Peer-E-Kamil (The Perfect Mentor) - Roman Urdu {Completed}

Chapter 3.3

"Main Asjad se shaadi nahi karna chahti, isliye shaadi ke liye shopping ka sawaal hi nahi uthta," Imama ne apni maa ko tayyar tone mein bataya.

"Pehle shaadi ke khayal ke khilaaf thi, ab Asjad se shaadi ke khilaaf-tumhe kya karna hai?" uski maa pareshan thi.

"Mujhe Asjad se shaadi nahi karni," Imama ne kaha.

"To phir kisse se shaadi karna chahti ho?" Hashim Mubeen darwaze mein khade the. Shayad unhone Imama aur uski maa ke beech ki baat suni thi jab wo corridor mein the. Unka gussa control mein nahi tha.

Imama chup thi.

"Batao, kaun hai woh jise tum se shaadi karni hai? Zubaan kaat gayi hai kya? Asjad se kyun nahi karni chahti? Tumhara kya masla hai? Jawab do mujhe!" wo jhijhak ke saath chillane lage.

Imama ne apne aap ko sambhala aur bahaduri se bola, "Baba, shaadi zindagi bhar ka faisla hota hai. Mujhe apni marzi se shaadi karni hai."

"Kal tak to Asjad tumhari marzi thi," unhone taunt diya karke.

"Woh kal ki baat thi, aaj ki nahi," usne jawab diya.

"To ab kyun nahi? Batao, ab kyun nahi?" unhone buland awaaz mein poocha.

Kuch palon ke liye, Imama ne bina kuch kahe use dekha. Phir usne kaha, "Baba, main ek Musalman se shaadi karna chahti hoon."

Hashim Mubeen ko aisa laga jaise aasmaan zameen mil gayi ho.

"Tumne kya kaha?" uncertainty ke saath unhone poocha.

"Main non-Muslim se shaadi nahi karna chahti kyunki maine Islam mein mazhab badal liya hai," usne saaf-saaf kaha.

Kuch minutes ke liye kamre mein absolute khamoshi thi. Salma shock ki halat mein thi aur Hashim Mubeen...woh patthar ban gaye the lag raha tha. Woh Imama ko bebaak nazron se dekh rahe the, jaise unhe saans lene ka tareeqa bhool gaya ho. Unhone apne ghar mein aise ek mushkil halat ka samna kabhi nahi socha tha, aur woh bhi apne sabse pyaare bachche ke haathon. Uske zindagi ek toofan mein chali ja rahi thi.

"Tum kya bakwaas kar rahe ho?" Gussa usme se upar uth raha tha jaise ek lehar. "Tumhe pata hai tum kya keh rahe ho, Baba. Tum acche se jaante ho," usne kaha.

"Tum bilkul pagal ho gayi ho!" usne cheekha.

Imama ne chup chap apna sir hila diya; usse uske dimaag ka halat pata tha.

"Kya matlab hai tumhara? Humne tumhe is duniya mein kyun laaya...ke tumhe... tum..." Usne alfaz dhoondne ki koshish ki.

"Tumhare sochne ka matlab yeh nahi hai, Baba," usne kaha.

"Yahi to hai... kya tum mujhe bewakoof samajhti ho?" Hashim Mubeen munh se jhaag nikal raha tha.

"Tum kisi bhi shakhs se meri shaadi karwa do. Main koi shikayat nahi karoongi bas woh tumhare mazhab ka na ho. Kam se kam, phir tum keh nahi sakte ke maine yeh sab kisi khaas shakhs ke liye kiya hai," usne kaha.

Uske walid ka gussa had se zyada tha: sirf ek chhoti si ladki aur usse batate hue ke woh kya karna chahiye. Usse kya pata tha?

"Main bohot kuch jaanti hoon, Baba. Main bees saal ki hoon; mujhe tumhari rahnumai ki zaroorat nahi hai. Mujhe pata hai ke tumhara mazhab humare parivaar ko bohot fayda pohanchaya hai," usne himmat se aur sambhalkar awaaz mein kaha.

"Tumhare gunahon ke liye tumhe maaf nahi kiya jayega!" usne usse daant diya.

Imama ko usse afsos aaya-woh jahan khada tha, woh dozakh mein khada tha aur usse uski daraun dhamkiyan de raha tha. Usse us aadmi par afsos aaya jiska aankhon par patti bandhi huyi thi, jiska dil bandh gaya tha. Usse us aadmi par afsos aaya jiska rooh ko pees diya gaya tha, jo gumrahi aur galatfahmiyon ke sabse oonche darje par khada tha.