Page 238 of The Circle of Exile
Hariraj preened. The credit for this deal was now his. Atharva, as he had become accustomed to, rolled back into oblivion.
“Would you like to sit for the meeting with Yogesh Patel?” Samar asked him.
“I can sit. It’s been a while since I saw him.”
“Bad cop or good?”
Atharva shrugged — “You are leading, go figure.”
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Yogesh Patel and Samar sat opposite each other on the round table. Atharva sat on one of the three chairs lined to the side. Hariraj and Roshanji occupied the remaining chairs, the side characters in a decidedly tense back and forth.
Atharva sat quietly as Samar took the lead on negotiating — the bad cop. Just what Atharva wanted. Numbers were tugged, ministries discussed. HDP, as had been decided, asked for the moon. Janta, as had been expected, promised nothing short of a piece of cheese. Atharva waited, sitting back, letting them reach a point of no return. He had confidence in Samar’s sense of entitlement, cemented with this victory, to take this discussion there.
And Samar did.
“What you are asking is impossible,” Yogesh Patel pointed. “If you want Deputy, and Law & Order, then you will not get Finance.”
“This or nothing.”
Yogesh Patel detested ultimatums. Atharva kept watching.
Yogesh Patel stared long and hard at Samar. A minute ticked by, silent. Hariraj squirmed beside him. Atharva kept his gaze steady on the men at the table.
“Thank you for sitting for this meeting, Samar sahab…” Yogesh Patel began to push his chair back.
“Yogesh bhai,” Atharva addressed. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet.”
“Your friend does not leave me any choice,” he remarked, eyes on Samar. Atharva flicked his gaze to Samar, whose face looked tired. After all, he had been doing all the physical work this time around. Being a full-time President of two parties across states and fighting an election was taxing. Atharva nodded at him.
“Why don’t we go to the balcony for some fresh air?”
Yogesh Patel still did not glance at him as he stood to his feet. His tall, lean frame began to move towards the trapdoor made of glass that pushed out into the balcony. Atharva unfolded himself from his chair and followed.
He stepped out after Yogesh Patel and closed the door. Atharva stared at his back, a man who was manning the Union Home Ministry and the Central government with effortless flair. The man who held the door to his return to Kashmir.
“I am surprised to see you here, Atharva,” he remarked, eyes on the vista in front of them. The valley, the houses, the sun and the flare of the sun that was patent to Himachal.
“Where else would I be? This is the only place where I can find some work,” Atharva chuckled.
“Not in Punjab or Uttarakhand?” He quipped, one eyebrow raised, still not looking at him.
“It’s preliminary.”
“Party offices scouted, membership drives started, cadre work begun. Preliminary.”
“For beginners like me, it’s preliminary.”
Now Yogesh Patel turned his head over his shoulder, just an inch. His shoulders vibrated — “You and beginner? Tell me what’s your deal for Himachal, Atharva?”
“Samar is asking for Home, Law & Order and Finance…”
“Along with Deputy. What’s next? Everybody but the CM is Samar’s?”
“No, but we can talk and agree on two out of three. Hmm?”
“We will not give HDP Home. Law & Order and Finance are yours if you want.”
