Page 180 of The Circle of Exile
“Sahab,” the old caretaker knocked on his window. Atharva snapped out of his thoughts and unlocked the door, stepping out into the damp air of Shimla. It smelled of wet greens and hot mud. After 16 hours of driving, his muscles were stiff, going stiffer under the cold rain.
“Harishji,” he addressed the man.
“Namaste, sahab,” Harishji folded his hands around the walking stick he was leaning on. His thick glasses had gone foggy, the Pahari topi he wore looking crumpled and droopy.
“Namaste. Aapko humare liye jagna pada…[46]” he returned the greeting, hearing Iram’s car door open.
“Iss ummar mein waise bhi neend kahan aati hai…[47]Namaste bhabhiji,” he folded his hands again to Iram. “Ghar saaf kar diya hai, Samar sahab ne jo list diya tha woh sab mangwa ke rakha hai.[48]”
“Shukriya,” Iram’s soft voice had a smile in it, a smile Atharva could not bring to his own face — try as he might. And he had spent a decade practising holding his emotions off his face.
“Atharva Bhai…” Daniyal stepped out of the car, and Shiva disembarked from the other side. Noora’s car climbed the slope behind them and dragged to a halt.
“You did not take me to my Nani’s house…” Daniyal grumbled. Atharva eyed him as he stood squirming, pulling his creased T-shirt straight — “Did you really come with us to go to your Nani’s house?”
“No.”
“Then go find yourself a room.”
His smile was tentative — as if wanting to break free but holding back in lieu of his failed deception.
“Arth…” Iram pushed inside the car from his open door and unbuckled their son. “You are so quiet today that we forgot you are here!” She was murmuring playfully to him. She pulled out with him in her arms, his big grey eyes wide, staring up and down, his mouth sucking on his pacifier.
“He is sleepy but wired from the drive. Let me change him and put him down…” Iram began to move towards the house. “Harishji, can you show me where everything is? I need hot water…”
“There is a heater in every bathroom for hot water. I will come.”
Atharva stood back as Shiva began to unload the back of the Land Rover.
“Do the Innova too, Hari,” Noora tossed him the keys. Shiva stared unmoved at him, letting the keys knock him on the shoulder and fall to the ground.
“I am not your servant and my name is not Hari,” he deadpanned.
“Hari is the most common name here in Himachal,” Noora stretched his arms up, twisting his torso from side to side, yawning. “Now unload the Innova and bring me back the keys. I am going to my room… Aah!” He ducked under his arms as Shiva lifted his metallic trunk.
“Enough!” Atharva put an end to their antics. They froze. Atharva got his irritation under control. Reclaiming his bearings, he exhaled through his mouth — “Both of you, help each other out and unload the Innova. I will park this one and come to help.”
The men seemed to gauge his rare outburst and quietly marched to do his bidding. Atharva got inside the Land Rover and started the engine. He let it idle for a minute, staring at the rain. This was a temporary change. He had lived with change all his life. Why was this proving so difficult to accept then?
Maybe because he wasn't alone anymore. And he was failing not only himself but also his family.
Pushing the incoming onslaught of thoughts down for now, he turned the wheel.Park the car, go inside, set up for the night,he told himself. He depressed the clutch and released the brake. The rest would come tomorrow. He would take it as it came.
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“…and here’s your new bed! Waah!” Iram was swinging Yathaarth in the cradle of her arms over his portable cot, making his tiny chuckles reverberate through the empty house. There were major pieces of furniture in place — sofa sets, wardrobes, beds. Nothing else. The walls echoed. Atharva wheeled two bags into the bedroom on the first floor.
“I have got his bags first,” he announced, looking around the master bedroom. It was big, but looked empty. Bed, wardrobes, TV unit, shutters that opened out into the balcony. Right now, with the sound of pelting rain, it looked depressing in the bright white lights.
Iram was happy, though, swinging Yathaarth playfully, making him happy.
“I’ll open them here?” Atharva lifted one bag on top of a vanity unit. The bag with his clothes that she’d need to give him a bath. He zipped it open for her and turned, striding to the door to bring in the boxes. He grabbed the biggest and hauled it up. It felt dense. Denser than a set of books should be. Atharva set it down at the threshold of the door and tore the tape open.
His father’s gramophone sat cocooned amid cushions. They were stuffed haphazardly to protect the gramophone. Atharva’s eyes whirled to the other box. The other set of her books. He tore the tape open and found his records, stacked neatly, packed tight.
He climbed over the boxes and strode into the room — “Where are your books?!”
“Keep it down, he is trying to go to sleep…” Iram rebuked.
