Page 70

“It’s dengue, Rajmata, the same strain Kunwar had…”

“Has he been dehydrated?”

“No… Harsh?”

Samarth felt his head. He had never felt his whole brain and skull inside it before. It was like a mountain on his head with those voices pounding at it from the outside.

“He went riding to the school yesterday. Did he drink enough water?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Haren saheb I am not sure about his hydration levels yesterday… but I will make sure he drinks enough now.”

“Please do. Or we will have to hospitalise Rawal.”

Samarth groaned, wanting to say no. Rajmata’s hand landed on his forehead. It did not feel cold to the touch. It was warm. Good kind of warm.

“No hospital, Rajmata…” he mumbled, hoping his voice had reached her.

“No, no hospital,” she repeated, patting his head. “But you have to drink enough water, ok?”

He nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to drink any water.

“Don’t tell Papa…”

“What did you say?” Papa’s voice echoed inside his ears. Samarth managed to push his eyelids open. Papa was standing over him, hands behind his back, Dr. Haren beside him. The sun was out and heavy. How long had he been asleep?

He began to push up but Rajmata held him down.

“Court…”

“Is over,” she settled him back. “Papa went and sat. Here, drink this,” she handed him a glass of water. He half sat up and pulled a reluctant sip of acid that looked like water and held the glass in his hands.

“More, Samarth,” she pestered, pushing the glass back up. He took another sip, hoping that would be enough. His arm felt limp, as if carrying a glass from the bed to his lips was a chore that would need years to recover from.

“Rawal,” Dr. Haren, their family doctor sighed. “You have been detected with dengue. There is no treatment except…”

“Managing the symptoms until the body fights it,” he repeated on a burning throat. He knew the theory. Had been working on it for weeks now.

“In your case, the fever pitched up to 104 in the first bout. We must keep a check on that.”

“I’ll keep measuring,” he blinked.

“And make sure that you are hydrated. Overly hydrated. At least 4 litres of liquid a day. More if you can manage.”

Samarth nodded, pulling one more tiny sip from his glass.

“I mean it, Rawal,” his wise eyes widened. “Keep hydrated or I will put my foot down for a week of hospital. Your blood pressure was low. That’s not something we want with Dengue.”

He kept nodding, downing half the glass in one gulp with a wince.

“I’ll come back this evening,” Dr. Haren remarked and left the room. Harsh stood at the door. Samarth nudged his chin at him. He nodded. Everything outside was in order. The kingdom, the businesses, the various parts of his administration.

“Harsh,” Rajmata’s stern voice broke their eye contact. “If you are here to give Rawal court updates then I will ban you from this room.”

Samarth set his head back on his pillow and chuckled.

“Finish this glass,” she pushed it to his mouth.

“In a while…” he gaped at her, then up at his father, looking impassively down at him.

“I was supposed to have Dr. Vora start rolling out quinine today, Papa.”

“I did that. He will first be running a drive to educate the district doctors and nurses on dosage, use and side effects. Some are astute, but most aren’t…”

“Sid, leave the room,” Rajmata interrupted him. Papa’s eyes widened.

“Tara…”

“You ran the kingdom for how many years?”

“Huh?”

“How many years, Sid?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Then you know how to manage this outbreak. Now go. And you,” she turned threatening eyes down at him — “Your eyes are drooping. Go to sleep. The body fights an infection better in sleep.”

“I am not sleepy…” he lied, pushing his eyelids open. She shut them with her palm over his eyes. He wanted to laugh, couldn’t because his muscles were disintegrating. Papa’s laugh echoed instead.

“I’m going, beta. I have been ordered to take over until you are back,” he squeezed his calf and then was gone. Samarth took a deep breath.

“I am sleeping,” he pronounced out loud. The hand did not leave his eyes.

“If you were sleeping you would not be talking.”

He huffed. Long minutes passed. His breathing began to even out, that warm hand feeling like the best eye mask cutting off the sunlight. It began to pull away and he hated letting it go. Samarth squeezed his eyes open and she shut her palm over them again. Good.

“Harsh, go to the kitchen and get a 2-litre bottle of Coke… wait, this one likes Thums Up better, isn’t it? Get Thums Up. And I had asked for rotli na ladu and khichdi. If it is made, get that also. We’ll feed him before he goes to sleep again.”

Samarth let sleep pull him in. He did not want to eat. He did not want to drink. Even if she was offering him a bottle of Thums Up.

————————————————————

The thing with a flu was that you lived in limbo.

Samarth had not gotten a flu this intense since he was a kid and Papa had panicked so bad that he had to keep his mind sharp and body strong to keep reassuring him.

He tried to do it this time but Papa was relaxed — laughing, joking, working without a hitch.

So Samarth let go. He let his body go through the motions — bouts of fevers, breaking of his shoulders, disintegrating bones, chills in bed.

He ate a few pieces of rotli na laadu that Rajmata had ordered.

He did not touch the khichdi. Then she made him drink his favourite Thums Up which tasted like sweet acid.

She kept making him drink glass after glass all afternoon.

And he kept stumbling to the bathroom until finally, after the sun was going away from his window, he succumbed to sleep.

Sharan came to him and pushed him awake, got scolded by Rajmata and left.

Papa came to check his fever. He did not have a fever.

Samarth half-slept through it all. He felt Harsh by his side.

Somebody asked him to wake up and drink more Thums Up.

He did not wake up. His body began to chill down again.

Shivers and vibrations inside his head. The bones of his shoulders were rattling again, making him feel like he would drown right there in his bed.

He hit hay and startled awake. Ava was stepping inside a stall with Cherry and closing the door.

“Don’t go in there!” He shot out. “Come out!”

“You step into stalls all the time,” she patted Cherry’s neck. He snarled. He had thrown two riders off his back just today.

“Come out right now!”

She didn’t.

Raje!

A hand landed on his forehead. A panicked voice — “Samarth? Beta, what is happening? Shhh…”

“Tell her to come out!” He whined. Ava wasn’t coming out. She was hidden behind the door’s height. He couldn’t see her. Cherry began to kick his legs.

“Rajmata, tell her to come out!”

“She’ll come out. Shhh,” she held his arm, rubbing his sore shoulder. His body was turned and he found himself on his back, his eyes open. The ceiling of his bedroom. The reflections of the swimming pool in the lawn outside dancing in the dark of his ceiling.

“Tell her to come out…” he panted, his forehead damp. His hair felt wet and itchy. But Ava was still inside.

“She will come out, Samarth, quiet, now drink this, she will come out.”

His body was hauled up to sitting and a glass came to his lips.

He drank. Sweet acid. It fizzed in his mouth.

Thums Up. If Ava came out after drinking this he would drink the whole goddamn bottle.

He finished it and another glass was pushed up to his mouth.

This time he did not even hold it as Rajmata held it for him.

He drank down and a soft cloth wiped his mouth clean.

Samarth fell back on his pillow and closed his eyes. She was still in there, screaming. He couldn’t move from his place. His muscles, his bones, they were being pulled down. Will as might he couldn’t lift them. He cried out. He sobbed.

“Come out! Please come out!”

She didn’t come out. Kept screaming.

“Please,” he sobbed. His mother walked out of the stall and left the stables. He cried harder.

“Shhh!” His head rolled into a lap. The scent was familiar.

The saree… soft cotton. It had wiped his mouth.

Samarth reached out and wrapped his arms around her.

She would go into the stall too. He held tight.

She rocked back and forth, her hands patting his head — two pats followed by one, then two again, followed by one.

He remembered that rhythm. He remembered that hand. He remembered those taps.

He stopped crying.

He hiccupped.

He cried again.

He hiccuped.

“Sleep, Samarth. Sleep. Nothing will happen, sleep,” those patting hands stroked his hair. He took deep breaths. His body finally felt cooler.

“Rajmata…” he croaked, fisting the cotton of her saree under his hand.

“I am right here.”

“Don’t go into the stall.”

“I won’t. Now go to sleep.”

He held her saree tighter just in case. And went to sleep.

————————————————————

Samarth opened his eyes to darkness. The reflections playing out on his ceiling were still there.

He wasn’t alone in bed. He glanced to his left and Papa was stretched out beside him, one arm over his eyes, the other on his chest, fast asleep.

He glanced to his right and Rajmata was sitting up, half curled over him, her eyes closed.

His head was half on her thigh. It did not feel wrong.

Or like he was a weight on her. Tears came to his eyes.

He did not remember what he had done all night but he knew she had been here. That she was still here.

He wasn’t ashamed as a 34-year-old when his eye leaked. He was just grateful that none of them were awake to see it.