Page 67 of The Circle of Exile
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. So she was in the mood to cut him and get cut in return?
“This one falls and reminds me that everything eventually falls. More realistic.”
14. There was a house of cards…
There was a house of cards, fluttering to the beats of Mohammad Rafi’s deep baritone. Some cards flickered while others held steady. They were about to topple but the drum beat hit and she woke up with a start.
Iram blinked to the morning sun, the faint lilts of ‘Baar baar dekho’ heavy in the air. She did a double-take and sat up. Her heart was racing. She glanced at the clock. It was just past 9 am. And the old Rafi rock classic was playing on high. Atharva was back?
She pushed out of her bed and strode to the door on shaky, sleepy legs. The sound wasn’t his gramophone. It was smooth, polished, a phone speaker. Iram pulled the door open and the strings heightened, along with it a loud, tuneless female voice she would recognise anywhere.
“Yeh bemisaal husna lajawab ye ada, taali ho!”
CLAP!
Iram crossed the corridor to Begumjaan’s room and there sat Ada on her bed, half leaning over Yathaarth, singing without tone but clapping the loudest. Iram collapsed on the doorframe, a mix of joy and sorrow coursing through her system. Ada’s head whirled over her shoulder and she stopped. The song continued to play but she was jumping down from the bed, running and barreling into her.
“How could you?!” Her head pushed into her neck. Iram sighed, cradling it tight.
“Ada.”
“How could you?” Her arms wound around her neck, squeezed, a small child’s grip. “You promised you would stay. Yamma went but you would stay. How could you!”
And what did Iram have to say to that except — “I am sorry.”
The answer to that question wasn’t straight. The internal wiring of those last few weeks was not logical. Ada had been in Ahmedabad for all of that time, cushioned from everything. And she would remain that way. She deserved a carefree adult life.
“I am sorry,” Iram tightened her arms around her. “So sorry.”
“You can be anybody’s daughter but would that ever matter to me?” Ada pushed back. “Di.”
Iram smiled, cupping her delicate chin in both her hands. She had lost weight too, gotten her skin tanned golden and looked a lot… more mature. In just four months.
Iram wiped her tears off with her thumbs and pushed her best smile to her eyes. Her blurry eyes.
“It passed,” she lied. “I am here.”
“And you are never thinking of leaving again?”
“No.”
Ada stared at her, for long seconds, as if confirming she was earnest. Iram held her gaze, promising she was.
“Good,” Ada grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bed where Yathaarth was already flailing his arms and legs. “You cannot leave me, you cannot leave him, you cannot leave us. Ever. There is no other option. If Atharva Bhai doesn’t do it then I will tie you in the attic!”
The song hit a high note and Yathaarth’s mouth opened in a chortle. That gummy, toothless chortle. This time Iram didn’t have to push the smile into her eyes. She felt everything inside her light up. Her internal wiring always felt like it was alive with current at the sight of him. Now, when he did not cry at the feel of her presence, she felt like thumping the air and dancing just like him.
“Dilbaro,” Iram whispered softly, and was rewarded with his eyes instantly switching to her side, trying to locate her. She pushed her face into his field of vision and established eye contact. Held it. Praying he wouldn’t cry.
His tiny round mouth stretched again in that toothless grin. He babbled, smacking his mouth. Her breasts began to feel heavy. She had expressed at 7 this morning when Atharva had left. It was 9, and time again. Was he hungry?
“Where is Begumjaan?”
“Went down to get his clothes from the dryer.”
“I should be doing all of that,” Iram moved around the room, collecting the dirty pile from the hamper.
“Di?”
