Page 54 of The Circle of Exile
“You came from the Secretariat?” She asked. Dal was ripe on one side of Boulevard Road and the sidewalks relatively sparse. Tourist season was winding up but it wasn’t so quiet here. Iram turned her head and glanced at him.
“Vidhan Sabha,” he answered, glasses on, eyes on his iPad. Yathaarth was locked in his car seat between them, wiggling now and again with a soft, chewy toy that he tried to latch on to. Atharva’s hand reached out to pat him unconsciously while reading and he bit his gummy lips on his finger. Iram glanced up, and Atharva was smiling, still reading. She glanced down, and his finger was tickling his son’s cheek. Her heart melted.
“Vidhan Sabha got over early?” She asked, working to make inroads, wherever she could.
“It’s ongoing. I exited.”
“Is everything ok? You came to…there,” she stopped herself in time. Altaf knew everything and his driver was loyal but their life had been a bed of secrets, this latest bunch of them enough to suff an entire room.
“It’s fine,” he replied, unperturbed, still reading. His phone buzzed and he answered, talking about some statement. Iram’s eyes rose and caught the military barricade at the signal. Now that she thought about it, there were more checkpoints, men in uniform manning them.
“Why is there army on the road?”
“We are here, sir,” Altaf relayed as their car and the dozen ahead and behind them turned into Dr. Baig’s nursing home compound. It had been cleared as usual.
“Come,” Atharva locked his iPad shut, pushed it into the seat sleeve in front of him and unbuckled Yathaarth. Their son flailed as if he would up and fly, his gummy mouth opening in a chortle. Iram couldn’t help but smile. When he smiled, laughed, chewed on things, hit his arms and legs around like he wanted to take off into the sky — she felt like the most exhilarated being in the whole world. And then he would look at her and cry, making her feel all of two inches.
She glanced at father and son as they got off. From ten feet to two inches, she had fallen way down from grace.
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Dr. Baig’s nursing home was just as she had left it. Haunting. She stepped in through the main door, her eyes fixated on the staff exit behind from where she had run, stumbling and panting, like ghosts inside her were gripping her, not shaking off, however fast she ran. She hadn’t known where she would go then, just stumbling away from those onesies and Atharva’s reaction. On that fateful twilight, she had done what she had learned best in her life to survive — escape.
“Iram?”
“Huh?” She startled. Atharva was waiting at the reception, Yathaarth in his arms, his bag on his shoulder. She hadn’t even offered to carry it?
“This way,” he nudged his chin.
“Yes, I remember. Can I carry that bag?”
“It’s fine.”
They walked down the sterile alley with bright baby and plant photographs — the alley of so many sonograms and tests, of hopes and dreams, of shared laughs with Dr. Baig and silent dread as she began to disconnect with herself in those final few months.
They met her nursing staff, the matron who had held her hand in the OT, now leading them. Iram pasted an apologetic smile on her mouth, nodding as more of the team greeted them. What had this staff gone through in her absence? What had Atharva’s security done? How had she become so selfish in her pain that she had not even thought about the collateral behind her?
“Is Dr. Baig in?” Atharva inquired.
“Yes, sir, she has been waiting for you.”
He knocked on the door and she called them in. Atharva pushed it open and held it for her, laden with their baby, his bag and still looking like he could hold her too. Iram shirked that thought off and stepped inside the room. And came face to face with the tender countenance of Dr. Azza Baig. Soft features, kind smile, lilac scrubs. She had not been here that day.
“Iram,” she walked up to her, her palm landing on her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at her, her tender smile in place — “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she tried to return her smile.
“And how is your little boy?” She asked without taking her eyes off her. Iram felt elated as she askedherthat. It was a shame she did not have the best answer to it.
“He is…” she broke eye contact and glanced at Atharva. His eyes blinked.
“He is doing good.”
“Come on in, sit down.”
As always, she led them to her couch, making this so comfortable and easy. Iram had spent some difficult days sitting here, talking to Dr. Baig about her fears, her lack of a mother at home, about the babies being two and she being one, about her ‘fatigue’ that had been her only way of explaining the disconnect of those last months without giving away the secrets of their life. She still couldn't give them away.
According to Atharva, Dr. Baig and her staff were only privy to the fact that she had run away, distraught. Where? Nobody knew except a few people.
