Samarth hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and walked.

He had to reach the private airstrip before his father’s plane departed for Ushuaia, the southernmost town of South America, from where he would take a ship to Antarctica.

Samarth detested Geography, but the route his father’s ship would take was stamped on his mind.

His father had been a daring, dashing man in his younger days.

He wasn’t old now. But Samarth had always been aware of the life his father had slowly given up to be his full-time parent.

He did travel the globe for work after Samarth had gone to boarding, but he never went on such risky expeditions again after his mother left.

This time too, he had decided to reject it even before considering it.

Luckily, Harsh had brought news to him and Samarth had gone rogue.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had tried every trick in the book to convince his father’s right-hand man and Harsh’s father — Ajatshatru Kaka to mail Rawal’s acceptance letter to the Ministry of Environment.

He got a good earful when his father discovered it.

But eventually Samarth managed to convince him to go.

It wasn’t really as risky now. And for once, Samarth wanted his father to restart his life as he should have.

The joy of doing something you love was a primal right every human should have possessed.

Why would his Papa, the Rawal of Nawanagar, the man who could command everything, be deprived of it?

“ Rickshaw andar nayi jaaye huh, Kunwar, [11] ” Santram Kaka stopped the vehicle just outside the gates of the private airport of Nawanagar.

“ Toh hun bhaagu, Kaka! Thank you! [12] ” Samarth left his bag there and made a dash for the gate. Lucky for him, all the officers on duty knew him. Either that, or he really did look so much like his father now that there remained no doubt about his parentage.

“Hello. I am Samarth Sinh Solanki. Can you please tell me where is Rawal’s flight parked?” He asked at the concierge.

The lady glanced at him, opening her mouth to tell him off. Then stopped. She peered at him — “Kunwar?”

Samarth smiled — “Can you please tell me where is Rawal’s flight parked? I am not cleared to enter the tarmac but I just wanted to go say bye.”

“Oh, of course, of course. Come with me, please,” she rounded her desk, setting her already set saree in place, ushering one arm out. “This way please. It is ready to take off.”

Samarth followed her down the airport, the space empty.

He saw through the glass wall ahead and realised why.

Only his Papa’s flight was scheduled for this slot, the plane idling in the distance, the palace cars parked.

His Papa’s magnificent figure emerged from the largest of those, patent white kurta-pyjama and black waistcoat.

Samarth quickened his steps, observing the broad back of his father flex as he raised his hand to the line of dignitaries waiting for him, then began to move down it to greet them.

The airport security at the door asked for his ID and Samarth handed it over.

“This way, Kunwar,” the lady opened the door to the tarmac.

Samarth accepted his ID and ran down, the December sun feeling warm in the cold winds.

He skidded to a stop at the end of the line, eyes straight ahead, waiting for his father to finish greeting everybody.

He knew his father had seen him. But etiquette, manners and protocol dictated that he wait for Rawal to acknowledge him first in public.

His father reached him, and Samarth folded his hands, bowing his head — “Rawal.”

A beat, then his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. Samarth bent down to touch his feet.

“School chhodi ne aavya chho, Kunwar?” [13] His father asked him sternly as he rose to his full height and met his eyes. Samarth read the joy there. But he also knew his father was Rawal first, and he was his Rawal’s Kunwar first.

“Rajaa layi ne aayvo choon, Rawal,” [14] Samarth answered.

His father’s face, so like the one he saw in the mirror every day, but multiple times more rugged, more handsome, more bearded, more…

everything, stretched into a smile. He tugged him into his chest and Samarth went in, circling his arms around his chest and laying his head on his shoulder.

He didn’t reach his Papa’s shoulder yet, as Santram Kaka had rightly observed.

His father squeezed him, thumped his back, then held him back by his biceps. He looked at him a moment, then turned his face to the dignitaries and nodded.

“Walk with me, Kunwar,” he commanded.

Samarth fell in step beside him, the red carpet flowing from the plane stairs coming closer and closer.

“Keep a check on Dada Sarkar,” his Papa reminded him, his voice heavy.

They had talked about exactly this thing last night too.

Samarth wanted to roll his eyes. His and Papa’s nightly calls stretched for hours at least thrice a week.

And yet he repeated the same stuff again and again.

What was it with parents and parroting, he couldn’t understand.

“Take care of yourself,” Papa repeated. “And in worst case scenario, fly immediately to Nawanagar and…”

Samarth stopped him right there — “Nothing is going to be worst case about your trip, Rawal.” His voice was hoarse. He did not want to even think of such a scenario, forget prep for it. This one thing, he never wanted to prep for in his life.

His father smiled — “We are Kshatriyas, we need to always be prepared for worst case, beta.”

“Papa,” he protested. “You have gone on this voyage twice before.”

“And one of those times you weren’t born, while the other time you were a baby. This time you are of age. I know I can tell you to be ready. Can I?”

“Yes, Rawal.”

“Then if something goes wrong, immediately fly to Nawanagar, go to my study, grab the keys from my secret drawer along with the Raj Sinh Mohar. Stand tall in the court in front of everyone and declare yourself the next king of Nawanagar. Do not be ashamed, or embarrassed or think about the glumness of the timing. Ok?”

“Yes, Rawal,” Samarth answered because that’s what he was expected to do.

“And remember, you won’t have to do that,” Papa’s strong, heavy hand circled his nape and gave it a shake. “Even though I am going to the end of the world, I am coming back.”

Samarth grinned — “I told you you are.”

“What should I get for you?”

“Nothing. I have everything, Papa.”

He gave him a look.

“Really!” Samarth chuckled. He indeed did have everything. All the gadgets, all the clothes, all the shoes he needed. He had the best polo gear in the world, or the closest to best, thanks to Maan bhai. He had his horses. He had Ava. He didn’t need much else.

“Ok, I’ll call you if I think of something,” Samarth added to pacify his father.

“You better. Now go, and miss me. We will talk every night, your time.”

They reached the end of the red carpet and his father turned to him, one eyebrow raised — “And Samarth?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“What is this I am hearing about Avantika Kumari Raje of Gwalior. Some classmate of yours?”

Samarth froze. Not only his throat, his whole mouth dried.

Announcing to the entire class was one thing.

Telling his father that he was dating was…

quite another. He didn’t want to keep secrets from his father but this was…

something he wished he would be able to tell him at a stage when things were more solid.

Not that they weren’t right now! But he… his whole face felt hot.

Papa’s hand clapped on his shoulder, his quiet teasing laugh heavy — “She plays women’s cricket, that’s what I meant.”

Samarth’s eyes squeezed shut and he shook his head. Shit. What was he giving away by acting like a cartoon? And didn’t he know his father’s jokester side?

“Get your colour under control before you turn to them,” Papa pointed. “And be respectful.”

“Yes, Papa,” Samarth intoned, working to school his features and his skin.

“I’ll call you tonight,” his father set his hand atop his head, looked at him with that same expression he had looked at him with every time he departed on a trip.

This time it lasted longer. Samarth knew why.

This was a trip slightly more… uncertain than the rest. His father would be travelling to the remote continent of Antarctica to perform research with a team of professionals from different countries.

It was a 10-day expedition and Samarth had the itinerary on his phone, laptop and copied in a notebook. He would keep track of everything.

Papa patted his head, then turned and climbed up the stairs.

Samarth stepped back as the carpet was rolled, the stairs pushed back and the plane drove to the runway.

He remained there with everybody else, standing in protocol as Rawal’s plane took off to the end of the world — literally.

He hoped his Papa would begin to live his life now.

He wished his Papa would realise that he was on the verge of becoming an independent adult soon.

And that a Rawal, a father, a son aside — as Siddharth Sinh Solanki, his Papa still had a life to live.

————————————————————

“Oh my gaaawwwddd, Samarth! How are you so freaking dense!” Ava clawed her hands through her hair and pulled.

Samarth winced, eyeing the mess he had made of the test she had given him.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, with the textbooks and notebooks and copies of topo maps between them, all his hopes of some cuddle time with Ava had gone down the drain.

It was way past 11 now and for three hours, all she had done was explain concepts to him, pointed out symbols, defined them, broken down the meanings.

And for a student who prided his grasping power, Samarth had been ashamed to admit that he had only stared at Ava’s mouth for half of that duration, not in a romantic trance but in frustrating blankness.