Page 169 of The Circle of Exile
GOVT. OF JAMMU & KASHMIR
Press Statement
Date: 5th June, 2017
After due reflection and in light of the evolving political and administrative circumstances, Shri Atharva Singh Kaul has tendered his resignation from the post of Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir.
He expresses his gratitude to the people of the state for their enduring trust, and to the institutions that supported his tenure. He remains committed to the peace, integrity, and future of Jammu & Kashmir.
Additional Secretary to the Chief Minister
CMO
32. The treehouse building was in full form…
The treehouse building was in full form, the backyard of her house a blaring sound system of hammers and electric chainsaws. Iram finished stirring the fragrant orange powder into cold water and poured it into two glasses. Atharva’s mobile was on the kitchen platform from when he had come in earlier. It was buzzing quietly. She grabbed it and set it on the tray along with the glasses, then left the kitchen, not needing to call out to Janab because his chainsaw was making enough noises for him.
Iram navigated the big hall and stepped out of the open door of the backyard, hoping to see something wondrous. What confronted her was a base of 6X6 on the sturdiest branch of the Chinar going to their bedroom window, three walls nailed together, and an annoyed ex-soldier on the ground under it, bent over a piece of wood, saw in his good hand. Good hand because the other one was injured, wrapped in bandage. ‘A carpenter’s hazard,’ as he had called it when he had come inside the house two days ago with blood drenching his palm.
Disaster spread around him now — pieces of plywood, boxes of nails, stray tools. Iram bit back a laugh.
“Somebody told me that they learned all survival skills in the military,” she wondered aloud, plucking a glass of chilled orange-flavoured Glucon-D and taking a sip. It was delicious on this hot day. Srinagar wasn't known to have sweltering Junes or Julys, but the last few years had brought early summers. Not only early summers; she glanced up at the sky gathering with light grey clouds. June and July in Srinagar had also started to bring mild monsoons.
“Somebody was supposed to bring me something to drink,” Atharva grunted from his perch, trying to hold the ply still to saw a straight line through it. Iram set the tray on the verandah and walked down the steps to him. Their backyard was not really a backyard. It was a buffer into the forest behind. A wide buffer. Iram reached him under the heavy sun and crouched to hold the ply still.
“Do it now.”
“Leave it, you’ll get hurt.”
“Just do it!” She snatched the half-sawn ply from his dodgy hold and glared up at him. The sun hid most of his expression but she recognised Atharva Singh Kaul’s scowl even if it was in pitch dark. Iram couldn't help but laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“I am looking at an ex-SFF Maverick battle it out with a saw and a piece of wood. It is a little funny.”
He huffed, covered one of her hands with his own to keep the ply steady and her fingers safe, and began to saw the rest of the way. Iram held it tight. And within a minute, they had managed to get two equal pieces. She examined the edges.
“Neat enough, but can do better.”
Atharva straightened to his full height, holding his hand out to bring her up. She took it, the naive fool she was, and shrieked when she went right into his sweaty arms.
“You married a thinker, myani zuv,” he kissed her mouth.
“Who also happens to shoot and punch,” she pushed him back.
“People, not…” he glared at the mess of materials around him. “Construction material.”
“You promised to build the children a treehouse.”
His playful smile wobbled.
“I mean…”
“I did,” he cut her off softly. “But I also warned you not to mistake my DIY for skill.”
“Arth is too young to understand if his house’s roof is square or trapezius. So, go ahead, Baba.”
Atharva smiled, looking a little pleased, even a little proud of himself. She surveyed his handiwork of the last week. All his free time, when he wasn't at the party office or at this inquiry or that, was spent prepping to build Yathaarth’s treehouse. Iram had, at first, been worried. The way he had thrown himself into ordering and stacking material, it had looked like a rebound, something that would turn more disturbing than consoling. But now, looking at him half-annoyed-half-amused, in his patent leader mode — if not ordering then building, she was confident in this project.
