Bayaan 02 of 20 · 18 min read
Bayaan-e-Haadsa
Before you read. This chapter speaks of heartbreak, bitterness, serious illness and death. If it becomes heavy, the helpline numbers are at the end of the page.
Ghazal
Mohabbat ek haadsa thi, jiska ab bayaan likha jaayega,
Zameen pe toote ek sitaare ka nuksaan likha jaayega.
Usool hai ke har ek cheez ki qeemat lagti hai yahaan,
So tere baad — humara bhi nuqsaan likha jaayega.
Hum apne qatl mein bhi shaamil the, yeh sach hai magar,
Gunaahgaar faqat aap ka hi naam likha jaayega.
Badi hi saaf-goi se kiya hai jurm tu ne,
Sazaa mein tere liye bhi kuch aasaan likha jaayega.
Woh jisko poojte the hum — woh bas ek patthar tha,
Ab iss aqeede ke dhokhe ka jurmaana likha jaayega.
Saboot, jurm, gawaahi — sab poore hain Faizan,
Ab dekhna hai — kis ka imaan likha jaayega.
Seedha Matlab
Mohabbat ek haadsa thi, jiska ab bayaan likha jaayega
Zameen par toote ek sitaare ka nuksaan likha jaayega.
Duniya mohabbat ko hamesha choice ki tarah present karti hai.
“Maine tumse pyaar karna choose kiya.”
Films mein. Novels mein. Instagram captions mein.
Lekin yeh, yeh sach nahi hai.
Mohabbat choose nahi hoti. Mohabbat ho jaati hai, jaise haadsa hota hai. Tum raste mein the, kisi aur kaam se, aur koi mil gaya. Koi baat ho gayi. Koi nazar mili. Aur phir, Kuch ho gaya.
Tumne plan nahi kiya tha. Tumne decide nahi kiya tha. Woh, bas hua.
Aur haadse mein, hamesha, nuksaan hota hai.
Sitaara toota, zameen par.
Do nuksaan dekho:
Aasmaan mein, ek jagah khaali hui. Woh sitaara wahan tha, roshan, apni jagah pe. Ab nahi.
Zameen par, ek daag pada. Ek aisa nishaan, jo theek to ho jaata hai waqt ke saath, lekin tha, yeh fact nahi badlata.
Mohabbat ka haadsa bhi aisa hi hota hai. Dono taraf nuksaan. Dono jagah kuch kho jaata hai.
Aur phir bhi, log nuksaan ko count nahi karte. Kyunki yeh “just feelings” hain.
Nahi. Yeh nuksaan real hai.
Rumi ne kaha tha, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Lekin Rumi ne yeh nahi bataya ke woh wound pehle kitni jalti hai. Woh roshni aati hai, haan, lekin pehle andhera aata hai. Aur uss andhere ka bayaan, woh bhi zaroori hai.
Usool hai ke har ek cheez ki hai qeemat yahaan
So tere baad, humara bhi nuqsan likha jaayega.
Duniya ka ek basic, unforgiving rule, Har cheez ki qeemat hoti hai.
Paise mein. Waqt mein. Energy mein. Identity mein.
Jab tum mohabbat mein invest karte ho, tum literally invest karte ho.
Woh teen saal, kisi aur ko nahi diye.
Woh dostaaniyaan, jo uss rishte ki wajah se toot gayi.
Woh opportunities, jo tumne miss kiye.
Woh neend, jo raat ko nahi aayi.
Woh woh version of yourself, jo uss rishte mein dissolve hota gaya.
Yeh sab investment thi. Real. Measurable.
Aur jab woh rishta gaya, woh sab gaya. Return nahi aaya.
“Tere baad humara bhi nuqsan likha jaayega”, shayar yeh insurance claim nahi kar raha doosre se. Woh apni diary mein yeh officially note kar raha hai.
Taaki woh khud jaane, ke kya hua. Precisely. Concretely. Kyunki jo tum name nahi karte, woh tumhare andar unnamed rehta hai. Aur unnamed cheezein, woh grow karti rehti hain. Andar andar. Bina kisi direction ke.
Name karo apna nuksaan. Sirf khud ke liye. Sirf apni diary mein.
Hum apne qatl mein shaamil the, yeh bhi sach hai magar
Gunaahgaar faqat aapka hi naam likha jaayega.
Yeh sher do sach ek saath hold karta hai.
Aur yeh hold karna, yeh art hai.
Pehla sach: Haan. Main shaamil tha. Warning signs the, main ne dekhe, aur ignore kiye. Doors the, main ne band kiye, khud. Raste the, main ne nahi liye. Mera haath tha is mein.
Doosra sach: Tumhara bhi haath tha. Tumne deliberately hurt kiya. Tumne choose kiya, baar baar, jo tumne kiya.
Dono ek saath sach hain.
Aur yahan, yahan ek bahut important psychological distinction hai:
Jo apni galti le le, woh evolve karta hai. Sikhta hai. Aage badhta hai.
Jo apni galti nahi leta, woh usi pattern mein rehta hai. Naye logon ke saath. Nayi jagahon par. Wahi karta rehta hai, kyunki usne kabhi dekha hi nahi ke kya hua.
Gunaahgaar faqat aapka hi naam, yeh revenge nahi hai. Yeh record hai.
Jo tumne kiya, woh tumhara kiya hua hai. Jo tumhe hua, woh tumhara saha hua hai. Dono real hain. Dono acknowledge hone chahiyein.
Lekin zimmedari, woh precisely clear honi chahiye. Blurry nahi.
Badi hi saaf-goi se kiya hai jurm usne
Sazaa mein uske liye bhi toh kuch aasaan likha jaayega.
Yeh sher ek ajeeb, aur bahut real, cheez ki baat karta hai.
Woh insaan honest tha apni dishonesty mein.
Usne kaha tha, clearly, ke woh yeh nahi de sakta. Ke woh aisa nahi hai. Ke iss rishte se jo tumhe chahiye, woh uss ki capacity nahi.
Usne jhooth nahi bola.
Aur tum ne, tum ne khud ko convince kiya, ke woh change karega. Ke mohabbat change kar degi. Ke ek din woh woh ban jaayega jo tum chahte the.
Safai dene ki saza aasaan hoti hai, kyunki jo openly bura kare at least woh honest hai. Woh tumhara time nahi chura raha silently. Woh tumhara yaqeen manipulate nahi kar raha.
Usne kaha tha, clearly, “main yeh nahi hoon.”
Tumne sun ne se inkar kiya.
Aur yeh, yeh tumhari galti thi. Painful hai yeh accept karna. Lekin sach hai.
Jo clearly keh de ke woh kya hai, uss par blame karna zyada mushkil hota hai. Blame rakhna us par, jo clearly bol chuka tha, woh ek emotional convenience hai. Reality nahi.
Woh jisko poojte the hum, woh bas ek pather tha
Ab is aqeede ke dhoke ka bhi jurmaan likha jaayega.
Kya tumne kabhi kisi ko pooja hai?
Pooja, mandir wali nahi. Woh pooja jo tab hoti hai jab koi insaan tumhare zehan mein divine proportion le leta hai.
Uss ka ek message, aur din roshan.
Uss ka na aana, aur raat taareek.
Uss ki ek tarif, aur tum weeks tak uss par jeete rehte ho.
Uss ki ek criticism, aur tum months tak uss se nahi nikl te.
Yeh idolization hai. Aur idolization mein, tum asli insaan nahi dekhte.
Tum apna projection dekhte ho.
Jo tum chahte the ke woh ho, woh tum ne uss par daali. Jo tum ne uss mein dhundha, woh tumhari apni zaroorat thi, uss ki actual presence nahi.
Aur patthar, chahe kitna bhi poojo, patthar rehta hai.
Uss insaan ki limitations thi. Insecurities thi. Woh incomplete tha, jaise hum sab hain. Lekin pooja mein aankhein band hoti hain. Tum sirf woh dekhte ho, jo dekhna chahte ho.
Aqeede ke dhoke ka jurmaan, woh penalty jo ab shayar bharta hai, woh ek lesson hai:
Insaan ko insaan rehne do. Bhagwan nahi banao. Kyunki jab insaan bhi insaan ki tarah behave kare, tum betrayed feel karte ho. Aur woh betrayal tumhara create kiya hua tha, unka nahi.
Saboot, jurm, gawaahi, sabhi toh poore hain Faizan
Ab dekhte hain ke kya mera imaan likha jaayega.
Muqadma poora tha.
Saboot, the.
Jurm, hua.
Gawaahi, maujood thi.
Lekin akhiri sawaal, jo shayar ne khud se poochha, woh yeh tha:
Kya mera imaan wapas aayega?
Imaan, faith. Trust. Woh belief ke phir se kuch acha possible hai. Ke main phir se khul sakta hoon. Ke mohabbat, real mohabbat, exist karti hai.
Yeh sawaal, yeh sabse mushkil sawaal tha.
Kyunki toot jaana aasaan hota hai. Sab ko maloom hai ke tootte hain. Lekin phir se imaan laana, phir se believe karna, phir se vulnerable hona, yeh courage chahti hai.
Aur shayar ne is sawaal ka jawab uss raat nahi diya.
Woh jawab chhod diya, open, kyunki kuch sawalon ke saath rehna, unhe hold karna, yeh bhi ek kism ki wisdom hai.
Har cheez ka immediate closure nahi hota. Kuch cheezein apne waqt par settle hoti hain.
Afsana
Kehte hain jab mohabbat kisi raste par akele chhod kar chali jaye, toh insaan aage badh jata hai. Par jab mohabbat aankhon mein aankhein daal kar kahe, “Tumhari aukaat nahi hai mujhe khush rakhne ki,” toh insaan aage nahi badhta... woh usi jagah par ek aisi aag ban jata hai jo sabse pehle khud ko jalati hai, aur phir saari duniya ko.
Shahveer, aaj desh ka sabse bada aur mehenga Architect tha. Uski banayi hui buildings aasmaan se baatein karti thi, par uske andar ka insaan pichle 4 saal se ek andheri qabar mein dafan tha.
Shahveer ne zindagi mein sirf ek ladki se be-panah ishq kiya tha Ayat. Ayat, jiski hansi se Shahveer ke din ka aagaz hota tha. Dono ne ek khwaab dekha tha: Shimla ke pahadon mein ek chhota sa lakdi ka ghar.
Par 4 saal pehle, achanak ek din Ayat ne Shahveer ko ek 5-star hotel ki lobby mein bulaya tha. Usne mehenge kapde pehne the.
“Shahveer, let’s end this,” Ayat ne aisi baraf jaisi thandi aawaz mein kaha tha jise sun kar Shahveer ki rooh kaanp gayi thi. “Tum ek struggler ho Shahveer. Mujhe aasmaan udna hai, aur tumhare paas mujhe pehnane ke liye joote tak nahi hain. Meri shaadi ek NRI businessman se tay ho gayi hai. Please, aaj ke baad mujhe contact mat karna.”
Shahveer us din us 5-star hotel ke marble floor par ghutno ke bal gir kar roya tha. Usne Ayat ke pair pakde the. “Ayat, meri jaan nikal jayegi! Tumhe Khuda ka wasta hai, mujhe aise mat chhod ke jao!” Par Ayat ne apna pair jhatak kar chhudaya, aur palat kar chali gayi. Usne ek baar bhi piche nahi dekha.
Us din Shahveer mar gaya. Aur jo paida hua, woh ek be-reham, cold-blooded machine tha. Usne nafrat ko apna fuel banaya. 4 saal mein usne aasmaan chhu liya. Har roz raat ko woh Ayat ki tasveer ko dekhta, aur us par thookta. Woh nafrat karta tha us aurat se jisne uski mohabbat ko paise ke taraazu (scale) mein tol diya tha.
Aaj Valentine’s Day tha. Shahveer apne penthouse mein baitha whiskey pee raha tha, tabhi uske assistant ne uske table par ek parcel rakha. “Sir, Shimla ke ek Hospital se aaya hai. Marked as highly urgent.”
Shahveer ne parcel khola. Usme koi letter nahi tha. Sirf ek ghisi hui, khoon ke dhabbon wali sketch book thi. Aur ek purani chaabi (key). Shahveer ke hath kaanpne lage. Yeh sketch book Ayat ki thi. Uski heartbeat itni tez ho gayi ki use saans lene mein takleef hone lagi. Usne sketch book ka pehla panna khola. Us par Shahveer ka ek sketch tha, jiske niche kaanpti hui handwriting mein likha tha:
“Main bhool rahi hoon... Khuda ke liye mujhe iska chehra mat bhoolne dena.”
Shahveer ka dimaag sunn pad gaya. NRI businessman? Shaadi? Hotel? Yeh Shimla ke ek terminal hospital se kyun aayi hai? Agle hi pal Shahveer apni gaadi mein tha. Mumbai se Shimla ka safar usne kaise tay kiya, yeh sirf uski rooh janti thi.
Shimla ki baraf mein aaj khoon jaisi thandak thi. St. Jude’s Palliative Care, jahan un logo ko rakha jata hai jinki beemari ka koi ilaaj nahi hota aur woh bas maut ka intezaar karte hain.
Shahveer andar dakhil hua. Reception par Dr. Mathur the. Unhone Shahveer ko dekha aur ek gehri saans li. “Toh aakhir tum aa hi gaye, Shahveer.”
“Ayat kahan hai?” Shahveer ki aawaz kisi zakhmi sher ki tarah thi. “Uski toh shaadi ho gayi thi! Woh NRI...”
Dr. Mathur ne ek thandi muskurahat ke sath Shahveer ko dekha, jisme sirf hamdardi thi. “Kaunsi shaadi Shahveer? Kaisa NRI?”
“Usne khud mujhse kaha tha! Usne mujhe paiso ke liye chhoda tha!” Shahveer lagbhag cheekha.
Aurat jab sachi mohabbat karti hai na Shahveer... toh mard ko bachane ke liye khud ko duniya ki sabse ghinauni aurat saabit karne mein ek second nahi lagati. Ayat ko Glioblastoma tha... Stage 4 Brain Tumor. 4 saal pehle jab usne tumhe chhoda, doctor ne use bata diya tha ki uske paas sirf 6 mahine se 1 saal hai. Aur us saal mein woh apni yaadasht (memory) khoyegi, uske baal jhad jayenge, woh zinda laash ban jayegi.
Shahveer ke pairo tale se zameen khisak gayi. Uski saansein gale mein atak gayin. “N-Nahi... tum jhooth bol rahe ho...”
Dr. Mathur ne Shahveer ke kandhe par haath rakha. “Ayat janti thi tum ek struggling architect ho. Agar woh tumhe apni beemari batati, toh tum apne sapne chhod kar uske ilaaj mein apna sab kuch bech dete. Tum uske sath hospital ke bistar par ghut-ghut kar marte. Aur uski maut ke baad, tum kabhi jee nahi paate. Isliye usne woh khel khela. Usne tumhe bewafai ka zehar diya, taaki tum us zehar ki aag mein khud ko aasmaan tak le jao. Usne khud par daag laga liya, taaki tumhari zindagi saaf reh sake.”
Shahveer ke seene mein itni zor ka dard utha ki woh wahin ghutno ke bal farsh par gir pada. Usne apne baalon ko noch liya. “Ya Khuda!” Shahveer ki cheekh us hospital ke corridor mein goonj gayi. Ek aisi cheekh jisme aashiq ka guroor, uski nafrat, uski kamiyabi sab tukde-tukde ho kar bikhar gaya.
“Main us aurat se 4 saal nafrat karta raha, jo mere liye yahan akele ghut-ghut kar maut ka intezaar kar rahi thi? Main use gaaliyan deta raha? Kaisa mard hoon main! Kaisi mohabbat thi meri ki main uski aankhon ka jhooth nahi padh paya!” Shahveer farsh par apna sir patakne laga.
Dr. Mathur ne use uthaya. “Sambhaliye khud ko Shahveer. Tumor uske dimaag ke us hisse ko kha chuka hai jahan se yaadein banti hain. Use ab apna naam tak yaad nahi. Shayad woh tumhe pehchan bhi na paye.”
Shahveer kamre ki taraf bhaga. Room No. 402. Usne kaanpte haathon se darwaza khola.
Samne wheel-chair par ek ladki baithi thi. Uski aankhein bilkul sookhi hui thi. Sir par ek bhi baal nahi tha. Chehra itna zard (pale) aur kamzor tha ki haddiyan chamak rahi thi. Yeh woh Ayat thi hi nahi jo kabhi gulab ki tarah khilti thi. Yeh maut ki ek zinda tasveer thi.
Shahveer ko aisi takleef hui jaisi kisi ne uske dil mein nange haathon se tezaab (acid) ghol diya ho. Woh ahista ahista chal kar uske paas gaya aur ghutno par baith gaya.
“Ayat...” Shahveer ki aawaz mein uski poori rooh nikal kar bahar aa gayi.
Ayat ne slowly apna sir ghumaya. Uski aankhon mein blankness thi. Bilkul khali. Usne Shahveer ko dekha, par uski aankhon mein koi pehchaan nahi thi.
“Aap... aap kaun hain?” Ayat ki aawaz ek 5 saal ke bache jaisi theher gayi thi.
Shahveer ka dil seene mein phatne laga. Us ladki ne use bhula diya tha. Jiske liye usne empire banaya, us ladki ko uska naam tak yaad nahi tha.
“Main... main tumhara Shahveer hoon Ayat. Tumhara Shahveer,” usne rote hue Ayat ke kamzor, sookhe hue haath ko apne chehre par rakh liya. Uski aansu Ayat ke haath par girne lage.
Ayat ne apna haath wapas nahi kheencha. Woh thodi der Shahveer ko dekhti rahi. Phir achanak, uske aankhon se do aansu nikal kar uske sookhe hue gaalon par beh gaye. Use kuch yaad nahi tha. Dimaag dead ho chuka tha. Par mohabbat dimaag se nahi, rooh se hoti hai.
Ayat ne apne dukhte hue dil par haath rakha. Uski saansein ukhadne lagi. “Mujhe... mujhe yaad nahi aap kaun hain... Mujhe aapka naam nahi pata... Par aap jab ro rahe hain... toh yahan... yahan itni takleef kyun ho rahi hai? Aisa kyun lag raha hai jaise meri rooh ko kisi ne noch liya ho? Aapko dard ho raha hai... toh mere aansu kyun nikal rahe hain?”
Shahveer ne aage badh kar Ayat ko seene se laga liya. Woh chote bacho ki tarah foot-foot kar rone laga. Uski cheekhein kamre mein aise goonj rahi thi jaise uski rooh uske jism se azadi maang rahi ho.
“Mujhe maaf karde Ayat! Khuda ke liye mujhe maaf karde! Maine 4 saal tujhse nafrat ki! Main aasmaan mein building banata raha, aur tu yahan mitti mein milti rahi! Tu kaisi aurat hai Ayat! Tune meri khatir apni maut ko akele gale laga liya!”
Ayat ka haath dheere dheere utha aur Shahveer ke sir par ruk gaya. Dimaag bhool chuka tha, par uski ungliyan aaj bhi apne aashiq ke baalon ko pehchaanti thi.
“Aap roiye mat...” Ayat ki aawaz doobne lagi. Uski saansein ab apna aakhiri waqt gin rahi thi. “Aap rote hue... bilkul ache nahi lagte...”
Shahveer ne jhatke se apna sir uthaya. Ayat ki aankhein dhire dhire band ho rahi thi. Heart monitor ki beep tez hone lagi thi.
“Nahi Ayat! Tu abhi mujhe nahi chhod sakti! Tune mujhse ek jhooth bola tha! Ab main tujhe sachhi zindagi dunga! Main duniya ke sabse bade doctor bulaunga! AYAT! AANKHEIN KHOL!” Shahveer pagalon ki tarah chilla raha tha.
Ayat ke hothon par ek halki si muskurahat aayi. Uski band aankhon se ek aakhri aansu gira. Uski aawaz ek khusphusi (whisper) ban chuki thi.
“Maine... maine ek khwaab dekha tha... Shimla ke pahadon mein... ek chhota sa ghar... wahan tum the... aur... aur main thi... kitna khoobsurat tha woh ghar... Shahveer...”
Aur uske sath hi, heart monitor ki line bilkul seedhi ho gayi. BEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Kamre mein ek aisi khamoshi chha gayi, jo asrafeel ke soor (doomsday trumpet) se bhi zyada bhayanak thi.
Shahveer wahin Ayat ki bejaan laash ko gale se lagaye baitha raha. Woh cheekh nahi raha tha, woh ro nahi raha tha. Uska dimaag aur dil, dono freeze ho chuke the. Use ehsaas ho gaya tha ki usne zindagi ki sabse badi baazi jeeti thi, par aisi keemat par, jo maut se bhi sadiyon lambi saza thi.
Agle din Ayat ki mitti (funeral) thi. Shahveer us mitti par sabse akele khada tha. Uske bank account mein 5000 Crore rupaye the. Uski jeb mein duniya ke sabse bade contracts the. Par us mitti par khada woh shakhs, duniya ka sabse gareeb, sabse laachaar aur sabse zaleel mard tha.
Use pata chal gaya tha ki uski ‘Success’ Ayat ki maut ka byaaj (interest) thi. Jo empire usne khada kiya tha, uski neev (foundation) mein Ayat ka khoon aur uski qurbani thi. Aur sabse bada azaab yeh nahi tha ki Ayat mar gayi. Sabse bada azaab yeh tha ki Shahveer ne uske aakhiri 4 saalo mein usse nafrat ki thi.
Agar woh marte dum tak uski god (lap) mein soti, toh Shahveer shanti se jee leta. Par ab? Ab Shahveer kabhi jee nahi payega.
Woh har roz aaine ke samne khada hoga, aur khud ko gaali dega ki woh us aurat ki aankhon ka sach nahi padh paya jo uski khatir bewafa ban gayi thi.