Aahat

Rajasthan ke ek bhule bisre shehar mein — jise log ab "Mrityu Nagar" kehte hain, jabki nakshon par uska naam "Chandanpur" likha hai — ek raat aisi aayi jis ke baad wahan ki zameen ne kabhi seedha savera nahi dekha.

Woh raat thi — 13 October, 1987.

Uss raat ek kuaan band hua. Ek peepal ka ped taaza khoon se bheeg gaya. Aur ek aurat — jo shayad aurat nahi thi — zameen ke neeche chali gayi... aur ek doosri... aasman se utri.

Dono mili. Dono ladiyan.

Koi nahi jaanta kya hua.

Jo log wahan the, woh subah milein — lekin unke chehere par koi chehra nahi tha. Aankhein thi. Naak thi. Muh tha. Lekin expression? Bilkul khaali. Jaise koi andar se poora nikal gaya ho.

35 saal baad...

Ek journalist aaya. Ek photographer aayi. Ek local guide aaya jo raat bhar rota raha — bina kisi wajah ke.

Aur woh khali chehere wali jagah... phir se bhar gayi.

Yeh unki kahani hai.

Ya shayad unka ant.

❖ ❖ ❖

Vikram Sinha ki gaadi mein petrol khatam nahi hua tha. GPS band nahi hua tha. Tyre flat nahi hua tha.

Phir bhi woh wahan ruk gaya.

Yeh sab ek hi jagah par hua — ek seedhe raaste ke beech — jahan ek taraf reti ka tufan tha aur doosri taraf... ped. Peepal ke ped. Itne ped, itne gane, itne sunsan ki ek admi unhe dekhkar seedha ulti kar de.

"Bhai, yahan kyun ruke?" Arjun Khatri — guide — ne peeche se pucha. Uski aawaz mein woh khaas si kaampan thi jo tab aati hai jab insaan darr ko chupaata hai par dil uss darr se pehle hi kisi aur jagah pahunch chuka hota hai.

"Mujhe nahi pata," Vikram ne sachchi kaha. "Gaadi ne ruk gayi. Khud."

Photography ki bag pakde Zara Hussain aage aayi. Uski aankhein camera ki tarah thi — hamesha observe karti, hamesha record karti.

"Yeh Chandanpur ka raasta hai?" usne pucha.

Arjun ne haan kahi. Phir turant sar hilaya. "Matlab... tha. Abhi yeh raasta officially band hai. Government ne declare kiya hai — 2019 mein. Sab ghar khaali hain. Sab log ja chuke hain."

"Sab?"

Arjun ki khaal par kaanp aayi.

"Jo ja sake... woh gaye."

Silence. Aisi silence jo kaan ke andar ghus jaaye aur wahan kuch khaaye. Vikram ki phone screen dark ho gayi — bilkul achanak — aur jab screen wapas on hua to camera already on tha. Front camera. Selfie mode.

Aur background mein — woh seedha raasta — uss raaste par ek figure thi.

Peele kapde. Lambe baal. Peethe ki taraf.

Vikram ne palat ke dekha.

Koi nahi tha.

Woh phone screen dekha.

Figure abhi bhi thi.

"Bhai," Arjun ne dheere se kaha — itna dheere jaise woh khud ki awaaz se darra hua tha — "agar abhi hum wapas chalein toh main double charge nahi lunga. Main seedha maafi maang lunga. Please. Yahan raat nahi rehni. Please."

"Tumne pehle kyun nahi bola?" Vikram ne pucha.

"Bataya tha. Tumne suna nahi."

Zara ne camera nikala. Click.

Flash gaya.

Ped ke peeche se ek aawaz aayi — na cheekh, na roona — kuch aur. Jaise koi ek bada sa daant tod raha ho. Ek lamba, gehra, crrk... crrk... crrk.

"Woh kya tha?" Zara ne pucha.

Kisi ne jawab nahi diya.

Kyunki uss aawaaz ke saath, zameen par ek chaya aayi — bina kisi insaan ke. Chaya teen meenar ki tarah thi. Lambi. Patli. Upar ki taraf khatam hoti — khatam nahi — mur jaati thi.

Seedha unki gaadi ki taraf.

❖ ❖ ❖

Chandanpur mein ghusne se pehle, raaste par ek mandir tha.

Tha — matlab abhi bhi tha, physically. Lekin uski moortiyan nahi thi. Sirf thambe the. Thambon ke beech mein ek rang tha — laal. Iss rang ke baare mein Arjun ne bataya tha ki yeh rang rang se nahi aaya.

"1987 mein," Arjun ne bola — aur uski aawaz ab kisi aur ki tarah lag rahi thi, jaise woh koi lesson yaad kar raha ho jo kisi ne use zorr zabarr se padhaya ho — "is mandir mein ek pujari tha. Naam tha Ratan Das. Woh kehta tha ki is jungle mein ek Yakshini rehti hai. Sadion se. Peepal ke sabse purane ped mein. Uska kaam tha — logon ki raksha karna. Iss ilaqe ke logon ki. Toh jab bhi koi baahar se aata — koi bura insaan — woh... nipta deti thi."

"Aur?" Vikram ne notepad nikali.

"Aur ek baar kuch aaya jo Yakshini ne nahi bheja tha."

"Matlab?"

Arjun ruk gaya. Uski aankhein ped ki taraf gayi. Phir neeche aayi. Phir Vikram ke boots par tik gayi.

"Ek Jinn aayi thi. Doosri duniya se. Kahin door se. Arab ki zameen se. Kisi ne isse bulaya tha ya yeh khud aayi thi — koi nahi jaanta. Par jab yeh aayi, to Chandanpur ke ped sukhne lage. Kuaan ka paani kaala ho gaya. Janwar raat ko cheekh marne lage aur subah unke jism tukdon mein milte the — lekin koi nishaan nahi hota. Koi panja nahi, koi daant nahi — jaise andar se koi faseel tod ke nikal gaya ho."

"Aur Yakshini ne kuch nahi kiya?" Zara ne pucha.

"Kiya. Ladayi hui. Ped pe ped gire. Zameen phat gayi. Paanch log wahan the — sab bahar aaye, par sab khaali. Jaise koi unhe andar se khaali karke bahar phek gaya ho. Ratan Das ek mahine baad mara. Par marne se pehle usne likha tha — ek kaghaz par — ki Yakshini jeeti nahi, Jinn mari nahi. Dono abhi bhi hain. Ek zameen mein. Ek hawa mein. Aur jo bhi wahan jaata hai... woh dono ka maidan ban jaata hai." Khamoshi.

Phir Zara ne kuch pucha jo dono ko dhakka dene ke liye kaafi tha:

"Woh kaghaz abhi bhi hai?"

Arjun ne dheere se haan ki.

"Mere paas."