’s acceptance of the invitation from Azad University in Hunza Valley to talk about the ‘Unified Culture of Kashmir.’
Atharva saw it live on the TV in his office before Amaal stormed inside, Zafarji on her heels.
“What did you make me do?” She hissed at him. “Your visa hasn’t been processed yet? Permissions have not come in from the External Affairs Ministry or the Home Ministry…?”
“They will come.”
Amaal gaped at him, looking completely puzzled. Or like she wanted to kill him. But he had security right outside, plus Altaf, plus Zafarji as the witness right here. Atharva looked at him and the old man smirked, because he understood. Atharva nodded and picked up his pen, getting back to his work, knowing what was coming next. Amaal stormed off but what he had expected, came. Within the hour.
At the top of the next hour, a similar statement got released by the Communications Department of Azad University, the tone warm and welcoming for the Chief Minister of ‘Jammu and Indian-Kashmir.’
To say that this caused an uproar would be an understatement. There was silence in the valley between two notorious Fridays usually, but this week had brought a different kind of static.
One day later, and the silence was just as deafening in the quiet room, where the meeting between the CM of Jammu & Kashmir, the Deputy CM of Jammu & Kashmir, the Private Secretary to the Home Minister Yogesh Patel, and the Chief of Special Security Forces was held. Atharva glanced from his deputy Ali Haq Abdul to Yogesh Patel’s Private Secretary — Roshanji. They both looked grim. While Roshanji looked ready to bulldoze him, Ali was just plain confused. Atharva would have to trust his silent loyalty in this because he couldn’t bring him in on what was going on. That level of trust hadn’t developed yet.
“You have not finished your visa paperwork, you have not received the Ministries’ go-ahead and just like that you announce, Atharvaji?” Roshan Sahai was old enough to be his father, but called everyone ‘ji.’ His hands were up in wild gestures, his face as loud and expressive as always.
“To go next week? Halwa nahi hai Indian CM ko Pakistan jana! Woh bhi aise time mein! Ghaati ke haalaat dekhe hai?[17]Have you seen what Pakistani ministers are calling Usama Aziz? FREEDOM FIGHTER. Do you know what they call you? DICTATOR. And do you know what they call Kashmir? INDIAN-OCCUPIED.”
“And our Honourable Prime Minister, our Defence Minister, as well as our Home Minister calledPoKas integral, indisputable, undivided, sovereign territory of India after that,” Atharva pointed out.
“Yes, of course they did!” Roshanji asserted. “It is ours.”
Atharva nodded, glancing at Ali. He had planted the idea of that statement two weeks ago, when those ‘freedom fighter’ and ‘Indian-occupied’ comments had started floating. Atharva had made sure it went into the heads of the right people as well as their press briefings. He sat back now.
Roshanji went on, leaning in — “I have on good authority here from Yogesh bhai that if you renege on your announcement to go to PoK, then he will get all the Janta Party MLAs to stop their protest in Vidhan Sabha. He is even positive on bringing Momina Aslam around for the time being.”
“And you, Major Banot?” Atharva turned his attention to the SSF Chief, who had sat quietly through the meeting. “What do you have to say? Since you were the one who requested this joint meeting in the first place?”
“CM sir, I respect you, immensely,” his loud, no-nonsense voice boomed. “You belong to the fraternity of SFF, and you have shown your support to everything the military has been doing to keep peace here in Kashmir. But this is one thing I cannot support you in; neither can I convince anyone in the fraternity to. If you go, you are not only demotivating our soldiers who are holding fort right now in gullies and lanes while looking up to you, but also inviting widespread dissent against you.”
“Samjho, Atharvaji, idea drop kardo,[18]” Roshanji piped in, now softened and condescending. “Anyway it is just a tiny university in a town none of us even know the name of. You can decline the invite…”
“The problem is, Roshanji, I have already accepted the invite. I have given my word,” Atharva shrugged seriously, putting himself in an inferior position to the condescending advice.
“So what? You can cancel it. You have valid reasons to go back on your word. The Pakistani PM declared that all that is happening in Kashmir is a freedom movement… they called Usama Aziz a freedom fighter! They called us dictators and you want to step into their country?”
