Geet - Meri, Phir Bhi Parayi

Chapter III

Five Years Prior

"Babaji, ab mera koi nahi, sivai tera. Tum hi mere aakhri sahare ho. Ab tum hi batao, main kya karun?"

He raised his eyes to the cloudless sky, the collar of his white shirt drenched in the ceaseless downpour of tears that stained his face.

He closed his eyes. Suddenly his father appeared before him, his face red with anger, his voice full of disgust.

"Tumne hum sab ko badnaam karaya. Humara sar ko jhuka diya. Izzat ko mitti mein mila diya!" his father roared.

"Nahi, Bauji, nahi! Iss mein mera koi kusoor nahi hai, Bauji please! Meri baat suniye, please Bauji!" he heard his own voice plea.

"Hattho! Main tumhari shakal bhi nahi dekhna chahta hoon," Bauji hissed. "Ab tumhare iss ghar mein koi jagah nahi hai."

"Bauji! Bauji please. Mere saath aisa mat kijiye!"

He forced his eyes open. He was doubled over on all fours, gasping for air desperately trying to pry away the frigid fingers of hopelessness that clawed at his heart. Had he not tread on the path of sacchai? Had he not given up his everything to do what was right?

"Babaji, kyun? Mere saath aisa kyun kua? Maine kaunsi ghalti ki joh aap mujhe iss tarah ki saza de rahe ho?" he pleaded, his head cradled in his hands, his shoulders wracked with his deep sobs.

"Aisa nahi kehte hai puttar. Joh bhi Babaji karte hai, humari bhalaiye ke liye karte hai."

That was when he saw two kohlapuri clad feet just to his right. As he raised his head, his eyes met with a rotund belly before meeting a pair of twinkling grey eyes framed by bushy brows. He noticed kindness in those wrinkle framed eyes as they came to his level.

"Dekho puttar," the gruff voice said. "Woh joh uupar wala hai na, ussne humko banaya. Aur joh bhi woh humko deta hai, dukh, sukh, sab kuch, woh humein iss liye deta hai ke hum uss sab se seekhe. Aur achche khaase hate kate bane. Dil aur dimaagh se, jaan se. Hm?"

He stared in awe at his heaven sent advisor. A generous mooch bristled over crisp lips from which a balm issued forth. This pagdi-ed companion gave him the comfort he craved, his simple words had provided him the solace his aching heart sought. In Delhi's bustling crowds, this man had heard his cries, stopped, and offered him a new outlook as though he were a son..

"Kyun poochne ka koi faida nahi hai. Bas joh kuch bhi Babaji ne likha hai, usse apnao aur jeeo, himmat se jeeo," he placed a meaty hand on Maan's back. "Vaise hum toh har baat ki 'kyun?' pooch sakte hai, magar 'kyun?' poochne se hamari masle ke hal toh nahi milenge na? Agar hum sach ke saath dete hai, toh phir raah mein zuroor kaante milenge, par un  kaanto pe chalne se agar manzil mil jaaye, toh woh dard kuch bhi nahi."

He gave his wizened companion a weak smile and received a firm pat on the back, causing him to grimace in pain.

"Himmat mat har," his companion urged as he hoisted himself to his feet. "Chal, ab tu ghar ja, aur himmat se kaam le. Sasriakaal puttarji, jinda raho," and with a final smile he turned to leave.

He looked at his hands he had raised in a final sasriakaal to the elderly man who had given him a little reason to hope. His eyes rested on the signet ring that glimmered on the little finger of his right hand.

"Ghar hota toh main zuroor jaata tha," he said to himself. He raised his eyes to the green canopied ceiling of the dargah in which he sat. He focused on the waves of green that danced above his head. The fluttering of the criss-crossed green chaadars was the last thing he saw as a jolt of pain seared along his back, leaving him unconscious and unaware of the warm blood that seeped through his sweat soaked shirt.

———

"Daarji aap kahan ho?" Geet struggled to keep the fear from sounding in her voice.

"Kya? Hospital mein? Kyun? Kaunsi hospital? Kya hua? Main abhi aati—" Geet was cut off by her Daarji's firm voice calling her name.

"Kya, ek ladka? Par aap kyun—"

"Achcha phir. Teekh hai Daarji. Bas aap jaldi se vaapas aaye. Mujhe bilkul bhi achcha nahi lagta jab aap itni raat mein baahar jaate, woh bhi akele."

Geet hung up the phone after ensuring her grandfather's speedy return. As she turned away, she frowned, her lower lip caught in the clutches of her teeth. An uneasiness settled in her stomach. Daarji had left over six hours ago saying he would just run over to Nizamuddin to get her some halwa and pray for her journey. She stopped wringing her hands to check the time on her wristwatch.  Her flight was in four hours.

Geet sighed as she sat on the edge of her bed.  

Four hours.

Four hours.

Another four hours in her homeland. The last four hours before she left and didn't come back for Babaji knows how long. Four hours and she would be estranged from all she held dear. Four hours until she became parayi.