Page 39 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“I don’t know what’s wrong. This is so unsettling,” she kept repeating to Alina. They both sent messages to George, but neither received a reply. However, there was a message from the owner of Qayaam Gah, a resort nestled on a ridge in the Zabarwan Hills, for them to come visit, as George had set it up as a potential site for the wedding.

“We should go, Ma. Maybe George will show up there,” Alina said as they climbed into bed later that night.

The next morning, their hotel arranged for a car to take them to visit Qayaam Gah. The ornate entrance that graced the resort reminded Sharmila of the old palaces she’d grown up around. The owner, whom they had met on the houseboat Sukoon, welcomed them.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that you owned this as well.” Alina was thrilled, as she’d enjoyed meeting him earlier. Sharmila tried to smile. “Everything will be fine, Ma, don’t worry,” Alina whispered to Sharmila, who seemed to be checking her phone every five seconds.

Sharmila put her phone away and decided to focus. The reason for being in Srinagar was the wedding, and now with Vikram’s family attending, it was going to be even more special. She said, “We are so happy to be here and cannot wait to see this amazing property. George has been raving about it.”

The owner was charming. “We are so delighted you are here, and I am happy to show you around. This is our main salon. We have seven rooms, all named for poets. First, I will show you the one that is closest to my heart. It is named for the Kashmiri poetess Habba Khatoun.”

Sharmila enjoyed the tour, despite not hearing from George. She almost found herself distracted. The enchanting resort vibrated with live music as local musicians filled the air with Kashmiri songs written by Habba Khatoun and other poets. A seemingly endless outdoor infinity pool overlooked the mountains. Every part of the resort was filled with flowers and flowering trees. The wide-open jharokas, windows, overlooked the majestic mountains.

“We have a fireplace in each room and the main dining room, and our pool and outdoor spaces are heated. George told me to make sure that I told you about the fireplaces. Oh, and I know the female waza, Raahat, well. I take it you have already enjoyed her food. She caters for us sometimes.”

“You spoke to George?” was the only response Sharmila could muster. She had heard his name and nothing else.

“Yes, this morning. He called to remind me about the fireplaces. I think he is going to meet you here, today, after your meal.”

Sharmila was confused. Why wasn’t he answering her? And now he was coming here? Well, she would ask him in person. If it was the kiss, then this was no way to behave. He was acting like a child. If he didn’t want this, all he had to do was say no. Her mind ran in several directions as she wondered what to say to him.

Meanwhile, the owner of Qayaam Gah had arranged a light meal outside for the two ladies. “We will be serving you a selection of our sandwiches, desserts, and teas. I thought maybe you would like something different today,” he said good-naturedly.

They sat out in the sun as a group of servers brought out plate after plate of sandwiches of every kind and teas to match. Alina tried almost everything, while Sharmila merely nibbled, waiting to see George and wondering what was wrong. Just as the desserts arrived, they heard his familiar voice talking to the resort owner.

Despite her previous decision to not to appear impatient and desperate, Sharmila rushed towards him, Alina on her heels. Even before she was in front of him, she was asking, “Where have you been? You haven’t answered a single message. I’ve been worried sick. And look at you… What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

George placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. She steadied, but she couldn’t read his expression. With the gentlest voice and the softest tone that he could muster, he said the words that would change their worlds forever.

“Sharmila, it’s about Vikram—Wajid and I have been doing some digging and there is a strong possibility that he may be alive.”

Chapter 16

No one could find Sharmila. She had walked away from George and Alina the minute he broke the news to her.

“How did you know? Have you spoken with him? How do they know he is alive? Where is he? Does he remember Ma?” Alina was by his side asking a million questions a minute. She wanted to go see her father immediately.

“Alina, I don’t have too many details,” George said softly. Alina wasn’t listening. She was leaving a voice message for Emilio sharing the news with him.

George sat down on the lawn of the resort and placed his face in his palms. “I fear I should not have said anything to your mother. Maybe she wasn’t ready. I… maybe I should have said it differently.”

George tried to call Sharmila again but there was no answer. She had run out of the resort dining room and he had let her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling. He wanted to give her space but, even more, he wanted to hold her close.

“George, can I ask you something?” Alina’s reaction was a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and some level of fear. “Do you think he will know who I am?”

“I’ll take you as soon as we find the location where he might be. I promise. It requires so many permissions. Wajid is working on it. I’ll take you both. But right now, we need to find your mother. She isn’t answering her phone.” George spent the next hour looking all over and around the resort. He told Alina he would take her back to the hotel so she could check there, but he had a feeling that Sharmila wouldn’t be there.

The past two days had tested George. He had prayed that Wajid was simultaneously right and wrong about Vikram. Wajid’s father-in-law, the diligent judge, had spent a few days looking through the paperwork to figure out why the death certificate was missing. He was about to dismiss the issue since so many papers had gone missing over the years, but a gut instinct, a feeling he had come to trust over the years, kept him going.

The answer came from one of the constables. “That bridge incident. I remember it because my father was there. He told me that they had arrested a lot of people that day. But what I do remember very clearly—I was very young, and my mother kept saying that only one person had died that day, since my father came out safe. It was a day that I have remembered every day in my life since.” That was all the judge needed to get the gears of the bureaucratic machinery to churn once more. The only dead body recovered that day had been of a man named Afzal, who owned a store in the area. From everything the judge could gather, Vikram’s body had never been found. There was a record that a bag with his name, some papers, a few clothes, and a painting had been recovered at the scene. It was documented that the contents of the bag had been given over to his family.

The judge started to make more inquiries. Of course, he told Wajid, the inquiries had to be discreet. There was a whole other side to this conflict in Kashmir that no one knew about.

The judge instructed his closest staff to start looking for what could have happened to Vikram Pandit. It took half a week of clearing red tape and paperwork, dead ends, and old bureaucracy, but finally they heard of a man who had been shot that day, and there were at least three eyewitnesses who mentioned that a wounded young man had been taken away from the scene by a small group of what appeared to be vigilantes.

The minute the judge heard this, he knew what could have happened to Vikram. The possibility was remote after all these years, but the judge hoped against all hope that the man would be alive and safe.

He called George and Wajid to tell them what he had found. Within an hour of his call, Wajid and George showed up in the judge’s private chambers.

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