MG (FF): The Circle of Exile [Ch. 6 : Pg. 23] 8th Feb, '21 - Page 8

Loved it very much

Originally posted by: MariumChoudhary

Frosty keep updating your index from the beginning it will be easier and not much trouble and lot of load at the end...

Yeah you should actually frosty.

It will be quite stressful if the updates start coming more.

Originally posted by: frostedstarlit

Hey Guys,

No, I am not planning on bi-weekly updates, yet. Just have a little weekend vacation planned so won't be able to update this Saturday. And after all these months of inconsistency, I did not wish to go back on my word this time as well. So here's the update, without further ado.

Elena’s son…

“Elena’s son would jump headfirst into it!”

His grandmother would repeat in his ear, pestering him round and round, again and again, standing behind him at the edge of the small pool formed by the waterfall of Lower Cartrake.

“You are Elena’sson, what are you waiting for?”

The wind of Yorkshire’s chilled autumn came and ruffled his goose pimples even now when he thought about those days; about the sweet encouragement of Jane Montfort, his grandmother. He felt chills run up and down his arms even now, when he thought of the nakedness of his torso, the biting stretch of his trunks that felt cold and hard on his skinny waist. When he was a child, not more than seven or eight, he had learned to jump into water. At that time, he had not known how shallow the pool really was. And the lack of that knowledge had taught him courage, to face anything he didn’t know head on, to jump into pools that he didn’t know the depths of.

Every now and then, when he peered into a pool full of water that looked endless, Maan would stop and wonder to himself. Would Elena’s son jump right into it today, after all that had happened?

The baby whimpered in his arm and gave a toothless grin when he looked down. With Aachman in his life now, would he still jump into the unknown? Or was the cautiousness of Aachman’s father meant to take away the daring of Elena’s son?

“You tell me Dilbaro,” Maan whispered to his son. “Should I do it? Take you with me into this? Close my eyes, take a deep breath, and plunge us both into a mad search that might have no end?”

The warm summer breeze, heavy and slightly humid, fluttered past them, making Aachman’s fine baby hair ruffle on the top of his head. It gave out a sweet mix of baby shampoo and formula milk. To Maan, that scent was heaven. He buried his nose in his son’s head and breathed in, his lips partly puckered to let them touch his son’s soft, shell-like ear.

“Hmm… but what’s the alternative again? Sit back here and let someone else take the lead? Letting go of the one chance I have of bringing her home myself? What if no one but you and I can bring her back? What if she refuses and only I can mollify her, show her your face and force her back to what is left?”

Maan’s throat clogged. What if she would see their son’s face and still turn away? What would he do then? He couldn’t even bring himself to utter those words aloud. How was he to bear it if it came to pass? How was he to explain it to Aachman one day if that is what was going to happen?

A knock was his merciful escape from that dark valley of thoughts. He turned around, and cleared his throat to rid himself of the throaty voice that was just for his and Aachman’s conversation.

“Come in”

The door to his home office opened and in walked Meera, dressy as ever, poised as ever, in control as ever. She carried a walkie-talkie on her hip today and looked like one of her minion media mongers.

“Let’s get on with it then”

She said, even before her eyes fell on the baby in his arms. A smile tugged at her mouth, then turned sad. Aachman, after all, was one of the reasons she had lost Samar, and he was also the gift of Samar’s sacrifice. Somehow, in her twisted logic, that is how Meera had come to see him. Maan remembered how it had taken Meera a whole lot of weeks to even come to see Aachman. And even when she had, she had not had the heart to lift him. She still didn’t. But she did smile with all her heart at his son. And that was a good start.

“I didn’t know you were looking after him today…”

“Anni had to go get his medicines. She doesn’t trust anybody else to do it… with all that has been happening”

He waved a hand around vaguely. But there was nothing vague in what was going in Kashmir. Bashar Wani’s death had only been the start of a fuse that had been lit long ago. Weeks into his death and the fire had been stoked, so much so that, every Friday stone-pelters were gathering around mosques and starting their parades through downtown Srinagar. Mischief-makers were targeting army bunkers, torching gardens and raising anti-Indian slogans. Everything was a black mass of chaos.

When the army was given permission to use tear gas, the stone pelters came with special masks, when they were permitted to use water hoses; the pelters started climbing buildings and terraces to attack. The worst political breakdown on Maan’s part though, had come when he had let the Central Government intervene. Yogesh Patel’s pressure had finally strained the KDA government because the Janata Party MLAs had refused to cooperate in the house. Although their threats didn’t mean anything as Maan was sitting on a majority that could go on even in the wake of Janata Party breaking their alliance, it would be suicide to let go of good relations with the Centre at such a crucial time. Especially with Momina Aslam and Awaami Party rallying tirelessly against whatever he did.

Then had come Maan Singh Khurana’s political suicide. He had silently supported the Central Government in letting the army use pellet guns last week. Maan had seen the ground reality, and pellet guns had seemed the only viable option to maintain civilization in a rapidly depleting social order. He had been explicitly in support of the move, knowing that was the only way they were holding the state together. It was only Meera and his Council of Ministers’ insistence that had kept him from voicing that aloud in public.

Because pellet guns, even though not fatal, were blinding, maiming, bodily harming. Over the last three decades, as many times as the pellet guns had been used in the valley, the ruling government had fallen, and fallen hard. The wrath of the public, fueled by ‘human rights activists’ and ‘conscientious’ media outlets had all but obliterated the status quo. So Maan didn’t voice his public support for the army’s use of these guns for crowd control.

Yet, his silence on the whole issue and lack of condemnation of the Indian army’s tactics had brought on much rage from the locals, fired on as they were by strategically placed media reporters, human rights activists, militant leaders and Pakistani debate personalities.

Thirty-two days after the first protest had begun, Srinagar and surrounding areas were still reeling in silent attacks every Friday, and were nowhere near rest. ‘Jume’ ki namaaz had taken a whole new meaning all of a sudden. It was the peak of summer, and tourism was on an all time low. Why wouldn’t it be? When any street given on a Friday afternoon was either rained by stones and pellets, or so quiet that it bordered on eerie.

“Sir?”

A knock resounded on the door and he blinked, making a throaty sound to let Naina in.

“Morning! I was thinking I would take Aachman for a… oh, hi Meera, what brings you here so early this morning?”

Naina grinned, before making a cooing face at Aachman.

“I had to discuss something with Maan.”

“Can you take him for a stroll outside Naina? I think he is irritated being cooped up all morning.”

“Sure”

Naina smiled at the child, taking him from Maan and rubbing her nose to his, babbling and blowing raspberries to make him chortle.

“Of course, but if you are discussing about the next press strategy then maybe I can stay… we need all the heads-up we need at PR… I can have someone else take this little tornado”

“No,” Meera intoned, cool and poised, with a smile worth her press conferences pasted across her lips, “that will not be necessary. It’s personal.”

Naina seemed slightly taken aback, but didn’t show her disappointment.

“His stroller is in the garden”

Maan voiced as she closed the door behind her. Then, when the room was quiet with only the two of them, Meera sighed, plucked her walkie talkie and flipped the switch to turn it off.

“So you have decided to go yourself to get her back?”

“Yes”

“And if I say that is the last political suicide that will kill your career and the party, then?”

“How many suicides am I allowed?”

He snickered, but she didn’t share his dark humor. His face took that grim look again and his mouth formed the words, loud and clear.

“I will still go.”

Meera closed her eyes, looking like she was in a lot of pain. When she opened them, Maan was sure he saw a tear or two swimming in there.

“Geet, is my friend, okay? I want nothing more than for her to come home. But there are other ways.”

“No”

“Maan, we can again send Mirza…”

“No”

“He is a good undercover journalist, you have sent him on missions before…”

“I said no. He got scared the last time and look what happened? He was so close to her and couldn’t get in touch with her.”

“That’s because you hadn’t told him to…”

“Semantics, “ he scoffed. “Mirza has never stopped because of my orders. You know that just as well as I do. That is why, I am going to do this myself.”

“Do you know what the latest situation is like?”

“I know…”

“Not from your daily pile of newspapers. The real, behind-the-scenes situation?... The people of Kashmir are angry. At you. So angry. They have come to protest more than Bashar Wani’s death, against you. Because you silently supported pellet guns, because you let the army in, because you are an ex-army man. Whatever damage control we try and do every day, there are enough hammers to drown our ship little by little every minute. And by going to Pakistan at such a crucial time, you will make an enemy of the Indian army, the only group supporting you right now. Imagine, when both sides hate you, who will be left to support you then? Momina Aslam is already rallying that you have become weak in this crisis… ‘Succumbed to your army gods’ was the quote if I am not mistaken”

“I will not lose time after ifs and buts. I will go, and I will bring Geet back.”

“And let KDA break apart? We haven’t even completed half of our term in government and you want to end everything?”

“No”

“No? Then how are you proposing to come out unscathed from this trip of yours?”

“I will go on an official peace tour to Pakistan.”

“Really?” she snorted, “That makes me feel better! And who…”

“The invitation of which is dated to two months ago, before all this started.”

“Wha… how?”

His lips curved sadly.

“After Geet left, I… I anticipated that it might come to this. So I had secured an open invitation from the Azad University in POK. We know people in the management there, they owe me favours. They will organize a peace festival and welcome me and the Chief Minister of Hunza Valley to inaugurate.”

“Wow, and you think thatis not scandalizing?”

He took a deep breath.

“I can’t make this any better. You will have to find a way to make this look good.”

“Nothing in thislooks good!”

“Then spin it, isn’t that what you do best?”

She shook her head.

“Aachman?”

“What about him?”

“Who will take care of him while you are gone?”

“But he will go with me, of course.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Taking Aachman there?… It’s… it’s”

“Not dangerous. I am on an official visit.”

“No, not dangerous, but stupid. He needs to be at home, safe, secure… he is so young”

Maan swallowed. As if it caused him too much pain, his jaw tightened, before he said

“Maybe, seeing him, she would return.”

“Oh Maan”

Meera sighed, her eyes drooping.

“Maybe by now she has found her roots and I can encourage her to come back for Aachman…”

“She loves you more than anything Maan, you know that, don’t you?”

He just tipped his head in a non-committal way.

“Look, I was too distraught at that time to understand what was going on between you two. But I know for sure that Geet had something that pushed her. I wouldn’t call them reasons, but she… she loved you too much leave.”

“Well, not enough, I suppose.”

To that, Meera had no argument. Probably loving someone was there, it sustained, it existed. But loving them enough was the key. Maybe Samar had loved her, but not enough yet to tell her. Maybe by the time he knew he was going to die, he had realized he did love her enough after all. As his last words to Geet proved.

“In any case, we will know soon”

Maan stated, turning away and staring out at the brilliant Sunday morning. The garden was blooming again and leaves were lush. The gulmohars were bright pink and tiny ripe cherries and almond pods were weighing the branches down. July was the peak season and without tourism, everything seemed quiet. Not meditative, but haunting quiet.

“Maan”

“Hmm?”

He half-turned, his gaze still on Naina outside as she pushed Aachman’s stroller in the garden.

“Sit down, and give me a list of the names of all those people who know.”

“Know what?”

“About this, about Geet and Nagar.”

His attention back at her, Maan’s face tightened.

“To neutralize their voices?”

“In a manner of speaking. As your press secretary, it is my job to protect you. Even from our friends. I need all the names so that…”

“You can find dirt on them and keep them in your back-pocket? I know. I understand.”

Maan sat down behind his desk. Meera took her seat.

“Well,” he grinned, “start with yourself.”

--------------------------

It was after three days of detailed planning and confirmations when Meera, in status of the Press Secretary to the Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir, issued a statement to the press in the Secretariat’s Media Auditorium. It was an announcement of the CM’s visit to the Pak-Occupied Kashmir area, namely – the Hunza Valley and the Azad University in the town that was celebrating ‘August - the month of Independence on both sides.’

The very next hour, a similar statement was thrown into the sub-continental news agencies by the Communications Department of Azad University.

‘In keeping with the fact that India derived its independent on the 15thof August and Pakistan did on the 14th of August, we, the people of a land between both, are celebrating the Independence Day at our University at the beginning of the month of August. We want to celebrate the month that marked a beginning of hope for this part of the world, even though it never ended up being so. Our belief is, that by celebrating the month, we shall see the two countries strive towards peace, find a common ground, leave the different dates aside and see the month of August for the beginning of a new start that it is for both. For our sake. And for the sake of those billions on both sides who are tired of opening newspapers and reading about more violence, more politics, more failed efforts at peace. We are honored to welcome the Chief Minister of Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir – Mr. Maan Singh Khurana, and are delighted to confirm his presence.’

That this caused ‘uproar’ would be an understatement. If Kashmir had a sea by its side, a hurricane would have erupted. There was silence in the valley between two uproarious Fridays usually, but this week had brought on a different kind of static.

The noise was deafening in the quiet room, where the meeting between the CM and the Chief of Special Security Forces was held. It was a special rendezvous sought by the SSF Chief himself, accompanied by Maan’s Deputy CM Ali Haq Abdul and Yogesh Patel’s Principle Secretary Roshan bhai. Maan chose to take the meeting alone, making Qureshi and Adi sit this round out.

“Let me take this one for the team guys,” he’d thrown in a flippant manner over his shoulder when they had tried to accompany him.

Maan knew, that if he were to face the music, he had to face it alone. None of his ministers, none of his party leaders, none of his friends deserved to be on the receiving end of this music. Only, he never anticipated quite how glass breaking the music would be.

After all was said and done, after Roshan bhai had flipped twice in a span of two hours, and after he had laid every nasty blame, consequence and doomsday scenario on Maan’s table, the meeting came to a semblance of conversation.

“I have on good authority here from Yogesh bhai,” Roshan continued, calmer and mellower, “that if you renege on your announcement to go to POK, then he will convince all the Janata Party MLAs to stop their protest in Vidhan Sabha. He is even positive on bringing Momina Aslam around.”

“And you, Major Banot?” Maan asked, turning to the SSF Chief. “What do you have to say to that? Since you were the one who convened this joint meeting?”

Banot cleared his throat, having spoken less and listened more in the last two hours.

“Mr. CM, I respect you, immensely. You belong to the fraternity of Special Security Forces, and you have shown your support to everything the army has been doing to keep peace here in Kashmir. But this is one thing I cannot support you in; neither can I convince anyone in my fraternity to do so. If you go, you invite our publically channeled wrath. And it is not only the SSF but the BSF and the Army as well.”

“Samjho Maan bhai, idea drop kardo. Anyway it is just a stupid university in a town none of us even know the name of. You can decline the invite…” Roshan bhai smiled, trying to adopt a condescending tone. That, clearly, didn’t bode well with the Chief Minister who had sat and taken everything quietly for two hours.

“The problem is, Roshan bhai, I have already accepted the invite. I have given my word.”

Maan shrugged seriously, putting himself in an inferior position to the condescending advice.

“So what? You can cancel, of course. You have valid reasons to go back on your word. The Pakistani PM just declared that all that is happening in Kashmir is a freedom struggle… they called Bashar Wani a freedom fighter. They called us dictators and you want to step into their country?”

“Hmm, Roshan bhai, I would have made that statement, surely, you are right. But haven’t we, as a country, always maintained that the POK area of Kashmir belongs to us and not Pakistan?”

“Of course we have! The swines have captured that land…”

“Exactly. So now my saying that I shall not go to POK because Pakistan offended us will only question our stand that POK is a part of Kashmir, a part of India. No?”

Roshan bhai fell silent. His mouth thinned and his eyes took on a sharp look. Major Banot looked taken aback but his demeanor remained unchanged, unforgivingly stoic.

“What should I do now Roshan bhai, you tell me… if there is any other way to get out of this, since the press releases have already gone... I cannot renege on this without compromising on your government’s national policy stand that POK belongs to India.”

“Well… yes, that… that may be a problem. Let me go back and ponder this over with Yogesh bhai. I’m sure he will have a solution…”

“So in the meanwhile, I hope you will bring your Vidhan sabha members to peace in the house and let the proceedings continue?”

“Huh?... I cannot commit on that, but now… I will need some time to ponder over.”

“Sure, yes, of course. Take your time. The House is adjourned until Friday. You can come to a decision before then. If you decide to continue stalling the house then I will have no other option but to break alliance.”

“What?”

Roshan bhai looked taken aback now. Maan shrugged, looking quite worried but not quite concerned.

“See, KDA cannot remain in alliance with a party that disrupts government proceedings, now can it?”

A chilled silence penetrated the room. It was worse than static. Maan was aware of Major Banot’s piqued interest, spectator as he was to a political impasse. But Maan was in no hurry to carry out this conversation in private. In fact, he was happy to display his strength to the SSF Chief. If not directly, then indirectly.

“Hmm”

Roshan bhai sat back, looking from Maan to Ali and back to Maan. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“You will end up spoiling our carefully built relations, and at such a crucial time…” he intoned, looking grim and a little threatening. Maan let his mouth thin in a regretful line.

“Imagine my position. I will be left without an option. If you do not want to cooperate, then what is left for me to walk with? KDA will have to lead the Jammu Kashmir Government on its own shoulders henceforth…”

“You will only strengthen your opposition Maan bhai, are you prepared for that?”

“But you will not be able to join Awaami Party Roshan bhai, they are the antithesis to your core ideology. With elections coming up in Gujarat and Maharashtra – both Hindu dominated states; you cannot afford to shake hands with a party that proclaims Muslim fundamentalism at best and fanaticism at worst. Not that it is any of my business to comment on that.”

Roshan bhai stilled for a moment. Then very quietly said,

“Samar Rai would have done it differently.”

“Samar Rai is not here to do it.”

That came out more fiercely, even a little more furiously than Maan had expected. Samar, just as Geet, had been his inflamed nerve. One mention and it went up in flames. Roshan bhai probably understood the sensitivity of where their conversation was headed and took a sip of his tea to give it a moment. He peered over the rim of the cup at Maan, sizing him up, letting his thick bulging glasses channel his gaze into Maan’s grey ones.

“Why don’t we take two days to ourselves Mr. Chief Minister? Weigh all our options, consider your party and ours…”

Ali intervened, addressing Maan not by his name as he was used to, but by the formal title he was expected to. Even though he had been appointed the Deputy CM to Maan by virtue of being a Janata Party leader, and owed his position to the alliance between the two parties, Ali had, in very short time, come to develop a close friendship with Maan. Something that was diluted lately in popular opinion as the two had kept public distance from each other.

It was a blessing that they had had the foresight to do so; because now that perceived coldness would help Ali bring Janata Party around, without sounding biased. Maan stood up, shook hands, and saw the men file out of his office, trusting Ali Haq Abdul to accomplish the task of pacifying Yogesh Patel and Janata Party. This was his last bet of saving the relations between the state and the center. And without exchanging any words, Maan knew Ali understood that.

So, feeling good about what he is doing or wondering if will he end up hammering his own foot?

Knowing me, I'm guessing it should be the latter😉

PRECAP:

“I didn’t congratulate you on the birth of your boy”

Toru whispered; her confident, attacking interviewer-tone swapped for a feeble, hesitant one.

“Thank you”

“And I am sorry, for the loss of your daughter. It became prime news in no time. I tried stalling them from running it immediately but it was already out of my hand.”

A small lump went down Maan’s throat. He nodded, his grey gaze acquiescing in understanding.

“Have you been in Delhi all this time?” he asked, compelled to switch topics.

“Oh, don’t ask! I have been all over South India.”

“Let me guess… Karnataka and Tamil Nadu elections”

“Yeah well, touring with you through Leh’s mountains and monasteries felt like a holiday compared to the other election campaigns I have had to cover this season.”

“I don’t remember you being of quite the same opinion at the time”

She gave a bark of laugh at his wry seriousness.

“Well, you didinsult me”

“You were late,” he shrugged.

“You were not a big leader at that time”

“So? Only big leaders’ time is the time that matters, is it?”

That shut her up. Then something struck her and she gave a cheeky grin.

“How can we still argue like I am that brash journalist from 2014 and you are the guy who was standing in elections with close to nil chances of victory?”

So, what do you think?

Do let me know in your comments.

Until next Update

<3

Frosty.

Fabulous. More knots, more interesting it gets. Love to see you untange them, Frosty.

Please, let us in on the scene that unfolded at Geet's disappearance. Can visualize Maan. Still your version is awaited. What does the general public know of it. After all, if the CM's wife has gone missing mysteriously, there must be some explanation.

Waiting for THE Maan Geet rendezvous. And the little munchkin meeting his mother.

Frosty, Saturday has passed. Where is the update !!!

So CM knew very well that where was his first lady hiding...n he was planning...now in action...wants to take a chance to bring back her...but its really dangerous for him...naina...maan still didnt know abt naina...will geet know abt maans arrival or she will see him amna samna...will we see some actions in pakistan like before when he will run away with his wife n son from pakistan to india

Waiting for next update

What's up with you Frosty? How's your days going busy? How's everything?

Excellent Chapter

Maan wants Geet back hoping when she sees their son she will

return , however it seems like a dangerous political move from Maan's side

but he also wants all the members to approve his views

Meera too dislike that Maan is taking this dangerous step as she believes not only the people

but the army too will be against him

I want Maan to at least find Geet hear her views on why she left

the precap is interesting

seems like Maan is been interviewed

Hey guys, I'm sorry to be MIA for the last two weeks. Had something going on at this end with my family. But back to business tomorrow. So who is here for an update tomorrow night?

11 pm IST.