Phupho Ki Wapsi — Ek Model Town Kahani

*Ek taweel kahani — Model Town, Lahore*

> *”Ghar deewaron se nahi bante — un yaadon se bante hain jo deewaron mein qaid hoti hain. Aur kabhi kabhi, bahut arse baad, woh yaadein wapas aati hain — ek October ki subah, gate par, ek ghair-mutawaqqa mulaqat ki shakal mein.”*

October ki subah Model Town ke us purane do-manzila ghar par aisi utri jaise koi purani tasveer aahista aahista roshan ho rahi ho. Dhoop abhi naram thi, zard si, aur ghar ki bahar wali deewar par lagi bel — woh bel jo saalon se bina kaate badh rahi thi — ke patte sunehre ho kar hawa mein halke halke hil rahe the. Bel ki tehnion ne deewar ke pathar ko is tarah dhak rakha tha ke ghar apni umr se chhota lagta tha, jaise waqt ne use chhune se pehle ek hari chadar odha di ho.

Ghar ki khidkiyan abhi band thin. Lakri ke darwaze par waqt ka haath saaf nazar aata tha — rang jagah jagah se ukhad chuka tha, lekin lakri ab bhi mazboot thi, woh purani lakri jo ab bazaaron mein milti hi nahi. Sehan ke beechon beech anar ka darakht khada tha, itna purana ke uski jaden pathar ki farsh ko utha chuki thin. Us par ab bhi kuch anar lage the, laal, bhaari, jhuke hue. Ek anar zameen par gira tha, phata hua, uske dane bikhre hue jaise kisi ne laal moti gira diye hon.

Chhat par kabootar the. Neeche wale kamre ki khidki ke paas ek purani kursii rakhi thi, jis par dhool jami thi — wahan koi arse se nahi baitha tha. Ghar ki hawa mein nami thi, purane kagazat ki khushbu, aur woh khaas khaamoshi jo sirf un gharon mein hoti hai jahan zindagi kabhi bharpoor rahi ho aur ab sirf yaadein reh gayi hon.

Yeh ghar kabhi hansta tha. Deewaron mein ab bhi awazein qaid thin — bachon ki daud, Eid ki subah ki halchal, barish ki raaton mein chhat par bijli ki chamak ke saath cheekhein, sardi ki raaton mein angithi ke gird kahaniyan. Phir waqt ne apna kaam kiya. Log chale gaye, kuch wapas kabhi nahi aaye, aur ghar reh gaya apni belon, apne anar ke darakht, aur apne raazon ke saath.

Is subah, magar, kuch badalne wala tha — aur iski shuruaat ghar ke gate par hui, wahan jahan koi bhi iski tawaqqa nahi kar raha tha.

Taxi ne jab ghar ke saamne brake lagaye, to Salma ne pehle ghar ko dekha — belon wali deewar, band khidkiyan, wohi purana gate jiska loha ab zang kha raha tha. Bees saal. Bees saal baad woh is dehleez par wapas aayi thi.

Chalis teen saal ki umr, lekin waqt ne us par meherbani ki thi ya shayad usne waqt se ladna seekh liya tha — uska chehra saaf tha, aankhein gehri, baal ab bhi kaale ghanne, bas kaanpatti par chand safed lakeerein jo use aur bhi purkashish banati thin. Usne halke sabz rang ka shalwar kameez pehna tha, dupatta kandhe par, aur uske kadmon mein woh thahrao tha jo sirf un auraton mein hota hai jinhone zindagi ko kareeb se dekha ho aur phir bhi haar na maani ho.

Usne taxi ka kiraya diya, bag uthaya, aur gate ki taraf badhi. Uska dil zor se dhadak raha tha. Bees saal pehle jab woh is ghar se gayi thi, to ro kar gayi thi. Aaj woh ro kar wapas nahi aana chahti thi.

Gate abhi band tha. Usne haath badhaya kundal ki taraf —

— aur usi lamhe gate andar se khula.

Salma thithak gayi.

Saamne ek naujawan khada tha. Lamba qad, chauda seena, chehre par halki dadhi, aankhein… woh aankhein. Salma ki saans ruk gayi. Woh aankhein use pehchani hui lagin — bachpan ki kisi tasveer se, kisi purani yaad se.

Naujawan bhi use dekh kar ruk gaya. Uske haath mein ek thela tha — lagta tha woh bazaar se aa raha tha, thele mein doodh ka lifafa aur taazi rotiyan. Usne Salma ko dekha, bag ko dekha, phir dobara Salma ke chehre ko dekha. Uske chehre par pehle hairat aayi, phir pehchan, phir kuch aur — kuch aisa jo Salma samajh na saki, ya samajhna nahi chahti thi.

Dono ek dusre ko dekhte reh gaye. Gate ke is paar aur us paar. Subah ki naram dhoop dono ke darmiyan khadi thi.

“Phupho?” Naujawan ki aawaz halki thi, jaise use yaqeen na aa raha ho.

Salma ke honton par ek kanpta hua muskurahat aayi. “Waqas?”

Woh chhe saal ka bacha jo uski ungli pakad kar sehan mein daudta tha — ab chhabbees saal ka mard tha, uske saamne khada, gate pakde hue. Salma ne use dekha aur waqt jaise ulat gaya. Wohi aankhein — uske bhai Parvez ki aankhein, lekin un mein kuch aur bhi tha, kuch naram, kuch gehra.

“Tum… tum yahan?” Salma ne pucha.

“Main yahin rehta hoon, Phupho. Pichhle mahine se. Up… upar wala kamra.” Waqas ne jaldi se kaha, phir ruka. “Aur aap? Mera matlab… kisi ne bataya nahi ke aap aa rahi hain.”

“Kisi ko bataya hi nahi,” Salma ne kaha. Usne bag zameen par rakha. “Main ne socha… achanak aaun. Ghar ko dekhun.”

Waqas ne gate poora khol diya. “Aaiye. Andar aaiye.”

Salma ne kadam badhaya. Dehleez paar karte waqt un dono ke kandhe ek lamhe ke liye qareeb aaye — itne qareeb ke Salma ko uske kapdon se aane wali khushbu mehsoos hui, taaza, mitti jaisi. Woh jaldi se aage badh gayi, lekin uske dil ki dhadkan tez ho gayi thi. Yeh sirf wapsi ki ghabrahat thi, usne khud ko samjhaya. Sirf wahi.

Peeche se Daud aa gaya — sattar saal ka purana rakhwala, jhuki kamar, safed dadhi. Uske haath kaanp rahe the, lekin aankhon mein ek ajeeb chamak thi.

“Phupho ji!” Daud ki aawaz bharra gayi. “Aap aa gayin! Bees saal… bees saal baad!”

“Daud miyan,” Salma ne muskurakar use dekha, “tum ab bhi yahin ho? Lagta hai is ghar ne tumhein bhi qaidi bana rakha hai.”

“Qaidi nahi, Phupho ji… nigraan.” Daud ne uska bag uthaya. “Ghar aapka intezaar kar raha tha. Dekhiye, anar bhi is saal zyada aaye hain. Jaise darakht ko khabar thi.”

Salma ne anar ke darakht ko dekha. Us darakht ke neeche usne bachpan guzara tha. Us darakht ki daal par uske abba ne jhoola bandha tha. Us darakht ke saaye mein uski ammi — Kulsoom Bibi — use kahaniyan sunati thin. Aur aaj, bees saal baad, woh darakht ab bhi wahin tha — bas thoda aur jhuka hua, thoda aur purana, bilkul uski tarah.

Waqas ab bhi use dekh raha tha. Salma ne mehsoos kiya — woh nazar jo zara der tak thehri rahe. Usne apni nazrein pher lin.

“Ammi kahan hain?” Salma ne pucha, mauzu badalte hue.

“Bhabhi upar hain, Phupho ji,” Daud ne kaha. “Bhai sahab Islamabad gaye hain, kaam se. Do din mein wapas aayenge.”

Salma ne sar hilaya. Parvez. Uska bada bhai. Sath saal ka. Woh shakhs jiske saath uska rishta bees saalon mein sirf Eid ke phone calls tak simat gaya tha.

“Aapka kamra…” Waqas ne kaha, phir ruka. “Mera matlab, ammi ka kamra… woh waise ka waisa hai. Abba ne kaha tha kuch na chhedna.”

Salma ne use dekha. “Tumhein yaad hai?”

“Bahut kuch yaad hai, Phupho.” Waqas ki aawaz naram thi. “Aap jab gayin thin… main chhe saal ka tha. Lekin mujhe yaad hai aap mujhe anar ke dane khilati thin. Aur kehti thin ke anar ke dane ginne se khwahishein poori hoti hain.”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. Usne jaldi se rukh pher liya. “Bachpan ki baatein.”

“Lekin sachhi baatein,” Waqas ne kaha.

Daud ne bag uthaya. “Chaliye, Phupho ji. Chai banata hoon. Waqas miyan, tum nashta kar lo, thela main le leta hoon.”

Waqas ne thela Daud ko diya, lekin uski nazrein Salma par hi thin. “Phupho… khush aamdeed. Ghar mein… raunaq aa gayi.”

Salma ne muskurane ki koshish ki, lekin uske dil mein ek ajeeb hulchul thi. Yeh sirf wapsi ka jazbaat tha, usne phir khud ko samjhaya. Sirf wahi. Aur kuch nahi ho sakta tha. Kuch hona bhi nahi chahiye tha.

Woh ghar ke andar dakhil hui. Andhera tha, thanda, purana. Daud ne khidkiyan kholin, aur dhoop andar aayi — dhool ke zarre roshni mein naachte hue, jaise ghar saans le raha ho.

Ammi ka kamra waise ka waisa tha. Deewar par Kulsoom Bibi ki tasveer ab bhi lagi thi, sheeshe ke peeche. Salma ne tasveer ko dekha, aur is baar aansu rok na saki.

“Ammi,” usne sar goshi ki, “main aa gayi.”

Tasveer khaamosh rahi. Lekin kamre ki hawa mein jaise kuch hil gaya — purana sandooq, jo bistar ke paas rakha tha, lohe ka, zang laga hua, taala laga hua. Salma ne use dekha aur uski saans ruk gayi. Yeh sandooq… yeh to ammi ka sandooq tha. Woh sandooq jise ammi hamesha band rakhti thin, jiske baare mein kehti thin: “Is mein woh hai jo waqt aane par khulega.”

Waqt aa gaya tha kya?

“Phupho ji, chai?” Daud ne darwaze se pucha.

Salma ne mud kar dekha. “Zaroor.”

Woh khidki ke paas khadi rahi. Bahar sehan tha, anar ka darakht tha, aur uske paar upar wale kamre ki khidki — Waqas ka kamra. Khidki khuli thi, parda hil raha tha. Aur us khidki mein, is waqt, Waqas khada tha — use dekh raha tha.

Salma ne parda kheench diya.

Lekin uske haath kaanp rahe the. Aur woh nahi jaanti thi ke yeh kaanpna sirf thakan ka tha, ya kuch aur.

Chai ki pyaali haathon mein liye Salma sehan mein baithi thi. Daud ne purani kursii saaf kar di thi — wahi kursii jo khidki ke paas rakhi thi, jis par dhool jami thi. Ab us par ek saaf kapda bicha tha.

“Waqas miyan upar gaye hain,” Daud ne bataya, jaise Salma ne pucha ho. “Unka daftar… matlab, unka kaam ghar se hota hai aaj kal. Architect hain na. Kehte hain purane gharon ki marmat ke mansube banate hain.”

Salma ne chai ka ghoont liya. Kadwi, tez, ilaaichi wali — bilkul waisi jaisi ammi banati thin. Uski aankhein bhar aayin.

“Phupho ji,” Daud ne aahista kaha, “aap theek hain?”

“Main theek hoon, Daud miyan.” Salma ne muskurane ki koshish ki. “Bas… bees saal bahut hote hain.”

“Bees saal mein ghar nahi badla, Phupho ji. Sirf log badal gaye.”

Salma ne sehan ko dekha. Anar ka darakht, belon wali deewar, purani farsh jiske pathar jagah jagah se ukhad gaye the. Sab waisa hi tha. Aur phir bhi sab badla hua lagta tha — kyunke dekhne wali aankhein badal gayi thin.

Upar se Razia utri — uski bhabhi, athawan saal ki, chehre par thakan aur ek purani narazgi ka saaya. Salma ko dekh kar woh ruki. Dono ek dusre ko dekhti rahin.

“Salma?” Razia ki aawaz mein hairat thi, aur kuch aur bhi — shayad khushi, shayad bechaini.

“Bhabhi.” Salma uth khadi hui. Dono ne ek dusre ko gale lagaya — ek aisa gale milna jo rasmi tha, lekin us mein bees saal ka faasla bhi tha.

“Tum ne khabar tak na di!” Razia ne kaha, use alag kar ke dekhte hue. “Achanak? Sab khairiyat?”

“Sab khairiyat hai, Bhabhi. Bas… dil chaha ghar dekhun. Ammi ke jaane ke baad main kabhi…” Salma ruki. “Karachi mein sab kuch hai, lekin sukoon nahi.”

Razia ne uska haath pakda. “Baittho. Batao, Haroon ko gaye kitne saal ho gaye?”

“Paanch.” Salma ki aawaz halki ho gayi. Haroon — uska shohar, jis se usne bees saal pehle shadi ki thi, jis ke saath woh Karachi chali gayi thi, jo paanch saal pehle dil ke daure mein chal basa tha. “Uske baad ghar bahut sunsaan lagta hai. Beti… beti to Canada mein hai, apne shohar ke saath.”

Razia ne sar hilaya. Salma ki beti — woh to Salma ne kabhi khul kar bataya hi nahi tha, bas Eid ke cards par naam likha hota tha. Zindagi ne sab ko alag alag raaston par daal diya tha.

“Aur tum, Bhabhi? Parvez bhai kaise hain?”

“Waise hi hain. Kaam, kaam, kaam. Islamabad gaye hain, kisi project ke silsile mein. Do din mein aayenge.” Razia ne chai ki pyaali uthayi. “Waqas ne bataya tum aa gayi ho. Woh to bahut khush tha.”

Salma ke dil ne ek dhadkan chhodi. “Woh… woh yahan kab se reh raha hai?”

“Mahina bhar ho gaya. Kehta hai DHA wale flat mein dil nahi lagta, purane ghar mein sukoon milta hai. Architect hai na — kehta hai is ghar mein ‘rooh’ hai.” Razia ne halki hansi hansi. “Pata nahi kya dekhta hai in purani deewaron mein.”

Salma ne anar ke darakht ko dekha. Woh bhi kabhi yahi kehti thi. Is ghar mein rooh hai.

Dopehar ko Salma ne ammi ka kamra khola — ab uska kamra. Usne bag khola, kapde teh kiye, aur deewar par lagi tasveeron ko dekha. Ek tasveer mein uske abba the — sakht chehra, lekin aankhon mein narmi. Ek mein ammi — Kulsoom Bibi, muskurati hui, haathon mein tasbeeh. Ek mein poora khaandaan — Parvez, Razia, chhota Waqas, aur woh khud… bees saal pehle wali Salma, jawan, hansti hui, Karachi jaane se pehle wali.

Usne tasveer ko chhua. “Bees saal, ammi. Main ne bees saal zaya kar diye.”

Kamre ke kone mein sandooq tha. Lohe ka, zang laga, taala laga. Salma uske paas baithi. Usne taale ko chhua, hilaya — band tha.

“Ammi, is mein kya hai?” usne sar goshi ki. “Tum kehti thin waqt aane par khulega. Kya waqt aa gaya hai?”

Jawab mein sirf khaamoshi thi. Lekin Salma ke dil mein ek ajeeb yaqeen paida ho raha tha — ke uski wapsi ittefaq nahi thi. Kuch use yahan kheench laya tha. Shayad ammi ki rooh. Shayad woh sandooq. Shayad…

Uski soch Waqas ki taraf gayi — gate par uski nazrein, uski aawaz mein woh narmi. Salma ne sar jhatka. Nahi. Yeh sochna bhi gunaah tha. Woh uska bhatija tha. Chhabbees saal ka bacha… nahi, bacha nahi, mard tha. Lekin phir bhi — uska bhatija tha.

“Phupho…”

Salma chaunk gayi. Darwaze par Waqas khada tha.

“Tum ne dastak nahi di,” Salma ne kaha, thoda sakht lehje mein.

“Maaf kijiye. Darwaza khula tha.” Waqas andar aaya. Uske haath mein ek thali thi — roti, daal, salad. “Daud miyan ne kaha aap ne subah se kuch nahi khaya. Main… main khana le aaya.”

Salma ne thali dekhi. Uske dil mein kuch pighla. “Tumhein takleef karne ki zaroorat nahi thi.”

“Koi takleef nahi, Phupho.” Waqas ne thali mez par rakhi. “Aap mehmaan hain.”

“Mehmaan nahi,” Salma ne kaha. “Yeh mera ghar hai.”

Waqas ne use dekha — ek gehri nazar. “Ji. Aapka ghar hai.”

Woh dono ek dusre ko dekhte reh gaye. Kamre ki hawa bhaari ho gayi. Salma ne pehle nazrein jhukayin.

“Tum jao, Waqas. Main kha lungi. Shukriya.”

“Phupho, ek baat kahun?” Waqas darwaze par ruka.

“Kaho.”

“Aap jab gayin thin, main chhe saal ka tha. Mujhe sab yaad nahi, lekin ek cheez yaad hai — aapke jaane ke baad yeh ghar sunsaan ho gaya tha. Jaise… jaise ghar ki rooh chali gayi ho.” Usne ek saans liya. “Aaj jab main ne aapko gate par dekha, to laga rooh wapas aa gayi.”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Waqas…”

“Main chalta hoon. Aaram kijiye.” Woh chala gaya.

Salma akeli reh gayi. Usne thali ki taraf dekha — khana thanda ho raha tha. Lekin uska dil garam tha, aur yahi uske liye sab se khatarnaak baat thi.

Usne khidki se bahar dekha. Waqas sehan mein khada tha, anar ke darakht ke neeche, upar dekh raha tha — uski khidki ki taraf. Salma ne parda kheench diya.

Lekin is baar uske haath pehle se zyada kaanp rahe the.

Raat ko Salma ne apne shohar ko yaad kiya — Haroon ko. Paanch saal ho gaye the uske jaane ko, lekin yaadein ab bhi taazi thin. Haroon achha aadmi tha — naram, samajhdaar, mohabbat karne wala. Usne Salma se kabhi unchi aawaz mein baat nahi ki. Usne use izzat di.

Lekin… lekin unki mohabbat mein woh aag nahi thi jo Salma ne kahaniyon mein padhi thi. Woh sukoon tha, saath tha, lekin… lekin woh deewangi nahi thi. Salma ne kabhi shikayat nahi ki — woh samajhti thi ke zindagi aisi hi hoti hai. Shaadi sukoon ka naam hai, deewangi ka nahi.

Jab Haroon gaya, to Salma toot gayi thi. Paanch saal tak woh akeli rahi — Karachi ke us flat mein, jahan har cheez Haroon ki yaad dilati thi. Uski beti Canada chali gayi — apne shohar ke saath, nayi zindagi. Salma ne use roka nahi. Betiyan apne ghar ki hoti hain.

Tanhai mein Salma ne bahut socha — apni zindagi ke baare mein, apne faislon ke baare mein. Usne socha: kya maine sahi zindagi guzari? Kya main khush thi? Jawab hamesha adhura tha. Haan, sukoon tha. Lekin khushi… khushi to Model Town ke us ghar mein reh gayi thi — anar ke darakht ke neeche, belon wali deewar ke paas, ammi ki god mein.

Is liye woh wapas aayi thi. Khushi dhoondne. Ya shayad… shayad khud ko dhoondne.

Usne apne phone mein beti ki tasveer dekhi — khush, hansti hui, barf mein khadi. Salma ne muskuraya. “Khush raho, meri bachi,” usne sar goshi ki. “Tumhari ammi bhi ab khush rehne ki koshish karegi.”

Usne phone rakha. Bahar se Waqas ke kamre ki roshni dikh rahi thi. Salma ne socha: yeh ladka… yeh ladka meri khushi hai ya meri aazmaish? Shayad dono. Zindagi mein khushi aur aazmaish aksar ek saath aate hain.

Usne aankhein band kin. Neend aane se pehle usne ek dua maangi: “Allah, mujhe sahi raasta dikha. Aur… aur mujhe maaf kar — un khwahishon ke liye jo mere dil mein hain, jinhein main zabaan nahi de sakti.”

Lekin dil ne jawab diya — neend mein, khwaab mein: *Khwahishein zabaan maangti hain, Salma. Ek din tumhein deni padegi.*

Waqas ki subah paanch baje shuru hoti thi. Yeh uski aadat thi — chahe sardiyan hon ya garmiyan, chahe woh DHA ke flat mein ho ya is purane ghar mein. Paanch baje uthna, sehan mein walk, phir chai, phir kaam.

Chhabbees saal ka Waqas Parvez — architect, Lahore ki ek mashhoor firm mein kaam karta tha, lekin dil se woh purani imaraton ka aashiq tha. Uske kamre ki deewaron par uske apne haathon ke banaye hue sketch lage the — Badshahi Masjid ke minaar, Lahore Fort ki deewarein, Anarkali ki purani galiyan, aur sab se zyada… is ghar ke sketch. Model Town ke is do-manzila ghar ke darwaze, khidkiyan, anar ka darakht, belon wali deewar — darjanon sketch, har zawiye se.

Yeh thi uski ek khaas aadat — woh har purani cheez ko kagaz par qaid kar leta tha, jaise use darr ho ke waqt use mita dega. Uske dost kehte the: “Waqas, tu architect hai ya museum ka rakhwala?” Woh hansta tha. Lekin sach yeh tha ke uske liye imaratein sirf pathar aur lakri nahi thin — un mein rehne walon ki roohein basti thin.

Aur is ghar mein… is ghar mein uski Phupho ki rooh basti thi.

Waqas ne chai ka ghoont liya aur sketchbook khola. Aaj usne gate ka sketch banaya tha — wahi gate jahan kal subah Salma se mulaqat hui thi. Usne Salma ka chehra yaad karne ki koshish ki — woh hairat, woh pehchan, woh… kuch aur. Usne pencil uthayi, lekin haath ruk gaya. Kuch chehre sketch mein nahi aate. Kuch chehre dil mein bante hain.

“Beta, nashta taiyaar hai.”

Razia ki aawaz ne use chaunkaya. Woh neeche aaya. Dastarkhwan par Salma bhi thi — halke neele rang ke shalwar kameez mein, baal bandhe hue, chehre par raat bhar ki bechaini ki halki lakeerein. Waqas ne use dekha aur uska dil zor se dhadka.

“Assalam-o-Alaikum, Phupho.”

“Walaikum Assalam.” Salma ne nazrein jhukayin, roti tori.

Nashta khaamoshi mein hua. Razia ne koshish ki baat karne ki — Karachi ke haalaat, Salma ki beti, Waqas ke kaam — lekin hawa mein ek ajeeb tanav tha. Salma mehsoos kar rahi thi ke Waqas use dekh raha hai. Woh dekhna jo chori chhupe na ho, khula ho, lekin badtameezi na ho. Ek aisa dekhna jo kehta ho: main tumhein dekh raha hoon, aur mujhe parwah nahi ke tumhein pata chale.

“Phupho,” Waqas ne achanak kaha, “aapko Lahore ghoomna hai? Purana Lahore? Main aapko le chalun?”

Salma ne chaunk kar use dekha. “Nahi… shukriya. Mujhe ghar mein hi rehna hai.”

“Ghar mein qaid ho jayengi. Bees saal baad aayi hain, sheher badal gaya hai.”

“Maine kaha na, shukriya.” Salma ka lehja thoda sakht tha. “Mujhe akele rehna hai.”

Waqas ne kuch nahi kaha. Lekin uski aankhon mein jo chamak thi, woh bujhi nahi. Balke aur tez ho gayi.

Razia ne dono ko dekha, kuch samjhi, kuch na samjhi. “Waqas, tum daftar nahi jaoge?”

“Aaj ghar se kaam hai, Ammi. Ek purani haveli ki marmat ka mansuba hai — client ne kaha ghar baith kar design karo.” Waqas ne muskurakar Salma ko dekha. “Waise bhi, ghar mein mehmaan hain. Unka khayal rakhna mera farz hai.”

“Main mehmaan nahi hoon,” Salma ne dohrana chaha, lekin is baar uski aawaz mein pehli wali sakhti nahi thi.

Nasht ke baad Salma apne kamre mein chali gayi. Usne darwaza band kiya — pehli baar. Usne khud ko samjhaya: yeh zaroori hai. Faasla zaroori hai. Woh jo mehsoos kar rahi thi, woh sirf… woh sirf wapsi ka jazbaat tha. Purane ghar ki yaadein, bachpan ka pyaar, aur… aur kuch nahi.

Lekin jab usne khidki se bahar dekha, to Waqas sehan mein tha — sketchbook liye, anar ke darakht ka sketch bana raha tha. Usne upar dekha, Salma ko dekha, aur muskuraya — ek aisi muskurahat jo Salma ke dil mein utar gayi.

Salma ne parda kheench diya. Lekin is baar usne apne dil ki dhadkan ko rokne ki koshish bhi nahi ki. Woh jaanti thi ke yeh ladai woh haar rahi thi — dheere dheere, din ba din.

Aur Waqas jaanta tha ke woh jeet raha tha — dheere dheere, din ba din.

Us shaam Salma ne ghar ka chakkar lagaya — pehli baar poori tarah. Baithak mein purana sofa tha, jis par ab bhi wahi chadar bichi thi jo ammi ne khud kaadhi thi. Deewar par ek tasveer thi — uske abba ki jawaani ki, jab woh Model Town ke is ghar ko banwa rahe the. Salma ne tasveer ko chhua.

“Abba,” usne sar goshi ki, “aap ne yeh ghar banwaya tha. Aur main… main ise chhod kar chali gayi.”

Rasoi mein Daud khana bana raha tha. “Phupho ji, aapko yaad hai? Bibi ji kehti thin ke is rasoi mein jo khana banta hai, us mein mohabbat hoti hai.”

“Yaad hai, Daud miyan.” Salma ne degchi ka dhakkan uthaya — daal ki khushbu. “Tum ne unse seekha?”

“Thoda bahut.” Daud ne muskuraya. “Lekin Bibi ji jaisa zaiqa kisi mein nahi.”

Salma ne purani almari kholi — bartan wahi the, peetal ke, chamakte hue. Daud ne unhein saaf rakha tha — bees saal tak. Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. Yeh ghar… yeh ghar zinda tha. Sirf uske baghair.

Woh upar gayi — chhat par. Wahan se poora Model Town dikhta tha. Naye ghar, purane ghar, darakht, sadkein. Salma ne socha: bees saal mein sheher kitna badal gaya. Lekin yeh ghar… yeh ghar waisa hi tha.

Neeche sehan mein Waqas dikha — apne kamre se nikal kar. Usne upar dekha, Salma ko dekha. Dono ne ek dusre ko dekha. Koi nahi bola. Lekin hawa mein kuch tha — kuch jo alfaaz se bada tha.

Salma neeche aayi. Raat ka khana sab ne mil kar khaya — Razia, Salma, Waqas, Daud. Parvez ki kursii khaali thi. Razia ne kaha: “Tumhare bhai ko phone kiya tha. Kehte hain parson aayenge.”

Salma ne sar hilaya. Parvez. Bees saal baad usse aamna saamna hoga. Usne socha: kya woh taiyaar thi? Shayad nahi. Lekin waqt kisi ka intezaar nahi karta.

Khane ke baad Waqas ne Salma se kaha: “Phupho, chhat par chalengi? Chaand nikla hai.”

Salma ne inkaar karna chaha. Lekin uske munh se nikla: “Chalo.”

Dono chhat par gaye. Chaand tha — poora, chamakta hua. Neeche sheher ki roshniyan thin. Dono der tak khaamosh khade rahe.

“Phupho,” Waqas ne aakhir mein kaha, “aap khush hain? Yahan aakar?”

Salma ne socha. “Pata nahi, Waqas. Khushi… khushi to bahut peeche reh gayi.”

“To use wapas laiye.” Waqas ne uski taraf dekha. “Khushi kahin nahi jaati, Phupho. Woh bas chhup jaati hai. Use dhoondna padta hai.”

Salma ne use dekha — uski aankhon mein chaandni thi. “Tum bahut samajhdaar ho gaye ho.”

“Waqt ne bana diya.” Waqas ne muskuraya. “Aur… aur aap ne.”

“Main ne?”

“Jab aap gayin thin, to maine seekha ke zindagi mein kuch cheezein haath se nikal jaati hain. To unhein pakad kar rakhna chahiye — jab tak waqt ho.” Usne Salma ka haath dekha, lekin chhua nahi. “Is liye main… main koshish karta hoon ke jo achha lage, use keh dun. Kar dun.”

Salma ka dil zor se dhadka. “Waqas…”

“Main chalta hoon, Phupho. Good night.” Woh neeche chala gaya.

Salma chhat par akeli reh gayi. Chaand tha, taare the, hawa thi. Aur uske dil mein… uske dil mein kuch tha jo bees saal se nahi tha.

Ummeed. Lekin uski jeet mein koi jaldi nahi thi. Woh intezaar kar sakta tha. Usne bees saal intezaar kiya tha — bees saal se woh is din ka khwaab dekh raha tha jab Phupho wapas aayengi.

Haan. Yeh sach tha jo Waqas ne kisi ko nahi bataya tha. Chhe saal ki umr mein jab Salma gayi thi, to uske dil mein ek khaali jagah reh gayi thi. Waqt ke saath woh khaali jagah bhar gayi — lekin uski shakal Salma ki thi. Har larki mein woh Salma ko dhoondta tha, aur kisi mein use paata nahi tha. Ab Salma wapas thi. Aur is baar woh use jaane nahi dega.

Haan. Yeh sach tha jo Waqas ne kisi ko nahi bataya tha. Chhe saal ki umr mein jab Salma gayi thi, to uske dil mein ek khaali jagah reh gayi thi. Waqt ke saath woh khaali jagah bhar gayi — lekin uski shakal Salma ki thi. Har larki mein woh Salma ko dhoondta tha, aur kisi mein use paata nahi tha. Ab Salma wapas thi. Aur is baar woh use jaane nahi dega.

Yeh zid thi? Shayad. Yeh pyaar tha? Shayad. Lekin ek baat tay thi — Waqas haar manne walon mein se nahi tha.

Agli subah Waqas apne daftar gaya — pehli baar teen din baad. Uski firm Gulberg mein thi — sheeshe wali imarat, naye design, naye log. Uska boss Danish tha, chalis saal ka, tez taraar. Usne Waqas ko dekha aur kaha: “Waqas, tum kahan ghaib the? Haveli wala project kahan hai?”

“Ghar se kaam kar raha tha, Sir.” Waqas ne apna laptop khola. “Design taqreeban taiyaar hai.”

Danish ne design dekha — purani haveli ki marmat ka mansuba, har detail mein. Usne sar hilaya. “Tumhein purani cheezon se ishq hai, Waqas. Naye zamane mein purane khwaab.”

“Purane khwaab hi sachhe hote hain, Sir.” Waqas ne muskuraya.

Lunch par uska dost Kamran aaya — usi firm mein kaam karta tha, Waqas ka bachpan ka dost. “Aur bhai, suna hai tumhari phupho aayi hain? Model Town wale ghar mein?”

Waqas ne use dekha. “Tumhein kaise pata?”

“Ammi ne bataya. Tumhari ammi unki saheli hain.” Kamran ne chai ka ghoont liya. “Kaisi hain? Bees saal baad aayi hain na?”

Waqas khaamosh raha. Phir usne kaha: “Achhi hain.”

“Bas ‘achhi’?” Kamran ne bhawen uthayin. “Tumhare chehre par to kuch aur likha hai, bhai.”

Waqas ne kuch nahi kaha. Lekin uske dost ne samajh liya — ya samajhne ki koshish ki. “Dekh, Waqas… woh tumhari phupho hain. Soch samajh kar.”

“Main soch samajh kar hi…” Waqas ruka. “Main kuch nahi kar raha, Kamran. Main bas… main bas unke paas hoon. Baaki waqt batayega.”

Kamran ne sar hilaya. “Waqt sab batata hai, bhai. Lekin kabhi kabhi waqt bahut der kar deta hai.”

Waqas ne khidki se bahar dekha. Gulberg ki bheed thi, gaadiyan thin, naye ghar the. Lekin uske zehen mein sirf ek tasveer thi — purana ghar, belon wali deewar, anar ka darakht, aur gate par khadi Salma.

Shaam ko ghar wapas aakar Waqas ne apna sketchbook khola. Usne ek naya sketch shuru kiya — Salma ka, lekin is baar yaadon se. Gate wali subah, sehan wali shaam, chhat wali raat. Har sketch mein Salma thi — hansti hui, sochti hui, khaamosh.

Usne aakhri sketch ke neeche likha: *”Tum wapas aa gayi ho. Ab main tumhein jaane nahi dunga. Chahe duniya idhar ki udhar ho jaye.”*

Phir usne sketchbook band kiya, aur neeche aaya. Salma sehan mein thi — akeli, anar kha rahi thi. Waqas ne use dekha, aur uska dil… uska dil to pehle hi haar chuka tha.

Ab sirf Salma ka dil jeetna baaqi tha.

Ghar ki tartib aisi thi: neeche do kamre — ek mein Razia aur Parvez (jab woh hota), dusra ab Salma ka. Ek baithak, ek rasoi, aur sehan. Upar do kamre — ek mein Waqas, dusra khaali, jisme purana samaan pada tha. Chhat upar se khuli thi, jahan kabootar rehte the aur jahan se poora Model Town dikhta tha.

Salma ne pehle hafte mein apne liye usool bana liye: subah jaldi uthna, Waqas se pehle nashta kar lena, din bhar apne kamre mein ya sehan mein rehna jab Waqas upar ho, shaam ko Razia ke saath waqt guzarna, raat ko jaldi so jana. Faasla. Har qadam par faasla.

Lekin ghar chhota tha, aur dil… dil to faaslon ko nahi maanta.

Pehla hafta guzra. Waqas ne Salma ke usoolon ko dekha, samjha, aur unhein todne ki koshish nahi ki — balke unke gird ghoomne laga, jaise dariya chattan ke gird ghoomta hai, dheere dheere use ghisata hua.

Woh subah Salma ke liye chai bana kar uske kamre ke bahar rakh deta — “Daud miyan ne kaha aapko ilaaichi wali pasand hai.” Woh bazaar se anar laata — “Sehan wale darakht ke anar abhi kacche hain, yeh kha lijiye.” Woh shaam ko sehan mein baith kar sketch banata, aur jab Salma guzarti, to kehta: “Phupho, ek minute rukiye. Aapki dupatte ka rang is sketch mein bahut achha lagega.”

Salma har baar inkaar karti. Har baar. Lekin har inkaar ke saath uska dil thoda aur naram hota.

Ek shaam Razia ne Salma se kaha: “Tum Waqas se itna katra kyun rahi ho? Woh tumhara bhatija hai. Bechara tumhare liye itna karta hai.”

Salma ne kuch nahi kaha. Woh kaise batati ke katrane ki wajah hi wahi thi jo Razia samajh nahi sakti thi? Woh Waqas se is liye door bhaag rahi thi kyunke uske qareeb aane se darr lagta tha. Woh darr jo bees saal pehle bhi tha — jab woh is ghar se gayi thi. Woh darr jiska naam usne kabhi liya nahi tha.

Raat ko Salma ne diary nikali — woh diary jo usne Karachi se laayi thi. Usne likha:

*”Aaj saat din ho gaye. Main ne socha tha ghar aakar sukoon milega. Lekin sukoon to kahin nahi. Waqas… woh bacha nahi raha. Woh mard hai. Aur main… main kya hoon? Ek tyaalis saal ki bewah, jo apne bhatije se bhaag rahi hai. Yeh sochna bhi paap hai. Lekin soch to aati hai. Allah mujhe maaf kare.”*

Usne diary band ki. Bahar se Waqas ke kamre ki roshni dikh rahi thi. Woh ab bhi jaag raha tha — shayad sketch bana raha tha, shayad… uske baare mein soch raha tha.

Salma ne apne aap se wada kiya: kal se aur sakhti. Aur faasla. Aur…

Lekin wade aksar tootne ke liye hote hain.

Dusre hafte ki ek subah, Salma sehan mein kapde sukha rahi thi jab Waqas neeche aaya. Usne Salma ko dekha — dupatta kandhe par, baal khule, dhoop uske chehre par. Woh ruk gaya.

“Phupho,” usne kaha, “aapko pata hai aap bilkul ammi ki tasveer jaisi lag rahi hain? Woh tasveer jo aapke kamre mein hai — Kulsoom Dadi wali.”

Salma ne use dekha. “Tumhein Dadi yaad hain?”

“Thodi thodi. Mujhe yaad hai woh mujhe kahaniyan sunati thin. Aur… ” Waqas ruka. “Mujhe yaad hai woh aapse bahut pyaar karti thin. Kehti thin: ‘Meri Salma mere dil ka tukda hai.'”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Haan. Kehti thin.”

“Phir aap kyun gayin, Phupho?” Waqas ki aawaz naram thi, lekin sawal tez tha. “Bees saal pehle… kyun chali gayin?”

Salma ne kapde ka tokra uthaya. “Yeh purani baatein hain, Waqas. Inhein rehne do.”

“Lekin main jaanna chahta hoon.” Waqas uske qareeb aaya — itna qareeb ke Salma ko uski saanson ki garmi mehsoos hui. “Kyunke mujhe lagta hai aap wapas is liye aayi hain ke koi hisaab baaqi hai. Koi sawal jiska jawab aap dhoond rahi hain.”

Salma ne use dekha — uski aankhon mein dekha. Woh aankhein jo itni gehri thin ke un mein doobne ka darr tha.

“Tum bahut sawal karte ho,” usne kaha, aur andar chali gayi.

Lekin Waqas ka sawal uske zehen mein atak gaya. Kya woh wapas is liye aayi thi ke koi hisaab baaqi tha? Shayad. Shayad ammi ka sandooq. Shayad woh kagazat jinka use ilm nahi tha. Shayad…

Ya shayad woh wapas is liye aayi thi ke uska dil use yahan kheench laya tha — us dil ko jo bees saal se kisi ka intezaar kar raha tha, bina yeh jaane ke kis ka.

Jumme ki dopehar ko ghar mein khaamoshi thi. Razia namaz padh rahi thi, Daud so raha tha, Waqas apne kamre mein kaam kar raha tha. Salma sehan mein baithi thi — akeli, sochti hui.

Usne bees saal pehle ka woh din yaad kiya — jab woh is ghar se gayi thi. Subah thi, aisi hi October ki subah. Usne apna bag uthaya tha, ammi ko gale lagaya tha, Parvez se haath milaya tha. Haroon bahar taxi mein intezaar kar raha tha. Sab ne kaha tha: “Khush raho.” Sab ne dua di thi.

Lekin kisi ne nahi pucha tha: “Tum jana chahti ho?”

Kya woh jana chahti thi? Us waqt… us waqt use laga tha ke haan. Haroon achha ladka tha, Karachi mein naukri thi, nayi zindagi thi. Lekin ab, bees saal baad, use shak tha. Kya woh apni marzi se gayi thi? Ya use… use bheja gaya tha?

Usne Daud ko aawaz di. “Daud miyan, ek baat puchun?”

“Ji, Phupho ji.”

“Jab main gayi thi… us din… kya tumhein kuch yaad hai? Kuch ajeeb?”

Daud ne socha. “Ajeeb? Hmm. Bibi ji bahut royi thin. Bhai sahab… bhai sahab jaldi mein the. Keh rahe the taxi ka time ho raha hai. Aur… aur ek kagaz tha. Bhai sahab ne aapse sign karwaya tha, yaad hai?”

Salma ka dil zor se dhadka. “Kagaz? Kaisa kagaz?”

“Yeh to mujhe nahi pata, Phupho ji. Lekin Bibi ji ne baad mein mujhse kaha tha: ‘Daud, aaj meri beti se uska ghar cheen liya gaya.’ Main samjha nahi tha. Pucha to unhone kaha: ‘Waqt aane par samajh jayega.'”

Salma khaamosh rahi. Uske haath kaanpne lage. Kagaz. Sign. Bees saal pehle.

“Daud miyan,” usne aahista kaha, “tum ne kabhi sandooq khola? Ammi ka sandooq?”

Daud ka chehra peela pad gaya. “Nahi, Phupho ji! Bibi ji ne mana kiya tha. Kaha tha: ‘Daud, is sandooq ko haath mat lagana. Yeh Salma ki amanat hai.'”

“Amanat?” Salma ne use dekha. “Kaisi amanat?”

“Yeh to Bibi ji jaanein, Phupho ji.” Daud ne haath jode. “Maine to bas hukm maana.”

Salma ne sandooq ki taraf dekha — jo uske kamre mein tha, band, taala laga. Uske dil mein ek ajeeb khwahish paida hui — use kholne ki. Abhi. Isi waqt.

Lekin usne khud ko roka. Nahi. Pehle Parvez aaye. Pehle usse baat ho. Phir…

Usne aasmaan ki taraf dekha. Baadal the — halke, safed. October ki dhoop naram thi.

“Daud miyan,” usne kaha, “tum ne bees saal tak is ghar ki hifazat ki. Tumhara shukriya.”

Daud ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Yeh to mera farz tha, Phupho ji. Bibi ji ne kaha tha: ‘Daud, jab tak Salma wapas na aaye, ghar ko sambhal kar rakhna.'”

“Ammi ne… aisa kaha tha?”

“Haan, Phupho ji. Unke aakhri dinon mein. Kehti thin: ‘Meri beti wapas aayegi. Zaroor aayegi. Aur jab aayegi, to use uska ghar milna chahiye — saaf, mehfooz.'”

Salma ro padi. Ammi ne… ammi ne uska intezaar kiya tha. Bees saal tak nahi, lekin apne aakhri dinon tak. Aur ab woh nahi thin. Lekin unka ghar tha. Unka sandooq tha. Unke khat the.

“Main aa gayi, Ammi,” Salma ne sar goshi ki. “Der se sahi, lekin aa gayi.”

Pehle hafte ke aakhir mein Salma ne Daud se purane dinon ki baatein sunin. Dono sehan mein baithe the — shaam thi, chai thi. Daud ne bataya:

“Phupho ji, aapko yaad hai? Jab aap chhoti thin, to aap anar ke darakht par chadh jaati thin. Bibi ji pareshaan hoti thin — ‘Salma, gir jayegi!’ Lekin aap kehti thin: ‘Ammi, darakht mera dost hai, woh mujhe nahi girayega.'”

Salma hans padi. “Yaad hai. Ek baar main giri bhi thi — god mein chot aayi thi. Ammi ne haldi lagayi thi.”

“Aur aapke abba,” Daud ne kaha, “woh aapko bahut pyaar karte the. Kehte the: ‘Meri Salma mere ghar ki roshni hai.’ Jab woh guzre, to Bibi ji ne kaha tha: ‘Ghar ki roshni chali gayi.’ Lekin phir aap thin — aap unki roshni thin.”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Abba mujhe bahut yaad aate hain, Daud miyan.”

“Unhein bhi aap yaad aati hongi, Phupho ji.” Daud ne chai ka ghoont liya. “Waise, ek baat kahun? Bibi ji ke aakhri dinon mein, woh aksar aapka naam leti thin. Kehti thin: ‘Meri Salma kahan hai? Woh kab aayegi?’ Maine kehta tha: ‘Bibi ji, woh Karachi mein hain, khush hain.’ To woh kehti thin: ‘Khush? Daud, khushi ghar se door nahi milti. Woh wapas aayegi. Zaroor aayegi.'”

Salma ro padi. “Main der se aayi, Daud miyan. Bahut der se.”

“Der se sahi, Phupho ji. Aayi to.” Daud ne uska haath thama — boodhe, kaanpte haathon se. “Aur dekhiye — ghar khush hai. Anar zyada aaye hain. Belen hari hain. Jaise… jaise ghar ko pata tha ke aap aa rahi hain.”

Salma ne sehan ko dekha — anar ka darakht, belon wali deewar, purani farsh. Sab kuch jaise muskura raha tha.

“Daud miyan,” usne kaha, “tum ne is ghar ko sambhala — bees saal tak. Tumhara ehsaan main kabhi nahi chuka sakungi.”

“Kaisa ehsaan, Phupho ji?” Daud ne muskuraya. “Yeh to mera ghar bhi hai. Bibi ji ne kaha tha: ‘Daud, yeh ghar tumhara bhi hai.’ Aur… aur ab aap aa gayi hain. To ghar poora ho gaya.”

Us raat Salma ne socha — ghar kya hota hai? Deewarein? Darwaze? Nahi. Ghar woh hota hai jahan aapke apne hon. Jahan aapki yaadein hon. Jahan… jahan aapka dil ho.

Aur uska dil… uska dil ab yahin tha. Is ghar mein. Is sehan mein. Shayad… shayad Waqas ke paas.

Nahi. Salma ne sar jhatka. Yeh sochna band karo. Lekin dil… dil to sochta hi raha.

Teesre hafte ki ek shaam, jab Razia apni saheli ke ghar gayi thi aur Daud bazaar gaya tha, ghar mein sirf Salma aur Waqas the. Salma sehan mein baithi anar chheel rahi thi. Shaam ki dhoop naram thi, hawa mein thandak thi — October apne urooj par tha.

Waqas sehan mein aaya, haathon mein sketchbook. Woh Salma ke saamne wali kursii par baitha — bina puche. Salma ne use dekha, kuch kehna chaha, phir chup rahi.

“Phupho,” Waqas ne kaha, “maine aapka sketch banaya hai.”

Salma chaunk gayi. “Kya?”

Waqas ne sketchbook khola. Us mein Salma thi — gate par khadi, subah ki dhoop mein, bag haath mein. Har lakeer mein zindagi thi. Salma ne apne aap ko dekha aur uski saans ruk gayi. Usne kabhi apne aap ko is nazar se nahi dekha tha — itni… itni khoobsurat.

“Yeh…” uski aawaz kaanp gayi. “Yeh tum ne kab banaya?”

“Us din. Gate par.” Waqas ne sketchbook uski taraf badhaya. “Yeh aapke liye.”

Salma ne sketchbook liya. Uske haath kaanp rahe the. “Waqas, tum… tum yeh kyun kar rahe ho?”

“Kyunke aap khoobsurat hain, Phupho. Aur khoobsurat cheezon ko kagaz par qaid karna mera kaam hai.” Waqas ki aawaz mein koi sharam nahi thi, koi jhijhak nahi thi. Sirf sach tha.

Salma ne sketchbook wapas kiya. “Mujhe yeh nahi chahiye.”

“Rakh lijiye. Please.” Waqas ne minnat ki — pehli minnat. “Ek tohfa samajh kar.”

“Nahi.” Salma uth khadi hui. “Waqas, suno. Tum mere bhatije ho. Main tumhari phupho hoon. Yeh… yeh jo tum kar rahe ho, yeh theek nahi.”

“Kya theek nahi, Phupho?” Waqas bhi uth khada hua. “Maine aapka sketch banaya. Is mein ghalat kya hai?”

“Tum jaante ho main kya keh rahi hoon.” Salma ki aawaz tez ho gayi. “Tumhari nazrein… tumhara lehja… Waqas, main tyaalis saal ki hoon. Tum chhabbees ke ho. Main tumhari phupho hoon. Yeh… yeh sochna bhi…”

“To mat sochiye.” Waqas uske qareeb aaya. “Main sochunga. Main mehsoos karunga. Aur main aapko bataunga ke main kya mehsoos karta hoon. Is mein ghalat kya hai, Phupho?”

“Bahut kuch ghalat hai!” Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Tum samajhte nahi. Yeh khaandaan… yeh samaaj… tumhari ammi, tumhare abba… agar unhein pata chala to kya hoga? Aur… aur yeh ghar…” uski aawaz toot gayi. “Is ghar ki apni taareekh hai, Waqas. Tum nahi jaante.”

“To bata dijiye.” Waqas ne uska haath pakadna chaha, lekin Salma ne haath kheench liya.

“Nahi.” Salma andar ki taraf badhi. “Aur aayinda… aayinda mujhse faasle par raho.”

Woh apne kamre mein gayi aur darwaza band kar liya. Usne darwaze se tek lagayi aur ro padi. Kyunke usne Waqas ki aankhon mein jo dekha tha, woh sirf khwahish nahi thi — woh mohabbat thi. Aur mohabbat se ladna sab se mushkil hota hai.

Bahar sehan mein Waqas khada raha. Uske haath mein sketchbook tha. Usne Salma ke kamre ki band khidki ko dekha, aur aahista kaha — itna aahista ke sirf hawa ne suna:

“Faasla to aap rakh lengi, Phupho. Lekin dil ka kya karengi?”

Us raat Salma ne diary mein likha:

*”Usne aaj keh diya. Khul kar nahi, lekin keh diya. Aur maine inkaar kar diya. Karna pada. Waqas, mere bache… tum nahi jaante tum kya maang rahe ho. Tum nahi jaante is ghar ne mujhse kya cheena hai. Tum nahi jaante ke main wapas kyun aayi hoon. Shayad main khud bhi nahi jaanti. Lekin ek baat jaanti hoon — main tumhein barbaad nahi hone dungi. Chahe iske liye mujhe khud ko barbaad karna pade.”*

Lekin diary band karne ke baad, Salma ne sketchbook ka woh panna yaad kiya — jo Waqas ne use diya tha aur usne wapas kar diya tha. Usne socha: kya usne sahi kiya? Aur uske dil ne jawab diya: nahi.

Yahi to masla tha. Dil hamesha ghalat jawab deta tha.

Agli subah Salma uthi to uske darwaze ke neeche ek kagaz pada tha — sketchbook ka phata hua panna. Usne uthaya. Us par wahi sketch tha — gate wali subah wali Salma. Lekin is baar neeche kuch likha tha:

*”Aap ne wapas kar diya tha. Lekin main phir de raha hoon. Kyunke yeh aapka hai — jaise aap… jaise aap mere dil mein hain. Phaad dijiye, jala dijiye, lekin main phir bana dunga. — W”*

Salma ne sketch ko dekha. Uske haath kaanpne lage. Usne sketch ko phaadna chaha — lekin nahi phaad saki. Usne use teh kiya, aur apne bag mein rakh diya — sab se neeche, chhupa kar.

Nasht par Waqas ne use dekha — ek sawal uski aankhon mein tha. Salma ne nazrein jhuka lin. Lekin uske honton par ek halki muskurahat thi — jo usne chhupane ki koshish nahi ki.

Razia ne dono ko dekha. Usne kuch kaha nahi, lekin uski aankhon mein ek sawal tha.

Din bhar Salma ne sketch ke baare mein socha. Raat ko usne use dobara nikala, dekha. Usne apne aap ko dekha — Waqas ki nazar se. Khoobsurat. Zinda. Chahe jane wali.

Usne diary mein likha:

*”Usne sketch phir bhej diya. Maine rakha liya. Main kamzor ho rahi hoon, aur mujhe pata hai. Lekin… lekin kya kamzor hona itna bura hai? Bees saal tak main mazboot rahi — Haroon ke jaane ke baad, tanhai mein, pardees mein. Aur kya mila? Kuch nahi. Ab… ab shayad kamzor hone ka waqt hai. Shayad mohabbat mein kamzor hona hi asal mazbooti hai.”*

Usne sketch ko takiye ke neeche rakha — aur so gayi. Pehli baar bees dinon mein, uske chehre par muskurahat thi.

Inkaar ke agle din Waqas ne Salma se baat nahi ki — lekin usne ek kaam kiya. Usne apne kamre ki deewar par laga hua ek sketch utara — woh sketch jo usne bees saal pehle banaya tha, jab woh chhe saal ka tha. Ek tedha medha sketch — ghar ka, darakht ka, aur ek aurat ka — lambi, muskurati hui. Neeche bachche ki likhawat mein likha tha: “Phupho.”

Usne woh sketch Salma ke darwaze ke neeche se sarka diya. Saath ek parchi: *”Yeh maine tab banaya tha jab main chhe saal ka tha. Tab se ab tak, meri har drawing mein aap hain. Shayad aapko pata na ho — lekin aap meri har lakeer mein hain.”*

Salma ne sketch dekha. Uski aankhein bhar aayin. Chhe saal ke bache ka banaya hua sketch — tedha, lekin mohabbat se bhara. Usne use seene se lagaya.

Us din usne diary mein likha:

*”Usne apna bachpan ka sketch bheja. Chhe saal ki umr mein banaya hua. Us mein main hoon. Bees saal se woh mujhe apni drawing mein bana raha hai. Bees saal se… Main kya karun? Main is mohabbat ka kya karun jo itni purani hai, itni gehri hai? Main isse bhaag rahi hoon — lekin kahin bhaag kar jaun? Yeh to mere peeche nahi, mere andar hai.”*

Usne sketch ko apne bag mein rakha — us sketch ke saath jo Waqas ne gate par banaya tha. Dono sketch, bees saal ka faasla, ek hi chehra.

Raat ko Salma ne khwaab dekha — woh chhoti hai, anar ke darakht par chadhi hui hai. Neeche Waqas khada hai — chhe saal ka, haath phailaye hue. “Phupho, koodo! Main pakad lunga!” Salma koodti hai — aur Waqas use pakad leta hai. Lekin jab woh neeche dekhti hai, to Waqas chhe saal ka nahi — chhabbees saal ka hai. Mazboot baahein, gehri aankhein. Woh use pakde hue hai — aur chhod nahi raha.

Salma ki aankh khul gayi. Uska dil zor se dhadak raha tha. Usne khidki se bahar dekha — Waqas ke kamre ki roshni jal rahi thi. Woh jaag raha tha.

Salma ne socha — kya woh bhi uske baare mein soch raha tha? Shayad. Shayad woh bhi so nahi pa raha tha.

Usne apne aap se wada kiya — kal woh Waqas se baat karegi. Naram lehje mein. Use samjhayegi. Use… use door rakhegi.

Lekin uska dil jaanta tha — woh wada bhi tootega. Jaise pehle wade toote the.

Inkaar ke baad Waqas ne apna tareeqa badla — lekin himmat nahi haari. Woh ab Salma se seedhi baat nahi karta tha, balke chhed-chhad karta tha, halki phulki, hansti hui. Jaise koi bachcha kisi ko manane ke liye uske gird ghoomta hai.

Subah nasht par woh kehta: “Phupho, aaj aapki chai mein ilaaichi kam hai. Daud miyan se kahun zyada daalein?” Salma kehti: “Mujhe jaisi hai waisi pasand hai.” Woh muskurata: “Jaise aap hain, waisi pasand hain.”

Salma laal ho jaati, Razia hansti: “Waqas, phupho ko tang na karo.”

Lekin Waqas tang karta raha. Woh Salma ke liye chhoti chhoti cheezein laata — bazaar se gajre, kitabain, ek din ek purana radio jo usne theek karwaya tha. “Dadi ke zamaane ka hai,” usne kaha. “Suna hai is par purane gaane aate hain.”

Salma ne radio liya. Usne use chalaya. Purana gana baja — wohi gana jo ammi sunti thin. Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Tumhein kaise pata ke ammi yeh gaane sunti thin?”

“Daud miyan ne bataya.” Waqas ne kaha. “Woh kehte hain aap bilkul Dadi jaisi hain. Zid mein bhi, pyaar mein bhi.”

“Daud miyan bahut bolte hain,” Salma ne kaha, lekin uski aawaz mein narmi thi.

Ek din Salma sehan mein anar ke darakht ke neeche baithi thi. Dhoop chhan kar aa rahi thi, patte hil rahe the. Waqas aaya, haath mein do anar.

“Sehan wale darakht ke hain,” usne kaha. “Pak gaye hain. Daud miyan ne todne diye.”

Usne ek anar Salma ko diya. Salma ne use toda — dane laal, raseele. Usne ek dana munh mein rakha. Meetha, thoda khatta. Bachpan ka zaiqa.

“Yaad hai aap kehti thin anar ke dane ginne se khwahishein poori hoti hain?” Waqas ne pucha.

“Yaad hai.” Salma ne ek aur dana khaya.

“To giniye. Aur khwahish mangiye.”

Salma ne use dekha. “Meri khwahishein poori hone wali nahi, Waqas.”

“Kyun?”

“Kyunk… kyunke kuch khwahishein maangni hi nahi chahiye.”

Waqas ne apna anar toda. “Phupho, ek baat kahun? Aap hamesha khwahishon se bhaagti hain. Pehle is ghar se bhaagin, ab… ab mujhse bhaag rahi hain. Kabhi ruk kar socha hai ke shayad khwahishein poori karne ke liye hoti hain, unse bhaagne ke liye nahi?”

Salma ne anar rakh diya. “Tum philosophy na jhado. Aur suno —” usne uski aankhon mein dekha, “main tumse nahi bhaag rahi. Main… main tumhein bacha rahi hoon.”

“Kis se?”

“Mujhse.” Salma uth khadi hui. “Aur ab yeh behes khatm.”

Woh andar chali gayi. Lekin Waqas ne dekha — jaate jaate usne anar ka aadha hissa wahan chhod diya tha, aur uski aankhon mein aansu the.

Waqas ne woh anar uthaya. Usne ek dana khaya. Meetha, thoda khatta. Bilkul Salma ki tarah.

Usne aasmaan ki taraf dekha. “Dadi,” usne sar goshi ki, “aap kehti thin khwahishein ginne se poori hoti hain. To suniye — meri khwahish hai ke Phupho maan jayen. Chahe jitna waqt lage.”

Hawa mein anar ke patte hil rahe the. Jaise darakht ne sun liya ho.

Uske baad ke dinon mein Waqas ne ek nayi harkat shuru ki — woh Salma ko chhoti chhoti parchiayan likh kar bhejta. Nasht ki mez par, chai ki pyaali ke neeche, kitab ke darmiyan. Har parchi par ek jumla hota:

*”Aaj aapki aankhein chaandni jaisi lag rahi hain.”*

*”Daud miyan kehte hain aap hansti hain to ghar roshan ho jata hai.”*

*”Maine aaj anar ke darakht ka sketch banaya. Us mein aapki kami mehsoos hui.”*

Salma har parchi padhti, laal hoti, aur use apne bag mein chhupa leti. Uska bag ab parchiayon se bhar gaya tha — sketch, parchiayan, ek sukha hua motiye ka phool.

Ek din Razia ne use bazaar chalne ko kaha. “Chalo, Salma. Bees saal baad aayi ho, kuch khareed lo. Liberty Market chalte hain.”

Salma ne pehle inkaar kiya, phir maan gayi. Dono Liberty gayin. Bheed thi, dukanein thin, naye fashion the. Salma ne dekha — bees saal mein Lahore kitna badal gaya tha.

Ek dukaan par unhone ek joda dekha — navaabi joda, dulhan ka. Razia ne kaha: “Dekho, kitna khoobsurat hai.” Salma ne use dekha, aur uske zehen mein Waqas aaya — dulha bana hua. Usne sar jhatka. Yeh kya soch rahi thi woh?

Wapsi par taxi mein Razia ne achanak kaha: “Salma, ek baat puchun? Bura to nahi manogi?”

“Pucho.”

“Waqas… woh tumse bahut… matlab, woh tumhara bahut khayal rakhta hai.” Razia ne uski taraf dekha. “Tumhein kuch… ajeeb nahi lagta?”

Salma ka dil zor se dhadka. “Kya matlab?”

“Matlab… woh jawan hai, tum… tum bhi jawan ho.” Razia ne aahista kaha. “Aur uski nazrein… maine dekhi hain. Woh tumhein aise dekhta hai jaise…”

“Jaise kya, Bhabhi?” Salma ki aawaz sakht thi.

Razia khaamosh rahi. Phir usne kaha: “Chhodo. Shayad mera wehem hai. Umr ho gayi hai.”

Lekin Salma jaanti thi — yeh wehem nahi tha. Razia ne dekh liya tha. Aur agar Razia ne dekh liya tha, to… to aur log bhi dekh lenge.

Ghar pahunch kar Salma seedha apne kamre mein gayi. Usne darwaza band kiya. Usne aaine mein apne aap ko dekha — tyaalis saal ki aurat, aankhon mein khwahish, chehre par darr.

“Tum kya kar rahi ho, Salma?” usne aaine se pucha. “Tum apne bhatije se…?”

Aaine ne jawab nahi diya. Lekin Salma ke dil ne diya: *Main mohabbat kar rahi hoon. Aur mohabbat mein umr nahi dekhi jaati, rishte nahi dekhe jaate. Sirf dil dekha jaata hai.*

Us raat usne Waqas ki parchiayan dobara padhin. Har parchi par usne ek aansu giraya. Aur phir usne sab parchiayan ek dibbe mein band kar din — ammi ke dibbe mein, khaton ke saath.

“Ammi,” usne sar goshi ki, “aap kehti thin khwahishein ginne se poori hoti hain. To meri khwahish suniye — mujhe maaf kar dijiye. Main… main apne bhatije se mohabbat karti hoon. Mujhe pata hai yeh ghalat hai. Lekin mera dil… mera dil nahi maanta.”

Us raat toofan aaya — halka sa, October ka pehla toofan. Bijli chamki, baadal garje, aur barish hui — tez, thandi. Salma apne kamre mein thi, khidki band kiye. Lekin barish ki aawaz use sone nahi de rahi thi. Woh uth kar khidki ke paas aayi. Bahar sehan bheeg raha tha. Anar ka darakht barish mein jhoom raha tha.

Aur upar, chhat par… koi tha.

Salma ne gaur se dekha. Waqas tha — chhat par khada, barish mein bheeg raha, aasmaan ki taraf dekh raha. Uske kapde bheeg gaye the, baal chehre par chipak gaye the. Woh bilkul hil nahi raha tha — jaise barish se baat kar raha ho.

Salma ka dil zor se dhadka. “Yeh ladka pagal hai,” usne sar goshi ki. Lekin uske kadam khud ba khud darwaze ki taraf badhe. Usne chhata uthaya, upar chhat ki taraf gayi.

“Waqas!” usne chillaya, barish ki aawaz par. “Tum yahan kya kar rahe ho? Bimaar pad jaoge!”

Waqas ne use dekha. Barish mein uska chehra chamak raha tha. “Phupho! Aap aayin?”

“Neeche chalo! Abhi!”

“Nahi.” Waqas ne sar hilaya. “Pehle ek baat suniye.”

“Koi baat nahi sunni! Neeche chalo!”

“Phupho, please. Ek minute.” Waqas uske qareeb aaya — barish dono par pad rahi thi, Salma ka chhata bekaar tha. “Main aapse kuch kehna chahta hoon.”

Salma ne use dekha — bheega hua, kaanpta hua, lekin aankhon mein wohi zid. Uska dil pighal gaya.

“Kaho. Jaldi kaho.”

“Main aapse mohabbat karta hoon, Phupho.” Waqas ki aawaz barish se bhi saaf thi. “Bachpan se. Jab aap gayin thin, to main roya tha. Ammi kehti hain main hafte tak roya tha. Phir main bada hua, lekin woh khaali jagah kabhi bhari nahi. Aur ab aap wapas hain. Main aapko phir se khona nahi chahta.”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin — barish ke paani mein aansu ghul gaye. “Waqas… tum nahi samajhte. Main tumhari phupho hoon. Yeh… yeh duniya ise qubool nahi karegi.”

“Mujhe duniya ki parwah nahi.”

“Lekin mujhe hai!” Salma chillayi. “Mujhe apne bhai ki parwah hai! Mujhe apni bhabhi ki parwah hai! Mujhe is ghar ki parwah hai! Tum samajhte kyun nahi?”

“To samjha dijiye!” Waqas ne uske kandhe pakde — narmi se, lekin mazbooti se. “Bata dijiye kya baat hai! Kya raaz hai is ghar ka? Kyun aap bees saal pehle gayin? Kyun aap wapas aayi hain? Bata dijiye, Phupho! Main sununga!”

Salma ne uske haath hataye. “Nahi. Kuch baatein batayi nahi jaatin. Kuch zakhm khole nahi jaate.”

Woh neeche bhaag gayi. Waqas chhat par akela reh gaya, barish mein.

Lekin usne haar nahi maani. Usne aasmaan ki taraf dekha aur kaha: “Main intezaar karunga, Phupho. Chahe jitna waqt lage. Lekin main aapko bata dun — barish rukegi, lekin main nahi rukunga.”

Neeche apne kamre mein Salma ne kapde badle. Uske haath kaanp rahe the. Usne diary nikali:

*”Usne keh diya. Barish mein, chhat par, bheega hua — usne keh diya ke woh mujhse mohabbat karta hai. Aur maine… maine kuch nahi kaha. Kyunke mere paas kehne ko kuch nahi tha. Mera dil kehta hai haan. Mera dimaagh kehta hai na. Mera khaandaan kehta hai na. Mera Khuda… pata nahi woh kya kehta hai. Shayad woh bhi khaamosh hai. Waqas, mere jaan… tum jeet rahe ho. Aur mujhe darr lag raha hai — is jeet se bhi, is haar se bhi.”*

Uske baad ke din Salma ne apne aap ko masroof rakha — taake sochne ka waqt na mile. Usne ghar ki safai karwai, purane kapde nikale, ammi ki cheezein tartib din. Lekin jitna woh masroof hoti, utna hi Waqas uske zehen mein aata.

Ek din woh purani almari saaf kar rahi thi jab use ek dibba mila — uske bachpan ka dibba. Us mein tasveerein thin, khilone the, aur ek purani diary — uski apni diary, jab woh solah saal ki thi. Salma ne use khola. Pehla panna:

*”Aaj maine faisla kiya hai ke main badi hokar is ghar ko kabhi nahi chhodungi. Yeh ghar mera hai. Anar ka darakht mera hai. Ammi meri hain. Aur… aur main kabhi shaadi nahi karungi. Kyunke shaadi karke ladkiyan apna ghar chhod deti hain. Main nahi chhodungi.”*

Salma hans padi — phir ro padi. Solah saal ki Salma ne kya socha tha, aur zindagi ne kya kiya. Usne shaadi ki, ghar chhoda, sheher chhoda. Aur ab… ab woh wapas thi. Lekin woh solah saal ki ladki ab nahi thi. Woh tyaalis saal ki aurat thi — jiske dil mein ek nayi khwahish thi, jo use darati thi.

Usne diary ke panne palte. Ek panne par likha tha: *”Aaj Waqas paida hua hai. Parvez bhai ke ghar beta hua hai. Main phupho ban gayi! Main ne use dekha — itna chhota, itna pyaara. Main ne use god mein liya, aur usne meri ungli pakad li. Ammi kehti hain bhatija phupho ki jaan hota hai. Such kehti hain.”*

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. Waqas ka paida hona… use yaad tha. Usne use god mein liya tha. Usne uski ungli pakdi thi. Aur ab… ab wohi ungli… nahi. Salma ne diary band ki.

Lekin diary band karne se yaadein band nahi hotin. Salma ne socha — Waqas jab chhota tha, to woh uske saath khelti thi. Use kahaniyan sunati thi. Use anar khilati thi. Woh uski jaan tha. Aur ab… ab woh uski jaan hai — lekin ek alag tarah se.

“Kya yeh gunaah hai?” Salma ne aaine se pucha. “Apne bhatije se mohabbat karna?”

Aaine ne jawab nahi diya. Lekin Salma ke dil ne diya: *Mohabbat kabhi gunaah nahi hoti, Salma. Gunaah to nafrat hoti hai.*

Us raat Salma ne apni purani diary ko aag mein jala diya — nahi, nahi jalaya. Usne use sambhal kar rakha — ammi ke dibbe mein. Kyunke maazi ko jalaya nahi jaata. Use sambhal kar rakha jaata hai — taake mustaqbil mein kaam aaye.

Barish wali raat ke baad Salma ne do din tak apna kamra nahi chhoda. Razia ne khana bhijwaya, Daud ne chai. Waqas ne darwaze par dastak di — ek baar, do baar — phir ruk gaya. Woh samajhta tha. Woh intezaar kar sakta tha.

Teesre din Salma bahar aayi. Uski aankhein sooji hui thin, lekin chehre par ek naya azm tha. Usne faisla kiya tha: ab woh is ghar ke raaz ko kholegi. Woh jaan kar rahegi ke ammi ke sandooq mein kya hai. Shayad us mein woh jawab ho jo use Waqas se door rehne ki taaqat de.

Woh ammi ke kamre mein gayi — apne kamre mein. Usne har daraz kholi, har almari dekhi. Ammi ki cheezein waise ki waisi thin — tasbeeh, purane kapde, ek quraan, kuch tasveerein. Aur phir, bistar ke neeche, use ek lakri ka dibba mila.

Dibba khula tha. Us mein khat the — purane, peele pade hue, ammi ki likhawat mein. Salma ne ek khat uthaya. Taareekh thi: bees saal pehle ki.

*”Meri pyaari Salma,”* khat shuru hota tha. *”Agar tum yeh khat padh rahi ho, to iska matlab waqt aa gaya hai. Woh waqt jiska maine tumse wada kiya tha. Sandooq kholo. Us mein woh hai jo tumhara haq hai. Aur beta… apne bhai ko maaf kar dena. Usne jo kiya, nadaani mein kiya. Lekin haq to haq hai.”*

Salma ke haath kaanpne lage. Usne dusra khat uthaya. Teesra. Har khat mein ishaare the — sandooq ka, haq ka, Parvez ki nadaani ka. Lekin poori baat kisi mein nahi thi.

“Daud miyan!” Salma ne aawaz di.

Daud aaya. “Ji, Phupho ji?”

“Yeh khat… ammi ne kab likhe the?”

Daud ne khat dekhe. Uska chehra peela pad gaya. “Yeh… yeh to Bibi ji ke aakhri dinon ke hain. Unhone mujhse kaha tha dibba bistar ke neeche rakh dun. Kaha tha: ‘Daud, jab Salma wapas aaye, to use yeh mil jayega.'”

“To tum ne mujhe pehle kyun nahi bataya?”

“Main… main bhool gaya tha, Phupho ji. Umr ho gayi hai.” Daud ne nazrein jhukayin. Lekin Salma jaanti thi — woh bhoola nahi tha. Woh darr raha tha.

“Daud miyan, sach batao. Sandooq mein kya hai?”

Daud ne idhar udhar dekha, phir aahista kaha: “Bibi ji ke kagazat. Ghar ke kagazat. Aur… aur ek vasiyat.”

Salma ki saans ruk gayi. “Vasiyat?”

“Ji. Bibi ji ne… unhone apne haathon se likhi thi. Wakeel ke paas bhi ek naqal hai.” Daud ruka. “Phupho ji, mujhe maaf kar dijiye. Bhai sahab ne kaha tha is baare mein kisi se baat na karun. Unhone kaha tha… unhone kaha tha yeh khaandaani maamla hai.”

Salma ka dil zor se dhadakne laga. “Parvez ne kya kaha tha?”

“Woh… woh bees saal pehle ki baat hai, Phupho ji. Jab aap gayin thin. Bhai sahab ne sandooq ko taala lagwaya tha. Kaha tha: ‘Ammi ke jaane ke baad yeh sandooq nahi khulega.'”

“Kyun?”

“Yeh to wahi jaanein, Phupho ji.” Daud ne haath jode. “Maine to bas hukm maana.”

Salma ne khaton ko dekha. Uske zehen mein bees saal purani yaadein taaza hone lagin — woh din jab woh Karachi gayi thi, Haroon se shadi karke. Kya woh apni marzi se gayi thi? Ya use bheja gaya tha? Waqt ne yaadon ko dhundla kar diya tha. Lekin ab… ab sach saamne aane wala tha.

“Daud miyan, sandooq ki chaabi kahan hai?”

Daud ne jeb se ek purani chaabi nikali — zang lagi hui, lekin mazboot. “Bibi ji ne mujhe di thi. Kaha tha: ‘Daud, yeh Salma ki amanat hai. Waqt aane par use de dena.'”

Salma ne chaabi li. Uske haath kaanp rahe the. Bees saal. Bees saal se yeh chaabi Daud ke paas thi, aur use khabar tak nahi thi.

“Waqas kahan hai?” usne pucha.

“Upar hain, Phupho ji. Kaam kar rahe hain.”

Salma ne chaabi mutthi mein band ki. “Theek hai. Tum jao.”

Daud chala gaya. Salma sandooq ke paas baithi. Usne chaabi taale mein daali. Taala zang laga tha, lekin chaabi ghoom gayi. Katak ki aawaz aayi.

Salma ne sandooq ka dhakkan uthaya.

Us mein kagazat the — purane, teh kiye hue. Upar ek lifafa tha, jis par ammi ki likhawat mein likha tha: *”Meri Salma ke liye.”*

Salma ne lifafa khola. Us mein ek khat tha — aakhri khat.

*”Meri jaan Salma,”* ammi ne likha tha. *”Tum yeh padh rahi ho, to main is duniya mein nahi hoon. Mujhe maaf kar dena ke maine tumse bees saal tak sach chhupaya. Lekin main majboor thi. Tumhara bhai… Parvez ne mujhse wada liya tha. Usne kaha tha ke agar maine tumhein sach bataya, to khaandaan toot jayega. Maine khaandaan bachane ke liye tumhein qurban kar diya. Mujhe maaf kar dena, meri bachi.*

*Sach yeh hai ke yeh ghar — Model Town wala ghar — maine tumhare naam kiya tha. Haan, tumhare naam. Tumhare abba ke jaane ke baad, maine wakeel se kah kar ghar ki registry tumhare naam karwai thi. Kyunke tum meri sab se chhoti thi, sab se kamzor thi, aur main chahti thi ke tumhein koi ghar se na nikaal sake.*

*Lekin Parvez ko jab pata chala, to usne… usne tumse woh kagaz sign karwaye. Tumhein yaad hai? Woh din jab tum Karachi jaane wali thin, usne tumse kaha tha ke ‘yeh sirf rasmi kagaz hain’? Woh rasmi nahi the, beta. Woh ghar ki milkiyat uske naam karne ke kagaz the. Usne tumhein dhokha diya. Aur maine use rokne ki himmat nahi ki.*

*Mujhe maaf kar dena. Sandooq mein vasiyat ki naqal hai. Asal wakeel ke paas hai. Tumhara haq ab bhi tumhara hai — agar tum use lena chaho.*

*Tumhari ammi, Kulsoom.”*

Salma ka khat haathon se chhoot gaya. Uske aansu kagaz par gire.

Bees saal. Bees saal tak woh samajhti rahi ke woh apni marzi se gayi thi — ke usne khud Karachi jaane ka faisla kiya tha, ke Haroon se shadi uski pasand thi. Lekin sach yeh tha ke use dhokha diya gaya tha. Uske apne bhai ne use dhokha diya tha. Aur uski ammi ne… uski ammi ne use bachane ke bajaye khaandaan bachaya tha.

Salma ne sandooq mein haath dala. Kagazat the — vasiyat ki naqal, registry ke kagaz, wakeel ka naam aur pata. Sab kuch.

Uska poora wajood hil gaya. Woh wapas is liye aayi thi ke dil ne kaha tha. Lekin ab pata chala tha ke dil ne sahi kaha tha — yahan koi hisaab baaqi tha. Bahut bada hisaab.

Aur is hisaab ka ek pehlu Waqas bhi tha. Kyunke Waqas Parvez ka beta tha. Us dhokebaaz ka beta jo…

Nahi. Salma ne sar hilaya. Waqas ka is mein koi qusoor nahi tha. Woh to chhe saal ka bacha tha.

Lekin phir bhi… Salma ke dil mein ek nayi deewar khadi ho gayi. Woh Waqas se door rehne ki wajah dhoond rahi thi — aur ab use mil gayi thi. Yeh ghar, yeh khaandaan, yeh dhokha… is sab ke baad woh Waqas ke qareeb kaise aa sakti thi?

Ya shayad… shayad yahi wajah thi ke use qareeb aana chahiye tha. Kyunke Waqas us dhokhe ka hissa nahi tha. Woh to… woh to us sach ka hissa tha jo ab saamne aaya tha.

Salma ne kagazat samete. Usne faisla kiya: woh wakeel se milegi. Woh apna haq legi. Aur phir… phir dekhegi ke dil kya kehta hai.

Us raat usne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj sach saamne aaya. Bees saal ka jhoot toot gaya. Mera bhai… mere apne bhai ne mujhse mera ghar cheena. Aur ammi ne use rokne ki himmat nahi ki. Main kya karun? Main kisse naraz hoon? Parvez se? Ammi se? Khud se? Ya… ya is ghar se, jisne mujhse sab kuch cheena aur ab mujhe wapas bula raha hai? Ek baat tay hai — ab main kamzor nahi rahungi. Ab main apna haq lungi. Chahe iske liye mujhe apne bhai se ladna pade.”*

Aur aakhri satr mein, chhote harfon mein:

*”Waqas… tum is sab se alag ho. Tumhein is mein mat ghaseeto. Please.”*

Lekin sandooq kholne se pehle Salma ne ek aur kaam kiya — usne ammi ki tasveer ke saamne diye jalaye. Woh diye jo Daud ne laaye the. Salma ne tasveer ko dekha, aur der tak dekhti rahi.

“Ammi,” usne kaha, “aap ne mujhse bees saal tak sach chhupaya. Main naraz hoon — such mein naraz hoon. Lekin… lekin main samajhti bhi hoon. Aap phansi hui thin — beti aur bete ke darmiyan. Koi maa aisi haalat mein kya karti? Shayad wahi jo aap ne kiya.”

Usne apne bachpan ko yaad kiya — ammi ke saath guzre din. Subah ammi use uthati — “Salma, utho, school ka time hai.” Dopahar ko ammi use khana khilati — apne haathon se. Shaam ko ammi use kahaniyan sunati — pariyon ki, shehzaadon ki. Raat ko ammi uske sar par haath pherti — jab tak woh so na jaye.

Aur phir woh din jab Salma badi hui — jab use pehli baar mehsoos hua ke ammi usse zyada Parvez se darti thin. Haan, darti thin. Parvez gusse wala tha, ziddi tha. Ammi kehti thin: “Tumhare bhai ka mizaaj tez hai, use naraz mat karo.” Aur Salma ne kabhi Parvez ko naraz nahi kiya — bees saal tak.

Jab Salma ki shadi ki baat chali — Haroon se — to ammi khush thin. Kehti thin: “Achha ladka hai, Karachi mein naukri hai. Tum khush rahogi.” Lekin Salma ne ammi ki aankhon mein dekha tha — wahan ek dard tha. Jaise ammi kehna chahti hon: “Mat jao.” Lekin unhone kaha nahi.

Ab samajh aaya — kyun nahi kaha. Kyunke unhein pata tha ke Salma ka jana… uska jana zaroori tha. Parvez ke liye. Khaandaan ke liye.

Salma ne diye ko dekha — uski lau hil rahi thi. Usne socha: ammi ki rooh ab bhi yahan hai. Is kamre mein, is ghar mein. Shayad woh dekh rahi hain. Shayad woh khush hain ke Salma wapas aayi hai.

“Ammi,” Salma ne kaha, “main aapko maaf karti hoon. Such mein. Aur… aur main aapse wada karti hoon — main apna haq lungi. Lekin nafrat se nahi. Mohabbat se. Jaise aap ne mujhse mohabbat ki thi.”

Usne tasveer ko chooma. Phir usne sandooq ki taraf dekha. Chaabi uske haath mein thi.

“Waqt aa gaya hai, Ammi,” usne sar goshi ki. “Sandooq khulne ka waqt.”

Wakeel ka daftar Anarkali mein tha — purana, lakri ki almariyon wala, kagazat ki khushbu wala. Advocate Naseer — sath saal ka, ainak wala, naram lehje wala — ne Salma ko dekha aur pehchan liya.

“Kulsoom Bibi ki beti,” usne kaha. “Aapki ammi bahut achhi khatoon thin. Unhone… unhone mujhse ek wada liya tha.”

“Kaisa wada?” Salma ne pucha.

“Ke jab aap wapas aayen, to main aapko sab kuch bata dun.” Naseer ne ek file nikali. “Dekhiye. Yeh hai asal vasiyat — aapki ammi ne apne haathon se likhi thi, mere saamne sign ki thi. Is mein saaf likha hai ke Model Town ka ghar aapke naam hai. Aur yeh rahi registry —” usne dusra kagaz nikala, “yeh bhi aapke naam par hai.”

“To phir Parvez… mera bhai… uske paas kya hai?” Salma ne pucha.

Naseer ne ek gehra saans liya. “Aapke bhai ke paas woh kagaz hain jo unhone aapse sign karwaye the — bees saal pehle. Woh kagaz qanooni taur par… kamzor hain. Kyunke aapki ammi ki vasiyat uske baad ki hai. Aur vasiyat registry se upar hoti hai. Lekin…” woh ruka, “lekin bees saal tak us kagaz ko challenge nahi kiya gaya. Aapke bhai ne us par qabza rakha, tax diye, marmat karwai. Qanoon mein iska bhi wazan hai.”

“To mera haq…?”

“Aapka haq maujood hai. Lekin use lene ke liye aapko adaalat jana hoga. Aur adaalat… adaalat mein waqt lagta hai, paise lagte hain, aur khaandaan toot’ta hai.” Naseer ne uski aankhon mein dekha. “Aapki ammi ne mujhse kaha tha: ‘Naseer, meri beti jab aaye, to use samjha dena ke haq lena aasaan hai, lekin khaandaan bachana mushkil.'”

Salma khaamosh rahi. Uske haath mein vasiyat ki naqal thi — ammi ke haathon ki likhawat, unke sign. Bees saal purana sach, kagaz par.

“Main sochungi,” usne kaha.

“Zaroor sochiye. Lekin ek baat yaad rakhiye —” Naseer ne file band ki, “aapki ammi ne yeh ghar aapko is liye diya tha ke aapko koi ghar se na nikaal sake. Unhone aapki hifazat chahi thi. Ab aap faisla kijiye ke hifazat ka matlab kya hai — ghar lena, ya khaandaan bachana.”

Salma daftar se bahar aayi. Anarkali ki bheed mein woh akeli khadi rahi. Uske haath mein file thi — uska haq, uska ghar, uska maazi.

Usne taxi li. Raaste mein usne socha: bees saal pehle jab Parvez ne use woh kagaz sign karwaye the, to usne kaha tha: “Yeh sirf rasmi kagaz hain, Salma. Tum Karachi ja rahi ho, ghar ki dekh-bhaal main karunga. Sign kar do.” Usne sign kar diye the — bina padhe, bina soche. Apne bhai par bharosa karke.

Aur us bharose ki qeemat… uska ghar thi.

Ghar pahunch kar Salma ne dekha ke Waqas sehan mein tha — sketchbook liye, lekin sketch nahi bana raha tha. Woh bas baitha tha, anar ke darakht ko dekh raha tha. Salma ko dekh kar woh uth khada hua.

“Phupho! Aap kahan gayin thin? Main pareshaan ho gaya tha.”

“Kaam tha.” Salma ne file chhupane ki koshish ki, lekin Waqas ne dekh liya.

“Yeh kya hai?”

“Kuch nahi.” Salma andar jane lagi.

“Phupho, rukiye.” Waqas uske saamne aaya. “Aap do din se ajeeb hain. Barish wali raat ke baad se… kya baat hai? Mujhe bata dijiye. Please.”

Salma ne use dekha. Uski aankhon mein fikr thi — sachhi fikr. Salma ka dil pighalne laga. Lekin usne khud ko roka.

“Waqas, tum apne kaam se kaam rakho.” Uska lehja sakht tha. “Mere maamlaat mein dakhal na do.”

Waqas peeche hata — jaise use thappad pada ho. “Main… main to bas…”

“Bas kya? Bas fikr hai?” Salma ki aawaz tez ho gayi. “Tumhein meri fikr karne ka koi haq nahi. Tum mere bhatije ho. Bas.”

Woh andar chali gayi. Darwaza band kiya. Aur phir darwaze se tek lagakar ro padi. Kyunke usne Waqas ki aankhon mein jo dard dekha tha, woh uske apne dard se kam nahi tha.

Bahar Waqas khada raha. Usne apne haathon ko dekha — woh kaanp rahe the. Pehli baar usne mehsoos kiya ke shayad… shayad woh haar raha tha.

Lekin phir usne anar ke darakht ko dekha. Usne yaad kiya Dadi ki baat — khwahishein ginne se poori hoti hain. Usne ek anar toda, dane gine — ek, do, teen…

“Main haar nahi manunga, Phupho,” usne sar goshi ki. “Chahe aap jitna door bhaagein. Main aapke peeche nahi… aapke saath chalunga. Jahah aap jayengi, wahan main hounga. Jab tak aap khud na kahen ke bas.”

Us raat Salma ne vasiyat ko dobara padha. Aur usne ek faisla kiya: woh Parvez se baat karegi. Aamne saamne. Bees saal purana hisaab, aaj chukta hoga.

Lekin us raat Salma so na saki. Usne ammi ke khat dobara nikale — woh khat jo dibbe mein the. Usne har khat padha, ek ek karke. Har khat mein ammi ki mohabbat thi, unka dard tha, unki majboori thi.

Ek khat mein likha tha: *”Salma, jab tum chhoti thi, to tum kehti thin ke badi hokar is ghar ko kabhi nahi chhodogi. Tum kehti thin: ‘Ammi, yeh ghar mera hai.’ Aur main hansti thi. Lekin beta, tum such kehti thin. Yeh ghar tumhara tha. Hai. Aur rahega.”*

Salma ro padi. Usne apne bachpan ko yaad kiya — woh chhoti ladki jo anar ke darakht par chadhti thi, jo belon mein chhupti thi, jo ammi se kehti thi: “Yeh ghar mera hai.”

Aur phir use yaad aaya woh din — jab Parvez ne use kagaz sign karwaye the. Woh detail ab wapas aayi — jaise kisi ne parda hataya ho. Parvez ne kaha tha: “Salma, yeh ghar ke tax ke kagaz hain. Tum ja rahi ho, to sign kar do taake main sambhal sakun.” Usne sign kar diye the — bina padhe. Kyunke woh apne bhai par bharosa karti thi.

Aur ammi… ammi wahan khadi thin. Chup. Unhone kuch nahi kaha. Salma ne unki aankhon mein dekha tha — wahan dard tha. Lekin unhone kuch nahi kaha.

Ab samajh aaya — kyun nahi kaha. Kyunke Parvez ne unse wada liya tha. Khaandaan bachane ka wada.

Salma ne khidki se bahar dekha. Raat thi. Anar ka darakht chaandni mein khada tha. Salma ne socha: yeh darakht bees saal se yahan hai. Isne sab dekha hai — mera jana, ammi ka rona, Parvez ka jhoot. Aur yeh ab bhi khada hai. Mazboot.

“Main bhi mazboot rahungi,” Salma ne sar goshi ki. “Ammi, aap ne mujhe kamzor banaya tha — chup rehna sikhaya tha. Lekin ab nahi. Ab main bolungi. Apne haq ke liye, apne dil ke liye.”

Usne vasiyat ki naqal ko chhua. Kal woh Parvez se baat karegi. Aur uske baad… uske baad woh apni zindagi ka faisla karegi. Poori tarah.

Wakeel ke daftar se nikal kar Salma ne taxi nahi li — usne paidal chalne ka faisla kiya. Anarkali ki galiyan, purani dukanein, itar ki khushbu. Usne socha — bees saal pehle woh inhi galiyon mein aayi thi, ammi ke saath. Eid ki khareedari, jootiyan, kapde.

Ek purani kitab ki dukaan par woh ruki. Dukandaar boodha tha — usne Salma ko dekha, muskuraya. “Kuch chahiye, Bibi?”

“Bas dekh rahi hoon.” Salma ne kitabein dekhin — purani, peele panne. Ek kitab par uski nazar padi — deewan-e-Ghalib. Usne use uthaya, khola. Ek sher par ungli ruki:

*Hazaaron khwahishein aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle,*
*Bahut nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle.*

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. Ghalib ne such kaha tha — khwahishein kabhi khatm nahi hotin. Bees saal tak usne apni khwahishon ko dafn kiya tha. Aur ab… ab woh wapas aa rahi thin.

Usne kitab khareed li. Dukandaar ne use kapde mein lapet kar diya. “Shayari pasand hai aapko?”

“Ab… ab lagne lagi hai.” Salma ne muskuraya.

Woh chalti rahi. Ek jagah usne dekha — ek boodhi aurat bheek maang rahi thi. Salma ne use kuch paise diye. Boodhi ne dua di: “Allah tumhein khush rakhe, beti. Tumhare dil ki murad poori kare.”

Salma ne socha — mere dil ki murad? Mere dil ki murad kya hai? Ghar? Haq? Ya… ya Waqas?

Usne jaldi se yeh soch jhatak di. Nahi. Abhi nahi. Pehle Parvez se baat. Pehle hisaab. Phir… phir dekhegi.

Ghar pahunch kar usne dekha — Waqas sehan mein nahi tha. Upar se uske kamre ki aawaz aa rahi thi — woh phone par tha, kisi client se baat kar raha tha. Salma ne rahat ki saans li. Use abhi Waqas ka saamna nahi karna tha — abhi uske paas alfaaz nahi the.

Woh apne kamre mein gayi. Usne Ghalib ki kitab kholi, wohi sher dobara padha. Aur phir usne diary nikali:

*”Aaj maine apna haq dekha — kagaz par. Vasiyat, registry, sab kuch. Mera ghar mera hai. Lekin… lekin khushi? Kya khushi bhi kagaz par likhi hoti hai? Ammi ne mujhe ghar diya — lekin khushi nahi de sakin. Shayad khushi… shayad khushi mujhe khud dhoondni padegi. Aur shayad… shayad woh khushi is ghar mein hai. Kisi ke paas. Kisi ke saath.”*

Usne diary band ki. Bahar se Waqas ki aawaz aayi — woh neeche aa raha tha. Salma ne jaldi se diary chhupayi. Uska dil zor se dhadak raha tha.

“Phupho?” Waqas ne darwaze par dastak di. “Kya main andar aa sakta hoon?”

Salma ne ek gehra saans liya. “Aao.”

Parvez do din baad Islamabad se wapas aaya — sath saal ka, safed baal, chehre par thakan aur ek purani sakhti. Usne Salma ko dekha aur ruk gaya. Bees saal mein woh pehli baar aamne saamne the.

“Salma?” Uski aawaz mein hairat thi. “Tum… tum kab aayin?”

“Teen hafte ho gaye, Bhai.” Salma ki aawaz thandi thi.

Parvez ne use gale lagane ki koshish ki, lekin Salma ne haath milane par iktifa kiya. Parvez ne mehsoos kiya — kuch badla hua tha.

“Baitho,” Salma ne kaha. “Baat karni hai.”

Dono baithak mein baithe. Razia chai le aayi, phir chali gayi — use mehsoos ho gaya tha ke hawa mein kuch tha. Waqas upar tha, lekin usne neeche aane ki koshish nahi ki. Shayad use bhi mehsoos ho gaya tha.

“Bhai,” Salma ne seedhi baat shuru ki, “ammi ka sandooq khola maine.”

Parvez ka chehra peela pad gaya. “Kya?”

“Chaabi Daud miyan ke paas thi. Ammi ne use di thi. Mere liye.” Salma ne file mez par rakhi. “Aur yeh… yeh vasiyat ki naqal hai. Ammi ne ghar mere naam kiya tha. Aur tum ne… tum ne mujhse dhokhe se sign karwaye the.”

Parvez khaamosh raha. Uske haath kaanpne lage.

“Bolo, Bhai. Kuch to bolo.”

“Salma…” Parvez ki aawaz bharra gayi. “Woh… woh bees saal purani baat hai.”

“Bees saal purana dhokha aaj bhi dhokha hai.” Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin, lekin uski aawaz mazboot thi. “Tum ne mujhse kaha tha ‘yeh sirf rasmi kagaz hain’. Main ne tum par bharosa kiya tha. Tum mere bhai the.”

“Main tumhara bhai hoon!” Parvez uth khada hua. “Aur maine jo kiya, khaandaan ke liye kiya!”

“Khaandaan ke liye? Ya apne liye?” Salma bhi uth khadi hui. “Tum ne mera ghar cheena, Bhai. Mera haq cheena. Aur ammi… ammi ne tumhein rokne ki himmat nahi ki.”

Parvez ne khidki ki taraf dekha. Bahar anar ka darakht tha. “Tum nahi samajhti, Salma. Us waqt… us waqt haalaat aise the. Abba ke jaane ke baad karz tha. Ghar girvi hone wala tha. Maine karz chukaya, ghar bachaya. Agar ghar tumhare naam rehta, to… to tum Karachi mein thi, tumhein khabar tak na hoti aur ghar nilam ho jata.”

“To tum ne mujhe bataya kyun nahi? Tum ne mujhse sach kyun chhupaya?”

“Kyunk… kyunke main darr gaya tha.” Parvez ki aawaz toot gayi. Sath saal ka mard, apni chhoti behen ke saamne toot raha tha. “Mujhe laga agar maine tumhein bataya, to tum mujhse nafrat karogi. Aur main… main apni behen ki nafrat bardasht nahi kar sakta tha. To maine… maine jhoot bola. Aur phir jhoot itna purana ho gaya ke sach batane ki himmat hi nahi hui.”

Salma ne use dekha — apne bhai ko. Woh sakht chehra ab naram tha, aankhon mein aansu the. Bees saal ka bojh uske kandhon par tha.

“Ammi ne mujhe maaf karne ko kaha tha,” Salma ne aahista kaha. “Khat mein likha tha: ‘Apne bhai ko maaf kar dena. Usne jo kiya, nadaani mein kiya.'”

“Ammi ne… khat likha tha?” Parvez chaunk gaya.

“Haan. Aur unhone yeh bhi likha ke mera haq ab bhi mera hai — agar main use lena chahun.” Salma ne uski aankhon mein dekha. “To batao, Bhai. Main kya karun? Adaalat jaun? Apne bhai ke khilaaf case karun?”

Parvez ne sar jhukaya. “Tum jo chaho kar sakti ho, Salma. Tumhara haq hai. Main… main nahi rokunga. Lekin ek baat sun lo —” usne sar uthaya, “maine bees saal tak is ghar ki hifazat ki. Ise girne nahi diya. Belon ko katne nahi diya. Anar ke darakht ko kaatne nahi diya. Kyunke… kyunke yeh ghar tumhara hai. Main jaanta tha. Hamesha jaanta tha.”

Dono khaamosh reh gaye. Bahar hawa mein patte hil rahe the.

“Bhai,” Salma ne aakhir mein kaha, “mujhe adaalat nahi jana. Mujhe case nahi karna. Lekin mujhe sach chahiye tha. Aur mujhe… mujhe maafi chahiye thi. Tumhari zabaan se.”

Parvez ne uska haath pakda. “Mujhe maaf kar de, Salma. Maine tujhe dhokha diya. Main… main sharminda hoon.”

Salma ne uska haath thama. Bees saal ka faasla ek lamhe mein simat gaya. Bhai behen — khoon ka rishta, jhoot se zyada mazboot.

“Maaf kiya,” Salma ne kaha. Aur usne mehsoos kiya ke uske dil se ek bahut bada bojh utar gaya.

Lekin jab woh baithak se bahar aayi, to usne dekha ke Waqas seedhiyon par khada tha — sab sun chuka tha. Uski aankhon mein… kuch tha. Hairat, dard, aur kuch aur.

“Phupho,” usne aahista kaha, “to is liye aap…”

“Yeh hamare khaandaan ka maamla hai, Waqas,” Salma ne kaha. Lekin is baar uski aawaz mein pehli wali sakhti nahi thi. “Tum is mein mat padho.”

“Main padh chuka hoon, Phupho.” Waqas neeche aaya. “Aur main aapko ek baat bata dun —” usne uski aankhon mein dekha, “abba ne jo kiya, uski saza mujhe mat dijiye. Main un jaisa nahi hoon.”

Salma ne kuch nahi kaha. Woh apne kamre mein chali gayi. Lekin Waqas ki baat uske zehen mein goonjti rahi.

*Abba ne jo kiya, uski saza mujhe mat dijiye.*

Kya woh yahi kar rahi thi? Kya woh Waqas ko uske baap ke gunaah ki saza de rahi thi?

Us raat Salma ne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj maine bhai ko maaf kar diya. Bees saal ka bojh utar gaya. Lekin ek naya sawal paida ho gaya — kya main Waqas ke saath insaaf kar rahi hoon? Usne kuch nahi kiya. Uska qusoor sirf itna hai ke woh Parvez ka beta hai. Aur ke woh… ke woh mujhse mohabbat karta hai. Kya mohabbat karna gunaah hai? Agar hai, to main bhi gunahgaar hoon. Kyunke… kyunke main bhi usse… Nahi. Main yeh nahi likhungi. Main yeh sochungi bhi nahi.”*

Lekin usne socha tha. Aur likha tha. Aur ab woh alfaaz kagaz par the — mitaaye nahi ja sakte the.

Us raat khane par ajeeb khaamoshi thi. Parvez apni jagah par baitha tha — thaka hua, khaamosh. Razia ne khana parosa. Waqas ne Salma ko dekha — ek sawal uski aankhon mein tha. Salma ne halka sa sar hilaya — sab theek hai.

Khane ke baad Parvez ne Salma ko bulaya. Dono sehan mein baithe — anar ke darakht ke neeche. Raat thi, taare the.

“Salma,” Parvez ne kaha, “main tumse ek baat kehna chahta hoon. Woh baat jo maine bees saal tak nahi kahi.”

“Kaho, Bhai.”

“Jab tum gayi thin… uske baad main roz raat ko sota nahi tha. Mujhe lagta tha maine tumhein dhokha diya hai. Aur main sahi sochta tha.” Parvez ki aawaz bharra gayi. “Maine kitni baar socha ke tumhein phone karun, sach bata dun. Lekin phir darr lagta tha — ke tum mujhse nafrat karogi. To main chup raha. Aur chup itni gehri ho gayi ke… ke main bhool gaya ke bolna kya hota hai.”

Salma ne uska haath pakda. “Bhai, tum ne ghalti ki. Lekin tum ne sudhaar bhi kiya — is ghar ki hifazat karke, bees saal tak.”

“Kya hifazat kaafi hai?” Parvez ne pucha. “Kya bees saal ki hifazat bees saal ke jhoot ko mita sakti hai?”

“Shayad nahi.” Salma ne sach kaha. “Lekin maafi… maafi sab kuch mita sakti hai. Aur maine tumhein maaf kar diya hai, Bhai. Such mein.”

Parvez ro pada — sath saal ka mard, apni behen ke kandhe par sar rakh kar ro raha tha. Salma ne uske sar par haath phera — jaise ammi pherti thin.

“Ab sab theek ho jayega, Bhai,” usne kaha. “Hum phir se khaandaan banenge. Jaise pehle the.”

Upar khidki se Waqas dekh raha tha. Usne apne baap ko rota dekha — pehli baar. Aur usne Salma ko dekha — apne baap ko sambhalte hue. Uske dil mein ek nayi izzat paida hui — Salma ke liye. Yeh aurat… yeh aurat sirf khoobsurat nahi thi. Yeh mazboot thi. Bees saal ke dard ko maaf karne wali mazbooti — yeh aam nahi thi.

Us raat Waqas ne apne sketchbook mein ek naya sketch banaya — Salma ka, lekin is baar woh ro nahi rahi thi, muskura nahi rahi thi. Woh bas… thi. Mazboot, khadi, roshan. Neeche usne likha:

*”Yeh hai asal khoobsurti — dard ko maaf kar dena. Main tumse mohabbat karta hoon, Salma. Aaj se zyada, kal se kam.”*

Usne sketchbook band kiya. Kal woh yeh sketch Salma ko dega. Aur shayad… shayad kal sab kuch badal jayega.

Parvez se sulah ke baad ghar ki hawa badal gayi. Woh bojh jo bees saal se deewaron mein qaid tha, ab halka ho gaya tha. Razia ne Salma ko gale lagaya — is baar dil se. Daud ki aankhon mein aansu the. Aur Waqas… Waqas ne Salma ko dekha, aur uski aankhon mein ek nayi ummeed thi.

Lekin Salma ab bhi faasla rakhti thi. Woh jaanti thi ke ab uske paas Waqas se door rehne ki woh wajah nahi rahi jo pehle thi — bhai ko maaf kar diya tha, haq ka masla sulajh gaya tha. Ab sirf ek wajah bachi thi: samaaj, khaandaan, riwayat. Aur uska apna darr.

Waqas ne yeh mehsoos kiya. Aur usne apni koshishen tez kar din — lekin kabhi zabardasti nahi, kabhi guilt nahi, sirf mohabbat.

Ek subah Salma uthi to uske kamre ke bahar ek lifafa pada tha. Usne khola. Us mein ek sketch tha — anar ke darakht ka, lekin is baar darakht ke neeche do kursiayan thin, aur un par do saaye. Neeche likha tha: *”Ek din.”*

Salma ne sketch ko dekha, aur uska dil zor se dhadka. Usne sketch takiye ke neeche chhupa diya.

Dusre din, sehan mein uske liye ek purani kursii rakhi thi — saaf ki hui, naram gaddi ke saath. Saath ek parchi: *”Aapki kursii. Dhoop mein baithne ke liye. — W”*

Teesre din, uske kamre ki khidki par gajre tange the — taaze motiye ke. Parchi: *”Khushbu ke liye. Taake kamra meheke. — W”*

Salma har tohfa dekhti, har parchi padhti, aur har baar uska dil thoda aur pighalta. Woh Waqas se kehti: “Yeh sab band karo.” Woh kehta: “Nahi karunga.” Woh kehti: “Log kya kahenge?” Woh kehta: “Log to kuch na kuch kehte hain, Phupho. Aap apne dil ki suniye.”

Ek shaam, jab ghar mein koi nahi tha — Razia bazaar gayi thi, Parvez apne kamre mein tha, Daud so raha tha — Waqas Salma ke paas aaya. Woh sehan mein baithi thi, anar kha rahi thi.

“Phupho,” usne kaha, “kya main aapke paas baith sakta hoon?”

Salma ne use dekha. Phir aahista se sar hilaya. Waqas uske saamne baitha — itna qareeb ke unke ghutne takra rahe the. Salma ne ghutne hataye nahi.

“Phupho, main aapse ek sawal puchna chahta hoon. Aur main chahta hoon aap sach jawab dein.”

“Pucho.”

“Kya aap mujhse nafrat karti hain?”

Salma chaunk gayi. “Kya? Nahi! Main… main tumse nafrat kyun karungi?”

“To phir aap mujhse door kyun bhaagti hain?” Waqas ki aawaz mein dard tha. “Maine aapse kabhi kuch ghalat nahi kaha. Maine aapko kabhi majboor nahi kiya. Maine sirf… sirf mohabbat ki hai. Kya mohabbat karna itna bada gunaah hai?”

Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Waqas, tum nahi samajhte. Main tyaalis saal ki hoon. Main tumhari phupho hoon. Agar… agar main maan gayi, to yeh khaandaan kya kahega? Tumhari ammi kya kahengi? Tumhare abba?”

“Unhein batane ki zaroorat hi kya hai?” Waqas ne kaha. Phir ruka. “Nahi. Yeh ghalat hai. Main jhoot nahi bolunga. Lekin Phupho, ek baat bataiye — kya aap khush hain? Is faasle mein? Is inkaar mein?”

Salma khaamosh rahi.

“Main aapko majboor nahi karunga. Kabhi nahi.” Waqas ne uska haath pakda — is baar Salma ne haath nahi kheench. “Lekin main aapse ek wada chahta hoon. Jab aapka dil kahe — jab aap khud chahen — to mujhe bata dijiyega. Bas itna. Main intezaar karunga.”

Usne Salma ka haath chhoda, uth khada hua, aur chala gaya.

Salma wahan baithi rahi. Uske haath par Waqas ke haath ki garmi ab bhi thi. Usne apne dil se pucha: tu kya chahta hai? Aur dil ne jawab diya — woh jawab jo woh bees dinon se daba rahi thi.

*Main usse chahti hoon.*

Us raat Salma ne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj usne mera haath pakda. Aur maine nahi chhudaya. Aaj usne mujhse wada maanga — ke jab mera dil kahe, to use bata dun. Aur maine… maine kuch nahi kaha. Lekin mere dil ne keh diya. Haan. Haan, main usse chahti hoon. Main apne bhatije se mohabbat karti hoon. Yeh likhte hue mere haath kaanp rahe hain. Lekin yeh sach hai. Aur sach se bhaagna ab mumkin nahi. Waqas, tum jeet gaye. Nahi… hum dono jeet gaye. Kyunke yeh meri jeet bhi hai — apne darr par, apni qaid par, bees saal ki khaamoshi par.”*

Agli subah Salma ki aankh khuli to sehan se aawazein aa rahi thin — lakri katne ki, keel thokne ki. Woh khidki par aayi. Waqas sehan mein tha — anar ke darakht ke neeche, kuch bana raha tha. Paas Daud khada tha, use lakri pakda raha tha.

Salma neeche aayi. “Yeh kya ho raha hai?”

Waqas ne use dekha, muskuraya. “Ek tohfa bana raha hoon. Aapke liye.”

“Kaisa tohfa?”

“Dekh lijiye.” Waqas ne kaam jaari rakha.

Do ghante baad, Salma ne dekha — anar ke darakht ki mazboot daal par ek jhoola bandha tha. Lakri ka takhta, mazboot rassi, bilkul waisa jaisa uske abba ne uske bachpan mein bandha tha.

Salma ki saans ruk gayi. “Yeh… yeh jhoola?”

“Haan.” Waqas ne uska haath pakda, use jhoole tak le gaya. “Daud miyan ne bataya ke aap bachpan mein is darakht par jhoola jhoolti thin. Abba ne bandha tha. To maine socha… kyun na phir se bandh dun?”

Salma ne jhoole ko chhua. Uski aankhein bhar aayin. “Waqas… tum ne…”

“Baithiye.” Waqas ne kaha. “Please.”

Salma jhoole par baithi. Waqas ne use dhakka diya — aahista se. Jhoola hilne laga. Hawa mein Salma ke baal ude. Usne aankhein band kin — aur woh bachpan mein chali gayi. Chhoti Salma, abba ka jhoola, ammi ki kahaniyan, anar ke dane.

Usne aankhein kholin. Waqas uske saamne khada tha — jhoola dhakka de raha tha, muskuraha raha tha.

“Yaad aaya kuch?” usne pucha.

“Bahut kuch.” Salma ne uska haath pakda — jhoole se, jhulte hue. “Tum ne mera bachpan wapas kar diya, Waqas.”

“To ab aap bachpan ki tarah hansegi?” Waqas ne pucha. “Bina dare, bina soche?”

Salma ne use dekha — aur phir woh hansi. Khul kar hansi — bees saal mein pehli baar. Uski hansi sehan mein goonji, deewaron se takrayi, anar ke darakht ke patton mein ghul gayi.

Daud ne dekha, muskuraya. Razia ne khidki se dekha — aur uski aankhon mein aansu the. Shayad khushi ke. Shayad… kuch aur.

Lekin Salma ko parwah nahi thi. Woh jhool rahi thi — hawa mein, khushi mein, mohabbat mein. Aur Waqas uske saath tha — hamesha ki tarah, uske paas.

Us shaam Salma ne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj usne jhoola bandha. Mere bachpan ka jhoola. Main jhooli — aur hansi. Bees saal baad khul kar hansi. Waqas kehta hai ab main bachpan ki tarah hansun — bina dare. Shayad woh sahi kehta hai. Shayad zindagi mein kabhi kabhi bachcha ban jana chahiye. Bina soche, bina dare — bas mehsoos karke. Aaj maine mehsoos kiya — ke main zinda hoon. Aur ke mujhe… mujhe Waqas se mohabbat hai. Poori tarah. Bina shart.”*

Agli subah Salma ne ek faisla kiya — apne dil ka faisla. Woh Waqas se baat karegi. Khul kar. Apni marzi se. Kisi ke dabao mein nahi, kisi ki minnat se majboor hokar nahi — balke is liye ke woh khud chahti thi.

Lekin pehle use ek kaam karna tha. Woh Parvez ke paas gayi.

“Bhai,” usne kaha, “mujhe tumse ek baat kehni hai.”

“Kaho.”

“Ghar… ghar tumhare paas rahega.” Salma ne kaha. “Main adaalat nahi jaungi. Main apna haq nahi lungi.”

Parvez chaunk gaya. “Kya? Lekin… kyun?”

“Kyunk… kyunke yeh ghar sirf mera nahi. Yeh tumhara bhi hai. Tum ne bees saal iski hifazat ki. Tum ne ise girne nahi diya.” Salma ne uska haath pakda. “Aur kyunke… kyunke main yahan rehne aayi hoon, Bhai. Hamesha ke liye. Karachi wapas nahi jaungi. Aur agar main yahin rahungi, to ghar kiske naam hai, isse kya farq padta hai?”

Parvez ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Salma… tum… tum such mein?”

“Such mein.” Salma ne muskuraya. “Lekin ek shart par.”

“Kaisi shart?”

“Ke tum mujhe meri zindagi jeene doge. Mere faisle karne doge. Bina sawal kiye, bina roke.” Salma ne uski aankhon mein dekha. “Kar sakte ho?”

Parvez ne use dekha — apni chhoti behen ko, jo ab chhoti nahi rahi thi. Usne sar hilaya. “Kar sakta hoon. Maine bees saal pehle tumse tumhari marzi cheeni thi. Ab nahi cheenunga.”

Salma ne use gale lagaya. Bhai behen — ab poori tarah sulah ho chuki thi.

Uske baad Salma sehan mein aayi. Waqas wahan tha — sketch bana raha tha. Salma ko dekh kar woh uth khada hua.

“Phupho?”

“Waqas,” Salma ne kaha, “kya tum mere saath chhat par chaloge? Baat karni hai.”

Waqas ne use dekha — uski aankhon mein kuch tha. Woh kuch samjha, ya shayad ummeed ki. Dono chhat par gaye. Shaam thi, aasmaan laal tha, hawa mein thandak thi.

Dono der tak khaamosh khade rahe. Phir Salma ne bolna shuru kiya.

“Waqas, maine bees saal tak apne dil ki nahi suni. Pehle abba ki suni, phir bhai ki, phir shohar ki, phir samaaj ki. Har kisi ne mujhe bataya ke mujhe kya karna chahiye. Aur maine sab ki suni.” Usne Waqas ki taraf dekha. “Lekin aaj… aaj main apne dil ki sunungi.”

Waqas ki saans ruk gayi. “Phupho…”

“Tum ne mujhse kaha tha ke jab mera dil kahe, to tumhein bata dun.” Salma ne ek qadam uske qareeb badhaya. “To suno, Waqas. Mera dil keh raha hai… ke main tumse mohabbat karti hoon.”

Waqas ki aankhein phail gayin. “Kya?”

“Tum ne sahi suna.” Salma ne uska haath pakda — apni marzi se, pehli baar. “Main tyaalis saal ki hoon. Tum chhabbees ke ho. Tum mere bhatije ho. Yeh sab sach hai. Lekin ek aur sach hai — ke main tumhein chahti hoon. Apne dil se, apni rooh se. Aur main… main is sach se ab nahi bhaagungi.”

Waqas ne use dekha — jaise use yaqeen na aa raha ho. “Phupho… aap… aap mazaaq to nahi kar rahin?”

“Main kabhi itni sanjeeda nahi thi.” Salma ne muskuraya — pehli baar, khul kar. “Lekin Waqas, ek baat sun lo. Main tumhein is liye nahi maan rahi ke tum ne minnat ki. Ya ke tum ne tohfe diye. Ya ke tum ne intezaar kiya. Main is liye maan rahi hoon ke… ke main khud chahti hoon. Samjhe? Yeh mera faisla hai. Meri khwahish hai.”

Waqas ne uska haath thaama. Uski aankhon mein aansu the. “Samjha, Phupho. Aur main aapse wada karta hoon — main aapko kabhi pachhtane nahi dunga.”

“Waada mat karo.” Salma ne uske chehre ko chhua — pehli baar. “Bas… bas mere saath raho.”

Dono chhat par khade rahe, haath mein haath diye, aasmaan ko dekhte hue. Suraj doob raha tha. October ki shaam thi. Aur Salma ne mehsoos kiya — pehli baar bees saal mein — ke woh aazaad thi.

Us raat usne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj maine keh diya. Apne munh se, apne dil se. Main ne Waqas se kaha ke main usse mohabbat karti hoon. Aur usne… usne mujhe gale nahi lagaya. Usne mujhe chooma nahi. Usne bas mera haath thaama, aur kaha ke woh mera saath dega. Yahi to farq hai usmein aur duniya mein. Woh jaldi nahi karta. Woh intezaar karta hai. Aur aaj uska intezaar khatm hua — meri marzi se. Meri khwahish se. Allah, mujhe maaf karna agar yeh gunaah hai. Lekin mera dil kehta hai yeh gunaah nahi — yeh mohabbat hai.”*

Lekin chhat par jaane se pehle Salma ne der tak aaine mein apne aap ko dekha. Usne apne chehre ko dekha — tyaalis saal, lekin aankhon mein wohi chamak jo bees saal pehle thi. Usne apne baalon ko sanwara, apna dupatta theek kiya.

“Aaj,” usne aaine se kaha, “aaj main apni zindagi ka sab se bada faisla karungi. Aur main darr nahi rahi. Bilkul nahi.”

Jhoot tha — woh darr rahi thi. Lekin usne faisla kiya tha ke darr ko jeetne nahi degi.

Usne apni diary nikali — aakhri baar, faisle se pehle. Usne likha:

*”Main Waqas se kehne ja rahi hoon ke main usse mohabbat karti hoon. Mere haath kaanp rahe hain. Mera dil zor se dhadak raha hai. Lekin mera dimaagh… mera dimaagh saaf hai. Pehli baar bees saal mein, main jaanti hoon ke main kya chahti hoon.*

*Main Waqas ko chahti hoon. Apne bhatije ko. Haan, yeh ajeeb hai. Haan, yeh samaaj ke khilaaf hai. Lekin yeh mera dil hai. Aur mera dil… mera dil kabhi jhoot nahi bolta.*

*Ammi, aap ne kaha tha khwahishein ginne se poori hoti hain. To aaj main apni khwahish gin rahi hoon — ek, do, teen… aur meri khwahish hai Waqas. Sirf Waqas.*

*Allah, mujhe himmat dijiye.”*

Usne diary band ki. Usne ek gehra saans liya. Aur woh chhat ki taraf badhi — apne dil ka faisla sunane.

Seedhiyon par chadhte hue usne socha — bees saal pehle woh inhi seedhiyon se utri thi, roti hui, ghar chhod kar. Aaj woh inhi seedhiyon se chadh rahi thi — muskurati hui, ghar wapas aakar. Zindagi ajeeb hai. Wohi seedhiyan, wohi ghar, lekin insaan badal gaya.

Chhat par pahunch kar usne dekha — Waqas pehle se wahan tha. Aasmaan ki taraf dekh raha tha. Salma ko dekh kar woh muskuraya.

“Phupho? Aap ne bulaya tha?”

“Haan.” Salma uske paas aayi. “Baat karni hai.”

“Kahiye.”

Aur Salma ne keh diya — woh alfaaz jo uske dil mein bees dinon se the, jo uski zabaan par aane se darte the. Usne keh diya. Aur uske kehte hi, jaise bojh utar gaya. Jaise baadal chhat gaye. Jaise… jaise nayi subah ho gayi.

Us raat barish hui — October ki dusri barish, tez, thandi. Salma apne kamre mein thi. Usne khidki kholi. Barish ki khushbu andar aayi — mitti ki, geeli lakri ki. Usne aankhein band kin.

Darwaze par dastak hui. Halki si.

Salma ne darwaza khola. Waqas tha — bheega hua, haathon mein ek chhata, aankhon mein sawal.

“Phupho… kya main andar aa sakta hoon?”

Salma ne use dekha. Phir peeche hatti. Waqas andar aaya. Usne chhata band kiya, kone mein rakha.

Dono ek dusre ko dekhte reh gaye. Kamre mein sirf barish ki aawaz thi, aur unke dilon ki dhadkan.

“Phupho,” Waqas ne aahista kaha, “agar aap chahein to main chala jaunga. Abhi. Isi waqt. Aapko sirf kehna hai.”

Salma ne use dekha — uski aankhon mein dekha. Wahan koi zabardasti nahi thi, koi talab nahi thi. Sirf mohabbat thi, aur izzat thi.

“Nahi jao,” Salma ne kaha. Uski aawaz kaanp rahi thi, lekin us mein koi shakk nahi tha. “Mat jao, Waqas.”

Waqas uske qareeb aaya — dheere dheere, jaise use waqt de raha ho, jaise keh raha ho: ab bhi waqt hai, ab bhi ruk sakti ho. Salma ne uska haath pakda, aur use apne qareeb kheench liya.

Unke hont mile — pehli baar. Naram, dheere, jaise dono ek dusre ko pehchan rahe hon. Salma ne mehsoos kiya ke uska poora wajood kaanp raha tha — lekin yeh kaanpna darr ka nahi tha. Yeh khwahish ka tha. Bees saal ki pyaas ka.

Waqas ne use apni baahon mein liya. Salma ne apna sar uske seene par rakha. Usne uske dil ki dhadkan suni — tez, mazboot. Usne aankhein band kin.

“Waqas,” usne sar goshi ki, “main darr rahi hoon.”

“Kis se?”

“Is se… is sab se. Ke kahin yeh khwaab na ho. Ke kahin subah uth kar yeh sab khatm na ho jaye.”

“Yeh khwaab nahi, Phupho.” Waqas ne uske baalon ko chhua. “Yeh haqeeqat hai. Aur main aapko wada karta hoon — subah bhi yahi hogi. Aur uske baad wali subah bhi.”

Salma ne sar uthaya. Usne Waqas ko dekha — uske chehre ko, uski aankhon ko. Usne apne haathon se uska chehra thaama.

“To phir… mujhe apna bana lo.” Usne kaha. “Poori tarah. Aaj. Abhi.”

Waqas ne use dekha — gehri nazar se. “Aap sure hain?”

“Is se zyada sure main kabhi nahi thi.” Salma ne muskuraya — ek aisi muskurahat jo Waqas ne pehle kabhi nahi dekhi thi. Khuli, aazaad, khwahish se bhari.

Waqas ne use uthaya — aahista se, izzat se — aur bistar par litaya. Usne uske upar jhuka, aur uske maathe ko chooma. Phir uski aankhon ko. Phir uske gaalon ko. Har bosa mein sabr tha, har chhuan mein mohabbat thi.

Salma ne apni aankhein band kin. Usne mehsoos kiya Waqas ke haathon ko — apne chehre par, apni gardan par, apne kandhon par. Har chhuan jaise uske bees saal ke dard ko mita rahi thi. Har bosa jaise uske zakhmon par marham tha.

Usne apne kapde khud utare — apni marzi se, sharmaye bina. Waqas ne use dekha — uske jism ko, jo tyaalis saal ka tha, lekin ab bhi khoobsurat tha, ab bhi zinda tha. Usne use dekha jaise koi ibadat ko dekhta hai.

“Tum khoobsurat ho, Phupho,” usne sar goshi ki. “Bahut khoobsurat.”

Salma ne use apne upar kheench liya. Unke jism mile — pehli baar, poori tarah. Salma ne ek gehra saans liya. Dard tha — halka sa, bees saal ki doori ka dard. Lekin uske baad… uske baad sirf leheren thin. Khushi ki leheren, jo uske poore wajood mein daud rahi thin.

Waqas dheere tha — bahut dheere. Jaise use pata tha ke yeh lamha dobara nahi aayega. Jaise woh har second ko hamesha ke liye qaid karna chahta tha. Salma ne uski peeth par apne naakhun gaad diye — narmi se, mohabbat se. Usne uske kaan mein sar goshi ki:

“Aur tez… please…”

Waqas ne uski baat maani. Leheren tez hui. Salma ne apni aankhein band kin, aur usne mehsoos kiya ke woh… woh kahin aur thi. Koi aisi jagah jahan darr nahi tha, sharam nahi thi, duniya nahi thi. Sirf woh thi, aur Waqas tha, aur barish thi.

Aur phir woh lamha aaya — woh lamha jiske liye dono ne intezaar kiya tha. Salma ne chillana chaha, lekin usne apne hont kaat liye. Uske jism ne ek jhatka khaya, phir doosra, phir woh… woh bikhar gayi. Hazaar tukdon mein. Aur har tukda khushi se chamak raha tha.

Waqas ne use apni baahon mein kas liya. Dono kaanp rahe the. Dono ki saansein tez thin. Bahar barish ab bhi ho rahi thi.

Salma ne apni aankhein kholin. Usne Waqas ko dekha — uske chehre par paseena tha, aankhon mein… sukoon tha.

“Thank you,” usne sar goshi ki.

“Kis liye?” Waqas ne pucha.

“Intezaar karne ke liye. Mujhe majboor na karne ke liye. Mujhe… mujhe meri marzi se chunne dene ke liye.”

Waqas ne uske maathe ko chooma. “Yeh to mera farz tha, Phupho. Mohabbat mein jaldi nahi hoti.”

Dono ek dusre ki baahon mein so gaye — barish ki aawaz mein, ek dusre ki garmi mein. Aur Salma ne socha — sone se pehle aakhri soch — ke bees saal ka intezaar is ek raat ke liye tha. Aur yeh raat… yeh raat hamesha yaad rahegi.

Raat ke kisi peher Salma ki aankh khuli. Waqas so raha tha — uska sar Salma ke seene par tha, uski saansein naram thin. Salma ne use dekha — chaandni uske chehre par thi. Woh itna masoom lag raha tha — jaise woh chhe saal ka bacha ho, jo uski god mein soya tha.

Salma ne uske baalon mein ungliyan pherin. Usne socha — bees saal pehle jab woh gayi thi, to Waqas chhe saal ka tha. Usne use aakhri baar god mein liya tha. Usne kaha tha: “Phupho, wapas kab aaogi?” Salma ne kaha tha: “Jaldi.” Lekin jaldi bees saal lambi ho gayi.

Aur ab… ab woh wapas thi. Aur Waqas uski god mein tha — lekin ab woh bacha nahi tha. Woh mard tha. Uska mard.

Salma ne apne aap se pucha: kya maine sahi kiya? Kya yeh theek hai? Uske dil ne jawab diya: *Haan. Kyunke tum ne apne dil ki suni. Aur dil kabhi ghalat nahi kehta.*

Bahar barish ruk gayi thi. Boondein patton se tapak rahi thin. Salma ne khidki se bahar dekha — anar ka darakht geela tha, chamak raha tha. Usne socha — yeh darakht bees saal se yahan hai. Isne sab dekha hai. Aur yeh ab bhi khada hai — mazboot, zinda.

“Jaise main,” Salma ne sar goshi ki. “Bees saal ke toofan ke baad bhi khadi hoon.”

Waqas ne neend mein karwat li, Salma ko aur kas kar pakad liya. Salma ne muskuraya. Usne uske maathe ko chooma.

“So jao, meri jaan,” usne sar goshi ki. “Main yahin hoon. Kahin nahi jaungi. Ab kabhi nahi.”

Aur Salma ne wada kiya — apne aap se, Waqas se, is ghar se — ke woh ab kabhi nahi jayegi. Yeh ghar uska tha. Yeh darakht uska tha. Aur Waqas… Waqas uska tha.

Usne aankhein band kin. Neend aane se pehle usne ek aakhri soch sochi — ke zindagi mein kuch raatein aisi hoti hain jo sab kuch badal deti hain. Yeh raat waisi hi thi. Pehli barish wali raat — jab Salma ne apne dil ka faisla poora kiya, jab usne Waqas ko apna banaya, jab usne… jab usne khud ko wapas paya.

Subah hogi. Duniya hogi. Sawal honge. Lekin aaj ki raat… aaj ki raat sirf unki thi.

Salma ki aankh khuli to subah ho chuki thi. Barish ruk gayi thi. Khidki se dhoop andar aa rahi thi — naram, sunehri. Usne apne paas dekha. Waqas so raha tha — uska chehra sukoon se bhara tha, ek haath Salma ki kamar par tha.

Salma ne use dekha, aur muskurayi. Pehli baar bees saal mein, woh subah khushi se uthi thi. Usne Waqas ke baalon ko chhua — aahista se, taake woh jaag na jaye. Usne uske chehre ko dekha — woh chehra jo ab uska tha.

“Good morning,” Waqas ne aankhein khole bina kaha.

Salma hans padi. “Tum jaag rahe the?”

“Jab tum ne mere baalon ko chhua, tab jaag gaya.” Waqas ne aankhein kholin. Usne Salma ko dekha, aur muskuraya — ek aisi muskurahat jo Salma ke dil mein utar gayi. “Subah bakhair, Phupho.”

“Subah bakhair.” Salma ne uske maathe ko chooma.

Dono der tak bistar mein rahe — baatein karte hue, hanste hue, ek dusre ko dekhte hue. Waqas ne Salma ko apne bachpan ki kahaniyan sunayin — woh kahaniyan jo Salma bhool chuki thi. Salma ne Waqas ko Karachi ki kahaniyan sunayin — Haroon ki, uski beti ki, tanhai ki.

“Tumhein pata hai,” Salma ne kaha, “maine kabhi socha nahi tha ke main phir se… ke main phir se kisi se…”

“Kya?”

“Mohabbat karungi.” Salma ne uski aankhon mein dekha. “Haroon ke baad maine socha tha mera dil mar gaya hai. Lekin… lekin tum ne use zinda kar diya.”

Waqas ne uska haath thaama. “Tumhara dil mara nahi tha, Phupho. Woh so raha tha. Main ne bas use jagaya.”

Dono hans pade. Bahar se Daud ki aawaz aayi: “Phupho ji, chai?”

Salma ne Waqas ko dekha — ghabrahat uski aankhon mein thi. Waqas ne muskurakar kaha: “Tum fikr na karo. Main chhat se utar jaunga. Kisi ko pata nahi chalega.”

“Lekin…”

“Shhh.” Waqas ne uske honton par ungli rakhi. “Abhi waqt nahi aaya. Jab waqt aayega, hum sab ko bata denge. Lekin abhi… abhi yeh sirf hamara hai.”

Waqas ne kapde pehne, aur khidki se bahar nikal kar chhat par chala gaya — phir seedhiyon se neeche. Salma ne darwaza khola. Daud chai le aaya.

“Phupho ji, aapki tabiyat theek hai? Aapka chehra…” Daud ne gaur se dekha, “aapka chehra aaj khila hua lag raha hai.”

Salma ne muskuraya. “Bas… achhi neend aayi, Daud miyan.”

Daud ne kuch nahi kaha, lekin uski aankhon mein ek samajh thi — woh samajh jo sattar saal ki umr deti hai. Usne chai rakhi aur chala gaya.

Salma ne chai pi. Usne khidki se bahar dekha. Waqas sehan mein tha — anar ke darakht ke neeche, sketch bana raha tha. Usne upar dekha, Salma ko dekha, aur aankh maari.

Salma laal ho gayi. Usne parda kheench diya. Lekin uske honton par muskurahat thi.

Us din Salma ne diary mein likha:

*”Aaj subah main Waqas ki baahon mein uthi. Aur mujhe… mujhe sharam nahi aayi. Mujhe darr nahi laga. Mujhe sirf sukoon mehsoos hua. Bees saal mein pehli baar. Waqas kehta hai jab waqt aayega, hum sab ko bata denge. Lekin kya woh waqt kabhi aayega? Kya yeh khaandaan… kya yeh samaaj hamein qubool karega? Pata nahi. Lekin ek baat jaanti hoon — main ab peeche nahi hatungi. Jo ho gaya, ho gaya. Aur jo hoga, dekha jayega. Aaj ke liye… aaj ke liye bas yeh kaafi hai ke main khush hoon.”*

Dopehar ko Razia Salma ke kamre mein aayi — bina dastak diye. Salma chaunk gayi. Razia ne use dekha — gehri nazar se. Phir usne darwaza band kiya, aur Salma ke paas baithi.

“Salma,” Razia ne aahista kaha, “mujhe tumse baat karni hai.”

Salma ka dil zor se dhadka. “Kya baat, Bhabhi?”

“Tum aur Waqas.” Razia ne seedha kaha. “Main andhi nahi hoon, Salma. Maine dekha hai — tum dono ko. Uski nazrein, tumhari muskurahat, woh… woh sab.”

Salma khaamosh rahi. Uske haath kaanpne lage.

“Dekho,” Razia ne uska haath pakda, “main tumhein daantne nahi aayi. Main… main samajhne aayi hoon. Batao — kya yeh such hai?”

Salma ne Razia ki aankhon mein dekha. Wahan gussa nahi tha. Wahan… fikr thi. Aur shayad samajh thi.

“Haan,” Salma ne aahista kaha. “Such hai, Bhabhi.”

Razia ne ek gehra saans liya. “Kab se?”

“Kuch dinon se. Lekin… lekin mehsoos to bahut pehle se tha.” Salma ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Bhabhi, mujhe maaf kar dijiye. Main jaanti hoon yeh ghalat hai. Woh aapka beta hai, mera bhatija hai. Lekin… lekin mera dil nahi maanta.”

Razia der tak khaamosh rahi. Phir usne kaha: “Tumhein pata hai, Salma? Jab tum gayi thin, to Waqas hafte tak roya tha. Main ne use kabhi itna rota nahi dekha. Woh kehta tha: ‘Phupho kahan gayin? Wapas kab aayengi?’ Aur main use kehti thi: ‘Beta, woh apne ghar gayi hain.’ Lekin woh maanta nahi tha.”

Salma ro padi.

“Phir woh bada hua. Lekin uski aankhon mein wohi sawal raha — Phupho kahan hain?” Razia ne Salma ke aansu ponchhe. “Aur ab tum wapas ho. Aur woh… woh khush hai. Pehli baar itne saalon mein, mera beta khush hai.”

“Bhabhi… aap… aap naraz nahi?”

Razia ne muskuraya — ek thaki hui muskurahat. “Naraz? Shayad hona chahiye. Samaaj ke hisaab se, riwayat ke hisaab se — haan, naraz hona chahiye. Lekin…” usne Salma ka haath thama, “main maa hoon, Salma. Aur maine apne bete ko bees saal tak udaas dekha hai. Agar tum uski khushi ho, to… to main kaise rokun?”

Salma ne Razia ko gale lagaya. Dono ro padi — khushi ke aansu, dard ke aansu, sab mile hue.

“Lekin Parvez…” Salma ne kaha.

“Unhein main sambhal lungi.” Razia ne kaha. “Woh tumse mohabbat karte hain. Aur Waqas se bhi. Woh samajh jayenge. Waqt lagega, lekin samajh jayenge.”

Us shaam khane par Razia ne Waqas ko dekha — aur aankh maari. Waqas chaunk gaya. Salma ne dekha, aur uska dil… uska dil khushi se bhar gaya.

Raat ko Waqas Salma ke kamre mein aaya. Usne use bataya — Razia wali baat. Waqas ki aankhein bhar aayin.

“Ammi ne… ammi ne qubool kar liya?” usne pucha.

“Shayad.” Salma ne muskuraya. “Ya shayad woh bas hamein waqt de rahi hain. Lekin Waqas — yeh bahut badi baat hai. Tumhari ammi ne hamein… hamein mauka diya hai.”

Waqas ne Salma ko apni baahon mein liya. “To phir hum is mauke ko zaya nahi karenge. Hum… hum achhi zindagi guzarenge. Saath mein. Is ghar mein.”

“Is ghar mein,” Salma ne dohrana. “Hamare ghar mein.”

Dono ne ek dusre ko dekha — aur unki aankhon mein mustaqbil tha. Ek aisa mustaqbil jo aasaan nahi tha, lekin such tha. Aur such… such hamesha jeet ta hai.

Hafta guzar gaya. Salma aur Waqas ka rishta gehra hota gaya — chori chhupe, lekin gehra. Raaton ko Waqas Salma ke kamre mein aata, subah se pehle chala jata. Din mein woh ek dusre ko dekhte, muskurate, chhoti chhoti baatein karte. Ghar walon ne kuch mehsoos kiya — Razia ne ek din Salma se kaha: “Tum aaj kal bahut khush lagti ho.” Salma ne muskurakar kaha: “Ghar wapas aakar kaun khush nahi hota?”

Lekin Salma jaanti thi ke yeh chhupan chhupai hamesha nahi chalegi. Aur woh chahti bhi nahi thi ke chale. Usne faisla kiya tha — apne dil ka faisla, apne ghar ka faisla.

Ek shaam usne Parvez ko bulaya. Dono baithak mein baithe.

“Bhai,” Salma ne kaha, “maine ghar ke baare mein socha hai.”

Parvez ne use dekha. “Kya socha?”

“Main chahti hoon ke ghar ke kagazat theek ho jayen. Vasiyat ke mutabiq ghar mere naam hai. Lekin main… main use Waqas ke naam karna chahti hoon.”

Parvez chaunk gaya. “Kya? Waqas ke naam? Kyun?”

“Kyunk… kyunke yeh ghar uska hai.” Salma ne khidki se bahar dekha — Waqas sehan mein tha. “Usne is ghar se mohabbat ki hai, Bhai. Usne iski deewaron ke sketch banaye hain, iske darakht ki hifazat ki hai. Aur… aur main chahti hoon ke yeh ghar us nasal ke paas rahe jo isse pyaar karti hai.”

Parvez ne der tak use dekha. Phir usne sar hilaya. “Tum such mein badal gayi ho, Salma. Pehle tum haq maangti thin. Ab tum haq de rahi ho.”

“Waqt insaan ko badal deta hai, Bhai.” Salma ne muskuraya. “Aur mohabbat… mohabbat to sab kuch badal deti hai.”

Parvez ne uska haath pakda. “Theek hai. Jaise tum chaho. Main wakeel se baat karunga. Kagazat Waqas ke naam ho jayenge.”

“Shukriya, Bhai.”

Us raat Salma ne Waqas ko chhat par bulaya. Dono aasmaan ko dekhte rahe. Taare the, chaand tha, hawa mein anar ke phoolon ki khushbu thi.

“Waqas,” Salma ne kaha, “maine ghar tumhare naam karne ka faisla kiya hai.”

Waqas ne use dekha — hairat se. “Kya? Lekin… kyun?”

“Kyunk yeh ghar tumhara hai. Tum iske haqdaar ho.” Salma ne uska haath pakda. “Aur kyunke… kyunke main chahti hoon ke jab hum… jab hum apni zindagi guzarein, to yeh ghar hamara ho. Tumhara aur mera.”

Waqas ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Phupho…”

“Shhh.” Salma ne uske honton par ungli rakhi. “Aaj se tum mujhe Phupho mat kaho.”

“To kya kahun?”

“Salma.” Usne muskuraya. “Bas Salma.”

Waqas ne use apni baahon mein liya. “Salma,” usne sar goshi ki, “meri Salma.”

Dono der tak chhat par khade rahe. Neeche ghar tha — belon wali deewar, anar ka darakht, purani khidkiyan. Woh ghar jis ne bees saal tak raaz chhupaye the, ab khul gaya tha. Jaise uski deewarein saans le rahi hon.

“Salma,” Waqas ne kaha, “kya tum khush ho?”

Salma ne uski aankhon mein dekha. “Is se zyada khush main kabhi nahi thi.”

“Aur darr?”

“Darr ab bhi hai.” Salma ne sach kaha. “Duniya ka darr, khaandaan ka darr. Lekin… lekin ab main akeli nahi hoon. Tum ho mere saath. Aur jab tak tum ho, main darr se lad sakti hoon.”

Waqas ne uske maathe ko chooma. “Main hamesha tumhare saath rahunga, Salma. Hamesha.”

Neeche se Daud ki aawaz aayi: “Waqas miyan! Salma Phupho! Khana taiyaar hai!”

Dono ne ek dusre ko dekha, hans pade. Waqas ne Salma ka haath pakda, aur dono neeche utre — haath mein haath diye. Daud ne unhein dekha, aur uski aankhon mein ek samajh thi. Usne kuch nahi kaha. Bas muskuraya.

Khane par Razia ne dono ko dekha — unke haath, unki nazrein, unki muskurahatein. Usne Parvez ko dekha. Parvez ne use dekha. Dono ne kuch nahi kaha. Lekin unki aankhon mein… shayad samajh thi. Shayad qubooliyat thi. Ya shayad bas mohabbat thi — woh mohabbat jo khaandaan ko jodti hai, todti nahi.

Raat ko Salma ne diary mein aakhri baar likha:

*”Aaj maine ghar Waqas ke naam kar diya. Kal kagazat ban jayenge. Parvez bhai ne koi aitraaz nahi kiya. Shayad unhein sab pata hai. Shayad Razia ko bhi. Shayad… shayad yeh ghar sab jaanta hai. Yeh deewarein, yeh darakht, yeh belen — sab ne dekha hai. Aur sab khaamosh hain. Jaise keh rahe hon: mohabbat ko qubool karo.*

*Bees saal pehle main is ghar se ro kar gayi thi. Aaj main is ghar mein hansti hoon. Waqas ke saath. Meri Salma… nahi, uski Salma. Haan, ab main uski hoon. Aur woh mera hai.*

*Ammi, aapne khat mein likha tha ke mera haq ab bhi mera hai — agar main use lena chahun. Maine apna haq le liya, Ammi. Lekin woh haq ghar nahi tha. Woh haq… woh haq mohabbat thi. Apne dil ki sunne ka haq. Apni zindagi jeene ka haq. Aur maine use le liya.*

*Yeh kahani khatm nahi hui. Yeh to abhi shuru hui hai. October ki subah se shuru hui thi — gate par, ek ghair-mutawaqqa mulaqat se. Aur ab… ab yeh hamesha chalegi. Jaise anar ka darakht har saal phalta hai. Jaise belen har saal hari hoti hain. Jaise mohabbat… mohabbat har saal nayi hoti hai.*

*Phupho ki wapsi poori hui. Salma ki wapsi poori hui. Aur ab… ab sirf zindagi hai. Hamari zindagi.”*

Salma ne diary band ki. Usne khidki se bahar dekha. Waqas apne kamre ki khidki mein khada tha — use dekh raha tha. Salma ne haath hilaya. Waqas ne haath hilaya.

Chandni thi. Anar ka darakht chaandni mein chamak raha tha. Belon ke patte hil rahe the.

Aur purana ghar — Model Town ka do-manzila ghar — apni belon, apne darakht, aur apne raazon ke saath, ek nayi kahani ki shuruaat dekh raha tha.

Aadhi raat ko Salma ki aankh khuli. Waqas uske paas so raha tha. Usne use dekha — der tak. Phir woh uth kar khidki par aayi. Bahar chaand tha, taare the. Anar ka darakht chaandni mein nahaya hua tha.

Waqas bhi uth gaya. Woh Salma ke peeche aaya, uske kandhon par haath rakha.

“Kya soch rahi ho?” usne pucha.

“Yahi ke… ke bees saal pehle jab main gayi thi, to maine socha tha main kabhi wapas nahi aaungi.” Salma ne uski taraf dekha. “Lekin dekho — main aa gayi. Aur ab… ab main kahin nahi jaungi.”

“Main tumhein jaane bhi nahi dunga.” Waqas ne use apni baahon mein liya.

Dono khidki mein khade rahe — chaand ko dekhte hue, darakht ko dekhte hue, apne ghar ko dekhte hue. Aur Salma ne mehsoos kiya — pehli baar bees saal mein — ke woh poori thi. Uska dil poora tha. Uski zindagi poori thi.

“Waqas,” usne sar goshi ki, “tumhein pata hai? Ammi kehti thin — anar ke dane ginne se khwahishein poori hoti hain.”

“To gino,” Waqas ne kaha. “Aur khwahish mango.”

Salma ne aankhein band kin. Usne apne dil mein dane gine — ek, do, teen… aur usne khwahish maangi. Wohi khwahish jo usne bees saal se maangi thi — ghar, mohabbat, sukoon.

Usne aankhein kholin. Waqas use dekh raha tha.

“Poori hogi?” usne pucha.

“Ho gayi,” Salma ne kaha. Aur usne Waqas ko choom liya — chaandni mein, khidki mein, apne ghar mein.

Neeche sehan mein anar ka darakht hawa mein halke se jhooma — jaise woh bhi muskura raha ho. Belon ke patte sarsaraye. Door kahin koi kutta bhaunka, phir khaamoshi chha gayi. Ghar so raha tha — lekin uski deewaron mein ab ek nayi yaad qaid ho rahi thi, ek nayi kahani likhi ja rahi thi. Woh kahani jo October ki ek subah gate par shuru hui thi, aur jo ab — is chaandni raat mein — apne anjaam ko pahunchi thi. Ya shayad apni ibtida ko.

**Khatm.**