28. The stronger you become, the more powerful your enemies become…
“The stronger you become, the more powerful your enemies become, Jannat.”
“Then remain small and happy. Why give your enemies all that pleasure?”
Her father laughed.
“Good point. I wonder why I never thought like that.”
“See? Complex problems have simple solutions, Abba.”
“Like churning pista in a mixer when I asked you to pound them on stone?” Her mother hollered. Iram bit her lip. How did her mother always know when it was powdered in a mixer and when it was done on stone.
“No pista in your phirni now!” Ammi threatened.Empty threats, she knew from experience.
Her father held his palm out — “I’ll swap our bowls.”
She chucked his hand and rolled her eyes, throwing her head back on the cushion of her sofa.
“Abba?” She asked, staring at the ceiling of her house.
“Hmm?”
“Do you have enemies?”
“Everybody in politics has enemies. But nobody is any enemy if you are a politician.”
“Are they powerful?”
A pause.
“Abba?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because they don’t know they are my enemies.”
She whirled up from the cushion — “What does that mean?!”
Iram blinked awake, staring at the ceiling of her house. Not the same one in her dream. It was the ceiling of her Jammu house. She wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead, swallowing to loosen the tightness in her mouth. Arth’s cot was still. Iram crawled to the end of the bed and peeped. He was fast asleep.
She sat back in the middle of the bed, the covers suddenly feeling too hot. She rarely felt hot. Never when Atharva wasn’t there to heat her up. Iram pulled her mobile up and checked the time. 4.12 am. She pulled up Atharva’s chat and checked. Nothing.
IRAM
Are you awake or asleep?
No response. She glanced back at her pillow, looking sad and hot next to Atharva’s. She glanced at the curtained window. It was dark. She had slept for all of two hours and now nothing could make her go back to sleep. Her heart thudded with thoughts of him. Momina Aslam had hit him where it hurt — on his nationalism. This man lived and died for his nation. Iram began to slide down the spiral of guilt. If only she hadn’t left. If only he hadn’t come after her. If only she had managed to come back sooner. If only…
No.She screeched the brakes on her spiralling panic. She couldn't afford to slide down this path. There would be time later to finish this pity party. For now, she needed to stand strong. He needed to see her like the backbone of his home. Last time, after Samar’s accident, she had started to become strong for him before her own spine snapped. This time, even if it snapped, she would stand tall for him. Whatever he needed. Whatever happened. She would be whatever he and Yathaarth would need.
Iram squeezed her eyes shut, drank the pungent feeling of fear and grabbed her laptop. If sleep wasn’t coming, she would write. She needed to write. A new book. Because the second one was already on its way to editing.
She pulled up a blank doc and began.
Zoon and Taj 3.0 — what remains when everything passes
