A Story: घर और दरवाज़े

यह एहसास और महसूस में क्या difference होता है?

तुम जैसे लोग यह कौनसी ख़यालों की दुनिया में जीते हो? यह – तुम्हारे आस-पास देखो; यह ही real है. यह – जिसे तुम छु लो, यह real है; बाक़ी सब illusion . Step out of your illusion!

उसकी यह clichéd सी बातें मुझे हैरान करती हैं. इस लिए नहीं की वो यह बातें कई बार कह चुकी है, मगर इस लिए क्योंकी मैं imagine ही नहीं कर सकती की कोई ऐसा भी है जिसने अपने ख़यालों में अपनी एक separate दुनिया नहीं बना रखी हो. I believe that the collective “we” एक इस existence में जीते हैं जो उस divine force की imagination है और एक हमारी imagination की दुनिया है जिस में हम खुद divine forces हैं! वोह बोल रही थी और मुझे एक उजड़े हुए garden का vision आया! Sad ! यह उसके ख़यालों की दुनिया थी जिसे उसने accept नहीं किया था तो सभी फूल-पत्ते सूख गए थे.

तुम जैसे लोग कैसे हमेशा इस real दुनिया में function कर सकते हो? इस real दुनिया में सब कुछ tangible है. इन five -senses के दायरे में क़ैद है … finite है! … यह real दुनिया भी अच्छी है मगर its like poetry – जहाँ words की कमी पड़ जाती है और वहीँ rhythm टूट जाती है. वोह जिसे तुम illusion कहती हो, वहां ऐसा कुछ नहीं होता.

यह ख़यालों की दुनिया और reality parallel ही चलते हैं. वोह कोई utopian dream नहीं होती और अगर होती तो ज़ादा देर तक नहीं रहती. Human mind does not have enough love to carry the burden of Utopia for more than a split-second.

Imagination की दुनिया – वहां कुछ नहीं टूटता; वक़्त के साथ metamorphose हो जाता है. जैसे की चेहरा वोही हो और expression बदल जाए! Reality poetry hai तो imagination music है – सात सुरों के दायरे में भी freedom – like being in love; you are attached yet free! उसकी rhythm कभी नहीं टूटती … वहां सब कुछ infinite है. वहां discontentment में भी fulfillment है.

जाने का वक़्त हो गया था – मैंने उसके हाथों में journal पकड़ा दिया और कहा, “call me next week to let me know when you will bring this back”.

****** ******

कुछ साल पहले उसने मेरे birthday पर मुझे एक thoughtful gift दिया था. एक journal था and उसके pages leaves (vegetable based parchement paper) के थे – ज़्यादा pages नहीं थे; probably about ten. वो मेरी book shelf पर पड़ा रहा. I was saving it for a story that would do that journal justice.

A writer once told me that she had written her longest story in ten lines. She smiled and said, “I would like you to tell a long tale in a short story”. I was saving that journal for that long tale.

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Doors and Thresholds

उसका ख़याल जब एक permanent fixture बन कर mind में बस गया तो एक घर भी अपनी दीवारों, खिडकियों, और दरवाज़ों के foundations lay कर गया. वो मेरा घर तो नहीं था, पर strange भी नहीं लगता था. I think I saw it in my dreams too a few times. घर में उसका एहसास था पर कभी उसे देखा नहीं.

धीरे-धीरे घर में सब कुछ अपनी पसंद से लगा दिया: white linen के परदे, rosewood के pieces, sandalwood की एक छोटी सी मूर्ति by the window, wind -chimes. Garden में water -fountain, bird-feeder, specially grafted rose bushes and a lemon tree. Although, में रोज़ water करती थी, पर पता नहीं क्यों – कुछ दिन हुए की सारा garden सूख गया. अभी तो summer भी नहीं आई, spring में ही सूख गया. मैंने अपनी imagination को push किया – की शायद कहीं कोई फूल आ जाये, मगर fail हो गयी.

और फिर, घर का दवाज़ा जो हमेशा खुला रहता था, कल बंद हो गया. मैं घबरा गयी – मैंने knock किया तो खुल गया. Slightly bewildered, I stepped inside without realizing that the threshold had changed – I tripped and fell. Wait – यह वो घर नहीं है. Oh no – कब सब कुछ बदल गया कुछ पता भी नहीं लगा?

मेरी knees and palm छिल गए थे. इससे पहले कोई देख लेता, में वहां से निकल आई.

“रुक – तू मुझे छोड़ कर जा रही है”

मैंने पलट कर देखा – मेरा lemon tree जो मैंने सब से पहले plant किया था वो परेशान खड़ा था.

It felt good – किसी ने तो रोका; half a second के लिए hope आ गयी थी.

“मेरी टहनियाँ जल्दी ही lemons से भर जाएँगी. सोचा था की तू आएगी इन्हे उतारने; अब कौन आएगा? मुझे भी साथ ले चल.”

“तुझे कैसे ले जाऊं. तेरी जडें यहाँ लग गयी हैं. तू फिक़र न कर – तेरी जड़ों में एक prayer बाँध दी थी मैंने. कुछ वक़्त में दो pair हाथ तेरी टहनियों पर झूलेंगे और जो lemons गिरेंगे उन्हें घर के अन्दर लेजा कर अपनी माँ से कहेंगे, “mom, can you help us with some lemonade”.

हम दोनों हंस पड़े. यह हमारी दुनिया है! यहाँ कुछ नहीं टूटता और कुछ ख़तम नहीं होता … बस थोडा सुर बदल जाता है …

****** ******

अगले ही दिन phone आ गया.

“यह क्या बक़वास लिखा है? मुझे कुछ समझ नहीं आया!”

“ठीक है. लौटा दो. एक नए पेड़ से दोस्ती हो रही है … वो मेरे lemon tree को जानता है…

About Andrew Harvey

Andrew Harvey is an author, religious scholar and teacher of mystical traditions. As Founding Director of the Institute of Sacred Activism, Andrew has spent the past two decades supporting global peace and sustainability. A lifelong scholar/translator of Rumi, author of more than thirty books on Buddhism, Hinduism and Christianity, he has devoted his recent work to envisioning inspired solutions for the world’s current crisis. You can learn more about Andrew on his website: www.andrewharvey.net

  • SomanjanaCB

    Dear Jasleen

    Your thoughts left me with a feeling of deja vu…its like the pale yellow ray of sun seeping through the crack of a wooden window, lighting just a little of the murky, intrinsic enormity…

    Wanted to dedicate a beautiful Tagore poem to you…settling on the crude translated version:

    I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
    In life after life, in age after age, forever.
    My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
    That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
    In life after life, in age after age, forever.

    Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it’s age-old pain,
    It’s ancient tale of being apart or together.
    As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
    Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
    You become an image of what is remembered forever.

    You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
    At the heart of time, love of one for another.
    We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
    Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
    Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

    Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
    The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
    Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
    The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
    And the songs of every poet past and forever.

  • SomanjanaCB

    Dear Jasleen

    Your thoughts left me with a feeling of deja vu…its like the pale yellow ray of sun seeping through the crack of a wooden window, lighting just a little of the murky, intrinsic enormity…

    Wanted to dedicate a beautiful Tagore poem to you…settling on the crude translated version:

    I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
    In life after life, in age after age, forever.
    My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
    That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
    In life after life, in age after age, forever.

    Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it’s age-old pain,
    It’s ancient tale of being apart or together.
    As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
    Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
    You become an image of what is remembered forever.

    You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
    At the heart of time, love of one for another.
    We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
    Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
    Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

    Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
    The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
    Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
    The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
    And the songs of every poet past and forever.

  • Jasleen Matharu

    Dear Somanjana —

    I am truly humbled by your encouraging comment.

    Thank you for sharing Tagore’s beautiful poetry. Also, your initial description has sowed an idea of another story in my head. Thank you for the inspiration.

  • Jasleen Matharu

    Dear Somanjana —

    I am truly humbled by your encouraging comment.

    Thank you for sharing Tagore’s beautiful poetry. Also, your initial description has sowed an idea of another story in my head. Thank you for the inspiration.

  • Anonymous

    What shall i spread for her when I have nothing to spread? these wet newspaper sheets? i fear the stain of editorial ink. the poet says, i do not invite the object of my heart to share my thirst, i invite when the cup of life is overflowing .

    In vaishakh, when the woods shrivel
    in the blasting devouring wind,
    will you fill with withered flowers
    your basket of love offerings?
    with the full splendor of your spirit
    welcome the guest your heart has invited
    let the lamps with their thousand tongues of light
    chase away all darkness

    above is from a Tagore story

    Thou shalt perforce be deserted
    when the night grows unquiet
    at the sound of chariot wheels of dawn
    alas, o bridal chamber
    separation lurks like a robber
    in the vastness without
    yet though it breaks and tears to fragments
    the garland exchange by lovers
    thou art forever un destroyed
    the festival is never silenced nor broken
    who says the bridal pair has forsaken thee
    leaving desolate the nuptial bed?
    they are not gone -the lovers
    in ever new guises
    they return at thy call
    to the open threshold
    coming again and again from journeying ever new
    o bridal chamber
    love is deathless
    thou too art immortal

  • Anonymous

    What shall i spread for her when I have nothing to spread? these wet newspaper sheets? i fear the stain of editorial ink. the poet says, i do not invite the object of my heart to share my thirst, i invite when the cup of life is overflowing .

    In vaishakh, when the woods shrivel
    in the blasting devouring wind,
    will you fill with withered flowers
    your basket of love offerings?
    with the full splendor of your spirit
    welcome the guest your heart has invited
    let the lamps with their thousand tongues of light
    chase away all darkness

    above is from a Tagore story

    Thou shalt perforce be deserted
    when the night grows unquiet
    at the sound of chariot wheels of dawn
    alas, o bridal chamber
    separation lurks like a robber
    in the vastness without
    yet though it breaks and tears to fragments
    the garland exchange by lovers
    thou art forever un destroyed
    the festival is never silenced nor broken
    who says the bridal pair has forsaken thee
    leaving desolate the nuptial bed?
    they are not gone -the lovers
    in ever new guises
    they return at thy call
    to the open threshold
    coming again and again from journeying ever new
    o bridal chamber
    love is deathless
    thou too art immortal


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