Page 24 of The Circle of Exile
“Will Jannat madam be coming back here with you?” OTP asked instead.
Jannat,Atharva muttered under his breath, not betraying his shock at the alias she was using.
“Yes. Jannat will be coming back here with me.”
4. Mir Faiz Qadri Rehman Ali…
“Mir Faiz Qadri Rehman Ali is one of the finest looking men you will see around here,” Dilshad Khan gushed, walking down the red carpeted entryway into the stone palace rising over an ancient giant hill. The palace looked like a fort. Dilshad Khan’s security fell away from around them but Atharva saw in the periphery his own security continue. There were people inside the fort, lots of people — commoners, peasants, some men in ancient guard uniform, looking nothing like ready to battle it out if something untoward happened.
“This looks more like a fort than a palace,” Atharva observed, not even remotely interested, his eyes scanning the ceiling that went three storeys high, looking around to spot something that would scream residence. This entrance would lead them to the Mir’s durbar and offices. He knew from reading OTP’s map that there was one gully from the maze that connected to the residence. It was heavily guarded, keeping the womenfolk behind closed doors. The garden he had described was on the other side of the fort, in a whole other pin code.
A uniformed man stepped up to them and they stopped. He raised his hand in salam to Dilshad Khan and bowed, saying something in rapid-fire Burushaski. Atharva caught stray words, and understood the implication. This is what he had been waiting for.
“Kaul sahab,” Dilshad turned to him. “Security will have to be left here. It is disrespectful to the Mir to go inside with guards and weapons.”
“Oh…” Atharva hesitated, pausing.
“Don’t worry, I am coming in without anything or anybody either. Trust me, you are our diplomatic guest. Humare paas India ki amaanat hai aap. We won’t let anything happen to you,” he smiled.
Atharva glanced at Altaf, looking like he was debating.
“Fikr mat kariye, kuch nahi hoga, Kaul sahab…[23]”
“Sir, we cannot permit this,” Altaf grunted, looking abysmal in his playacting. Atharva could see how much he hated it.
“What if you sanitise the place?” Atharva offered, glancing at Dilshad Khan. “Does that work?”
“What for? My security already swept the palace before we came!”
“It’s protocol,” Atharva pointed, glancing at Altaf. “My security will not allow me out of their sight otherwise.”
Altaf’s scowl was a whole other retort —as if.
Dilshad Khan looked at the Mir’s guard, said something in Burushaski that sounded like ‘keep an eye.’ The way he said it, the tone and the quick, curt command sounded like he owned the palace and the guards. Atharva held onto that thought.
“Alright, Kaul sahab, your security can sweep the area while we wait here. But only until the limits that the fort guards allow. The other side is residence, for the family and the women.”
“Of course. Altaf.”
Atharva crossed his arms across his chest, feet apart, eyeing Altaf and a team of his men branch out, the royal guards tailing each one. Altaf, he noted, went in the direction of the gully to the garden, the head of the guards behind him.Go, find her, go,he prayed under his breath.
“Let me take a few portraits of both of you until then,” Fahad offered, his mobile out. Dilshad Khan was more than happy to pose. His photographer joined Fahad with his DSLR, ready. Atharva indulged them, standing under an antique chandelier with Dilshad Khan, then under a portrait of the deceased Mir — the grandfather.
“Our angel in human guise,” Dilshad Khan pointed, the overly eager tour guide. “What a man, may Allah rest his soul in peace. The entire Nagar was his family. Did you know he fought in the war for freedom?”
“Indian freedom?”
“First from the British, and then India.”
From Atharva’s reading, and his operative of a driver’s rant, it was the other way around. The old Mir, the grandfather, had in fact resisted the Pakistani occupation, and later interference in his kingdom and governance for long years. It was his son who had let them in — Atharva could guess why. Funding, support and promises to unite the two Kashmirs and put his son at the helm, a kingdom of his own. A country. A united Kashmir, a Tarkhan ruler. But with what? Pakistani control, military, Chief Mi… he glanced at Dilshad Khan.
The CM of PoK for the seventh term in a row. Rigged elections, ISI support. 35 years and counting. He had been there when the Mir had sent his twins across the border. Realisation dawned. Atharva turned his face quickly away, smiling at the cameras, listening to Dilshad Khan drone on and on about the grand riches of the Mirs, their palaces and properties.
Could he be the only other man who knew about Noorie, Nooran and Ibrahim? The man who was holding Sayyid Butt’s strings? The man who had tried to kill Iram and his unborn children to bury it all?
Did you find the culprit?
I’m sure you would have made him pay.
