Sach hote Khwaab

Delhi, 1951

It was a bright sunny, Sunday morning. I had apparently slept at my writing desk. I heard the telephone ring. Vashma answered it. I had been summoned at the office for some urgent business. Strange, I thought. I could think of no business there today. Nevertheless I got up. 'Amrit,'- Vashma called out. 'O jaldi taiyaar ho jaa. Main tujhe raaste mein daftar chhod dungi.' 'Haan bas aayi'- I replied.

It was March of 1951. Winter had given way to sweet spring. Three and a half years had passed since the Partition. We had settled ourselves at in a two-storeyed house in Vasant Vihar in Delhi. It was a simple house - none of the aesthetics of Om Niwas but I doubt you'd find a happier home than ours! I, Vashma, Uday Veerji and our adorable Kabir. Vashma had found us at the refugee camp a few days after we had crossed the border. Being refugees, it was tough to be accepted in the neighbourhood, but our dedication towards our work had done half the job. Perhaps our etiquettes had done the other half.

Veerji was abroad for a hockey match in Sri Lanka. As a player of the national hockey team, he often went overseas for tournaments. Vashma had enrolled at Kadambari Nritya Mahavidyalaya to learn Kathak. It was one of the oldest and most prestigious Classical Dance Schools in Delhi. In these years, she became the most beloved student there. Soon she would begin training other students too. As for me, I was living my dream writing articles and short stories for Dainik Bhaskar.

Everything else was as near perfect as it could be except the most important thing. Randheer had not returned yet.

Tujh Bin Suraj mein aag nahi re,
tujh bin koyal mein raag nahi re
Chaandaniya to barse phir kyun mere haath andhere lagde ne...

Tujh bin Phagan mein phag nahi re
Tujh bin jaage bhi jag nahi re
O mahiya... tere bina din dariya rain jazire lagde ne...

When I had started writing for Dainik Bhaskar, we had debated whether to continue under the pen name Raanjhan. I had taken up the name Raanjhan dreading Bauji's resentment. But now, I had no such worries. So I decided to write under my own name- Amrit Sahani.
I always went to the office personally to deliver my writings. I never posted them. Partly because in this way I got to meet the employees there. But more than anything else because I knew there was no Randheer Raizada, dying to receive my letters.

There were days I did nothing but think about him. I had resolved not to shed any tears. I would calmly wait for him. Some days it was unbearable, but little choice did I have. When I had bad days, I would just shut my eyes and his beaming face, set in my heart, would cheer me up. I had one thought consistently – I wanted to make sure, whenever he would return, he would be proud of me.

I had stayed up late last night. I was working on a set of short stories to be published in a book. Seated on the diwan in the balcony with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, I was thinking about Randheer. How I wish he were here! That's when Vashma showed up. The balcony was our cocoon. We sat there hours chatting. We hadn't thought we would actually live under the same roof one day. 'Kaam hua nahi ab tak ?'
'Nahi bas sone hi jaa rahi thi'
'Jhooth ! Randheer ke baare mein soch rahi thi na. Sab pata hai mujhe' she said and sat down beside me.
'Kaash mujhe pata hota ki vo kahan. Main kabka chali jaati unke paas. Chaar saal ho gaye Vashma aur maine unhe dekha tak nahi hai ', I fretted.
'Oye tu itna mat soch. Main aa gayi thi na tum dono ko dhoondte dhoodte. To vo bhi aa jayenge jaldi. Tab tak main hoon na meri jaan, tera mann lagane ke liye' and saying this she hugged me.
'Vashma ! tu toh jaan hai meri. Tu nahi hoti to kya hota mera!' and I hugged her back.
'Chal ab bohot raat ho gayi hai, so jaa. Warna teri aankhon ke neeche kale ghere ho jayenge. Aur agar kal Randheer aa gaye to! Aise milegi uss se ?' she joked.
'Acha jaa rahi hoon. Tu bhi so jaa', I smiled.

I went inside my room and sat down at my desk. I had tried to sleep but couldn't. I just couldn't stop thinking about him. I looked at my payal. I always kept it on my desk but never wore it. The other one was with him.
I set my head down on the table and stared out of the window into nothingness.

Barsaat bhi aakar chali gayi, baadal bhi garaj kar baras gaye
Par uski ek jhalak ko hum, aye husn ke maalik, taras gaye
Kab pyaas bhujhegi aankhon ki
Din raat ye dukhda rehta hai....