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“Ok,” he shrugged. Samarth shared a look with Rajmata, then nodded at one of the servers laughing silently in a corner. She came around the table, picked up the pot of poha and set a small serving on Sharan’s plate. He did not pay it any heed.

Then Samarth placed the bowl of sev between them and they resumed eating. A few minutes later, a small hand reached inside the bowl and took a fistful of sev, heaped it over his poha and spooned tiny bites out of the mix.

“You are both converts,” Rajmata shook her head.

Samarth swallowed. He reached forward to continue eating when he realised he was sitting on Papa’s chair.

He glanced at Rajmata and suddenly saw through her veneer of cheer.

She was eating, smiling, laughing, even joking.

But not chewing. She was still swallowing morsels like every day that had gone by.

A ball of saliva lodged in his throat, but Samarth chewed his food.

One step at a time. One day at a time. Rajmata will also one day soon begin to chew her food.

————————————————————

He wasn ’ t used to the weight of the crown. Not the literal one. The invisible one — the one that came with files thicker than an encyclopaedia and the room full of men who had stopped speaking to his eyes and had started speaking to his title.

Across from him sat the Managing Director of Jaisal Resources, the oil drilling partner that worked just outside the borders of Nawanagar.

He was a smooth-talking man in a linen blazer and dark sunglasses.

His assistant had brought an iPad. Samarth had brought a battered leather folder that still smelled like his father ’ s cologne.

“ How much of the revenue is reinvested into the land rehabilitation?” Samarth asked, tapping the page with a pen. He hadn ’ t expected to catch it, but it leapt out — barely three percent.

The MD offered a patient smile. “ Rawal, the lease agreement allows for a reinvestment cap at—”

“ I ’ m aware of what the lease says,” Samarth cut in. “ I read it. I also read the soil report. And the complaints from the farmers in the adjacent district.”

A pause. The MD shifted in his seat.

Samarth continued, “ My father may have signed this agreement. But I intend to run this court differently. I ’ m not here to shadow decisions anymore.”

One of the bureaucrats near him — the agriculture officer — coughed lightly, trying to offer a lifeline. “ We can, of course, propose a revised clause for environmental obligations…”

“ No need to propose,” Samarth said calmly. “ We ’ ll renegotiate. Effective immediately…”

“Rawal?” Ajatshatru Kaka knocked and stepped inside the office. He was still the Prime Minister. Samarth wasn’t ready to start an overhaul of the council yet, least of all Ajatshatru Kaka.

“Yes?”

“It is from South America. Urgent.”

Samarth frowned. All the formalities had been completed. They had received Papa’s luggage, papers and every last belonging.

“Excuse me,” he got to his feet and walked out of his office, closing the door behind him. Ajatshatru Kaka did not stop to finish this conversation in the alley. He strode, almost ran to his own office in the corner. Samarth followed, stepping in and letting him shut the door.

“It’s Rawal,” he pushed the phone into his hand.

“What?”

“Rawal… Papa.”

Samarth’s breath paused.

“Quick, quick,” Ajatshatru Kaka took his hand and pushed the phone to his ear.

“Samarth?”

Papa’s voice. Weakened. Low. Barely a whisper. Crackling. Was this a recording?

“Samarth? Beta, listen, I am ok. I am here at the Chilean Research Station with a fellow British mate…”

“Is this a recorded message?” Samarth asked Ajatshatru Kaka, livid and half-ready to cry.

“No, no, I am ok. We have contacted agencies in Ushuaia and we will be airlifted…” his voice cracked.

“Papa!” Sharan yelled, afraid he was gone.

“Sorry, the network,” his voice cracked again and his words were garbled. “Chile and Argentina… Indian embassies… Airlifted… Ushuaia in a few hours… tell Tara… be back…”

“Yes, yes! I am coming there. Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

“Ok, I’m ok. Call you from Ushuaia. Bye, beta.”

The call dropped and Samarth felt his hand drop with it, lifeless. He stared at Ajatshatru Kaka. His leathery face was lit up. His eyes were wet. He reached out and held his shoulder, squeezed. Samarth inhaled.

“That was Papa.” It came out as a question.

“Yes, Rawal.”

“Ushuaia,” Samarth nodded.

“We will go,” Ajatshatru Kaka nodded.

“We will go… we will go… But first get the embassies activated. Both ours and theirs. Papa should be airlifted safely back. Nothing should go wrong. Ok? Nothing should go wrong. Where is Rajmata?”

“I just came…” his smile froze. “She is in Anand Baag.”

“Alright!” Samarth pulled open the door and broke into a run. “Postpone the meeting with Jaisal Resources.”

He did not wait for confirmation. He ran, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. It had three missed calls from an unknown number. Papa had called him. He hadn’t picked up in that meeting. What a fool!

He ran down the palace alleys and out into the lawn, running, running, running, seeing guards and chaperones and citizens turn to stare at him. For the first time in his adult life he did not care that he was breaking protocol.

“Maarani!” He hollered as he rounded into Anand Baag, the pomegranate orchard that Papa had commissioned for her. “Maarani! Maarani!”

Her running footsteps met him halfway, in the middle of ripe pomegranate trees.

“What?” Her face was tear-stained. He panted, trying to catch his breath and his voice. Suddenly he had no words. She gripped his arm — “Samarth, you are scaring me…”

“Papa called.”

“Papa?”

He nodded — “He survived, he called from a Chilean research station. Our embassies in Chile and Argentina have activated a rescue mission. I am leaving for Ushuaia…”

“Wait, wait,” she held both his arms. “Say it again. Slowly.”

He felt his mouth stretch taut — “I am bringing him home. He is alive.”

“Papa?” She asked, incredulous, half-scared, just as he had been a few minutes ago.

“Papa,” he reassured.

“Are you…” she glanced back at the pergola and her open laptop and her papers. “You are not… it’s not a lie, right?”

“No, Maarani. Papa is alive. He is right now being air-lifted to Ushuaia along with one other British researcher. Both of them are alive.”

She swayed. Her eyes rolled back in her head and he grabbed her in time to catch her from falling — “Maarani, careful…” he helped her back to her table. He pushed her down on her chair, still panting. He grabbed the glass of water and held it to her lips.

“Drink, Maarani, drink…”

Her mouth opened and she gulped, her eyes finally popping open and whirling up to him.

“Samarth?”

“Yes, Maarani?”

She clasped his hand. His fingers tightened around hers. “It’s Papa, right? You confirmed?”

“Yes.”

“He is coming home.”

Samarth laughed, unable to hold himself back as he found his head falling into the crook of her shoulder, circling his arms around her. Her arms came around him, holding the back of his head.

“Papa is coming home,” he reiterated, more to himself than to her and her hand patted the back of his head. His body shook silently and she kept patting. Twice, then one more time. Again repeat.