Page 182 of A King's Oath

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.”

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