Narmada Ki Beti

Amba

Main jab paida hui thi, Maa kehti thi, “Iski rooh paani se nikli hai.”

Ghar ke bahar kachchi mitti ka angan tha, aur angan ke aage seedha ghats tak jaane wali patli gali. Hamare town mein subah ki pehli awaaz nadi ki hoti thi. Kabhi shaant, kabhi pattharon se takraati hui. Narmada ke kinare rehte hue log do tarah ke hote the—ek woh jo nadi ko roti, paani, safar samajhte the; aur doosre woh jo use devi samajhkar sir jhuka dete the. Mai doosre wale group mein thi. Main... main to usi nadi ki beti thi, ya yahi toh sab kehte the.

Mere naam se zyada log mujhe “Narmada ki Amba” bolte the. Chote-bade sab. Dukaan wala, panditji, auratें jo ghat pe kapde dho rahi hoti thi, school ke ladke jo mujhe dekhkar whisper karte, “Wahi hai.” Jaise mere maathe pe kuch likha ho. Jaise meri saans mein nadi ki bhasha ho.

Main is baat ko poore dil se maanti thi.

Jab main chhoti thi, ek baar baarish mein nadi ka water level badh gaya tha. Mai mujhe kaandhe pe chadhakar ghar se bahar nikaal rahi thi. Main ro rahi thi, kyunki mujhe laga nadi hamara ghar le jaayegi. Tab ek chhota sa safed phool pani ke sath behkar mere pair ke paas aaya tha. Main ruk gayi. Mai ne mujhe dekha, phir nadi ko, aur dheere se boli, “Dekh, maa ne tujhe pehchaan liya.”

Us din se mujhe lagne laga tha ki nadi mujhe bachati hai.

Har Savera, main ghat pe jaati. Haath jodti. Paani mein chehra dekhti. Kabhi-kabhi lagta, paani mein mera chehra nahi, kisi aur ka hai—jaise koi aur ladki meri aankhon se mujhe dekh rahi ho. Tab bhi darr nahi lagta tha. Bas ajeeb sa apna-pan lagta tha.

“Amba!” Mai ki awaaz peeche se aati. “Pooja ka diya leke aa, aur do minute mein wapas aa.”

Mai ki awaaz mein hamesha urgency hoti thi. Jaise zindagi uske haath se slip ho rahi ho aur woh ek ek cheez ko pakadkar kaam chala rahi ho.

Hamara ghar chhota tha. Chhat par se dhoop andar girti thi, deewar se pair tak thandi rehti thi. Mai kapde dhone, logon ke ghar ka kaam, kabhi kisi ke yahan bartan—jo milta kar leti. Mere baba kab ke chale gaye the. Kahaan, kaise, kis ke saath—Mai us par baat nahi karti thi. Main bhi nahi puchti thi. Hamare ghar mein kuch sawaal aise the jo jaise hi hont tak aate, hawa mein ghul jaate.

Mai mujhe pyar karti thi, par uska pyar aasaan nahi tha. Woh mujhe kabhi gale lagati aur kabhi daant deti. Kabhi kehti, “Tu meri jaan hai,” aur kabhi bolti, “Itna mat chamak, log aankh laga denge.” Main jab bhi usse puchti, “Mai, kya sach mein main Narmada ki beti hoon?” toh woh bas meri maang pe tilak sa laga deti aur bolti, “Tu uski hai, aur meri bhi. Ab aur kya chahiye?”

Par logon ko aur chahiye hota tha.

Priest Trivedi ko main pehli baar mandir mein dekha tha. Bade pet wale, sakht chehre wale, safed dhoti-kurta, gale mein rudraksh. Unki aankhen muskuraati kam thi, tolti zyada thi. Main jab bhi mandir jaati, woh mujhe alag se dekhte. Jaise mujhe dekhna unka haq ho.

Ek din unhone mujhe bulaya. “Amba, idhar aa.”

Main Maa ke pallu ko pakadke khadi rahi.

Trivedi ne mujhe upar se neeche dekha. “Iska chehra dekho. Nadi jaisi aankhen. Aur mathe pe jo til hai—yeh sanket hai.”

Mujhe samajh nahi aaya, par mandir ke logon ne “Jai Narmada Maiya” bol diya. Kisi ne mere sir pe haath rakha. Kisi ne mujhe nariyal diya. Kisi ne mere pair chhu liye.

Mere andar kuch garam ho gaya tha. Sharm bhi, ghabrahat bhi, aur ek ajeeb sa garv bhi.

Usi din se main “chosen” ban gayi.

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Ghat

Chunav ka matlab mujhe tab tak sirf itna pata tha ki log mujhe dekhne aate hain. Festival ke din, chhote chhote shehar aur gaon se buses aati. Auratें rang-birange saree mein, aadmi tilak laga ke, bachche kandhon pe. Sab ghats ke paas jama hote.

“Woh aa gayi.”

“Amba dekho.”

“Sach mein nadi ki beti hai.”

Trivedi stage jaisa mandap banwate. Main safed suit pehankar, baal kholkar ya juda banakar, unke ishaare pe baithti. Woh mere maathe pe chandan lagate. Mujhe bolna hota, “Maa Narmada ka aashirwad sab pe rahe.” Main bol deti. Log taali bajate. Mujhe paisa, kapde, prasad milta. Mai us paise ko chupchaap almirah ke neeche rakhti. Kabhi kabhi usse ration aata. Kabhi mere school ki fees.

School mein bhi log alag nazar se dekhte the. Principal ne ek baar assembly mein mujhe aage bulaya tha. “Hamari school ki Amba, jo Narmada Maiya ki kripa se aayi hai.”

Mere dost kam the. Zyada log ya toh mujhse darte the, ya mujhe chidhate the.

“Sach bol, paani se nikal ke aayi thi?” ek ladka haste hue kehta.

Main uska jawab nahi deti. Bas sochti, agar main sach mein nadi ki beti hoon, toh meri chhati mein itna dard kyon hota hai jab Mai raat ko khansi se uthti hai? Nadi ki beti ko to sab theek hona chahiye na.

Par phir nadi ki awaaz aati.

Main us awaaz ko bachpan se sunti thi—ghat pe, raat ko chhat par, baarish ke baad, ya jab koi bada faisla lena hota. Awaaz aurat jaisi thi, gahri aur dhimi. Kabhi lagta maa bol rahi hai. Kabhi lagta nadi khud.

“Amba,” woh kehti, “sab paani se hi aate hain.”

Main usse poochti, “Main sach mein special hoon?”

“Tu nazar mein hai,” awaaz jawab deti. “Par nazar se pehle insaan hai.”

Mujhe ye baat samajh nahi aati thi. Main bas usme sukoon dhundhti thi.

Trivedi ne mujhe aise pesh kiya jaise meri zindagi unke haath ka diya hua vardaan ho. Log donations dete. Mandir mein naye carpet aaye. Trivedi ki gaadi aur chamak gayi. Mai ke haath mein kabhi kabhi kuch note aa jaate. Woh note dekhkar uske chehre pe na khushi aati, na shukriya. Bas thakaan.