Naran ki waadi par monsoon ka woh raat wala chehra utra tha jo sirf paharon ko naseeb hota hai. Din bhar suraj ne kokh se nikli dhoop mein deodar ke darakhton ko chamkaya tha, shaam ko badal jama hue, aur aadhi raat ke qareeb aasmaan ne apne saare bandhan khol diye. Kunhar darya neeche waadi mein garaj raha tha, us ka paani patharon se takra kar safed jhaag bana raha tha, aur hawa mein geeli mitti, deodar ki khushboo aur bijli ki tez boo ghuli hui thi. Bijli chamakti to lamhe bhar ke liye poori waadi ujali ho jaati — door Saif-ul-Malook ki taraf kaale pahaad, qareeb cottage ki chhat par barasti boondein, aur darmiyaan mein woh khaamoshi jo sirf tez baarish ke shor mein milti hai.
Deodar Cottage ki chhat purani thi. Iqbal ne is garmiyon mein usay theek karwane ka socha tha, phir bhool gaya tha, phir socha tha ke agle saal sahi, aur ab agla saal us ke sar par baras raha tha. Cottage ke pichhle hisse mein, jahan mehmaanon wale kamre the, chhat ki ek purani tili hili hui thi — itni si baat, magar baarish ko itni si jagah hi chahiye hoti hai.
Raat ke do baj rahe the jab Noreen ki aankh khuli. Pehle use laga ke khwab mein koi us ke maathe par ungli se paani ke qatre gira raha hai. Phir doosra qatra gira, thanda aur wazeh, aur us ki neend toot gayi. Us ne bistar ke lamp ka button dabaya. Peeli roshni mein us ne dekha ke chhat se, theek us ke takiye ke upar, paani ki ek patli dhaar gir rahi thi — tip, tip, tip — aur bistar ka ek hissa geela ho chuka tha. Taqiye par geela daagh phail raha tha jaise koi naqsha ban raha ho.
“Ya Allah,” us ne dheemi awaaz mein kaha, aur uth baithi. Us ke paon thande farsh par pare. Us ne chappal pehni, shawl kandhon par daali, aur kamre ki batti jalayi. Chhat ki taraf dekha to samajh aaya — ek kone mein lakri ka rang gehra ho gaya tha, aur wahan se paani tapak raha tha, dheere dheere magar lagataar. Baarish ki raftaar dekh kar lagta tha ke subah tak yeh dhaar naala ban jayegi.
Noreen ne darwaza khola. Baramda thanda tha, bijli ki chamak mein deodar ke saye deewaron par naach rahe the. Cottage ke agle hisse mein Iqbal ka kamra tha. Us ne ek lamha socha — aadhi raat ko sasur ke darwaze par dastak? Phir chhat ki taraf dekha, phir apne geele bistar ki taraf, aur faisla kar liya. Us ne aahista se, phir thoda zor se darwaza khatkhataya.
“Kaun?” andar se neend bhari awaaz aayi.
“Abba ji, main hoon, Noreen. Mere kamre ki chhat tapak rahi hai.”
Khamoshi. Phir bistar se uthne ki aahat, chappal ki chap chap, aur darwaza khula. Iqbal, jo 58 saal ka tha, darwaze mein khara tha — safed kurte pajame mein, baal bikhre hue, aankhon mein neend magar chehre par fori fikr. Pichhle chhe saalon se woh iss cottage mein akele rehta tha, apni biwi ke inteqal ke baad, aur aadhi raat ko kisi ki dastak us ke liye ab ajeeb baat nahi rahi thi — magar Noreen ki awaaz mein jo ghabrahat thi, us ne use poori tarah jaga diya.
“Kya hua beta? Andar aao, baarish mein bheeg jaogi.”
Noreen, jo 29 saal ki thi, baramde ki thand mein kanp rahi thi. Us ne shawl ko aur kas kar lapeta. “Mere kamre ki chhat se paani tapak raha hai, abba ji. Bistar geela ho gaya hai.”
Iqbal ne foran apne kandhon par shawl daali aur us ke kamre ki taraf chala. Bijli ki roshni mein us ne chhat ka geela daagh dekha, phir bistar, phir Noreen ka chehra. “Yeh tili hili hui hai,” us ne kaha. “Subah mistri aayega. Tum aaj raat mehmaan wale kamre mein so jao — woh agle hisse mein hai, chhat wahan mazboot hai.”
Woh use agle hisse ke kamre tak le gaya. Kamra saaf tha, bistar par safed chadar bichi thi, khirki se baarish ki awaaz aa rahi thi. “Tum aaram karo,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Main Rahim ko kehta hoon ke subah pehle kaam yehi kare.”
“Rahim chacha so rahe honge,” Noreen ne kaha.
“Toh main khud balti rakh dunga neeche. Tum fikar na karo.”
Noreen bistar par baithi. Iqbal ne darwaze se mur kar dekha — us ki bahu, geele baalon ki lat maathe par, shawl mein lipti, thaki hui magar phir bhi sambhli hui. Us ke dil mein kuchh hila. Us ne foran nazrein hata leen.
“Shukriya, abba ji.”
“Beta, shukriya kaisa. So jao. Baarish ki awaaz mein neend achhi aati hai.”
Darwaza band hua. Noreen ne lamp bujhaya aur andhere mein let gayi. Baarish ab tez ho gayi thi, chhat par hazaron ungliyan baj rahi theen. Us ne socha ke us ka shohar Sajid, jo 31 saal ka tha, is waqt Lahore mein apne daftar ke kaam mein masroof hoga — us ne shaam ko phone par kaha tha ke project ki deadline qareeb hai, woh hafton tak nahi aa sakega. Noreen ne aah bhari aur karwat badal li. Baarish ki taal par us ki aankh lag gayi, magar khwab mein bhi paani tapakta raha — tip, tip, tip — jaise koi us ke dil ke darwaze par dastak de raha ho.
Us raat Noreen ko gehri neend nahi aayi. Ajnabi bistar, ajnabi kamra, aur bahar baarish ka shor — sab mil kar usay us ki shaadi ki raat ki yaad dila rahe the. Woh bhi aisi hi baarish ki raat thi — Lahore mein, us ke maa baap ke ghar ki chhat par baarish baras rahi thi, aur woh apne kamre mein dulhan bani bethi thi, dil mein dhadkan liye. Sajid aaya tha, muskuraya tha, aur kaha tha — “Tum bohat khubsurat lag rahi ho.” Us raat Noreen ne socha tha ke zindagi ab khubsurat ho jayegi.
Magar zindagi ne usay Naran ki is cottage tak pahuncha diya tha — akeli, apne shohar se door, apne sasur ke ghar mein mehmaan bani hui. Us ne karwat badli aur socha — kya us ne koi ghalti ki thi? Kya us ne Sajid se zyada ummeed laga li thi? Ya shayad ghalti yeh thi ke us ne mohabbat ko shaadi ke baad aane wali cheez samjha tha, jab ke mohabbat to mehnat maangti hai, waqt maangti hai, tawajju maangti hai.
Us ki ammi kehti theen — “Beti, shohar ko khush rakhna, ghar sambhalna, sabar karna. Waqt ke saath sab theek ho jata hai.” Noreen ne sabar kiya tha. Chaar mahine sabar kiya tha. Magar waqt ne kuchh theek nahi kiya tha — waqt ne to use aur akela kar diya tha.
Aur phir us ke zehan mein Iqbal ka chehra aaya — darwaze mein khara, neend bhari aankhein, magar fikr se bhara chehra. “Beta, shukriya kaisa. So jao.” Kitni narm awaaz thi. Sajid ne kabhi us se aise baat nahi ki thi. Sajid ki baatein hamesha jaldi mein hoti theen — “haan theek hai”, “baad mein baat karte hain”, “tum samajhdar ho”.
Noreen ne takiye mein munh chhupa liya. “Main kya soch rahi hoon?” us ne khud ko daanta. “Woh mere sasur hain. Bas ek ache sasur hain. Is se zyada kuchh nahi.” Magar dil ne jawab diya — to phir dil itna zor se kyun dhadak raha hai?
Bahar bijli chamki. Noreen ne khirki se dekha — waadi ujali mein naha gayi thi, lamhe bhar ke liye. Kitni khubsurat thi yeh jagah. Aur kitni tanha. Us ne socha — shayad pahar bhi tanha hote hain. Shayad is liye woh itne khamosh rehte hain.
Neend aakhir usay le gayi — gehri, khwabon bhari neend. Khwab mein woh waadi mein chal rahi thi, aur koi us ka haath pakre tha. Us ne mur kar dekhna chaha ke kaun hai, magar chehra dhund mein chhupa tha. Sirf haath mehsoos ho raha tha — garm, mazboot, bharose mand.
Subah jab Noreen ki aankh khuli to baarish halki ho chuki thi, magar aasmaan ab bhi bhara hua tha. Khirki se us ne dekha ke deodar ke darakhton se bhap uth rahi thi, aur door Kunhar darya ka shor ab bhi sunayi de raha tha. Kamra ajnabi tha magar araamdeh — lakri ki khushboo, purani almaari, aur mez par rakha hua ek murjhaaya hua gulaab jo kisi ne jaan boojh kar nahi hataya tha.
Noreen ki aankh khulne se pehle hi usay khushboo aayi — taza chai ki, ilaaichi ki, aur geeli lakri ki. Woh kuchh lamhe leti rahi, chhat ko dekhti hui. Yeh kamra us ke kamre se bara tha, khirkiyan bari theen, aur deewaron par purani tasveerein lagi theen. Ek tasveer par us ki nazar tik gayi — ek jawan jora, dulha dulhan ke libaas mein. Dulha Iqbal tha — kaale baal, chamakti aankhein, chehre par wohi muskurahat jo aaj bhi kabhi kabhi jhalakti thi. Aur dulhan — Razia. Noreen uth kar tasveer ke paas gayi.
Razia khubsurat thi — nahi, khubsurat se zyada, us ke chehre par ek tehraao tha, ek gahraayi. Noreen ne gaur se dekha — Razia ki aankhein usay dekh rahi theen, jaise keh rahi hon — “Tum kaun ho? Mere ghar mein kya kar rahi ho?” Noreen ne nazrein jhuka leen. “Main aapki bahu hoon,” us ne dheere se kaha, tasveer se. “Aapke bete ki biwi. Main yahan mehmaan hoon — bas kuchh din.”
Magar kehte hue us ka dil kaanp gaya. Kyunki dil jaanta tha ke woh sirf mehmaan nahi rehna chahti thi. Yeh ghar, yeh waadi, yeh log — in mein kuchh tha jo use apni taraf kheench raha tha.
Woh tayyar hone lagi. Us ne apne baal banaye, halka sa kajal lagaya — aadat thi, shaadi se pehle ki. Phir ruk gayi. “Kiske liye tayyar ho rahi ho?” us ne aayine mein apne aap se poocha. Jawab us ke paas nahi tha — ya shayad tha, magar zubaan par lane ki himmat nahi thi.
Us ne mez par rakhi Faiz ki kitab uthayi — wohi jo us ke bistar ke sirhane thi. Kitab kholi to ek safhe par nishaan laga tha — “Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang.” Noreen ne sher parha, phir dobara parha. Us ki aankhein bhar aayin. Kis ne nishaan lagaya tha? Sajid ne? Ya… us ne jaldi se kitab band kar di.
Tabhi darwaze par dastak hui.
Darwaze par dastak hui. “Beta, chai tayyar hai.”
Noreen ne jaldi se dupatta sanbhala aur darwaza khola. Iqbal baramde mein khara tha, haathon mein do pyaaliyan. Us ke chehre par raat ki thakan thi magar aankhein saaf theen. “Rahim abhi aaya hai. Chhat dekh li hai — kehta hai dopahar tak theek ho jayegi. Tum chai piyo, phir nashta.”
Woh dono baramde mein beth gaye. Barish ki halki phuwar ab bhi par rahi thi, aur chhat se tapakti boondein baramde ke kinare par motiyon ki lari bana rahi theen. Chai kadak thi, ilaaichi wali — Noreen ko yaad aaya ke us ki saas bhi aisi hi chai banati thi. Iqbal ki biwi, Razia, chhe saal pehle issi cottage mein inteqal kar gayi thi. Noreen ne use sirf tasveeron mein dekha tha — narm muskurahat wali aurat, aankhon mein gehri mohabbat.
“Abba ji, aap theek se soye?” Noreen ne poocha.
Iqbal ne halki si hansi hansi. “Is umar mein neend waise bhi kam aati hai, beta. Tum batao — kamra pasand aaya?”
“Bohat acha hai. Magar…” Noreen ne jhijhak kar kaha, “main zyada din yahan nahi reh sakti. Log kya kahenge — bahu sasur ke hisse mein reh rahi hai.”
Iqbal ki pyaali hontoon tak jaate jaate ruk gayi. Phir us ne dheere se kaha, “Log to baarish ko bhi bura kehte hain, beta, jab fasal kharab ho. Tum apne kamre mein wapas chali jaana jab chhat theek ho jaye. Tab tak yeh tumhara ghar hai.”
Nashtay ke baad Noreen ne Sajid ko phone milaya. Teen ghantiyon ke baad us ne uthaya, piche daftar ka shor tha. “Haan Noreen, bolo — main meeting mein hoon.”
“Sirf yeh batana tha ke raat ko mere kamre ki chhat tapakne lagi thi. Abba ji ne mujhe agle hisse wale kamre mein sulaya.”
“Achha achha, theek hai. Abba ji hain na, sab sambhal lenge.” Sajid ki awaaz mein jaldi thi. “Sunno, main is hafte nahi aa sakunga. Client ne deadline aage barha di hai. Tum apna khayal rakhna. Baad mein baat karta hoon.”
Phone kat gaya. Noreen haath mein mobile liye khari rahi. Chaar mahine ho gaye the shaadi ko — mohabbat ki shaadi nahi thi, ghar walon ki pasand thi, magar Noreen ne poori koshish ki thi ke dil lagaye. Sajid acha aadmi tha, mehnati, izzat dene wala. Magar us ki duniya daftar, deadlines aur clients ke gird ghoomti thi. Naran woh use lekar aaya tha “honeymoon” ke naam par, phir ek phone aaya aur woh wapas Lahore chala gaya — “bas do din ka kaam hai” — aur do din chaar mahine ban gaye the. Noreen yahan akeli reh gayi thi, sasur ke saath, ek ajnabi pahari qasbe mein jahan us ka koi apna nahi tha.
Dopahar ko Rahim ne chhat theek kar di. Tili badal di gayi, geeli lakri sukhne ke liye chhor di gayi. “Do din mein kamra bilkul theek ho jayega, bibi ji,” Rahim ne kaha, apni topi utaar kar. “Tab tak aap wahin rahiye.”
Noreen ne apna samaan wapas le jaane ka irada kiya, magar Iqbal ne kaha, “Jaldi kya hai? Kamra poori tarah sookhne do. Waise bhi agle hisse mein roshni achhi aati hai — tumhein kitabein parhne ka shauq hai na?”
Noreen hairan hui. “Aapko kaise pata?”
“Sajid ne bataya tha kabhi. Aur tumhare bistar ke sirhane jo kitab rakhi thi — Faiz ki — woh maine dekhi thi.”
Us shaam baarish phir tez ho gayi. Noreen apne aarzi kamre mein Faiz parh rahi thi jab baramde se Iqbal ki awaaz aayi — woh Rahim se keh raha tha ke raat ke khane mein Noreen ki pasand ka saalan banaya jaye. Noreen ne kitab band kar di aur khirki se bahar dekha. Baarish mein deodar ke darakht jhoom rahe the. Us ke dil mein ek ajeeb si garmi utri — kisi ne us ki pasand ka khayal rakha tha, bina kahe, bina jataye. Sajid ko to yaad bhi nahi tha ke use bhindi pasand hai ya nahi.
Raat ke khane par Iqbal ne kaha, “Kal postman aayega to tumhara koi khat waghera ho to bata dena.”
“Khat ka zamana gaya, abba ji,” Noreen ne muskurakar kaha. “Ab to sab phone par hota hai.”
“Phone par baat hoti hai, khat mein dil hota hai,” Iqbal ne kaha, aur us ki aankhon mein koi gehri baat chamki jo Noreen samajh na saki. “Razia mujhe har hafte khat likhti thi, jab main Mansehra kaam par jata tha. Woh khat ab bhi sandooq mein rakhe hain.”
Khana kha kar Noreen apne kamre mein aayi to dekha ke mez par ek chhota sa lifafa rakha tha. Us ne hairani se uthaya — us par us ka naam likha tha, khubsurat tehreer mein. Andar ek chhoti si parchi thi: “Chhat theek ho gayi hai, magar kamra abhi geela hai. Apna khayal rakhna.” Neeche koi dastakht nahi the.
Noreen ne parchi ko der tak dekha. Tehreer pakki umar ke aadmi ki thi — magar itni narm? Us ne parchi takiye ke neeche rakh di aur so gayi. Khwab mein us ne dekha ke baarish ruk gayi hai aur waadi mein dhoop nikli hai, aur koi door khara usay bula raha hai — chehra saaf nazar nahi aa raha tha, magar awaaz mein intezaar tha.
Teesre din subah postman aaya — Bashir, jo pichhle bees saalon se Naran ki daak baant-ta tha. Us ke paas ek chhota sa parcel tha, bhure kagaz mein lipta, dori se bandha. “Bibi ji, aap ke naam aaya hai,” us ne kaha, aur parcel Noreen ke haathon mein de diya.
Noreen ne parcel ko ulta pulta kar dekha. Bhejne wale ka naam-o-pata kahin nahi tha. Sirf us ka naam tha — “Noreen” — wohi khubsurat tehreer jo parchi par thi. “Yeh kis ne bheja hai, Bashir bhai?”
Bashir ne kandhe uchkaye, magar us ki aankhon mein sharaarat thi. “Bibi ji, daak to daak hoti hai. Jis ne diya, us ne naam nahi bataya.”
Noreen parcel lekar apne kamre mein aayi aur use khola. Andar narm oon ki ek shawl thi — gehre sabz rang ki, kinaron par bareek kaarh, itni narm ke haath lagate hi garmi ka ehsaas ho. Shawl ke neeche ek parchi thi: “Pahaaron ki thand se bachne ke liye. — Ek dost.” Neeche Faiz ka ek sher likha tha: “Tum aaye ho na shab-e-intezaar guzri hai, talaash mein hai sahar baar baar guzri hai.”
Noreen ki saansein ruk gayin. Us ne shawl ko chehre se lagaya. Khushboo aayi — deodar ki, purani almaari ki, aur kuchh aur jo woh pehchan na saki. Kis ne bheja tha? Sajid? Us ne foran phone milaya.
“Sajid, tum ne koi parcel bheja hai mujhe?”
“Parcel? Kaisa parcel?” Piche phir wahi daftar ka shor.
“Ek shawl aayi hai, koi naam nahi likha.”
Sajid ne halki si hansi hansi. “Noreen, mujhe fursat kahan ke parcel bhejun? Shayad ammi ne bheja ho. Ya koi aur rishtedaar. Achha suno, mujhe meeting mein jaana hai.”
Phone kat gaya. Noreen ne shawl ko gaur se dekha. Kaarh haath ki bani hui lagti thi — itni bareek, itni mehnat se. Ammi? Ammi ko to pata bhi nahi ke Naran mein itni thand hai. Aur woh tehreer — parchi wali tehreer se milti thi. Woh parchi jis par koi dastakht nahi tha.
Noreen se raha nahi gaya. Dopahar ko jab baarish ruki to woh bazaar ki taraf nikal gayi — Iqbal se kaha ke use kuchh samaan lena hai. Naran ka bazaar chhota tha magar zinda — dukanein, chai khane, siyanhon ke jhund, aur har taraf pahari hawa. Noreen purani dukaanon ki taraf gayi, jahan Bashir ne ishara kiya tha.
Ek dukaan thi — lakri ki, purani, takhti par “Rahmat Store” likha tha, magar darwaza aadha band tha. Andar ek buddha betha tha, hukkah pi raha tha. Noreen ne himmat kar ke poocha, “Chacha, aap ke paas bhura kagaz milta hai? Parcel bandhne wala?”
Buddhe ne use gaur se dekha. “Milta tha, bibi. Ab bas thoda bacha hai.” Us ne andar se kagaz ka ek gatta nikala — bilkul waisa hi bhura kagaz jismein parcel lipta tha. Noreen ki saansein tez ho gayin. “Yeh… yeh aap kise dete hain?”
Buddha muskuraya. “Bibi, Naran chhota qasba hai. Yahan sab ek doosre ko jaante hain.” Us ne kagaz wapas rakha. “Iqbal sahab lete hain kabhi kabhi. Kehte hain — purani aadat hai, achhe kagaz mein cheez bhejo to izzat barhti hai.”
Noreen ka dil zor zor se dhadakne laga. “Iqbal sahab? Deodar Cottage wale?”
“Wahi. Achhe aadmi hain. Biwi ke inteqal ke baad akele reh gaye, magar dil ke bohat ache.” Buddhe ne hukkah ka kash liya. “Bibi, aap un ki bahu hain na? Sajid ki biwi?”
Noreen ne sar hilaya, aur jaldi se dukaan se nikal aayi. Us ke qadam tez the, dil tez tha. To yeh sach tha. Parcel bhejne wala Iqbal tha. Wohi tehreer, wohi kagaz, wohi sher. Sab kuchh saaf tha.
Magar kyun? Yeh sawal usay khaye jaa raha tha. Woh wapas cottage aayi to Iqbal baramde mein betha tha, akhbaar parh raha tha. Us ne Noreen ko dekha to muskuraya. “Samaan mil gaya?”
Noreen use dekhti rahi. Us ke dil mein toofan tha — gussa bhi, hairat bhi, aur kuchh aur bhi jo woh samajh nahi paa rahi thi. “Haan,” us ne kaha. “Mil gaya.” Aur woh apne kamre mein chali gayi.
Kamre mein aakar us ne shawl nikali aur use gaur se dekha. Ab jab use pata tha ke yeh Iqbal ne bheji hai, to shawl aur bhi qeemti lag rahi thi. Us ne use orha aur aayine mein dekha. Gehra sabz rang us par khub jach raha tha. “Tum par jachti hai,” Iqbal ne kaha tha. Us ki awaaz mein jo narmi thi…
Noreen ne aayine se nazrein hata leen. “Bas,” us ne khud se kaha. “Ab bas. Main is bare mein nahi sochungi.” Magar dil ne phir jawab diya — sochna to shuru ho chuka hai, ab rukna tumhare bas mein nahi.
Us shaam Noreen ne shawl orh kar baramde mein chai pi. Iqbal ne dekha to us ki aankhein chamak utheen. “Yeh shawl nayi hai?”
“Parcel mein aayi hai, abba ji. Pata nahi kis ne bheji.”
Iqbal ne shawl ko dekha, phir Noreen ko. Us ke chehre par koi jazbaat aaya aur gaya — itni jaldi ke Noreen pakar na saki. “Achhi hai,” us ne sirf itna kaha. “Tum par jachti hai.”
Raat ko khane par Iqbal ne Noreen se poocha, “Tumhein sher-o-shayari ka shauq kab se hai?”
“Bachpan se. Abbu ke paas Faiz, Ghalib, sab ka majmua tha. Main chhup chhup kar parhti thi.”
“Chhup kar kyun?”
Noreen ne sharmakar kaha, “Ammi kehti theen ke larkiyon ko zyada parhna nahi chahiye, warna dimagh kharab ho jata hai.”
Iqbal zor se hansa — dil khol kar, jaise barson baad hansa ho. “Tumhari ammi ghalat theen, beta. Dimagh to na parhne se kharab hota hai.” Phir us ne dheemi awaaz mein Faiz ka wohi sher parha jo parchi par likha tha — bilkul wahi lehja, wahi thehrao. Noreen ki pyaali haath mein kaanp gayi.
“Aapko yeh sher yaad tha?”
“Razia ko bohat pasand tha,” Iqbal ne kaha, magar us ki nazrein Noreen par theen, aur un nazron mein kuchh tha jo sirf yaad ka gham nahi tha. Noreen ne nazrein jhuka leen. Us ke dil ki dhadkan tez ho gayi thi, aur use samajh nahi aa raha tha ke kyun.
Us raat bistar par let kar Noreen ne socha — kya yeh parcel Iqbal ne bheja tha? Magar kyun? Woh us ka sasur tha. Aur woh parchi, woh sher… Us ne khirki se bahar dekha. Baarish ruk gayi thi, badalon ke peeche se chand nikla tha, aur deodar ke saye chandni mein kaale aur narm lag rahe the. Door kahin ullu bola. Noreen ne shawl ko aur kas kar orha — wohi shawl — aur us ki khushboo mein use neend aa gayi.
Agli subah jab woh uthi to mez par ek aur parchi thi: “Aaj dhoop niklegi. Waadi ki sair ko chalo gi?” Neeche phir koi dastakht nahi. Noreen ne parchi ko haath mein liya. Darwaza to andar se band tha. Khirki? Us ne khirki dekhi — bahar se koi aaya tha? Ya… us ke zehan mein ek khayal aaya jo use darra gaya. Us ne parchi ko muththi mein bheench liya.
Nashtay par us ne Iqbal se kuchh nahi kaha. Magar jab Iqbal ne kaha, “Aaj dhoop nikli hai, waadi ki taraf chalein? Rahim dopahar ka khana bandh dega,” to Noreen ki saansein atak gayin. Wahi alfaz. Wahi dawat.
“Abba ji,” us ne dheere se kaha, “yeh parchiyan… kya aap likhte hain?”
Iqbal ne chai ka ghoont liya, phir us ki taraf dekha. Us ki aankhon mein sharaarat bhi thi aur kuchh gehra bhi. “Agar main kahun ke haan, to?”
“To main poochungi ke kyun.”
“Kyunki,” Iqbal ne pyaali mez par rakhi, “is ghar mein koi to ho jo tumse baat kare. Sajid to phone par bhi do minute nahi nikalta.”
Noreen khamosh rahi. Us ke dil mein kuchh pighal raha tha aur kuchh jam raha tha — dono ek saath. “Abba ji, log…”
“Log so rahe hain, beta,” Iqbal ne narm lehje mein kaha. “Aur hum sirf waadi ki sair ki baat kar rahe hain. Tum tayyar ho jao. Main bahar intezaar karta hoon.”
Woh utha aur chala gaya. Noreen use jaate hue dekhti rahi. Us ke qadam mein wohi thehrao tha jo hamesha tha, magar aaj us thehrao mein kuchh aur bhi tha — jaise koi raaz jo zubaan par aane ko betaab ho.
Waadi ka rasta deodar ke jhund se guzarta tha. Dhoop patton ke darmiyaan se chhan kar zameen par sunehri jaal bichha rahi thi. Hawa mein geeli mitti ki khushboo thi aur door Kunhar ka shor. Iqbal aage aage chal raha tha, haath peeche bandhe, kabhi kabhi ruk kar kisi phool ya parinde ki taraf ishara karta.
“Dekho, woh neele phool — inhein yahan ‘neel kamal’ kehte hain. Razia ko bohat pasand the. Woh kehti thi ke jo shakhs inhein tor kar laye, woh dil ka sacha hota hai.”
“Aur aap laate the?” Noreen ne poocha.
“Roz. Aur woh roz kehti thi — kal phir lana.” Iqbal ki awaaz mein hansi thi magar aankhein nam theen. “Chhe saal ho gaye, magar aaj bhi jab yeh phool dekhta hoon to haath barh jata hai.”
Noreen ka dil bhar aaya. “Aap ne doosri shaadi kyun nahi ki, abba ji?”
Iqbal ruka aur us ki taraf dekha. “Kis se karta? Razia ke baad dil ne kisi ko dekha hi nahi.” Phir us ne halki si muskurahat ke saath kaha, “Waise tumhein kya lagta hai — is umar mein koi mujhse shaadi karega?”
Noreen hans pari. “Kyun nahi? Aap ab bhi… ” Woh ruk gayi. Kehna chahti thi — aap ab bhi khubsurat hain — magar zubaan par laate hue sharam aayi.
“Ab bhi kya?” Iqbal ne chherte hue poocha.
“Kuchh nahi,” Noreen ne tez qadam barhaye. “Chalein, waadi door hai.”
“Arre ruko!” Iqbal ne us ka rasta roka — nahi, rasta nahi roka, bas saamne aa khara hua, haathon mein woh neele phool jo us ne kab tore the, pata bhi nahi chala. “Yeh lo. Razia ka usool tha — jo laye, woh sacha. Aaj main tumhein de raha hoon, taake tum gawahi do ke main ab bhi sacha hoon.”
Noreen ne phool liye. Us ki ungliyan kaanp rahi theen. “Abba ji, yeh…”
“Phool hi to hain, beta,” Iqbal ne narm awaaz mein kaha. “In mein koi gunaah nahi.”
Magar Noreen ke dil mein toofan tha. Woh jaanti thi ke phoolon mein gunaah nahi — gunaah to us nazar mein tha jo Iqbal us par daal raha tha, aur us dhadkan mein thi jo us ke apne seene mein zor zor se baj rahi thi. Woh apne shohar ki biwi thi. Yeh shakhs us ke shohar ka baap tha. Yeh sochna bhi paap tha — magar soch to aayi rahi thi, baarish ki tarah, roke nahi ruk rahi thi.
Wapasi par raste mein baarish phir shuru ho gayi — tez, achanak, pahari baarish jaisi hoti hai. Iqbal ne apni chhatri kholi — ek hi chhatri thi. “Aao,” us ne kaha.
Dono ek chhatri ke neeche simat gaye. Noreen ka kandha Iqbal ke seene se lag raha tha. Us ki saansein us ke kaan ke paas mehsoos ho rahi theen. Baarish chhatri par baj rahi thi, aur neeche do dilon ki dhadkanein ek taal par aane ki koshish kar rahi theen. Noreen ne khud ko thoda door kiya, magar chhatri chhoti thi aur baarish tez — door hona mumkin nahi tha.
“Cottage bas paanch minute hai,” Iqbal ne kaha, magar us ne qadam dheere kar diye — jaan boojh kar, Noreen ne mehsoos kiya. Us ne Iqbal ki taraf dekha. Baarish ki boondein us ke safed baalon mein moti ban kar chamak rahi theen. Us ke chehre par paani ki dhaarein beh rahi theen, magar woh muskura raha tha — ek aisi muskurahat jo Noreen ne pehle kabhi nahi dekhi thi. Jawaan, sharaarti, zinda.
“Abba ji, aap bheeg rahe hain,” Noreen ne kaha, aur apne dupatte ka kona us ke sar par kar diya.
Iqbal ruk gaya. Baarish mein, ek chhatri ke neeche, us ne Noreen ki aankhon mein dekha. “Noreen,” us ne kaha — pehli baar us ne use “beta” nahi kaha tha.
Noreen ka dil halaq mein aa gaya. “Ji?”
“Kuchh nahi. Chalo.”
Magar dono jaante the ke kuchh tha. Kuchh jo keh diya gaya tha bina kahe.
Cottage pahunch kar Noreen seedha apne kamre mein gayi aur darwaza band kar liya. Us ka dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha. Us ne aayine mein apna chehra dekha — surkh gaal, chamakti aankhein. “Yeh kya ho raha hai mujhe?” us ne apne aap se poocha. “Woh mere sasur hain. Mere shohar ke abba. Main Sajid ki biwi hoon.”
Agli subah Iqbal ne kaha, “Aaj bazaar chalte hain. Ghar ka kuchh samaan lena hai, aur tum bhi dekh lo gi Naran.”
Noreen ne pehle inkaar karna chaha — magar phir socha, kamre mein beth kar sochti rahegi to pagal ho jayegi. “Theek hai,” us ne kaha.
Bazaar ka rasta utraai par tha. Iqbal aage aage chal raha tha, Noreen peeche. Raste mein chhote chhote makaan the, bachche khel rahe the, aur ek jagah se tandoor ki khushboo aa rahi thi. Noreen ne gehri saans li — azaad hawa, khuli faza. Lahore ki band galiyon ke baad yeh hawa usay zindagi lag rahi thi.
“Yahan ke log tumhein dekh rahe hain,” Iqbal ne dheemi awaaz mein kaha.
“Kyun?”
“Kyunki tum nayi ho. Aur khubsurat.” Iqbal ne muskurakar kaha, phir foran sanjeeda ho gaya. “Mera matlab hai — nayi chehre yahan kam aate hain.”
Noreen hans pari. “Abba ji, aap bhi na.”
Bazaar mein Iqbal ne pehle rashan ki dukaan se samaan liya, phir sabzi wale se sauda kiya — mol bhaav mein woh mahir tha, dukandaar hastay hue kehta raha, “Sahab, aap se jeetna mumkin nahi.” Noreen dekhti rahi — Iqbal har dukandaar ko naam se jaanta tha, har ek se us ka koi qissa tha. “Yeh wohi hai jis ki beti ki shaadi mein main gaya tha,” woh batata jata. “Yeh woh hai jis ne mujhe bijli ke bill mein dhoka diya tha — magar dil ka acha hai.”
Phir woh ek sunar ki dukaan ke saamne ruke. Dukaan mein chandi ke zewar chamak rahe the — jhumke, kangan, tikke. Iqbal ne Noreen se kaha, “Andar aao.”
“Kyun?”
“Bas aao.”
Andar jaakar Iqbal ne dukandaar se kaha, “Woh jhumke dikhao — neele pathar wale.”
Dukandaar ne jhumke nikale — chandi ke, neele pathar jade, bohat khubsurat. Iqbal ne unhein Noreen ki taraf barhaya. “Pehno.”
Noreen hairan reh gayi. “Abba ji, yeh…”
“Pehno to,” Iqbal ne israar kiya. “Dekhte hain kaise lagte hain.”
Noreen ne jhumke pehne aur aayine mein dekha. Woh us par bohat jach rahe the — neela pathar us ki aankhon se mil raha tha. “Kitne ke hain?” us ne dukandaar se poocha.
Dukandaar ne qeemat batayi to Noreen ne foran jhumke utaarne shuru kiye. “Bohat mehenge hain. Rehne dein.”
Iqbal ne us ka haath rok diya. “Main de raha hoon,” us ne kaha. “Tumhein pasand aaye hain na?”
“Magar itne paise…”
“Paise kya hain, Noreen?” Iqbal ki awaaz narm thi. “Paise to aate jaate hain. Magar jab tum muskurati ho — woh qeemti hai.” Us ne dukandaar ko paise diye aur jhumke ka dibba Noreen ke haath mein de diya. “Yeh tumhare liye. Meri taraf se.”
Noreen ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Abba ji…”
“Shh,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Aaj koi behas nahi. Aaj sirf khushi.”
Wapasi par raste mein ek chai khana aaya. Iqbal ne kaha, “Chai piyengi?” Noreen ne sar hilaya. Woh dono ek kone wali mez par bethe. Chai aayi — kulhar wali, kadak, meethi. Noreen ne chuski li aur aah bhari. “Maza aa gaya.”
“Tumhein pata hai,” Iqbal ne kaha, “Razia ko bhi kulhar wali chai bohat pasand thi. Woh kehti thi — sheher ki chai mein woh baat nahi jo pahari chai mein hai.”
Noreen ne use dekha. “Aap use bohat yaad karte hain.”
“Roz,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Magar ab…” Woh ruk gaya.
“Ab kya?”
“Ab jab tum hasti ho, to mujhe lagta hai ke Razia bhi khush hai. Jaise woh keh rahi ho — Iqbal, ab tum akelay nahi.” Iqbal ki aankhein nam theen. “Shayad pagalpan hai. Magar dil ka pagalpan bhi kabhi kabhi sach hota hai.”
Noreen ne apni chai ki pyaali ko dekha. Us ke dil mein kuchh pighal raha tha. “Aap pagal nahi hain, abba ji,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Aap… aap bas bohat tanha hain. Aur tanhayi mein insaan ko har khushi mein apne pyaron ki jhalak nazar aati hai.”
“To tum meri tanhayi door karogi?”
Sawaal itna seedha tha ke Noreen ki saansein ruk gayin. Us ne Iqbal ki aankhon mein dekha — wahan koi chhal nahi tha, koi fareb nahi tha. Sirf ek seedhi, sachi guzarish thi.
“Main koshish karungi,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Jitni meri haisiyat hai.”
Iqbal ne muskuraya — woh muskurahat jo Noreen ke dil mein utar gayi. “Tumhari haisiyat bohat hai, Noreen. Tumhein andaza bhi nahi.”
Woh wapas cottage aaye to shaam ho chuki thi. Noreen ne jhumke ka dibba apne bistar par rakha aur der tak use dekhti rahi. Phir us ne dibba khola, jhumke nikale, aur pehen liye. Aayine mein dekha — woh khubsurat lag rahi thi. Khush lag rahi thi. Us ne apne aap se poocha — kab aakhri baar us ne aayine mein khush chehra dekha tha? Jawab usay yaad nahi aaya.
Raat ko khane par Iqbal ne dekha ke us ne jhumke pehne hain. Us ki aankhein chamak utheen. “Achhe lag rahe hain,” us ne kaha.
“Shukriya,” Noreen ne sharmakar kaha. “Aap ne bohat kharcha kar diya.”
“Kharcha?” Iqbal ne hansa. “Noreen, tumhein dekh kar jo khushi milti hai, us ke saamne yeh paise kuchh bhi nahi.” Phir us ne dheemi awaaz mein kaha, “Waise, neela rang tum par bohat jachta hai. Jaise waadi ke phool.”
Noreen ne sar jhuka liya, magar us ke honton par muskurahat thi. Us raat bistar par let kar us ne jhumke utaare aur unhein takiye ke neeche rakha. Neend aane se pehle us ne socha — aaj ka din acha tha. Bohat acha. Aur is achhe din ka sabab woh shakhs tha jise woh “abba ji” kehti thi.
“Khuda,” us ne dua maangi, “mujhe raah dikha. Main bhatak rahi hoon.”
Us ne phone uthaya aur Sajid ka number milaya. Ghanti bajti rahi, bajti rahi — koi jawab nahi. Us ne message likha: “Sajid, mujhe tumhari yaad aa rahi hai. Phone karo.” Message bhej diya. Jawab nahi aaya.
Raat ko khane par khamoshi thi. Iqbal ne koi chherkhani nahi ki, koi sher nahi parha. Bas khana khaya aur kaha, “Kal phir baarish ka imkaan hai. Tum apne kamre mein hi rehna.” Noreen ne sar hila diya. Usay rahat bhi hui aur ek ajeeb si kami bhi mehsoos hui — jaise koi cheez jo milne wali thi, ruk gayi ho.
Apne kamre mein aakar us ne dekha ke takiye par ek aur parchi thi: “Aaj tum ne mera dil khush kar diya. Phoolon ka shukriya ada karne ka yeh tareeqa theek nahi — kal shaam ko baramde mein chai piyenge, aur tum mujhe Faiz sunao gi. — Wahi dost.”
Noreen ne parchi parh kar use seenay se lagaya, phir foran alag kiya jaise aag lagi ho. “Nahi,” us ne zor se kaha, khaali kamre mein. “Yeh ghalat hai. Main Sajid ki biwi hoon. Woh mere sasur hain. Bas.”
Magar us raat khwab mein phir wohi chehra aaya — ab thoda saaf — safed baal, gehri aankhein, aur haathon mein neele phool. Aur khwab mein Noreen ne phool le liye the, bina jhijhak, bina sharam. Jab aankh khuli to us ki aankhon mein aansu the, aur use samajh nahi aa raha tha ke woh khushi ke the ya gham ke.
Agli subah Bashir phir aaya — is baar ek aur parcel lekar. Noreen ne use dekhte hi poocha, “Bashir bhai, sach sach batao — yeh parcel kaun bhejta hai?”
Bashir ne idhar udhar dekha, phir dheemi awaaz mein kaha, “Bibi ji, main bees saal se daak baant raha hoon. Itna bata sakta hoon ke bhejne wala Naran ka hi hai. Aur itna bhi ke woh aapko bohat…” Woh ruk gaya aur muskuraya. “Bohat izzat deta hai.”
“Izzat?”
“Haan. Jis ehtiyaat se woh parcel bandhta hai, jis khubsurat tehreer se naam likhta hai — yeh koi aam bhejne wala nahi.” Bashir ne aankh maari. “Waise bibi ji, kagaz pehchana aap ne?”
“Kagaz?”
“Yeh bhura kagaz — Naran mein sirf ek dukaan par milta tha, purani dukaan, jo ab band hai. Dukandaar ke paas ab bhi thoda stock rakha hai.” Bashir ne apni topi theek ki. “Achha, main chalta hoon. Daak ka waqt ho gaya.”
Noreen parcel lekar kamre mein aayi. Is baar andar Faiz ka deewan tha — purana, jild bandha, safhon ke darmiyaan ek sukha hua neela phool rakha tha, wahi neel kamal. Parchi par likha tha: “Tum ne kaha tha ke chhup kar parhti thi. Ab chhupne ki zaroorat nahi. — Ek dost.”
Noreen ne kitab ko haathon mein liya. Jild par ungli pheri — purani, magar sambhal kar rakhi hui. Pehla safha khola to andar kisi ne pencil se likha tha: “Razia ke liye — pehli barsaat, 1988.” Noreen ki saansein ruk gayin. Yeh kitab Iqbal ki thi — us ne apni biwi ko di thi. Aur ab… usay de raha tha?
Us ke haath kaanpne lage. Us ne kitab band kar di aur use mez par rakh diya, jaise woh garam loha ho. Magar phir us ne use phir uthaya aur seenay se laga liya. Us ki aankhon se aansu behne lage — pata nahi kyun. Shayad is liye ke kisi ne use itni qeemti cheez di thi. Shayad is liye ke dene wala kaun tha, yeh jaan kar us ka dil do tukre ho raha tha.
Ek dopahar Noreen ne Iqbal se kaha, “Mujhe kaarh seekhni hai.”
Iqbal hairan hua. “Kaarh?”
“Wahi jo Razia… jo unhone ki thi. Mezposhon wali. Rumal wali.” Noreen ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. “Main chahti hoon ke main bhi woh hunar seekhun. Taake… taake woh zinda rahe.”
Iqbal ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Tumhein pata hai tum kya maang rahi ho?”
“Haan,” Noreen ne kaha. “Main us aurat ke hunar ko zinda rakhna chahti hoon jis ne tumhein mohabbat karna sikhaya. Kyunki us ki mohabbat ne hi tumhein mujh tak pahunchaya hai.”
Iqbal ne storeroom se kaarh ka sandooq nikala. Dono baramde mein bethe. Iqbal ne sui mein dhaga dala aur Noreen ko dikhaya — pehla tanka, doosra tanka. Us ke haath ab bhi yaad the — Razia ne use sikhaya tha, mazaak mein, barson pehle.
“Dekho,” us ne kaha, Noreen ke peeche beth kar, us ke haathon ko apne haathon mein lekar, “sui aise pakro. Dheere se. Jaise… jaise koi naazuk cheez ho.”
Noreen ke haath kaanp rahe the — Iqbal ke qareeb hone se, us ki saanson se. “Mujhse nahi hoga,” us ne kaha.
“Hoga,” Iqbal ne us ke kaan mein kaha. “Main hoon na.”
Us ne Noreen ke haathon ko apne haathon mein liya aur pehla tanka lagwaya — dheere, narmi se. Phir doosra. Phir teesra. Noreen ne mehsoos kiya ke us ke haath ab kaanp nahi rahe the. Iqbal ki garmi un mein utar gayi thi.
“Ab khud karo,” Iqbal ne kaha, magar woh hata nahi — us ke haath ab bhi us ke haathon ke qareeb the, us ki saansein us ki gardan par theen.
Noreen ne khud tanka lagaya — terha, magar apna. Woh hans pari. “Dekho, kitna bura hai!”
Iqbal ne use dekha. “Bura nahi hai,” us ne kaha. “Pehla hai. Pehla hamesha khaas hota hai.” Us ne rumal uthaya — wohi aadha kadha rumal. “Dekho, yeh maine shuru kiya tha. Tum ise poora karo gi.”
“Main?” Noreen ne rumal liya. “Magar yeh to tum ne…”
“Hum ne,” Iqbal ne us ki baat theek ki. “Ab se sab kuchh ‘hum’ hai, Noreen. Main nahi, tum nahi — hum.”
Noreen ne rumal ko dekha — aadha Iqbal ka, aadha us ka hoga. Jaise un ki zindagi — aadhi guzri hui, aadhi aane wali. Us ne sui uthayi aur kaam shuru kiya. Iqbal use dekhta raha — us ke haathon ko, us ke chehre ko, us ki lagan ko.
“Razia khush hoti,” Iqbal ne dheere se kaha. “Tumhein dekh kar.”
Noreen ne sar uthaya. “Tumhein lagta hai?”
“Mujhe yaqeen hai,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Woh kehti thi — hunar usi ke paas rehta hai jo us ki qadar kare. Tum qadar karti ho.”
Shaam tak Noreen ne kaafi kaam kar liya tha — tanke ab bhi terhe the, magar un mein mehnat thi, mohabbat thi. Us ne rumal Iqbal ko dikhaya. “Kaisa hai?”
“Khubsurat,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Bilkul tumhari tarah.”
Noreen ne sharmakar sar jhuka liya. “Tum bhi na…”
“Main kya?” Iqbal ne chherte hue poocha. “Sach keh raha hoon. Tum khubsurat ho — bahar se bhi, andar se bhi.”
Rahim ne unhein dekha — kaarh karte hue, hanste hue — aur muskuraya. Us ne apne dil mein kaha — “Razia bibi, dekh rahi ho? Tumhara hunar zinda hai. Tumhara ghar abaad hai. Tum khush ho na?”
Raat ko Noreen ne rumal takiye ke neeche rakha. Us ne faisla kiya tha ke woh ise poora karegi — chahe kitna waqt lage. Kyunki yeh sirf rumal nahi tha. Yeh un ki kahani thi — sui dhage mein piroi hui, har tanke mein mohabbat, har gaant mein ummeed.
Us raat Noreen ne Faiz ka deewan khola — wohi jo parcel mein aaya tha. Pehle safhe par woh tehreer thi: “Razia ke liye — pehli barsaat, 1988.” Noreen ne un lafzon par ungli pheri. Kitne saal purani siyahi thi, magar mohabbat ab bhi taza thi.
Us ne safhe palte. Jagah jagah nishaan the — kisi ne sher ke neeche lakeer khainchi thi, kisi ne haashiye par kuchh likha tha. Do tehreerein theen — ek narm, gol, aurat ki; doosri mazboot, seedhi, mard ki. Razia aur Iqbal — dono ne yeh kitab parhi thi, dono ne apne nishaan chhore the.
Ek safhe par Razia ne likha tha: “Yeh sher Iqbal ne mujhe sunaya tha — hamari pehli barsaat mein.” Aur us ke neeche Iqbal ne likha tha: “Aur aaj bhi sunata hoon — har barsaat mein.”
Noreen ki aankhein bhar aayin. Us ne woh sher parha — Faiz ka mashhoor sher — aur usay mehsoos hua ke woh sirf lafz nahi the, woh do dilon ki dhadkan the. Us ne kitab ko seenay se lagaya aur der tak roti rahi. Kyun ro rahi thi, use khud nahi pata tha. Shayad is liye ke itni gehri mohabbat dekh kar us ka apna dil bhar aaya tha. Shayad is liye ke woh soch rahi thi — kya koi mujhse kabhi aise mohabbat karega?
Phir us ne ek sukha hua phool dekha — safhon ke darmiyaan rakha tha, neela, wahi neel kamal. Us ne use uthaya aur dekha — itna nazuk ke chhune se toot jayega. Us ne use wapas rakh diya, ahtiyaat se.
Agli subah nashtay par Noreen ne Iqbal se kaha, “Abba ji, yeh kitab…”
Iqbal ne chai ka ghoont liya. “Haan?”
“Is par likha hai — ‘Razia ke liye, pehli barsaat, 1988.'”
Iqbal khamosh ho gaya. Phir us ne dheere se kaha, “Haan. Hamari shaadi ko teen mahine hue the. Pehli baarish hui thi. Main bazaar gaya aur yeh kitab layi. Razia ne use dekh kar kaha tha — ‘Tumhein kaise pata ke mujhe Faiz pasand hai?’ Maine kaha — ‘Biwi ki pasand shohar ko pata honi chahiye.'” Us ki aankhein door kahin theen. “Us raat hum dono ne baarish mein beth kar poori kitab parhi thi. Subah ho gayi thi, pata bhi nahi chala.”
“Aur yeh nishaan?” Noreen ne poocha. “Yeh lakeerein?”
“Hum dono ke,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Jo sher humein pasand aata, us ke neeche lakeer khainchte. Phir behas karte — ke yeh sher zyada acha hai ya woh.” Woh muskuraya. “Razia hamesha jeetti thi. Kehti thi — ‘Tumhein sher ki samajh nahi, bas parhne ka shauq hai.'”
Noreen hans pari — aansuon ke saath. “Woh theek kehti theen.”
“Han,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Woh hamesha theek kehti thi.” Phir us ne Noreen ki taraf dekha. “Tum ne kitab parhi?”
“Kuchh,” Noreen ne kaha. “Bohat khubsurat hai.”
“Rakh lo,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Woh tumhari hai.”
Noreen hairan hui. “Magar yeh to… yeh to un ki thi.”
“Thi,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Magar Razia ne marne se pehle kaha tha — ‘Meri kitabein usi ko dena jo unhein samjhe. Jo unhein sirf parhe nahi, mehsoos kare.'” Us ne Noreen ki aankhon mein dekha. “Tum mehsoos karti ho, Noreen. Maine dekha hai — jab tum sher parhti ho, to tumhari aankhein chamakti hain. Bilkul Razia ki tarah.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. “Main… main is qabil nahi.”
“Tum is se zyada ki qabil ho,” Iqbal ne kaha. Us ne apna haath barhaya aur Noreen ke haath par rakha — sirf ek lamhe ke liye. “Kitab tumhari hai. Aur us ke saath meri ek guzarish bhi — ke jab bhi tum ise parho, to Razia ko yaad kar lena. Usay khushi hogi ke us ki kitab achhe haathon mein hai.”
Us din Noreen ne poori dopahar kitab parhi — baramde mein beth kar, baarish ki halki phuwar mein. Har sher mein use Iqbal nazar aaya, har ghazal mein Razia. Aur har safhe par use apna dil nazar aaya — jo dheere dheere, bina bataye, kisi ka hota jaa raha tha.
Shaam ko us ne kitab band ki aur use apne seenay se lagaya. “Shukriya, Razia,” us ne dheere se kaha, jaise woh sun rahi ho. “Aap ne mujhe apni sab se qeemti cheez di hai. Main is ki hifazat karungi. Aur…” Us ne ruk kar khirki se bahar dekha, jahan Iqbal waadi ki taraf dekh raha tha. “Aur main un ki bhi hifazat karungi. Wada hai.”
Shaam ko baramde mein chai ka waqt hua. Iqbal pehle se betha tha, do pyaaliyan rakhe. Noreen aayi to us ne kaha, “Aao, aaj tum mujhe Faiz sunao gi. Wada tha.”
“Main ne koi wada nahi kiya,” Noreen ne kaha, magar beth gayi.
“Parchi par wada tha. Parchi ka wada bhi wada hota hai.”
Noreen ne use ghoor kar dekha. “Abba ji, aap yeh sab kyun kar rahe hain?”
Iqbal ne chai ka ghoont liya. “Kya sab?”
“Yeh parchiyan, yeh parcel, yeh… yeh sab.” Noreen ki awaaz kaanp rahi thi. “Main aapki bahu hoon. Sajid ki biwi. Aapko ehsaas hai ke yeh kya lagta hai?”
Iqbal ne pyaali neeche rakhi. Us ke chehre se hansi gayab ho gayi. “Mujhe ehsaas hai, Noreen. Har pal ehsaas hai. Magar tumhein ek baat bataun?” Woh aage jhuka. “Jab tum raat ko mere darwaze par aayi thi, geeli shawl mein lipti, kanpti hui — us waqt tum meri bahu nahi thi. Tum ek akeli, dari hui larki thi jise sahare ki zaroorat thi. Aur main… main ek akela, bhoola hua aadmi tha jise kisi ka khayal rakhne ka mauka mila tha. Us raat ke baad se main so nahi saka.”
“Abba ji…”
“Sunno, poori baat sunno.” Iqbal ki awaaz mein iltija thi. “Main tumse kuchh nahi maangta. Naam, rishta, wada — kuchh nahi. Bas itna chahta hoon ke tum khush raho. Jab tum hasti ho to is ghar mein roshni hoti hai. Jab tum Faiz parhti ho to mujhe Razia yaad aati hai — magar ab tum yaad aati ho. Main janta hoon yeh ghalat hai. Duniya ke usoolon se ghalat hai. Magar dil ke usoolon se…” Woh ruk gaya. “Dil ke usoolon se maine kabhi itna sahi mehsoos nahi kiya.”
Noreen uth khari hui. “Bas karein, abba ji. Khuda ke liye bas karein.” Us ki aankhon mein aansu the. “Meri ammi ne mujhe sikhaya tha ke aurat ki izzat us ke shohar ke naam mein hai. Main Sajid ki biwi hoon. Main aapki bahu hoon. Is se aage main kuchh nahi soch sakti. Sochna bhi gunaah hai.”
Woh apne kamre ki taraf bhagi. Iqbal use jaate hue dekhta raha. Us ne apne haathon ko dekha — khaali haath. Phir us ne aasmaan ki taraf dekha jahan badal phir jama ho rahe the. “Baras le,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Aaj dil bhi barsay ga.”
Raat ko toofan aaya — aisa toofan jo Naran mein saalon baad aata hai. Hawa cheekh rahi thi, bijli lagataar chamak rahi thi, aur baarish aisi ke chhat par hathore baras rahe hon. Noreen apne kamre mein bistar par simti hui thi, darri hui. Bachpan se use toofan se dar lagta tha. Us ne takiya kaanon par rakha, magar garaj itni tez thi ke dil halaq mein aa raha tha.
Phir bijli gayi. Poora cottage andhere mein doob gaya. Noreen cheekh pari. Darwaze par dastak hui — zor se, toofan ke shor mein bhi sunayi di. “Noreen! Darwaza kholo!”
Us ne kaanpte haathon se darwaza khola. Iqbal khara tha, haath mein mombatti, chehre par fikr. “Tum theek ho?”
Noreen ne bas sar hilaya — nafi mein. Us ki aankhon mein aansu the. “Mujhe… mujhe toofan se dar lagta hai.”
Iqbal andar aaya aur darwaza band kar diya. Us ne mombatti mez par rakhi. “Betho,” us ne narm awaaz mein kaha. “Main yahin hoon. Jab tak toofan hai, main kahin nahi jaunga.”
Woh dono bistar par bethe — fasla rakh kar, magar kamre ki khaamoshi mein woh fasla bhi kam lag raha tha. Bahar toofan garaj raha tha, andar mombatti ki lau kaanp rahi thi. Iqbal ne dheemi awaaz mein sher parhna shuru kiya — Faiz ka, toofan par, himmat par. Noreen ne aankhein band kar leen aur sunti rahi. Us ki dhadkan dheere dheere normal hui.
“Abba ji,” us ne dheere se kaha, “aap bohat ache hain.”
Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha. Mombatti ki roshni mein us ka chehra narm lag raha tha. “Aur tum bohat bahadur ho, Noreen. Akeli itne din…”
“Akeli nahi,” Noreen ne kaha, aur phir ruk gayi. Us ne kehna chaha tha — aap hain na. Magar keh na saki.
Bijli wapas aayi to dono ne ek doosre ko dekha — aur dono ne foran nazrein hata leen. Iqbal utha. “Toofan tham gaya hai. Main chalta hoon. Darwaza andar se band kar lena.”
“Abba ji,” Noreen ne use roka. “Shukriya.”
Iqbal ne mur kar dekha. “Kis baat ka?”
“Ke aap… aap hain.”
Iqbal ki aankhein bhar aayin. Us ne kuchh kehna chaha, phir bas sar hilaya aur chala gaya. Darwaza band hua. Noreen bistar par let gayi. Us ke dil mein toofan ab bhi tha — magar ab woh bahar nahi, andar tha.
Toofan wali raat ke baad Noreen ne apni ammi ko khat likha — haan, kaghaz par, qalam se. Bashir se lifafa liya, pata likha, aur khat daak mein daal diya. Khat mein us ne sab kuchh likha — baarish, chhat, tanhayi, Sajid ki beparwahi. Sab kuchh — siwaaye ek baat ke. Woh baat jo us ke dil mein thi, woh qalam par nahi aa saki.
Das din baad jawab aaya. Ammi ki tehreer — kaanpti hui, magar wazeh. Noreen ne khat khola aur parha:
“Meri pyari beti,
Tumhara khat mila. Parh kar dil bhar aaya. Beti, tumhein pata hai, jab tumhari shaadi hui thi to main ne Khuda se dua maangi thi ke tumhein sukh mile. Magar sukh to kismat se milta hai, dua se nahi.
Tum likhti ho ke Sajid tumhein waqt nahi deta. Beti, mard aise hi hote hain — kaam mein doobe hue. Tum sabar karo. Waqt ke saath sab theek ho jayega. Main ne bhi tumhare abbu ke saath shuru mein yahi sab dekha tha. Aaj dekho, hum khush hain.
Aur suno — sasur ki izzat karna. Woh tumhare baap ki jagah hai. Us ka khayal rakhna, usay khush rakhna. Buddhe tanha hote hain, beti. Unhein sirf thodi si tawajju chahiye hoti hai.
Tumhari ammi”
Noreen ne khat kai baar parha. “Woh tumhare baap ki jagah hai.” Yeh lafz us ke dil mein khanjar ki tarah utre. Haan, woh us ke baap ki jagah tha. To phir us ke dil mein jo tha, woh kya tha? Kya woh apne baap ke liye aisa mehsoos kar sakti thi? Nahi. To phir Iqbal ke liye kyun?
Us ne khat ko seenay se lagaya aur ro pari. “Ammi,” us ne kaha, “aap ne to kaha tha ke waqt sab theek kar dega. Magar waqt to mujhe aur uljha raha hai.”
Us raat us ne ammi ko jawab likha — magar yeh khat us ne bheja nahi. Us ne use apni diary mein rakha — woh diary jo abhi us ke paas nahi thi, magar us ke khwabon mein thi. Khat mein us ne likha:
“Ammi,
Aap kehti hain ke sasur baap ki jagah hota hai. Magar ammi, kya baap apni beti ko phool deta hai? Kya baap us ke liye shawl bhejta hai, bina naam ke? Kya baap us ki aankhon mein dekh kar sher parhta hai?
Nahi, ammi. Baap aisa nahi karta. Yeh to woh karta hai jo mohabbat karta hai.
Aur sab se daraawni baat yeh hai, ammi — ke main bhi… main bhi us se…”
Us ne qalam rok diya. Aage likhne ki himmat nahi hui. Us ne kaghaz ko mor kar takiye ke neeche rakh diya.
Bahar baarish ho rahi thi. Noreen ne khirki se dekha — Iqbal ke kamre ki batti jal rahi thi. Woh bhi jaag raha tha. Shayad woh bhi soch raha tha. Shayad woh bhi apne dil se lad raha tha.
“Hum dono hi bhatak rahe hain,” Noreen ne socha. “Aur shayad… shayad bhatakna hi hamari manzil hai.”
Toofan wali raat ke baad kuchh din aise guzre jaise waadi ne saans rok rakhi ho. Baarish halki hoti, rukti, phir shuru ho jaati. Noreen apne kamre mein zyada rehne lagi. Woh Iqbal se bachta thi — nazrein churati, baat kam karti, khana apne kamre mein mangwati. Magar dil ka kya kare? Dil to us kamre mein bhi usi ka naam leta tha.
Iqbal ne use majboor nahi kiya. Woh subah baramde mein chai rakhta — do pyaaliyan — aur intezaar karta. Kabhi Noreen aati, kabhi nahi. Jab aati to Iqbal ka chehra khil uthta, jaise dhoop nikli ho. Jab nahi aati to woh dheere se ek pyaali utha kar andar rakh deta, bina shikayat.
Ek din Rahim ne Noreen se kaha, “Bibi ji, sahab aap ke baghair khana nahi khate. Kehte hain — jab tak bahu na aaye, dastarkhwan adhoora hai.”
Noreen ka dil pighal gaya. “Chacha, abba ji theek hain?”
Rahim ne gehri saans li. “Bibi ji, main tees saal se is ghar mein hoon. Sahab ko maine jawaan dekha, dulha dekha, baap dekha, bewa dekha. Magar…” Woh ruk gaya. “Magar itna zinda maine unhein Razia bibi ke baad kabhi nahi dekha. Aap ke aane ke baad se woh subah sehra karte hain, shaam ko sher yaad karte hain. Kal to unhone mujhse kaha — Rahim, aaj daal mein namak kam daalna, bibi ji ko halka khana pasand hai.”
Noreen ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Chacha, yeh sab… theek nahi hai.”
Rahim ne usay dekha — buddhe ki samajhdaar nazron se. “Bibi ji, theek aur ghalat ka faisla to Khuda karta hai. Hum to bas itna jaante hain ke jo shakhs doosre ki khushi mein khush ho, woh bura nahi ho sakta.”
Ek dopahar jab Iqbal bazaar gaya hua tha, Noreen rasoi mein Rahim ki madad kar rahi thi — daal bigho rahi thi. Rahim ne use dekha aur kaha, “Bibi ji, aap ko ek baat bataun?”
“Ji chacha?”
“Sahab ke baare mein. Aap ko pata hai, Razia bibi ke inteqal ke baad sahab ne kya kiya tha?”
Noreen ne sar hilaya — nahi.
“Teen mahine tak woh is kamre se nahi nikle the.” Rahim ne apne haathon ko dekha — buddhe, kaanpte haath. “Khana main darwaze par rakh aata tha. Kabhi khate, kabhi nahi. Ek raat maine dekha — woh Razia bibi ki tasveer se baatein kar rahe the. Keh rahe the — ‘Tum chali gayin, mujhe akela chhor kar. Ab main kiske liye jeeun?'”
Noreen ka dil bhar aaya. “Phir?”
“Phir ek din Sajid baba aaye — Lahore se. Unhone kaha — ‘Abba, aap ko sambhalna hoga. Ghar ko aap ki zaroorat hai.’ Sahab ne apne aansu ponchhe aur bahar aaye. Magar bibi ji…” Rahim ne gehri saans li. “Bahar to aa gaye, magar andar se woh kabhi nahi nikle. Us din ke baad se maine unhein dil se hanste hue nahi dekha. Bas… jee rahe the. Saans le rahe the. Magar jeena use nahi kehte.”
“To phir ab?” Noreen ne dheemi awaaz mein poocha.
“Ab?” Rahim muskuraya. “Ab to woh jee rahe hain, bibi ji. Subah uth kar sehra karte hain. Shaam ko aayine mein dekh kar baal sanwarte hain — tees saal mein pehli baar! Kal to unhone mujhse kaha — ‘Rahim, aaj achha khana banana, bibi ji khush hain to ghar khush hai.'” Rahim ne Noreen ko dekha. “Bibi ji, aap ne unhein zindagi di hai. Yeh koi chhoti baat nahi.”
Noreen khamosh rahi. Us ke haath daal mein the, magar us ka dil kahin aur tha.
“Aur ek baat,” Rahim ne kaha. “Razia bibi ke inteqal se pehle, unhone mujhse kaha tha — ‘Rahim, mere baad Iqbal ka khayal rakhna. Woh bahar se mazboot hai, magar andar se bachcha hai. Use mohabbat ki aadat hai. Mohabbat ke baghair woh murjha jayega.'” Rahim ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Maine koshish ki, bibi ji. Magar naukar ki mohabbat aur… aur apne ki mohabbat mein farq hota hai.”
Us shaam Noreen ne Iqbal ko dekha — naye andaaz se. Woh baramde mein betha tha, baarish dekh raha tha. Us ke chehre par wohi thehrao tha, magar ab Noreen us thehrao ke peeche ka dard dekh sakti thi. Chhe saal ki tanhayi. Chhe saal ka intezaar. Chhe saal ki khamoshi.
Woh us ke paas gayi aur beth gayi. Kuchh nahi kaha. Bas bethi rahi. Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha aur muskuraya. “Aaj khamosh ho?”
“Bas aise hi,” Noreen ne kaha. “Kabhi kabhi khamoshi bhi achhi lagti hai.”
“Haan,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Jab saath koi apna ho, to khamoshi bhi baat karti hai.”
Woh dono der tak bethe rahe. Baarish hoti rahi. Aur Noreen ne mehsoos kiya ke us ka dil — jo itne dinon se lar raha tha — aaj thoda sa sukoon mein tha. Jaise us ne apne dard ko pehchan liya ho, aur us dard mein kisi aur ka dard bhi dekh liya ho.
Us shaam Noreen baramde mein aayi. Iqbal wahan tha, akele, baarish ko dekhte hue. Us ne Noreen ko dekha to uth khara hua. “Betho,” us ne kaha.
Noreen bethi. Dono ke darmiyaan khamoshi thi — magar woh khamoshi jo dosti ki hoti hai, dushmani ki nahi.
“Abba ji, main ne faisla kiya hai,” Noreen ne kaha. “Jab Sajid aayega, main us ke saath Lahore wapas chali jaungi.”
Iqbal ne sar hilaya. “Tumhara haq hai, beta.”
“Aap naraaz nahi?”
“Naraaz?” Iqbal ne halki si hansi hansi. “Noreen, main ne tumse mohabbat ki hai, tum par qabza nahi kiya. Mohabbat mein naraazgi kaisi?” Phir us ne us ki taraf dekha, aur us ki aankhon mein wohi gehri baat thi. “Bas ek guzarish hai.”
“Kya?”
“Jab tak yahan ho, mujhse mat bhago. Main wada karta hoon — na koi parchi, na koi parcel, na koi baat jo tumhein takleef de. Bas… bas mujhe tumhein dekhne do. Hansne do. Yeh buddha aur kuchh nahi maangta.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. “Aap aisa kyun kehte hain? Aap jante hain ke… ke main…”
“Ke tum kya?” Iqbal ne narm awaaz mein poocha.
“Ke main bhi…” Noreen ruk gayi. Us ne apne aansu ponchhe. “Kuchh nahi. Main chalti hoon.”
Woh uth kar jaane lagi, magar Iqbal ne us ka haath pakar liya — sirf ek lamhe ke liye, sirf kalai par ungliyon ka halka sa dabao. “Noreen,” us ne kaha, “tum jhoot bol rahi ho. Apne aap se bhi, mujhse bhi. Aur jhoot bolne wali tum nahi ho.”
Noreen ne apna haath chhura liya aur bhag gayi. Apne kamre mein aakar us ne darwaza band kiya aur bistar par gir pari. Us ka dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha. Haath ki kalai par ab bhi us ke chhune ka ehsaas tha — garm, narm, sacha.
Us raat us ne Sajid ko phir phone kiya. Is baar us ne uthaya. “Haan Noreen? Sab theek?”
“Sajid, tum kab aaoge?”
“Yaar, maine bataya to tha — project phansa hua hai. Shayad agle mahine.”
“Agle mahine?” Noreen ki awaaz bhar aayi. “Sajid, chaar mahine ho gaye. Main yahan akeli…”
“Akeli kahan, abba ji to hain.” Sajid ki awaaz mein bezaari thi. “Dekho Noreen, main kaam mein phansa hoon. Tum samajhdar ho. Thoda sabar karo.”
“Sabar?” Noreen ne kaha. “Sabar ki bhi had hoti hai, Sajid.”
“Achha baba, gussa kyun hoti ho? Main koshish karta hoon jaldi aane ki. Abhi rakhta hoon — client ka phone aa raha hai.”
Phone kat gaya. Noreen ne mobile ko dekha, phir use bistar par phenk diya. Us ki aankhon se aansu beh rahe the — gusse ke, dukh ke, tanhayi ke. Chaar mahine. Chaar mahine mein us ke shohar ne use ek baar bhi nahi poocha ke tum khush ho? Tumhein kya chahiye? Aur doosri taraf… doosri taraf ek shakhs tha jo us ki har pasand jaanta tha, har khwahish ka khayal rakhta tha, bina kahe, bina maange.
“Yeh imtihaan hai,” Noreen ne apne aap se kaha. “Khuda mujhe aazma raha hai.” Magar dil ne jawab diya — Khuda aazmata hai, saza nahi deta. Aur yeh jo dil mein hai, yeh saza nahi, yeh… yeh kya hai?
Us ne khirki kholi. Baarish ruk gayi thi. Chandni mein waadi chamak rahi thi. Door Iqbal ke kamre ki batti jal rahi thi. Noreen use dekhti rahi, der tak. Phir us ne khirki band ki aur bistar par let gayi. Neend nahi aayi. Aankhon ke saamne wohi chehra tha — safed baal, gehri aankhein, aur woh muskurahat jo sirf us ke liye thi.
Iqbal ne apna wada nibhaya — saamne se woh poori tarah sanjeeda ho gaya. Koi chherkhani nahi, koi sher nahi, koi lambi nazar nahi. Bas subah ki chai, dopahar ka khana, shaam ka haal poochna — ek zimmedaar sasur jaisa. Magar parchiyan aana band nahi hui. Har subah mez par ek nayi parchi hoti: “Aaj baarish kam hogi.” “Rahim ne tumhare liye gajar ka halwa banaya hai.” “Waadi mein dhanak nikli hai, khirki se dekho.” Aur har parchi ke neeche wahi do lafz: “Ek dost.”
Noreen samajh gayi thi ke yeh do zindagiyan hain — ek saamne wali, jahan woh sasur tha aur woh bahu; aur ek parchi wali, jahan woh dost tha aur woh… woh kya thi? Us ne khud se yeh sawal kai baar poocha, magar jawab dene ki himmat nahi hui.
Phir ek din teesra parcel aaya. Is baar andar ek rumal tha — safed malmal ka, kinaron par bareek kaarh, aur ek kone mein us ke naam ka pehla harf “N” kadha hua, itni nafasat se ke dekhne wala dekhta reh jaye. Parchi par likha tha: “Tumhare aansuon ke liye. Ab inhein chhupane ki zaroorat nahi. — Ek dost.”
Noreen ne rumal ko haathon mein liya. Kaarh dekh kar us ki saansein ruk gayin — yeh wohi kaarh thi jo cottage ke purane mezposhon par thi, jo Razia ne apne haathon se banaye the. Wahi tanke, wahi nafasat. Kis ne seekhi thi yeh kaarh? Kis ke paas tha yeh hunar?
Us shaam Noreen ne Rahim se poocha, “Chacha, yeh mezposh kis ne banaye the?”
“Razia bibi ne, apne haathon se. Sahab kehte the ke un ke haathon mein jadu tha.” Rahim ne rumal dekha to us ki aankhein phail gayin. “Arre! Yeh tanka to bilkul waisa hi hai! Bibi ji, yeh kahan se aaya?”
“Parcel mein.”
Rahim khamosh ho gaya. Phir us ne dheemi awaaz mein kaha, “Bibi ji, sahab ne Razia bibi ke inteqal ke baad un ka kaarh ka sandooq sambhal kar rakha tha. Kehte the — jis din koi is hunar ki qadar karega, us din yeh sandooq khulega.” Us ne Noreen ko dekha. “Lagta hai woh din aa gaya.”
Noreen ke haath kaanpne lage. Woh storeroom ki taraf gayi — pichhle hisse mein, jahan purana samaan rakha tha. Darwaza khula tha. Andar dhul mitti mein lipti yaadein theen — purane bartan, toote hue khilone, aur ek kone mein lakri ka sandooq. Noreen ne use khola. Andar kaarh ka saara samaan tha — sui dhage, namoone, aur adhoore rumal. Ek rumal par “N” harf aadha kadha hua tha — bilkul waisa hi jaisa usay parcel mein mila tha.
Us ke peeche se awaaz aayi, “Tumhein yahan nahi aana chahiye tha.”
Noreen chaunk kar muri. Iqbal darwaze mein khara tha. Us ke chehre par sharmindagi thi — pakre jaane ki sharmindagi.
“Yeh sab… aap ne kiya?” Noreen ne rumal uthaya. “Shawl, kitab, parchiyan — sab aap the?”
Iqbal andar aaya aur darwaza band kar diya. “Haan,” us ne kaha. Seedha, saaf, bina ghoome. “Sab main tha.”
“Kyun?” Noreen ki awaaz buland ho gayi. “Kyun kiya aap ne yeh sab? Aap jante hain ke main… ke hum…”
“Kyunki main tumse mohabbat karta hoon, Noreen.” Iqbal ki awaaz toot rahi thi magar mazboot thi. “Haan, main tumhara sasur hoon. Haan, tum mere bete ki biwi ho. Aur haan, main janta hoon ke yeh duniya ki nazar mein gunaah hai. Magar maine yeh mohabbat chuni nahi — yeh mujh par naazil hui hai, baarish ki tarah. Roki nahi jaati.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. “Aap ne mujhe dhoka diya. Dost ban kar…”
“Nahi,” Iqbal ne us ke qareeb aakar kaha — magar chhua nahi. “Dost ban kar maine tumhein woh diya jo main sasur ban kar nahi de sakta tha. Ek dost tumse pooch sakta hai ke tum khush ho? Ek dost tumhein phool de sakta hai. Sasur to bas hukam de sakta hai.” Us ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Main ne zindagi mein sirf ek aurat se mohabbat ki thi — Razia se. Us ke baad maine socha tha ke dil mar gaya hai. Phir tum aayi. Aur tum ne use phir se dhadkana sikha diya.”
“Abba ji, main Sajid ki…”
“Janta hoon,” Iqbal ne us ki baat kaati. “Aur main tumse kuchh nahi maangta, Noreen. Na tumhara haath, na tumhara saath, na tumhara wada. Bas itna ke jab main mar jaun to meri qabr par ek neela phool rakh dena. Taake Khuda ko pata chale ke koi tha jo mujhse mohabbat karta tha.”
Woh mur kar jaane laga. Noreen ne use jaate hue dekha — jhuke hue kandhe, dheeme qadam, haara hua shakhs. Aur us lamhe us ke dil mein kuchh toot gaya. Woh daudi aur us ka haath pakar liya.
“Rukiye.”
Iqbal ruka, magar mura nahi.
“Aap haar kyun maan rahe hain?” Noreen ki awaaz kaanp rahi thi. “Aap ne to kaha tha ke mohabbat mein naraazgi nahi hoti. To haar kaisi?”
Iqbal dheere se mura. Us ki aankhon mein aansu the. “Tum kya keh rahi ho, Noreen?”
“Main yeh keh rahi hoon,” Noreen ne us ka haath apne dono haathon mein liya, “ke aap ne mujhe jeetne ke liye itni mehnat ki — parchiyan, parcel, phool, sher. Aur ab jab main… jab main…” Us ki awaaz toot gayi. “Jab main aap ki taraf ek qadam barha rahi hoon, to aap peeche hat rahe hain?”
Iqbal ne apna haath chhurane ki koshish ki. “Noreen, tum jazbaat mein ho. Kal tumhein pachtawa hoga.”
“Jazbaat?” Noreen ne us ka haath aur kas kar pakra. “Chaar mahine se main akeli hoon, abba ji. Chaar mahine se mera shohar mujhe phone par do minute nahi de sakta. Aur aap… aap ne mujhe har din mehsoos karaya ke main zinda hoon, ke main khubsurat hoon, ke main kisi ke liye ahem hoon.” Us ke aansu beh rahe the. “Yeh jazbaat nahi hain. Yeh chaar mahine ki pyaas hai.”
Iqbal ne usay dekha — gehri, dard bhari nazar se. “Tum jaanti ho ke tum kya maang rahi ho?”
“Main kuchh nahi maang rahi,” Noreen ne kaha. “Main de rahi hoon. Apni marzi se. Apne dil se.” Phir us ne woh alfaz kahe jo us ne kabhi sochay bhi nahi the ke kahegi: “Iqbal… kya aap mujhe apnaoge?”
Khamrashi mein sirf dono ki saansein sunayi de rahi theen. Bahar baarish phir shuru ho gayi thi — dheere dheere, jaise aasmaan bhi sun raha ho.
Storeroom mein khamoshi thi. Bahar baarish ki awaaz, andar do dhadkanein. Noreen ne Iqbal ka haath pakra hua tha, aur Iqbal use dekh raha tha — aise jaise koi khwab dekh raha ho aur dar raha ho ke aankh khul jayegi.
“Noreen,” us ne dheere se kaha, “tumhein ek cheez dikhani hai.”
Us ne sandooq ke neeche se ek purani diary nikali — chamre ki, wohi jaisi us ne baad mein Noreen ko di thi, magar yeh aur purani thi. “Yeh main ne Razia ke inteqal ke baad likhni shuru ki thi,” us ne kaha. “Har raat. Apne dil ki baatein. Taake pagal na ho jaun.”
Us ne diary kholi aur ek safha nikala. “Yeh parho,” us ne kaha. “Us din ka, jab tum pehli baar is ghar mein aayi thi.”
Noreen ne parha — Iqbal ki tehreer, wahi jo parchiyon par thi:
“Aaj Sajid apni dulhan lekar aaya hai. Noreen — chand si larki, aankhon mein khwab, honton par muskurahat. Jab us ne mere paon chhue to mera dil bhar aaya. Razia hoti to kitni khush hoti. Magar… magar mere dil mein ek ajeeb si bechaini hai. Jaise kuchh hone wala hai. Ya Allah, khair karna.”
Noreen ne agla safha parha:
“Teen mahine ho gaye. Sajid wapas chala gaya — kaam, hamesha kaam. Noreen akeli reh gayi hai. Aaj maine use rasoi mein dekha — akeli khana bana rahi thi, gunguna rahi thi. Mera dil chaha ke jaakar kahun — beta, tum akeli nahi ho. Magar keh na saka. Kya haq hai mera?”
Aur phir:
“Baarish ho rahi hai. Noreen apne kamre mein Faiz parh rahi hai. Main baramde mein betha sun raha hoon — us ki awaaz, safhon ki sarsarahat. Razia bhi aise hi parhti thi. Ya Allah, yeh kya ho raha hai mujhe? Main buddha ho gaya hoon. Mujhe aisa nahi sochna chahiye. Magar dil… dil to dil hai.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. Us ne diary band kar di. “Tum ne… tum ne itne din se…”
“Haan,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Itne din se. Magar maine kabhi tumhein mehsoos nahi hone diya. Kyunki main darta tha.” Us ki awaaz toot rahi thi. “Darta tha ke agar tumhein pata chala, to tum mujhse nafrat karo gi. Ke tum Sajid ko bata do gi. Ke yeh ghar toot jayega. Is liye maine dost ka roop dhara — parchiyan, parcel, tohfe. Taake main tumse mohabbat to kar sakun, magar tumhein pata na chale ke kaun kar raha hai.”
“Magar mujhe pata chal gaya,” Noreen ne dheere se kaha.
“Haan,” Iqbal ne muskuraya — dukh bhari muskurahat. “Aur ab tum yahan ho, mera haath pakre, mujhse pooch rahi ho ke kya main tumhein apnaunga.” Us ne gehri saans li. “Noreen, tumhein pata hai ke main kya chahta hoon? Main chahta hoon ke tumhein utha kar is storeroom se bahar le jaun, waadi mein le jaun, aur duniya ko bata dun ke main tumse mohabbat karta hoon. Magar…”
“Magar kya?”
“Magar main tumhara dushman nahi, dost hoon.” Iqbal ne us ke haathon ko apne haathon mein liya. “Aur dost kabhi dost ki zindagi kharab nahi karta. Tum Sajid ki biwi ho. Agar tum aaj jazbaat mein aakar mere paas aayi, aur kal tumhein pachtawa hua — to main apne aap ko kabhi maaf nahi karunga. Is liye…” Us ne apne haath chhuraye — narm, magar faisla kun. “Nahi. Aise nahi.”
Noreen use dekhti rahi. Us ki aankhon mein aansu the, magar us ke chehre par ek nayi samajh bhi thi. “Tum ne mujhe thukraya nahi,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Tum ne mujhe bachaya hai. Apne aap se.”
“Maine tumhein waqt diya hai,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Taake tum apne dil se pooch sako — bina dar ke, bina jazbaat ke. Aur jo jawab aaye, woh tumhara apna ho.”
Woh storeroom se bahar aaye. Baarish tez ho gayi thi. Iqbal apne kamre ki taraf gaya, Noreen apne kamre ki taraf. Magar dono ke dil ek hi jagah the — ek doosre ke paas.
Us raat Noreen ne diary ke woh safhe yaad kiye — har lafz, har dard. Us ne socha — kitna gehra pyaar hai yeh, jo itne din chhupa raha, sirf is liye ke usay takleef na ho. Kitni izzat hai is mein. Kitni qurbani.
“Aisa pyaar,” us ne socha, “duniya mein kahan milta hai? Aur agar mil jaye, to use thukrana… kya yeh gunaah nahi?”
Us ne apna faisla kar liya — poori raat sochne ke baad nahi, usi lamhe. Magar us ne Iqbal ki baat maani — us ne poori raat socha, taake subah jab woh us ke paas jaye, to us ke dil mein koi shak na ho. Koi hichkichahat na ho. Sirf mohabbat ho — poori, sachi, apni.
Iqbal ne apna haath us ke haathon se nikaal liya — narm, magar faisla kun. “Nahi,” us ne kaha.
Noreen jaise pathar ki ho gayi. “Kya?”
“Nahi, Noreen. Aise nahi.” Iqbal ki awaaz mein dard tha magar pakka irada bhi. “Tum tanhayi mein ho. Tum dukhi ho. Tumhein lagta hai ke main tumhara sahara hoon. Magar main tumhari kamzori ka faida nahi uthana chahta. Agar tum kal subah uth kar apne aap se nafrat karo, to main khud ko kabhi maaf nahi kar sakunga.”
“Magar main…”
“Sunno.” Iqbal ne us ke kandhon par haath rakhe — sirf kandhon par, izzat ke daayre mein. “Main tumse mohabbat karta hoon. Itni ke tumhari khushi ke liye apni khushi qurban kar sakta hoon. Aur tumhari khushi is mein nahi ke tum jazbaat mein aakar koi aisa qadam uthao jo tumhein zindagi bhar rulaye.” Us ne gehri saans li. “Jao, apne kamre mein jao. Socho. Poori raat socho. Agar subah bhi tumhara dil wahi kahe jo ab keh raha hai — to aana. Main intezaar karunga. Magar aana apni marzi se, poori tarah tayyar hokar, bina kisi sharam, bina kisi dar ke.”
Noreen use dekhti rahi. Us ki aankhon mein aansu the magar chehre par ek nayi roshni bhi. “Aap… aap ne mujhe thukra diya?”
“Maine tumhein waqt diya hai,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Mohabbat jaldi mein nahi, thehrao mein parwaz karti hai.”
Woh chala gaya. Noreen storeroom mein akeli khari rahi, haathon mein woh aadha kadha rumal. Us ke dil mein toofan tha — magar ab woh toofan dar ka nahi, soch ka tha. Iqbal ne use thukraya nahi tha. Us ne use izzat di thi — woh izzat jo us ne kabhi kisi mard se nahi payi thi. Sajid ne to use kabhi itna bhi nahi samjha tha ke pooche — tum kya chahti ho?
Woh apne kamre mein aayi aur bistar par let gayi. Baarish khirki par baj rahi thi. Us ne socha — apni ammi ke baare mein, jo kehti theen ke aurat ki izzat shohar ke naam mein hai. Us ne socha Sajid ke baare mein — acha aadmi, magar door, bohat door. Us ne socha Iqbal ke baare mein — us ki parchiyan, us ke phool, us ki shawl, us ki kitab. Us ne socha us lamhe ke baare mein jab us ne pehli baar use “Noreen” kaha tha, “beta” nahi.
Aur phir us ne apne dil se poocha — tum kya chahti ho? Dil ne jawab diya — main chahti hoon ke koi mujhe dekhe. Asal mein dekhe. Na bahu ki tarah, na biwi ki tarah — ek aurat ki tarah.
Raat bhar woh sochti rahi. Woh raat Noreen ki zindagi ki sab se lambi raat thi. Iqbal ke jaane ke baad woh bistar par leti rahi, chhat ko dekhti hui. Us ke kaanon mein us ki awaaz goonj rahi thi — “Jao, apne kamre mein jao. Socho. Poori raat socho.”
Us ne socha. Khuda gawah hai, us ne socha.
Pehle us ne apni ammi ko yaad kiya — un ki naseehatein, un ke usool, un ka woh jumla jo us ke zehan mein naqsh tha: “Aurat ki izzat us ke shohar ke naam mein hai.” Phir us ne apne abbu ko yaad kiya — narm mizaaj, kitab dost, jo kehte the — “Beti, dil ki sunna, magar aql ko saath rakhna.” Phir us ne Sajid ko yaad kiya — us ki shaadi wali raat, us ka woh vaada jo us ne kiya tha: “Main tumhein khush rakhunga.” Aur phir us ne woh chaar mahine yaad kiye — khaali kamra, khaali bistar, khaali phone.
Aur phir us ne Iqbal ko yaad kiya. Pehli mulaqat — shaadi wale din, jab us ne us ke sar par haath rakha tha aur kaha tha — “Beta, yeh ghar tumhara hai.” Phir woh raat — chhat tapak rahi thi, aur woh darwaze par khara tha, fikr se bhara. Phir parchiyan. Shawl. Kitab. Phool. Jhumke. Rumal. Har cheez, har lamha, har nazar.
Us ne apne dil se poocha — tum kya chahti ho? Aur dil ne jawab diya — main izzat chahti hoon. Woh izzat jo Iqbal ne mujhe di hai — har parchi mein, har tohfe mein, har nazar mein. Sajid ne mujhe biwi banaya, magar Iqbal ne mujhe aurat banaya — aisi aurat jo mehsoos karti hai, jo chahti hai, jo zinda hai.
Phir us ne apni aql se poocha — kya yeh theek hai? Aur aql ne jawab diya — duniya ke usoolon se nahi. Magar dil ke usoolon se? Dil ke usoolon se to yeh sab se sachhi cheez hai jo tumhare saath hui hai.
Us ne uth kar wuzu kiya aur jaa namaz bichhayi. Tahajjud ka waqt tha. Us ne namaz parhi — dheere dheere, har lafz ko mehsoos kar ke. Phir us ne dua maangi — aisi dua jo us ne kabhi nahi maangi thi.
“Ya Allah,” us ne kaha, aansu bahate hue, “Tu dilon ka haal jaanta hai. Tu jaanta hai ke main kya mehsoos karti hoon. Tu jaanta hai ke main ne kabhi gunaah ka irada nahi kiya. Magar aaj mera dil kisi aur ka ho gaya hai. Kya yeh gunaah hai? Kya mohabbat gunaah ho sakti hai?”
Usay koi jawab nahi aaya — magar us ke dil mein ek sukoon utra, jaise kisi ne us ke sar par haath rakha ho. Us ne apni aankhein kholin aur khirki se bahar dekha. Baarish ruk gayi thi. Badalon ke peeche se chand nikla tha. Aur us chandni mein usay apna jawab mil gaya.
Mohabbat gunaah nahi hoti. Gunaah to bewafai hoti hai — dil ki bewafai. Aur us ka dil to ab Iqbal ka tha. Sajid se bewafai? Haan, duniya yahi kahegi. Magar kya Sajid ne us se wafaa ki thi? Kya us ne us ka dil rakha tha? Kya us ne usay woh diya tha jo ek biwi ka haq hai — waqt, tawajju, mohabbat?
Noreen ne apne aansu ponchhe aur uth khari hui. Us ne apna sab se acha jora nikala — gehra neela, jo Iqbal ko pasand tha. Us ne use bistar par rakha. Phir us ne shawl nikali — wohi shawl — aur use bhi rakha. Phir kitab, phir rumal, phir jhumke. Saare tohfe, saari nishaniyan — sab us ke saamne theen.
“Dekho,” us ne un se kaha, jaise woh zinda hon, “tum sab gawah ho. Ke kisi ne mujhse mohabbat ki hai. Sachi mohabbat. Aur main ne use qabool kiya hai.”
Us ne khirki kholi. Thandi hawa andar aayi. Door Iqbal ke kamre ki batti ab bhi jal rahi thi. “Tum bhi jaag rahe ho,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Tum bhi soch rahe ho. Kal subah… kal subah sab kuchh badal jayega.”
Woh bistar par let gayi. Neend nahi aayi — magar bechaini bhi nahi thi. Bas ek intezaar tha — subah ka intezaar. Us ne apni aankhein band keen aur Iqbal ka chehra dekha — muskurata hua, ummeed bhara. “Main aa rahi hoon,” us ne kaha. “Apni marzi se. Poore dil se.”
Bahar kahin murgh ne baang di. Subah hone wali thi. Noreen uth bethi. Us ka dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha — magar is baar dar se nahi, khushi se. Us ne nahane ka irada kiya, tayyar hone ka irada kiya, aur phir… phir us manzil ki taraf qadam barhane ka irada kiya jo us ka dil chun chuka tha.
Subah jab aankh khuli to baarish ruk chuki thi aur dhoop nikli thi — aisi dhoop jo baarish ke baad nikalti hai, dhuli hui, narm, ummeed bhari. Noreen uthi, nahayi, aur apne sab se ache kapre pehne — gehre neele rang ka jora, wahi shawl jo parcel mein aayi thi. Us ne aayine mein apna chehra dekha. Aankhein surkh theen magar chamak rahi theen. Us ne apne baal sanware, aur phir — pehli baar — apne honton par halki si surkhi lagayi.
Woh baramde mein aayi. Iqbal wahan tha, chai pi raha tha. Us ne Noreen ko dekha to pyaali us ke haath mein ruk gayi.
“Tum…” us ki awaaz kaanp rahi thi.
“Main aa gayi,” Noreen ne kaha. Woh us ke saamne aakar khari ho gayi. “Poori raat socha, Iqbal. Aur mera dil ab bhi wahi kehta hai.” Us ne us ka naam liya tha — pehli baar, bina “abba ji” ke. “Main tumse mohabbat karti hoon. Na tanhayi mein, na jazbaat mein — poore hosh mein, poore dil se. Kya tum mujhe apnaoge?”
Iqbal utha. Us ki aankhon mein aansu the. “Kya tumhein yaqeen hai? Poora yaqeen? Kyunki is ke baad…”
“Is ke baad jo bhi ho, meri zimmedari,” Noreen ne kaha. “Main koi bachi nahi hoon. Main jaanti hoon ke main kya kar rahi hoon. Aur main chahti hoon — main dil se chahti hoon — ke tum mujhe apnao.”
Iqbal ne apne haath barhaye, phir ruk gaya. “Ek baar phir soch lo.”
Noreen ne us ke haath apne haathon mein liye aur unhein apne gaalon par rakha. “Soch liya. Ab aur mat sochne do.”
Us lamhe waadi mein dhoop aur tez ho gayi, jaise aasmaan ne bhi apni raza de di ho. Iqbal ne Noreen ko apne seene se lagaya — dheere se, ehtiyaat se, jaise woh koi naazuk khwab ho jo toot sakta hai. Noreen ne apna sar us ke seene par rakha aur us ke dil ki dhadkan suni — tez, zinda, sachi.
“Razia ke baad maine socha tha ke main phir kabhi…” Iqbal ki awaaz bhar aayi.
“Main Razia nahi hoon,” Noreen ne dheere se kaha. “Aur tumhein usay bhoolne ki zaroorat nahi. Main bas… main bas tumhare dil mein apni jagah chahti hoon. Chhoti si, magar apni.”
Iqbal ne us ke maathe par bos diya — pehla bos, paak, narm, izzat bhara. Noreen ne aankhein band kar leen. Us ke dil mein jo dar tha, woh pighal gaya. Jo sharam thi, woh garmi ban gayi. Jo sawal the, un ke jawab mil gaye — bina lafzon ke.
Us din woh dono waadi mein gaye — haath mein haath daale nahi, magar dil mein dil daale. Baarish nahi thi, dhoop thi, aur dhanak thi. Iqbal ne use woh jagah dikhayi jahan woh Razia ko laya karta tha. Noreen ne wahan ek neela phool tora aur Iqbal ko diya. “Ab yeh hamari jagah hai,” us ne kaha.
Shaam ko jab woh laute to Rahim ne unhein dekha aur muskuraya — buddhe ki samajhdaar muskurahat. Us ne kuchh nahi kaha. Bas khana lagaya aur chala gaya.
Us din subah nashtay ke baad Iqbal ne kaha, “Aaj main tumhein ek khaas jagah le chalta hoon.”
“Kahan?”
“Wahan jahan Kunhar darya sab se khubsurat lagta hai. Razia kehti thi ke wahan jaakar insaan apne gham bhool jata hai.”
Woh dono nikle — is baar paidal nahi, Iqbal ki purani jeep mein. Rasta darya ke saath saath tha. Paani itna saaf tha ke pathar nazar aa rahe the. Kabhi kabhi darya zor se behta, jhaag banata, phir dheema ho jata — jaise saans le raha ho.
“Kunhar ko dekho,” Iqbal ne kaha, jeep chalate hue. “Yeh darya kabhi nahi rukta. Sardiyon mein jam jata hai, garmiyon mein toofan ban jata hai, magar rukta nahi. Zindagi bhi aisi hi honi chahiye, Noreen. Rukna nahi chahiye.”
“Aur mohabbat?” Noreen ne poocha.
“Mohabbat?” Iqbal ne muskuraya. “Mohabbat to is darya ki tarah hai — jab aati hai to sab kuchh baha le jaati hai. Roke nahi rukti.”
Woh ek khule maidan mein ruke jahan darya murta tha. Iqbal ne dari bichhayi, tokri kholi — Rahim ne khana bandha tha: parathe, kebab, meetha. “Aaj ka din hamara hai,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Koi fikr nahi, koi duniya nahi. Bas hum, aur yeh darya.”
Woh dono khana khaate rahe, baatein karte rahe. Iqbal ne apni jawani ke qisse sunaye — kaise woh Mansehra mein kaam karta tha, kaise us ne Razia ko pehli baar dekha tha — ek shaadi mein, neele jore mein. “Main ne usi din faisla kar liya tha ke isi se shaadi karunga,” Iqbal ne kaha, aankhein chamakti hui. “Mere abbu ne kaha — ‘Larki walon se baat kar, dekh kya kehte hain.’ Main ne kaha — ‘Abbu, aap baat karein, magar jawab haan hi hoga.'”
Noreen hans pari. “Itna yaqeen?”
“Mohabbat mein yaqeen hi sab kuchh hota hai, Noreen.” Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha. “Jaise mujhe yaqeen tha ke tum ao gi. Us raat jab maine tumhein sochne ko kaha tha, to mujhe yaqeen tha ke subah tum ao gi.”
“Tumhein kaise pata tha?”
“Kyunki maine tumhari aankhon mein dekha tha,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Wohi chamak jo Razia ki aankhon mein thi jab us ne mujhe pehli baar dekha tha. Woh chamak jhooti nahi hoti.”
Khane ke baad woh darya ke kinare bethe. Iqbal ne apne jootay utaare aur paon paani mein daale. “Aao,” us ne kaha. Noreen ne bhi apne jootay utaare. Paani barf jaisa thanda tha. Noreen cheekh pari. “Itna thanda!”
Iqbal hansa — khul kar, dil se. “Pahari darya hai, bibi. Thanda to hoga.” Us ne paani uchhala Noreen par. Noreen ne bhi uchhala. Dono hansne lage — bachchon ki tarah, befikr, khush.
Phir Iqbal ne ek pathar uthaya aur darya mein phenka. “Dekho,” us ne kaha, “pathar doob gaya. Magar lehrein ban gayin. Zindagi mein kuchh kaam aise hote hain — khud mit jaate hain, magar asar chhor jaate hain.”
“Jaise?” Noreen ne poocha.
“Jaise Razia ka pyaar. Woh chali gayi, magar us ka asar…” Iqbal ne Noreen ka haath pakra. “Us ka asar tum ho. Us ne mujhe mohabbat karna sikhaya tha. Aur aaj wohi mohabbat main tumhein de raha hoon.”
Noreen ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Tum ne mujhe sab kuchh de diya, Iqbal. Ab mere paas dene ko kuchh nahi bacha.”
“Tum ne mujhe zindagi di hai,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Is se bara tohfa kya ho sakta hai?”
Shaam ko jab woh laute to aasmaan mein dhanak nikli thi — poori, saat rangon wali. Noreen ne use dekha aur kaha, “Dekho, Khuda ne bhi apni raza de di.”
Iqbal ne us ka haath chuma. “Khuda bara meherban hai, Noreen. Us ne mujhe tum di hain.”
Ghar pahunch kar Noreen ne apne kamre mein jaakar diary nikali — nahi, diary to abhi us ke paas nahi thi. Us ne ek kaghaz nikala aur likha: “Aaj ka din — darya, dhanak, aur Iqbal. Main ne aaj pehli baar mehsoos kiya ke zindagi kitni khubsurat ho sakti hai. Ya Allah, is khushi ko meri zindagi mein qaim rakh.”
Us ne kaghaz ko mor kar takiye ke neeche rakha. Bahar baarish phir shuru ho gayi thi — halki, narm. Noreen ne khirki se dekha aur muskurayi. “Barso,” us ne kaha. “Aaj tumhari baarish bhi khushi lag rahi hai.”
Raat ko khane ke baad Iqbal ne Noreen se kaha, “Baramde mein aao. Aaj chand nikla hai.”
Woh dono baramde mein bethe. Chandni mein waadi doodh ki tarah beh rahi thi. Deodar ke saye lambe ho gaye the. Hawa mein raat ki rani ki khushboo thi — Iqbal ne barson pehle lagayi thi, Razia ke liye. Aaj woh khushboo Noreen ke liye mehki.
“Noreen,” Iqbal ne dheere se kaha, “main tumse ek baat poochna chahta hoon. Aur tumhein sach sach jawab dena hai.”
“Poochho.”
“Kya tum khush ho? Abhi, is lamhe — kya tumhein koi dar, koi pachtawa, koi sharam mehsoos ho rahi hai?”
Noreen ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. Chandni mein woh aankhein samandar ki tarah gehri lag rahi theen. “Dar tha,” us ne kaha. “Sharam thi. Pachtawe ka khayal bhi aaya tha. Magar ab…” Us ne us ka haath apne haath mein liya. “Ab sirf sukoon hai. Aisa sukoon jo maine chaar mahine mein ek baar bhi mehsoos nahi kiya.”
Iqbal ne us ke haath ko apne honton se lagaya. “To phir aao,” us ne kaha. “Aaj ki raat hamari hai.”
Woh use apne kamre mein le gaya — nahi, apne kamre mein nahi, us kamre mein jahan Noreen reh rahi thi, taake use ajnabiyat mehsoos na ho. Kamre mein mombatti jal rahi thi — Iqbal ne pehle se jala rakhi thi, jaise use yaqeen tha. Khirki se chandni andar aa rahi thi, aur baarish ki halki awaaz door se aa rahi thi — narm, taal par, jaise koi geet.
Iqbal ne darwaza band kiya aur Noreen ki taraf mura. “Aakhri baar pooch raha hoon,” us ne kaha, us ki aankhon mein dekhte hue. “Agar tumhein zara bhi shak ho, zara bhi hichkichahat ho — to keh do. Main foran chala jaunga, aur kal subah hum aise rahenge jaise kuchh hua hi nahi.”
Noreen ne us ke chehre ko apne haathon mein liya. “Iqbal,” us ne kaha, us ka naam lete hue us ki awaaz mein jo narmi thi, woh Iqbal ne kabhi nahi suni thi, “main ne tumhein chuna hai. Apni marzi se. Apne dil se. Ab tum mujhe chuno.”
Iqbal ki aankhein bhar aayin. Us ne Noreen ko apni baahon mein liya — aur is baar woh ehtiyaat nahi thi jo pehle thi. Is baar mohabbat thi, poori, bebaak, sachi. Us ne us ke maathe par, us ki aankhon par, us ke gaalon par bos diye — har bos mein barson ki pyaas, barson ka intezaar, barson ki tanhayi ghuli hui thi.
Noreen ne apni shawl utaar di — wahi shawl jo us ne bheji thi. Iqbal ne use dekha — chandni mein us ka chehra, us ki aankhein, us ki muskurahat. “Tum bohat khubsurat ho,” us ne kaha, aur us ki awaaz mein woh hairat thi jo pehli mohabbat mein hoti hai.
“Aur tum bohat ache ho,” Noreen ne kaha. Us ne Iqbal ke safed baalon mein ungliyan pherein. “Pata hai, jab main pehli baar tumhein dekha tha, to mujhe laga tha ke tum bohat sakht ho. Magar phir maine dekha ke tumhare haath kaanpte hain jab tum chai ki pyaali pakarte ho — mohabbat se, fikr se.”
Woh dono bistar par bethe. Iqbal ne Noreen ka dupatta aahista se us ke kandhon se sarakaya — izzat se, ijazat se. Noreen ne us ka haath pakar liya aur use apne dil par rakha. “Mehsoos karo,” us ne kaha. “Yeh sirf tumhare liye dhadakta hai.”
Us raat waqt tham gaya. Chandni khirki se andar aati rahi, mombatti ki lau kaanpti rahi, aur bahar baarish narm taal par bajti rahi. Do tanha dilon ne ek doosre mein panaah payi — na jaldi thi, na sharam, na dar. Sirf mohabbat thi, aur woh narmi jo sachi mohabbat mein hoti hai. Iqbal ne har lamhe mein Noreen ki raza dekhi — us ki aankhon mein, us ki muskurahat mein, us ke haathon mein jo usay apne aur qareeb kheench rahe the. Aur Noreen ne har lamhe mein Iqbal ki izzat dekhi — us ke chhune mein, us ke lafzon mein, us ki khamoshi mein.
Jab sab kuchh tham gaya to Noreen Iqbal ke seene par sar rakh kar let gayi. Us ki ungliyan us ke safed baalon mein theen. “Tumhein pata hai,” us ne dheere se kaha, “main ne kabhi socha nahi tha ke khushi itni khamosh hoti hai.”
“Khushi shor nahi karti, Noreen,” Iqbal ne kaha, us ke baalon mein haath pherte hue. “Shor to gham karta hai. Khushi to bas… hoti hai.”
“To phir hum khush hain?”
“Hum khush hain,” Iqbal ne kaha, aur us ki awaaz mein woh yaqeen tha jo barson ke intezaar ke baad milta hai.
Noreen ne aankhein band kar leen. Us ke dil mein koi bojh nahi tha. Koi gunaah ka ehsaas nahi tha. Sirf ek gehri, narm khushi thi — jaise baarish ke baad mitti ki khushboo. Us ne socha Sajid ke baare mein — ek lamhe ke liye. Phir us ne socha ke Sajid ne use kabhi yeh sukoon nahi diya tha. Aur us ne apne dil se wada kiya ke woh is khushi ko gunaah nahi samjhegi. Yeh us ka haq tha — jeene ka, mehsoos karne ka, mohabbat karne ka.
Us raat Noreen ki aankh fajr se pehle khul gayi. Kamre mein andhera tha, magar khirki se halki si roshni aa rahi thi — subah hone wali thi. Us ne apne pehlu mein dekha — Iqbal so raha tha, gehra, sukoon bhara. Us ke chehre par woh thehrao tha jo Noreen ne pehle kabhi nahi dekha tha — jaise barson ka bojh utar gaya ho.
Noreen use dekhti rahi. Safed baal bikhre hue, maathe par halki si shikan, honton par halki si muskurahat — khwab mein bhi khush. Us ne apni ungli se us ke baalon ko chhua — aahista, taake neend na toote. “So jao,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Tum ne bohat intezaar kiya hai. Ab aaram karo.”
Woh uthi aur khirki ke paas gayi. Bahar waadi abhi so rahi thi. Dhund deodar ke darmiyaan tair rahi thi. Door kahin murgh ne baang di. Noreen ne apne dono haath uthaye aur dua maangi — dil se, ro ro kar nahi, muskurakar.
“Ya Allah, Tu ne mujhe aaj ki raat di. Main ne kabhi itna sukoon mehsoos nahi kiya. Main jaanti hoon ke duniya isay gunaah kahegi. Magar Tu to dilon ka haal jaanta hai. Tu jaanta hai ke main ne kisi ka dil nahi dukhaya. Tu jaanta hai ke main ne sirf mohabbat ki hai. Bas meri itni dua qabool kar — ke yeh sukoon meri zindagi mein qaim rahe.”
Us ne apne aansu ponchhe — khushi ke aansu — aur palat kar dekha. Iqbal jaag gaya tha. Woh use dekh raha tha — narm nazron se.
“Tum ro rahi ho?” us ne poocha.
“Khushi mein,” Noreen ne kaha, us ke paas aakar beth gayi. “Tumhein dekh kar. Itne sukoon mein soye hue.”
Iqbal ne us ka haath pakra. “Chhe saal mein pehli baar main bina dar ke soya hoon, Noreen. Pehle har raat dar lagta tha — ke subah hogi aur phir wahi tanhayi hogi. Aaj…” Us ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. “Aaj mujhe subah ka intezaar tha. Kyunki subah tum hogi.”
Noreen ne us ke seene par sar rakha. “Aur mujhe bhi. Pehli baar mujhe subah ka intezaar tha.”
Woh dono der tak aise hi rahe — khirki se aati halki roshni mein, ek doosre ki baahon mein. Bahar waadi jaag rahi thi — parinde bolne lage, hawa chalne lagi, aur door darya ka shor tez ho gaya. Nayi subah, nayi zindagi.
“Aaj ka din kaisa hoga?” Noreen ne poocha.
“Khubsurat,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Kyunki tum ho.”
“Bas?”
“Bas.” Iqbal ne us ke maathe par bos diya. “Mohabbat mein ‘bas’ hi sab kuchh hota hai, Noreen. Baaki sab fazool hai.”
Noreen hans pari. “Tum philosopher ho gaye ho.”
“Tumhare saath reh kar,” Iqbal ne kaha, “insaan kuchh bhi ban sakta hai.”
Woh dono uthe, tayyar hue. Noreen ne wohi neela jora pehna — jo us ne us raat ke liye chuna tha. Iqbal ne use dekha aur kaha, “Tum aaj aur bhi khubsurat lag rahi ho.”
“Roz kaho ge?”
“Roz.” Iqbal ne us ka haath pakra. “Zindagi bhar.”
Baramde mein chai pi kar woh dono waadi ki taraf nikal gaye — subah ki sair. Hawa thandi thi, dhoop narm thi, aur raste mein phool khile the. Noreen ne ek neela phool tora aur Iqbal ke coat mein laga diya. “Aaj se yeh tumhara nishaan hai,” us ne kaha.
“Aur tumhara?” Iqbal ne poocha.
Noreen ne us ka haath apne haath mein liya aur use apne dil par rakha. “Yeh. Hamesha ke liye.”
Raste mein unhein Bashir mila — daak baant-ta hua. Us ne un dono ko dekha — haath mein haath — aur muskuraya. “Subah bakhair!” us ne kaha, aur aankh maari. “Aaj to chehre khile hue hain.”
“Daak mein kuchh hai?” Iqbal ne poocha, baat badalte hue.
“Bas ek khat — Lahore se. Sajid baba ka.” Bashir ne lifafa Noreen ko diya. “Lagta hai unhein tumhari yaad aa gayi.”
Noreen ne lifafa liya. Us ke dil mein ek ajeeb si bechaini utri. Us ne lifafa khola — andar chhota sa khat tha: “Noreen, kaam khatm hone wala hai. Bas kuchh din aur. Tum apna khayal rakhna. — Sajid.”
Bas itna. Kuchh din aur. Noreen ne khat ko mor kar jeb mein rakha. Iqbal ne us ke chehre ko dekha. “Kya likha hai?”
“Kuchh din aur,” Noreen ne kaha. “Hamesha ki tarah.”
Iqbal ne us ka haath dabya. “Koi baat nahi. Hum hain na.”
“Haan,” Noreen ne kaha, aur muskurayi — sachi muskurahat. “Hum hain.”
Woh dono aage barh gaye — darya ki taraf, dhoop ki taraf, zindagi ki taraf. Peeche Bashir unhein dekhta raha aur apne dil mein kaha — “Khuda inhein khush rakhe. Inhein is khushi ka haq hai.”
Subah jab aankh khuli to dhoop khirki se andar aa rahi thi. Iqbal jaag raha tha, use dekh raha tha. “Subah bakhair,” us ne kaha.
“Subah bakhair,” Noreen ne muskurakar kaha. Us ne chadar ko apne gird lapeta aur uth baithi. “Chai?”
“Main banata hoon,” Iqbal ne kaha, aur uth kar kurta pehna. “Aaj se tum aaram karo gi. Main tumhari khidmat karunga.”
Noreen hans pari. “Acha? Aur kal se?”
“Kal se bhi. Aur us ke agle din bhi. Jab tak saans hai.”
Chai pi kar woh dono baramde mein bethe. Waadi dhoop mein nahayi hui thi. Door kahin koyal kook rahi thi. Noreen ne Iqbal ka haath pakra — khule aam, bina dar ke. Rahim ne dekha to muskuraya aur apna kaam karta raha.
“Abba ji… ” Noreen ruk gayi. “Nahi. Ab main tumhein abba ji nahi kahungi.”
“To kya kahogi?”
“Iqbal,” us ne kaha, aur us ka naam us ki zubaan par shehad ki tarah meetha laga. “Mere Iqbal.”
Iqbal ki aankhein bhar aayin. Us ne us ke haath ko chuma. “Aur tum meri Noreen. Sirf meri.”
Us shaam jab woh darya se laute to bijli gayi hui thi — toofan ne kahin taar gira diye the. Poora cottage andhere mein tha. Rahim ne laalten jala di thi — teen chaar, har kamre mein ek. Khana thanda ho gaya tha.
“Koi baat nahi,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Aaj hum khud khana banayenge.”
Noreen hairan hui. “Aap ko khana banana aata hai?”
“Razia ne sikhaya tha,” Iqbal ne muskurakar kaha. “Kehti thi — mard ko bhi khana banana aana chahiye, taake biwi beemar ho to bhooka na mare.” Us ki awaaz mein halki si udaasi thi, magar muskurahat qaim thi. “Aao, aaj hum dono mil kar banayenge.”
Rasoi mein laalten ki roshni mein woh dono kaam karne lage. Iqbal ne aata goundha — mazboot haathon se, tajurbekar andaaz mein. Noreen ne sabzi kaati. Dono ke darmiyaan khamoshi thi, magar woh khamoshi jo sukoon deti hai.
“Tumhein pata hai,” Iqbal ne kaha, roti belte hue, “Razia ke inteqal ke baad maine pehli baar jab khana banaya tha, to namak ki jagah cheeni daal di thi. Rahim ne khaya aur kuchh nahi kaha. Bas paani pi liya.” Woh hansa. “Bechara, mera dil rakhne ke liye meethi daal pi gaya.”
Noreen hans pari. “Bechare Rahim chacha.”
“Haan. Woh farishta hai.” Iqbal ne roti taway par daali. “Tumhein pata hai, jab tum aayi thi, to Rahim ne mujhse kaha tha — ‘Sahab, ghar mein phir roshni aayi hai.’ Maine poocha — ‘Kaisi roshni?’ Us ne kaha — ‘Bibi ji ki. Un ke aane se ghar ghar lagne laga hai.'”
Noreen ne sabzi kaatna rok diya. “Sach?”
“Rahim kabhi jhoot nahi bolta.” Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha — laalten ki roshni mein us ka chehra sunehra lag raha tha. “Aur woh theek kehta tha. Tumhare aane se pehle yeh ghar… yeh ghar nahi tha. Bas deewarein theen, chhat thi. Tum ne use ghar banaya hai.”
Khana tayyar hua — saada, magar mohabbat se bana hua. Woh dono baramde mein bethe — laalten jal rahi thi, bahar baarish halki ho rahi thi, aur khana garam tha. Iqbal ne Noreen ko apne haathon se niwala khilaya. “Khao,” us ne kaha. “Tum dubli ho gayi ho.”
Noreen ne niwala khaya, phir us ne bhi Iqbal ko khilaya. “Aap bhi,” us ne kaha. “Aap bhi khayal nahi rakhte apna.”
“Ab rakhunga,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Tum jo aa gayi ho.”
Khane ke baad woh dono wahin bethe rahe. Laalten ki lau kaanp rahi thi. Iqbal ne dheemi awaaz mein ek purana geet gungunana shuru kiya — pahari geet, Razia ka pasandeeda. Noreen ne aankhein band kar leen aur suna. Us ki awaaz mein dard tha, magar sukoon bhi tha.
“Tum gaate bhi ho?” Noreen ne poocha.
“Pehle gaata tha. Razia ke liye.” Iqbal ruk gaya. “Phir chhor diya. Aaj… aaj phir dil chaha.”
“To gaao na. Mere liye.”
Iqbal ne phir se gungunana shuru kiya — is baar zor se, khul kar. Noreen ne us ka haath pakra aur us ke kandhe par sar rakh diya. Laalten ki roshni, baarish ki awaaz, aur us ki gungunahat — sab mil kar ek khwab bana rahe the.
“Yeh lamha,” Noreen ne dheere se kaha, “main hamesha yaad rakhungi.”
“Main bhi,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Chahe kal kuchh bhi ho, yeh lamha hamara hai. Koi ise hum se nahi chheen sakta.”
Woh dono der tak bethe rahe — jab tak laalten ka tel khatm nahi ho gaya, jab tak baarish nahi ruk gayi, jab tak chand badalon se nahi nikla. Phir woh apne apne kamron mein gaye — magar is baar darwaze khule rakhe. Kyunki ab koi dar nahi tha. Koi sharam nahi thi. Bas mohabbat thi — khuli, sachi, bebaak.
Magar usi lamhe Noreen ke mobile par ghanti baji. Screen par naam chamka — Sajid. Dono ne ek doosre ko dekha. Khushi ke is jazeere par haqeeqat ki pehli lehar aayi thi.
Noreen ne gehri saans li aur phone uthaya. “Hello?”
“Noreen! Kaisi ho?” Sajid ki awaaz mein khushi thi — aisi khushi jo Noreen ne mahino se nahi suni thi. “Khushkhabri hai — project khatm ho gaya! Main parson Naran aa raha hoon. Do din mein tumhare paas hounga.”
Noreen ke haath se pyaali girte girte bachi. “Parson?”
“Haan. Tum khush nahi ho?”
“Khush… hoon,” Noreen ne kaha, magar us ki awaaz mein woh khushi nahi thi jo honi chahiye thi. “Bohat khush hoon.”
“Achha suno, mujhe packing karni hai. Parson milte hain. Abba ji ko salaam kehna.”
Phone kat gaya. Noreen ne mobile neeche rakha. Iqbal use dekh raha tha — us ki aankhon mein sawal tha, magar zubaan par koi shikayat nahi.
“Woh parson aa raha hai,” Noreen ne dheere se kaha.
Iqbal ne sar hilaya. “Achha hai. Tumhara shohar hai. Use aana chahiye.”
“Tumhein dukh nahi ho raha?”
Iqbal ne us ka haath pakra. “Dukh ho raha hai, Noreen. Magar main ne tumse wada kiya tha — na tumhara haath maangunga, na tumhara saath. Tum jo faisla karo gi, woh tumhara hoga.” Us ki awaaz toot rahi thi magar us ka lehja mazboot tha. “Main ne tumhein mohabbat di hai, qaid nahi.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. “Tum itne ache kyun ho? Tumhein bura hona chahiye tha. Tumhein mujh par chillana chahiye tha, mujhe rokna chahiye tha. Phir shayad… shayad mere liye aasaan hota.”
“Aasaan?” Iqbal ne us ke aansu ponchhe. “Mohabbat mein kuchh aasaan nahi hota, Noreen. Bas sacha hota hai ya jhoota. Hamara sacha hai. Is se aage jo bhi ho, yeh sach nahi badlega.”
Do din. Sirf do din reh gaye the. Noreen ne faisla kiya ke woh in do dinon ko poori tarah jiyegi — bina kal ki fikr, bina aane wale toofan ke dar ke. Woh aur Iqbal waadi mein gaye, darya ke kinare bethe, deodar ke saye mein khana khaya. Iqbal ne use apni jawani ke qisse sunaye — Mansehra ke din, Razia se pehli mulaqat, Sajid ke bachpan ki shararatein. Noreen ne apne bachpan ke qisse sunaye — abbu ki kitabein, ammi ki daant, aur woh khwab jo us ne kabhi poore nahi kiye.
Ek shaam Iqbal ne use cottage ke sab se unche hisse par le gaya — chhat par, jahan se poori waadi nazar aati thi. Suraj doob raha tha, aasmaan neele se sunehri phir gulabi ho raha tha. “Dekho,” Iqbal ne kaha, “yeh waadi roz shaam ko dulhan banti hai.”
“Aur tum?” Noreen ne poocha. “Tum kya bante ho roz shaam ko?”
“Main?” Iqbal ne muskuraya. “Main woh hoon jo dulhan ko dekhta hai — door se, khamoshi se, duaon mein.”
Noreen ne us ka haath pakra. “Ab door se nahi. Paas se.”
Us raat phir baarish hui — halki, narm, jaise aasmaan ro raha ho khushi mein. Woh dono baramde mein bethe rahe, baarish dekhte hue, ek doosre ka haath pakre. Koi baat nahi hui — baat ki zaroorat nahi thi.
Agli subah Noreen ne Iqbal se kaha, “Mujhe tumse ek wada chahiye.”
“Kya?”
“Ke tum phir se akelapan nahi odho ge. Ke tum jeete raho ge — khush, zinda, jaise in dinon mein rahe ho.”
Iqbal ne gehri saans li. “Tumhare baghair?”
“Main kahin nahi jaa rahi,” Noreen ne kaha. “Samjho na, Iqbal. Main Sajid ki biwi hoon — yeh sach hai, aur is sach se main bhaag nahi sakti. Magar mera dil…” Us ne us ka haath apne dil par rakha. “Mera dil tumhara hai. Yeh bhi sach hai. Aur is sach se bhi main bhaag nahi sakti.”
“To phir?”
“To phir hum waise jiyenge jaise jee rahe hain. Sajid aayega, jayega — us ki duniya daftar hai. Magar yeh cottage, yeh waadi, yeh baarish — yeh hamari duniya hai.” Noreen ki aankhon mein aansu the magar chehre par sukoon tha. “Aur ek din… ek din shayad Khuda humein koi rasta dikhaye. Tab tak — ummeed. Bas ummeed.”
Iqbal ne use apne seene se lagaya. “Umeed ka mausam,” us ne dheere se kaha. “Tum ne theek kaha tha — baarish ke baad dhoop nikalti hai.”
Sajid ke aane se ek din pehle, Iqbal ne Noreen se kaha, “Aaj main tumhein Saif-ul-Malook ki kahani sunata hoon — asal wali, jo yahan ke buddhe sunate hain.”
Woh dono cottage ke pichhle hisse mein bethe the, jahan se jheel ki taraf ka rasta dikhta tha — door, dhund mein chhupa. “Kehtay hain,” Iqbal ne shuru kiya, “ke Saif-ul-Malook ek shehzada tha jo ek pari se mohabbat kar baitha tha. Pari ne kaha — ‘Tum insaan ho, main pari. Hamara milna mumkin nahi.’ Magar shehzade ne haar nahi maani. Us ne jheel ke kinare baith kar dua maangi, roza rakha, ibadat ki. Aakhir pari pighal gayi. Us ne kaha — ‘Theek hai, main tumse shaadi karungi. Magar ek shart par — tumhein apni duniya chhorni hogi.’ Shehzade ne ek lamha bhi nahi socha. Us ne apni saltanat, apna mahal, sab kuchh chhor diya — sirf mohabbat ke liye.”
Noreen ne poocha, “Phir?”
“Phir woh dono jheel ke kinare rehne lage. Kehte hain ke poonam ki raat ko aaj bhi un ki parchaiyan paani mein nazar aati hain.” Iqbal ne Noreen ki taraf dekha. “Mohabbat mein qurbani deni parti hai, Noreen. Shehzade ne saltanat di. Pari ne apna aasmaan diya. Magar dono ne jo paya — woh in sab se bara tha.”
“Tum ne kya diya?” Noreen ne dheemi awaaz mein poocha.
Iqbal ne gehri saans li. “Maine apna sukoon diya. Apni neend di. Apna fakhr diya.” Us ki awaaz bhar aayi. “Aur agar zaroorat pari, to apni izzat bhi de dunga. Bas tum khush raho.”
Noreen ki aankhon se aansu behne lage. “Tum aisa mat kaho. Tumhari izzat meri izzat hai.”
“To phir wada karo,” Iqbal ne us ka haath pakra. “Wada karo ke tum apne aap ko kabhi gunaahgaar nahi samjhogi. Ke tum is mohabbat ko bojh nahi samjhogi. Ke tum… ke tum khush raho gi.”
“Main wada karti hoon,” Noreen ne kaha. “Aur tum bhi wada karo — ke tum phir se woh tanha buddha nahi bano ge jo main ne pehle din dekha tha.”
Iqbal ne halki si hansi hansi — aansuon ke saath. “Wada.”
Us din dopahar ko Noreen ne apna samaan pack kiya — nahi, pack nahi kiya. Us ne apne kapre teh kiye, almari mein rakhe. “Main kahin nahi jaa rahi,” us ne khud se kaha. “Yeh mera ghar hai.”
Shaam ko Rahim ne un dono ko dekha — baramde mein bethe, chai pi rahe, khamosh. Us ne apne dil mein dua maangi — “Ya Allah, in dono ko khush rakh. Inhein koi gham na de.” Phir woh apne kaam mein lag gaya.
Raat ko Noreen ne Iqbal se kaha, “Kal jab Sajid aayega, to…”
“To kya?” Iqbal ne poocha.
“To hum waise hi rahenge jaise hain. Koi dikhawa nahi, koi jhoot nahi. Bas… ehtiyaat.” Noreen ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. “Tum samajhte ho na?”
“Samajhta hoon,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Tum fikar na karo. Main ne zindagi mein bohat kuchh dekha hai. Mujhe pata hai ke kab bolna hai, kab khamosh rehna hai.” Us ne us ke maathe par bos diya. “Tum bas khush raho. Baaki sab main sambhal lunga.”
“Waise,” Noreen ne muskurakar kaha, “tum ne mujhe abhi tak apni diary nahi dikhayi. Woh diary jis mein tum apne dil ki baatein likhte ho.”
Iqbal hairan hua. “Tumhein kaise pata?”
“Rahim chacha ne bataya tha. Ke tum roz raat ko kuchh likhte ho.”
Iqbal ne apne kamre se ek chamre ki diary nikali — purani, magar sambhal kar rakhi hui. “Yeh lo,” us ne kaha. “Parh lo. Is mein sab kuchh hai — Razia ke baad ke chhe saal, aur phir… tum.”
Noreen ne diary li, magar kholi nahi. “Main nahi parhungi,” us ne kaha. “Yeh tumhare dil ki baatein hain. Inhein tumhare paas hi rehna chahiye.” Phir us ne muskurakar kaha, “Magar ek din… ek din tum mujhe apne haathon se sunaoge. Apni awaaz mein.”
“Zaroor,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Jis din tum kaho gi.”
Us raat woh dono der tak baatein karte rahe — kal ki, parson ki, aane wale dinon ki. Koi dar nahi tha. Koi sharam nahi thi. Bas ummeed thi — kal ki ummeed, aane wale dinon ki ummeed, zindagi ki ummeed.
“So jao,” Iqbal ne aakhir mein kaha. “Kal bara din hai.”
“Han,” Noreen ne kaha. “Kal se nayi zindagi shuru hogi.”
Woh apne kamre mein gayi. Darwaza khula rakha. Khirki se chandni andar aa rahi thi. Noreen ne apne takiye ke neeche rakhe kaghaz ko nikala — wohi jis par us ne likha tha: “Aaj ka din — darya, dhanak, aur Iqbal.” Us ne us ke neeche likha: “Aur kal — ummeed.”
Phir woh so gayi — gehri, sukoon bhari neend. Khwab mein us ne dekha ke woh jheel ke kinare khari hai, aur Iqbal us ka haath pakre hai. Poonam ka chand nikla hai, aur paani mein un dono ki parchhaiyan hain — ek saath, hamesha ke liye.
Us raat woh dono chhat par gaye — cottage ki chhat, jahan se poori waadi nazar aati thi. Taare nikle hue the, hawa mein thandak thi. Iqbal ne Noreen ke kandhon par shawl daali — wohi shawl jo us ne bheji thi.
“Kal woh aa jayega,” Noreen ne dheere se kaha.
“Haan,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Magar aaj hum hain.”
“Aaj hum hain,” Noreen ne doharaya. Us ne taaron ko dekha. “Tumhein pata hai, main ne kabhi taare itne qareeb se nahi dekhe.”
“Pahar par taare qareeb lagte hain,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Jaise haath barhao to chhu lo ge. Magar asal mein woh door hote hain. Bohat door.” Us ne Noreen ka haath pakra. “Mohabbat bhi aisi hi hoti hai, Noreen. Lagta hai ke paas hai, magar use pakarne ke liye haath barhana parta hai. Himmat karni parti hai.”
“Tum ne himmat ki,” Noreen ne kaha.
“Hum ne,” Iqbal ne theek kiya. “Tum ne bhi. Tum ne apne dil ki suni — yeh sab se bari himmat hai.”
Woh dono der tak taare dekhte rahe. Phir neeche aaye, apne apne kamron mein gaye. Magar is baar dono ke dilon mein koi dar nahi tha. Kal jo bhi ho, aaj ki raat un ki thi — taaron wali, wadaon wali, mohabbat wali.
Doosre din dopahar ko Sajid aaya — thaka hua, magar khush. Us ne Noreen ko gale lagaya. “Tumhein dekhe hue zamana ho gaya,” us ne kaha. Noreen ne muskurane ki koshish ki. Us ke dil mein jo tha, woh chehre par nahi aane diya — magar Iqbal ne us ki aankhon mein dekha, aur samajh gaya.
Sajid ke aane wali shaam ko Noreen ne khaas tayyari ki — nahi, dikhawe ke liye nahi, bas is liye ke ghar mein mehmaan aa raha tha. Us ne achha khana banwaya — Rahim ke saath mil kar. Murgh ka salan, pulao, meetha. Ghar saaf karwaya. Phool lagaye — neele, waadi se tore hue.
Iqbal ne use dekha aur kaha, “Tum khush lag rahi ho.”
“Lag rahi hoon ya hoon?” Noreen ne poocha.
Iqbal ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. “Tum hamesha khush raho gi, Noreen. Main is ki zamanat deta hoon.”
“Zamanat?” Noreen hans pari. “Tumhein Khuda ne zamanat dene ka ikhtiyar diya hai?”
“Nahi,” Iqbal ne kaha, us ka haath pakar kar. “Magar mohabbat ne diya hai. Aur mohabbat Khuda se kam nahi.”
Shaam ko jab Sajid ki gari ki awaaz aayi to Noreen ka dil zor zor se dhadakne laga — dar se nahi, ek ajeeb si bechaini se. Woh darwaze par gayi. Sajid utra — thaka hua, magar muskurata hua. Us ne Noreen ko dekha aur us ki aankhein chamak utheen. “Tum to aur khubsurat ho gayi ho!” us ne kaha, use gale lagate hue.
Noreen ne use gale lagaya — magar us ke dil mein jo tha, woh us ke chehre par nahi tha. Us ne mehsoos kiya ke Sajid ka gale lagana… khaali tha. Jaise rasm nibhayi jaa rahi ho. Us ne Iqbal ko dekha — woh door khara tha, muskurata hua, magar us ki aankhon mein dard tha.
“Abba, kaise hain?” Sajid ne Iqbal se kaha, us ke paon chhue.
“Theek hoon, beta,” Iqbal ne kaha. “Tum sunao. Kaam kaisa raha?”
“Bohat acha. Project mil gaya hai — bara project. Ab to chhuttiyan hi chhuttiyan.” Sajid ne Noreen ki taraf dekha. “Ab hum dono waqt guzarenge. Sair karenge. Tumhein Naran ghumaunga.”
Noreen ne sar hilaya. “Haan. Zaroor.”
Khane par Sajid apne qisse suna raha tha — Lahore ke, daftar ke, doston ke. Noreen sun rahi thi, magar us ka dil kahin aur tha. Us ne dekha ke Iqbal khamosh tha — khana kha raha tha, kabhi kabhi muskurata tha, magar us ki khamoshi mein ek gehra dard tha.
Mez ke neeche, Noreen ne apna paon barhaya aur Iqbal ke paon ko chhua — halka sa, tasalli ke liye. Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha — aur us ki aankhon mein shukr tha.
Khane ke baad Sajid ne kaha, “Chalo, bahar tehelte hain. Tumhein kuchh batana hai.”
Woh dono bahar gaye. Iqbal baramde mein reh gaya. Noreen ne jaate hue us ki taraf dekha — us ne ishare se kaha — “Jao. Main theek hoon.”
Bahar chandni thi. Sajid ne Noreen ka haath pakra. “Noreen,” us ne kaha, “main ne faisla kiya hai ke hum Lahore wapas chalein ge. Yahan tum akeli ho. Wahan hum dono honge.”
Noreen ruk gayi. “Lahore?”
“Haan. Mera kaam wahin hai. Tum wahin raho gi, mere saath.” Sajid ne us ki aankhon mein dekha. “Tum khush nahi ho?”
Noreen ne gehri saans li. “Sajid,” us ne dheere se kaha, “kya tum ne kabhi socha hai ke main yahan khush hoon?”
Sajid hairan hua. “Yahan? Is sunsaan jagah mein?”
“Yeh sunsaan nahi hai,” Noreen ne kaha. “Yeh meri duniya hai ab. Yahan… yahan mujhe sukoon milta hai.”
Sajid ne use gaur se dekha. “Tum badal gayi ho, Noreen.”
“Haan,” Noreen ne kaha. “Baal gayi hoon. Waqt insaan ko badal deta hai.”
“Kis tarah badli ho?”
Noreen ne us ki aankhon mein dekha — aur ek lamhe ke liye us ne socha ke sab kuchh bata de. Sab kuchh — Iqbal, mohabbat, parchiyan, sab. Magar phir us ne Iqbal ka chehra dekha — baramde mein khara, intezaar karta hua. Aur us ne faisla kiya — nahi. Abhi nahi. Yeh waqt nahi hai.
“Bas… samajhdaar ho gayi hoon,” us ne kaha. “Tanhayi insaan ko samajhdaar bana deti hai.”
Sajid ne sar hilaya, magar us ki aankhon mein shak tha. “Achha,” us ne kaha. “Hum kal baat karenge. Abhi so jate hain. Main thaka hua hoon.”
Woh andar gaye. Noreen ne Iqbal ko dekha — woh ab bhi baramde mein tha. Us ne Noreen ki taraf dekha aur muskuraya — kamzor muskurahat. Noreen ne bhi muskurane ki koshish ki.
Apne kamre mein — Sajid ke saath — Noreen let gayi. Sajid so gaya — foran, thakan se. Noreen jaagti rahi. Us ne khirki se bahar dekha — Iqbal ke kamre ki batti jal rahi thi. Woh bhi jaag raha tha.
“Hum dono jaag rahe hain,” Noreen ne socha. “Ek doosre ke liye. Hamesha ke liye.”
Shaam ko khane par teenon bethe. Sajid apne project ke qisse suna raha tha. Iqbal sun raha tha, Noreen khana paros rahi thi. Bahar se dekhne wala kehta — kitna khushgawar khandan hai. Magar mez ke neeche, Noreen ka haath Iqbal ke haath mein tha — chhup kar, magar mazbooti se.
Raat ko Sajid so gaya — safar ki thakan. Noreen baramde mein aayi. Iqbal wahan tha, us ka intezaar karta hua. “Tum theek ho?” us ne poocha.
“Hoon,” Noreen ne kaha, us ke paas beth kar. “Bas… ajeeb lag raha hai.”
“Zindagi ajeeb hi hoti hai, Noreen. Magar hum ne use khubsurat bana liya hai.”
Woh dono der tak bethe rahe. Chand nikla tha. Baarish nahi thi — aasmaan saaf tha, taare chamak rahe the. “Dekho,” Iqbal ne kaha, “aaj baarish nahi hai.”
“To kya hua?”
“To yeh hua ke mausam badal gaya hai. Ab ummeed ka mausam hai.”
Sajid ke aane se do din pehle, Noreen akeli bazaar gayi. Us ke zehan mein ek khayal tha — ab tak Iqbal ne use itna kuchh diya tha: parchiyan, shawl, kitab, phool, jhumke, rumal. Us ne kabhi kuchh nahi diya tha. Aaj woh dena chahti thi.
Woh ek purani dukaan mein gayi jahan garam kapre milte the. Us ne ek muffler chuna — gehre neele rang ka, narm oon ka, Iqbal ke coat se milta julta. Dukandaar ne use lapet kar diya. Phir Noreen ek kagaz ki dukaan mein gayi aur bhura kagaz khareeda — wahi bhura kagaz — aur dori.
Ghar aakar us ne muffler ko bhure kagaz mein lapeta, dori se bandha, aur ek parchi likhi — apni tehreer mein, pehli baar: “Sard raaton ke liye. Taake tumhein meri yaad aaye. — Ek dost.” Us ne parchi ko parcel par rakha aur use Iqbal ke kamre ke darwaze par rakh diya. Darwaza khatkhataya aur bhag gayi.
Apne kamre se us ne dekha — Iqbal ne darwaza khola, parcel dekha, idhar udhar dekha. Koi nahi tha. Us ne parcel uthaya aur andar le gaya. Noreen ka dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha — khushi se, sharaarat se.
Shaam ko Iqbal ne muffler pehna hua tha. Us ne Noreen ko dekha aur muskuraya — aisi muskurahat jo sab kuchh keh gayi. “Aaj koi parcel aaya tha,” us ne kaha, chai pi te hue. “Pata nahi kis ne bheja.”
Noreen ne apni chai mein dekha, muskurahat chhupate hue. “Achha? Kya tha us mein?”
“Ek muffler. Aur ek parchi.” Iqbal ne us ki taraf dekha. “Tehreer bohat khubsurat thi. Lagta hai bhejne wale ne dil se likhi thi.”
“To aap khush hain?”
“Bohat,” Iqbal ne kaha. Us ne muffler ko chhua. “Tumhein pata hai, Noreen — zindagi mein pehli baar kisi ne mujhe bina maange tohfa diya hai. Razia deti thi, magar woh to biwi thi. Yeh…” Us ki awaaz bhar aayi. “Yeh kisi dost ne diya hai. Aur dost ka tohfa sab se qeemti hota hai.”
Noreen ki aankhein bhar aayin. “Dost hamesha rahenge,” us ne dheere se kaha.
“Hamesha,” Iqbal ne kaha, aur us ki aankhon mein wohi chamak thi jo Noreen ne pehle din dekhi thi — magar ab woh chamak us ke liye thi. Sirf us ke liye.
Us raat Noreen ne apne kaghaz par likha: “Aaj maine pehli baar diya — liya nahi. Aur dene mein jo khushi hai, woh lene mein nahi. Iqbal ne muffler pehna hua tha. Woh khush tha. Main khush thi. Bas itna hi chahiye zindagi mein — ke jise tum chaho, woh khush rahe.”
Agli subah Bashir aaya — ek aakhri parcel lekar. Noreen ne use khola. Andar ek chhoti si diary thi — chamre ki jild wali. Pehle safhe par likha tha: “Noreen ke liye — taake woh apne dil ki baatein likh sake, jaise main ne apni likhi theen.” Aur neeche, pehli baar, bhejne wale ka naam tha — saaf, wazeh, fakhr se: “Iqbal.”
Noreen ne diary ko seenay se lagaya. Us ki aankhon se aansu beh rahe the — magar yeh aansu dukh ke nahi, shukr ke the. Us ne diary ka pehla safha khola aur likhna shuru kiya: “Aaj se main apne dil ki baatein likhungi. Pehli baat yeh hai ke main ne mohabbat ko pehchana hai — us ki khamoshi mein, us ki parchiyon mein, us ki baarish mein. Doosri baat yeh hai ke main khush hoon. Teesri baat…” Us ne ruk kar khirki se bahar dekha, jahan Iqbal waadi ki taraf dekh raha tha. “Teesri baat yeh hai ke ummeed ka mausam aa gaya hai.”
Us ne diary band ki aur bahar aayi. Iqbal ne mur kar dekha. Noreen ne diary uthayi aur use dikhayi. “Shukriya,” us ne kaha.
“Kis baat ka?”
“Har baat ka. Parchiyon ka. Phoolon ka. Shawl ka. Kitab ka. Rumal ka.” Noreen us ke qareeb aayi aur dheemi awaaz mein kaha, “Aur is baat ka ke tum ne apna naam likha. Ab koi raaz nahi. Ab sab khula hai — kam az kam hamare dilon mein.”
Iqbal ne us ka haath pakra. “Aur yeh haath?”
“Yeh haath hamesha tumhara rahega,” Noreen ne kaha. “Chahe duniya kuchh bhi kahe.”
Door se Sajid ki awaaz aayi — woh Noreen ko bula raha tha. Noreen ne Iqbal ka haath chhora, magar jaane se pehle us ki aankhon mein dekha — aur us nazar mein poori kahani thi. Phir woh mur kar chali gayi, diary seenay se lagaye.
Iqbal waadi ki taraf dekhta raha. Aasmaan saaf tha. Dhoop thi. Aur us ke dil mein — pehli baar chhe saalon mein — koi bojh nahi tha. Sirf ummeed thi. Narm, gehri, sachi ummeed.
Us raat Noreen ne apni nayi diary mein likha: “Aaj Iqbal ne apna naam likha — pehli baar, khule aam. Ab koi ‘ek dost’ nahi. Ab sirf Iqbal hai — mera Iqbal. Sajid so raha hai, usay kuchh nahi pata. Shayad yeh ghalat hai. Magar mera dil kehta hai ke mohabbat mein ghalat sahi nahi hota — sirf sacha ya jhoota hota hai. Aur hamara pyaar sacha hai. Kal kya hoga, mujhe nahi pata. Magar aaj — aaj main khush hoon. Aur is khushi ke liye main Khuda ki shukrguzaar hoon.”
Us ne diary band ki aur khirki se bahar dekha. Iqbal ke kamre ki batti ab bhi jal rahi thi. Us ne haath uthaya — alvida nahi, wada. Iqbal ne bhi haath uthaya — door se, magar dil se. Dono muskuraye. Dono jaante the — yeh sirf shuruaat hai. Umeed ke mausam ki pehli subah.
Barish ruk chuki thi. Mausam badal chuka tha. Umeed ka mausam aa gaya tha — aur is mausam mein do dilon ne ek doosre ko pa liya tha, bina kisi shart, bina kisi dar, sirf mohabbat mein.