Ishq | (complete)

30 | ankahi

❝Mujhe Maloom tha Mohsin Wo Mera Ho Nahi Sakta
Magr Phir Bhi Mujhe Dekho Mohabbat Ho gai Us Se❞

"Shehryar?"

The warmth of the hand on his shoulder snapped him out of the cold trance. He turned his head. Maulana Sahab. He was the same person who witnessed his destruction that night. It was uncanny that Maulana Sahab was here when for the first time since that day he entered the masjid. The hat still covered his hair, but the color of his hair and beard now harmonized with the chaste white of his hat. The sajdah marks decorated his forehead, a sign that Maulana had been praying unlike Shehryar himself who had not prostrated in the past ten years. Shehryar's stomach convulsed at the thought.

Woh wahi Maulana Sahab the jinhon ne Shehryar ko yahan bhikarte dekha. Woh Shehryar ko kabhie nahi bhoole. Shayad Shehryar ki awaz aaj bhi masjid ki deewaron se takrati huwi goonj rahi thi. Shehryar hamesha unki duaon mein tha. Maulana Sahib ne uski ankhon mein Allah ka yaqeen toot'te huwe dekha tha. Shayad apni aur Shehryar ki bebasi dekh kar woh sirf dua he kar sakte the. Aur shayad yeh kuch un duaon ka bhi asar tha ke aaj woh phir mil rahe the. Us din Shehryar apne bhikre huwe tukre chor gaya tha. Aur aaj woh unhi bhikre huwe tukron so samaitne aaya tha.

"Maulana Sahab?" Shehryar made a movement to stand up, but the Maulana Sahab patted his shoulder, taking the seat across from him.

Shehryar curled his toes on the almost iridescent marble. The coldness seeped into the pores of his feet, soothing his pain thread by thread. The mystical aura of peace whirled around like the soft breeze of the ocean on a sweltering summer night. The arches were high, unlike his morals, yet the dome was open for his acceptance.

"Bus dua thi ke tumhe ek dafa dekh loon. Kaise ho?" The priest carrying the noor of years' worth of prayers only asked to fulfill the formalities. The redness written in Shehryar's eyes, the sore tiredness in his limbs, the faded words on his bitter tongue told the tales of misery and sorrow.

"Pata nahi. Khud ko bohat peeche chor dia. Ab to yaad bhi nahi kaun hoon aur kaisa hoon. Bus sab kuch kho gaya hai. Koi wapsi ka rasta he nahi." He stared at his hands. The lines of his fate scattered on them. The line of his fatherhood drawn far too short as it faded just after 8 months. His baby was now 6 feet under, his tiny bones now turned into stardust again. So he didn't know how he was or who he was. He didn't know how to deal with the yearnings to hold Wajdan in his calloused hands.

"Raaste hamesha hote hai, bus hum dekh nahi paate. Humari nazrein dhundli par jaati hai. Dil ko saaf kar ke tum bus ek qadam to barhao Woh uper hai na. Woh tumhei rasta dekha de ga." Shehryar was envious of the calm and peace Maulana Saheb held in his wise old eyes as the eyelids dropped over them. Envious of the strong faith even when his finger trembled around the prayer beads.

"Mein ne to sab chor dia. Apne rastoun ko mor kar ek sehra ki tarf karliya. Jahan koi rasta he nahi sirf ruh ko jalaane wali rait hai. Na koi dua na koi yaqeen. Bus ajeeb kuch khalish hai dil mein."

Guilt. For the past ten years, it ate him. Slowly tearing him apart thread by thread, chewing on his peace, Guilt left him hollow. The hollowness he later tried filling with alcohol, burning his lungs with toxic fumes, finding his solace against another body, but the emptiness grew more, seeping into his bones. He was quenching his thirst with ocean water, an act leading it all to more damage. The faith once keeping him afloat wasn't there to sieve his deeds, driving the darkness to overflow the light.

"Agar dil mein yaqeen aur imaan na hota to khalish kabhie na hoti. Shaytan wahin aata hai jahan usko kuch tabah karne ko milta hai. Agar tumhare dil mein kuch na hota to tumhein khalish na hoti na. Tumhare dil mei kuch to hai jisko shaytan bheka raha hai aur tumhein uske khone se khalish ho rahi hai."