Page 40 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“Wajid, I am happy to see that your foot is out of the cast and that you are walking again,” the judge said, then asked the two of them to sit down.

“I will try to explain this the best way that I can. I am telling you again that there is no guarantee that Vikram is alive. But if he is, I think I know where he will be.” With a deep breath, he began to tell them a tale that was bizarrely frightening and yet so filled with hope.

In the early nineties, a lot of Kashmiris were being killed. While there were many who moved—or were relocated by the government—to other areas outside Kashmir, there were those who were left behind and were being slaughtered by the terrorist organizations. At the same time, a small, super-secret underground group came into being. Their name was Nyay (Justice). The judge told the two bewildered men that Nyay was responsible for hiding a lot of Kashmiris who were at risk of being killed by the terrorists. While Nyay provided a safe haven for people being targeted by terrorists, there was a catch. Once they rescued someone, that person could never leave the organization. This was done for their own safety, that of their families, and now the safety of all the others who were hiding in Nyay facilities.

“In Vikram’s case, as we pieced the case together, I think what happened is Vikram saw his friend’s body and ran to help thinking that his friend may still be alive. This part is substantiated by witnesses. We know that he was then shot. My hypothesis is that he recognized his terrorist shooters. If this was the case, and I believe it to be so, then the next part makes sense,” said the judge, explaining that witnesses had seen some people take away the wounded young man.

“That would make sense,” Wajid said. “I have heard of Nyay. George, it is like what Daneen told me about DC—the underground railroad in the olden days of strife there.”

George shook his head, but he wasn’t convinced. “This is a long shot. I appreciate your theory but, I mean, it has been almost thirty years. If he was safe, then why has he not contacted his family? I don’t know. This is an interesting theory.”

The judge took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small white cloth.

“I love skeptics. I am one myself. But in this case, I can tell you why they don’t come out and reclaim their families, George. Would you like to hear about it or see it?” The judge had an annoyed tinge to his voice.

“I don’t follow? See it?”

“Yes, my man. See it. Would you like to see it?” the judge asked again, this time standing up and banging his hands on his table for effect.

George looked taken aback. Before he could say anything, the judge was summoning his clerk and asking him to bring files from almost a decade earlier, calling out the files by the years, not by names.

“Now, I want you to see this.” The judge opened the first file and spilled out the contents on the table in front of George and Wajid.

The pictures on the table were graphic and disturbing. Images of corpses with limbs torn off, of women being tortured and children in body bags.

“Do you see this? This is what would happen to the families of the people who saw and reported the terrorists. We know of at least two people who left the shelter of Nyay and reported what had happened to them and identified the terrorists. They were never found again, and their families… well, you see it in front of you.”

George got up and excused himself. He went to the small public bathroom in the courthouse and threw up. The images were gory and shook him. He tried to steady himself against the sink. Finally, he splashed cold water on his face, cleaned himself the best he could, and went back into the judge’s chambers.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I know little about that part of Kashmir’s history since Daneen and I left here decades ago.”

“Aba, father, tell us what we can do to find Vikram Pandit,” Wajid said. “His family is here now, and I know it is safe. In fact, you yourself had told me that the government is providing safe haven for people who had gone into hiding and is protecting their families now.”

The judge nodded. “I have made a few calls and we have a few places that you can go and check. We cannot send the police there. And my people cannot go. The information is that Vikram is alive and is at one of these places. I can provide you the addresses, and if you or his family want to go and check, then it is possible that you will find him.”

George asked for the addresses.

“It is safe for you all to go there. But I can tell you—it will be painful if you find him, and painful if you don’t.” The judge’s stance had softened and he offered some sage words. He told them to go work with an officer named Prakash Sarkar who was known to have good connections with Nyay, and who could, if he agreed, help them in locating where Vikram might be. Then he added, as gently as he could, “I hope you will prepare his family before taking this task on. People change in thirty years. The man that they knew and loved may or may not be the same person now.”

“I can’t even imagine. All I know is that if I had lost Daneen and there was even a one percent chance that I could see her again, I would take it.” George took the addresses, thanked the judge profusely, and decided to tell Sharmila. Then together with her he would go find the true love of her life, Vikram Pandit.

Chapter 17

The late afternoon breeze was cold, and the songbirds appeared to have gone into hibernation in anticipation of the cold winter months ahead. The waters of Dal Lake looked icy in the last shards of the early November sun.

It had been many hours since George first told Sharmila about Vikram, and she was still not answering her phone. He had not found her on the grounds of Qayaam Gah, nor anywhere nearby. George knew that he needed to find Sharmila and get Alina to calm down.

Alina was on the phone with Emilio, complaining at the top of her voice. “I can’t understand my mother’s reaction. She just ran away, Emilio. Who does that? Isn’t she happy that my father may be alive?” She wipes her eyes.

“Emilio, I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘Give her time’? My father could be alive. George is going to go look for her. I am so angry with her. What is wrong with her?” Alina was wiping her eyes.

George signaled to her to get into the Jeep, and they began driving to their hotel in hopes that Sharmila had gone there. The entire way, Alina alternated between talking to Emilio, who was just starting his school day in the US, and calling her mother’s cellphone. At one point, she put Emilio on speaker. “You know, Alina, your mother has found a companion in George. A man, you yourself told me, who’s good for her. Now this. Just when the poor woman seems to finally have found love, this happens.”

Alina quickly took him off the speaker and hoped that George hadn’t heard all that. “That is not fair on her part. My dad comes first.” Alina hung up the phone. As soon as they reached the hotel, George asked Alina to check to see if Sharmila was in the room.

He waited outside as he texted Sharmila’s phone, begging her to call him. When his phone rang, it was Alina informing him that her mother wasn’t there and, according to the front desk, had not come in at all that day.

“I am going to look for her. You stay here in case she comes back,” he told her, and drove towards Dal Lake. He thought she could be there, as she loved it so much. It took him a long time to get there in the midst of the evening traffic. But there was no sign of her. He parked his Jeep and looked all around the main docks of the lake, showed as many vendors as he knew her picture, and he asked if they had seen her. None had.

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