Page 36 of The Circle of Exile
She clamped her mouth tight.
“Who. I need to know in order to arrange your return to India,” he paused. “You are returning, aren’t you?”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Atha…”
“Who, Iram. I do not like to repeat myself.”
“Rahim Chacha.”
“Where is he?”
“Here, with me… I mean, in Mehrunisa’s home.”
His mouth pursed.
“Are you hungry?”
“Huh?”
“I asked — are you hungry?”
“No…”
He strode to the dining table on the other side of the room, picked up a covered plate and brought it to her. He opened the lid to a bed of rice, a bowl of mild orange-coloured dum aloo and slices of tomatoes on the side.
“Eat. It was brought around lunchtime but you were asleep. You have been here for 6 hours without food or water.”
She took the plate in her hands and held on, staring blankly up at him. Her eyes were starting to burn again.
“Do you want to have it heated?”
She shook her head.
“What is it?”
“Do you want me to return?”
“That is not a question worth asking.”
She recoiled.
“Eat and get ready. We have to go.”
“Where?”
“To meet Mehrunisa.”
Her eyes widened. Before she could ask him what he was doing, he had turned around, strode to the door, opened it and left the room. Iram gaped at the closed door, feeling deja vu of the highest degree. She looked down at the food. She didn’t want to eat. She wasn’t hungry. She never was hungry nowadays. And still, for the sake of the watery-looking dum aloo that looked like it was made by somebody who did not know how to make it but was forced to make it, Iram scooped some up on a spoon and pushed it into her mouth.
8. This too shall pass…
This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass.She kept repeating it to herself, sitting in the dim car as it sped down the dark roads. The sun had set and the town of Nagarkhas was dimmed. Only a few areas of the town had street lamps and uninterrupted supply of electricity. Now, as they drove through the back-lanes, only their single car, driven by a strange man but guarded by Altaf, Iram felt her body thrum.
She glanced at the man beside her. Silent. Shadowed under the gloom of the night. He was solemnly staring outside, his face made of marble. She didn’t know what he thought, what he was doing, what he wanted. And she had never not known at least one of those things where Atharva was concerned.
Her breasts weighed heavy. She knew it was time to express milk. It had been drying down these last few days. Only some trickles remained. But the heaviness didn’t go. Would Yathaarth… her mind lit up at the thought of him, the sound of that name even in her silent mind. Would he have this milk? He would, wouldn’t he? The thought spread a frizz of joy up her chest. But it was short-lived.
