Humanity

The Risk of Serving Kings: A Timeless Lesson from Sheikh Saadi
The Advice of Sheikh Saadi: A Tale of Wisdom, Temptation, and Consequence BY:Khan Long ago, in a time when people turned to the wise for guidance before making any life-changing decision, a poor man approached the great Persian scholar and poet, Sheikh Saadi. This man was burdened with poverty, his children were many, and his means of livelihood were almost nonexistent. Hunger gnawed at him and despair filled his heart. “Respected Sheikh,” the man said with a trembling voice, “I can no longer endure this life of want. My children are hungry, my wife suffers with me, and I have no trade or income to provide for them. Many times I have thought of abandoning this place to seek a better fortune elsewhere, but then I fear the taunts of people. They will accuse me of being heartless—of leaving my family behind in hardship just to ease my own burden. I beg you, guide me. You are known for wisdom in both worldly and spiritual matters. Please recommend me for service under a king. Perhaps in a royal court, I may find relief.” Sheikh Saadi looked at him with a calm and piercing gaze. He answered: “Serving a king is like standing on the edge of a sharp blade. There are two sides to such service: the hope of wealth and the risk of your very life. Wise men say it is never wise to put your life in danger merely for the hope of provision. Be content with simple bread and peace.” But the man grew restless. “O Sheikh, that is not the answer I seek! You do not understand my pain. If I serve the king honestly, without betrayal or deceit, why should I ever face harm from him?” To this, Sheikh Saadi narrated a parable: “One day, a fox was seen running frantically through the forest. People stopped her and asked, ‘What danger drives you so swiftly?’ The fox replied, ‘I have heard that the lions are conscripting animals for labor.’ The people laughed. ‘But you are no kin of the lion. Why should you fear?’ The fox sighed and said, ‘What if my enemies, out of jealousy, claim that I am the lion’s cub? Who then will save me from such an accusation?’ Do you not see, my friend? Even if you remain faithful and honest in your duties, jealous rivals may accuse you falsely. And in the presence of a powerful king, who will dare to defend you? For fear of their own safety, even loyal companions fall silent. Thus, it is better to endure poverty with dignity than to expose yourself to peril in the court of kings.” The poor man, however, became angry. He felt Sheikh Saadi had dismissed his suffering. Persistently, he begged again for a position. Finally, to quiet him, Sheikh Saadi recommended him to royal service. In time, the man rose through the ranks of the court. His diligence and intelligence earned him promotions. From a poor beggar, he became a respected officer. Soon, he was counted among the trusted companions of the king himself. His household prospered, and his children no longer went hungry. He felt proud that he had defied Sheikh Saadi’s caution and carved out success for himself. Years later, Sheikh Saadi traveled for the pilgrimage to Mecca. Upon his return, he happened to see the same man again—but this time in rags, broken and destitute. His face bore the scars of betrayal and hardship. Saadi was astonished. “What has happened to you?” asked the Sheikh. “How did fortune turn against you so harshly?” The man sighed heavily and spoke with bitterness. “Your words were true, Sheikh. My jealous rivals accused me of treachery against the king. Though I was innocent, the king ordered an investigation. None of my friends, none of my companions in court, dared to defend me. Their silence condemned me. The same people who once bowed before me now trample me under their feet. When I held power, they praised me. But when I fell, they abandoned me. Thus, I lost not only my position but also my honor.” Sheikh Saadi shook his head gently. “Did I not tell you? Serving kings is like living in a river—every step is threatened by drowning. If a man does not have the strength to endure a second sting, why should he place his hand again in the nest of a scorpion? Wisdom is given so that men may learn from experience. The wise profit from advice, while the foolish insist on learning only through suffering. And often, that suffering leaves scars too deep to heal.” The man lowered his head in silence. He now understood the weight of those words he had once ignored. --- Moral of the Story This timeless parable reminds us of a profound truth: not all opportunities are worth the risk they bring. The allure of wealth and position may dazzle us, but they often come with hidden dangers—jealous rivals, fragile loyalties, and the cruelty of power. It is better to live humbly and in peace than to gamble one’s life and honor in the treacherous court of kings. Sheikh Saadi’s wisdom, centuries old, still speaks to us today: true wealth lies not in riches or positions, but in contentment, integrity, and the courage to live simply.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions
The Silent Power Ranked No. 1 Pakistan’s Intelligence
Pakistan’s Intelligence: The Silent Power Ranked No. 1 In the shadowed world of intelligence, where silence speaks louder than speeches and precision matters more than parades, one agency has emerged with an unshakable reputation: Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI).
By Wings of Time 12 months ago in Confessions
“When the Moon Looked Like You”
Every night, the moon had a way of speaking to her. It wasn’t with words, but with light—soft, silver light that painted the darkness with whispers of memories. She first noticed it on the night he left, when the moon was full and impossibly bright. It hung low, like it was trying to stay close, as if it knew the ache that would settle into her heart.
By fazalhaq12 months ago in Confessions
Something I need to tell you
Dear Aunt, I am sending this as an email because I need a clear place to say what I have been carrying for a long time. I will use “Aunt” here because that is what you are, even though, for many months, you have not acted like someone who cares gently for us. I will still show you respect in this message, because respect is all I can offer if nothing else remains. I know you may not answer. I know it may be ignored. Still, I need to be honest.
By Zidane12 months ago in Confessions
Just Wanted Bacon on My Burger
I went to Burger King with my wife. We ordered separately on the app so we could each earn our own points. I wanted to enjoy a nice cheeseburger, which was on sale through the Burger King app. It was a free cheeseburger if you bought something for a dollar. I added bacon to it and also ordered a side item.
By Joey Raines12 months ago in Confessions
You Hid a Forbidden Love, but the Truth Cost You Everything
You were fearless once. At nineteen, the world was yours—a vibrant university student with dreams as bold as your spirit. That’s when you met him, the man who swept you off your feet with his wealth, charm, and promises of a glittering future. You married young, dazzled by his family’s prestige and the life you’d build together. The first years were a whirlwind of success—money poured in, your lifestyle soared. But beneath the surface, something was missing. His touch was cold, his words sparse. He poured himself into his business, leaving you starving for affection. You tried to fill the void, showering him with love, but it was like pouring water into a cracked vase—it never held.
By zinat12 months ago in Confessions
Gudia’s Prayer: A Child’s Hope for Her Friend Guddu
Gudia’s Prayer BY:Khan I am Gudia. Right now, I am sitting in the long, silent corridor of a hospital. The floor beneath me is cold, and so is the air around me. It feels like the whole world has fallen asleep, except for me and the sound of my own thoughts. I know my mother must be worried at home. I never returned last night, and she must be pacing, waiting, maybe even crying. In the morning, when I finally go home, she will scold me, perhaps even beat me with the corner of her dupatta the way she does when she is angry. And I will take it silently, because I know she is worried out of love. But how can I leave? How can I go home when Guddu is lying here in this hospital, fighting for his life? Maybe you don’t know who Guddu is. How would you? Let me tell you. Guddu is not just a friend—he is my secret-keeper, my laughter, my world. He is the one who buys me small pieces of roasted corn from the street, who treats me to a kulfi when the heat becomes unbearable, who listens to me when no one else does. But let me tell you how we first became friends. One afternoon, my mother sent me to the market to buy vegetables. On the way, I saw Guddu sitting outside his house, selling candies. I wanted one so badly. I asked him, “Please give me a candy. I’ll bring the money tomorrow.” He didn’t ask questions, didn’t frown. He just smiled and handed me a candy without taking a single coin. That was the beginning. After that day, we were always together. Our neighborhood is dirty, filled with garbage dumps at every corner. The air often smells of rotting food, and stray dogs fight over scraps in the alleys. But somehow, in that ugliness, our friendship blossomed. Guddu and I would sit near the railway crossing, right by the old iron gate where trains would thunder past. He would count the coins he earned from selling candies, his small hands moving carefully as if every coin was a treasure. And I would chatter endlessly—about my school, my mother, my dreams. He would listen, smile, and sometimes laugh out loud. Life was simple, even if the world around us wasn’t. But then came the day everything changed. We were walking home together, chatting as usual, when we came across one of those garbage piles. We tried to walk carefully, stepping around it, but in the blink of an eye, something sharp hidden inside the trash pierced Guddu’s foot. He winced in pain. Blood began to flow from the wound, staining the dust beneath his feet. I quickly tore a strip from my dupatta and pressed it against his foot to stop the bleeding. Guddu tried to laugh it off, pretending it was nothing, but I could see the pain in his eyes. After that day, he was never the same. He started falling sick more often. His laughter faded, his energy drained. His mother took him to the hospital, and then came the words that no child should ever hear: “He has AIDS.” At first, I didn’t understand what that meant. All I knew was that the doctors whispered as if they carried bad news, and people began to look at Guddu differently, as if he was carrying a shadow that could spread. But I knew only one thing: Guddu was my friend. And friends don’t leave each other behind. Now I sit here on the cold floor of the hospital corridor, praying with all my heart. I press my hands together tightly, whispering every prayer I know. “Please, God. Don’t take Guddu away. Please don’t let him die.” Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I believe that if I keep praying hard enough, if I keep believing, then maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe Guddu will open his eyes tomorrow, smile at me, and say, “See, Gudia? I told you I won’t leave you.” I believe in that hope. I must. Because what is friendship without hope? Dear children, if you are reading my story, I want to ask you something. Please whisper a prayer with me. Say it softly, in your heart: “Gudia’s Guddu will live. He will not die.” Because when many hearts pray together, miracles can happen. I know life is cruel sometimes. Our world is full of dirt, pain, and poverty. Children like Guddu and me are often forgotten. But in the middle of all this, love still exists—love in the form of friendship, kindness, and loyalty. That is why I believe Guddu’s story will not end here. Yes, maybe the doctors have given up. Maybe the neighbors whisper that his days are numbered. But I believe differently. I believe that prayer is stronger than fear, and friendship is stronger than disease. So I sit here through the night, on the cold hospital floor, waiting for dawn. The world sleeps, but I stay awake. Because somewhere in that room, on that hospital bed, my best friend is fighting for his life. And I will not leave him alone. Not tonight. Not ever.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions
The light within
I never understood the point of good and evil, or why one exist with the other. It was something I started to question when I was a young kid. Why were people so mean to me? Why were they trying to control me? Who is Jesus? Why do we need to believe in him?
By Cerina Galvan12 months ago in Confessions
Two strangers seated side-by-side on a long overnight train ride. Content Warning.
The notebook feels cheap under my fingers, the cardboard cover flimsy. This pen is already starting to skip. But it’s midnight, and the train is a dark serpent sliding through the sleeping countryside, and I can’t sleep. The hum is in my bones. That low, metallic thrumming that feels like being inside a giant, moving creature. It’s the sound of distance being eaten. The sound of leaving.
By Chahat12 months ago in Confessions
Behind the Curtain: The Real Story of the Pakistan–Saudi Deal”
The recent Pakistan Saudi defense agreement has been hailed in official statements as a symbol of “brotherhood” and “mutual protection.” But a closer look reveals a different story one that raises troubling questions about Pakistan’s sovereignty, regional stability, and future
By Izhar Ullah12 months ago in Confessions
Loyalty in the Court of Caliph Muʿāwiya
Loyalty Tested in the Court of Caliph MuʿāwiyaBY:Khan The sun blazed mercilessly over Damascus. It was noon, and the heat pressed down on the earth like a heavy blanket. Inside his grand palace, Caliph Muʿāwiya ibn Abī Sufyān sat by a window, gazing out across the vast open fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, his attention fixed on a lone figure staggering across the burning ground. The man was barefoot, struggling forward under the punishing sun. The Caliph pointed him out to those gathered around him and said, “Who could be more unfortunate than the one forced to travel in such unbearable heat?” One courtier replied softly, “Commander of the Faithful, perhaps he carries a need that has driven him to you.” The Caliph nodded. “By Allah, if he has come with a plea, I shall grant it.” He ordered a servant to wait at the palace gates and allow the weary traveler entry if he sought an audience. A few moments later, the man stood before the Caliph. His face was lined with hardship, his clothes worn, and his body weak from the journey. Yet his eyes burned with determination. “What brings you here?” asked the Caliph. The man bowed. “O Leader of the Believers, I come to seek justice. I have been wronged.” “Who has wronged you?” “Your governor, Mervān ibn al-Ḥakam,” the man said bitterly. “He has oppressed me and stolen from me what was dearest to my heart.” The Caliph leaned forward. “Tell me your story.” The man took a deep breath and began. “I had a wife, Sāʿd, whom I loved dearly. We owned a caravan of camels and lived in comfort. But famine struck our land, and I lost everything. My father-in-law, disgusted by my poverty, forcibly took my wife away from me. I turned to Governor Mervān for justice. He summoned my father-in-law, who lied, claiming that his daughter no longer wished to live with me. I begged Mervān to ask Sāʿd herself, and she was brought before him. But when Mervān saw her beauty, he was captivated. Instead of delivering justice, he turned against me. He insulted me, ordered me imprisoned, and struck a bargain with her father: in exchange for one thousand gold dinars, I was to be forced into divorcing her so that Mervān could marry her himself. I refused, but he had me tortured until I could endure no more. In pain and despair, I divorced her. After her waiting period, Mervān married her.” The man’s voice broke. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he collapsed to the floor unconscious. A hush fell over the court. The Caliph’s expression darkened with anger. “Mervān has dared to transgress the limits of Allah and has dishonored a Muslim’s household!” He called for pen and paper and wrote a stern command: “It has reached me that you have exceeded the bounds of Islam and committed injustice against your subject. Immediately divorce this woman and send her to Damascus with Naṣr ibn Dhubyān.” Mervān, faced with the Caliph’s authority, had no choice but to comply. He divorced Sāʿd and sent her, along with a letter laced with poetry. In it, he pleaded for forgiveness and admitted his weakness: ‘When you see her beauty, O Caliph, you will understand. She is like the rising sun, a sight that no man or jinn has ever beheld before.’ When Sāʿd arrived in Damascus, the Caliph saw that Mervān’s words had not been exaggerated. She was strikingly beautiful, but more than that, her speech was eloquent, her mind sharp, and her presence commanding. The Caliph decided to test her loyalty. He turned to the Bedouin and said, “Why do you cling to her so desperately? I will grant you three slave-girls, each as fair as the moon, with a thousand dinars each. From the treasury I will provide enough wealth for you to live in comfort. Forget her, and take this instead.” The man cried out, his voice echoing in the hall: “I came here seeking justice against Mervān’s tyranny. Now tell me, O Caliph—if you too deny me justice, where shall I turn?” The Caliph smiled. “You admitted you divorced her, and Mervān too divorced her. Now she is free to choose. Sāʿd, the decision is yours. Choose between three men: the Caliph with his palace and power, Mervān with his cruelty and wealth, or this Bedouin with his poverty.” Without hesitation, Sāʿd spoke in verse: “Though he is poor and destitute, in my eyes he is more honorable than my entire tribe. He is dearer to me than all else.” She continued, her voice steady: “O Commander of the Faithful, I will not abandon him because of hardship or poverty. My bond with him is old and cannot be erased. I shared in his joys during days of prosperity; how can I forsake him now in struggle?” The Caliph’s stern expression softened into a smile. He was moved by her loyalty and love. “Sāʿd, I only wished to test you. Truly, this is how a Muslim wife should be—faithful, steadfast, and unshaken by fortune.” He ordered that both she and her husband be granted two thousand gold dinars each from the treasury. Thus, justice was restored, and a timeless lesson was left behind: true loyalty does not waver in hardship, and real love cannot be bought with wealth or power.
By Khan 12 months ago in Confessions
The Secret I Never Planned to Share
Secrets are strange. They start off as little shadows that you might decide to overlook. But the longer you hold on to them, the heavier they become—they speak in your ear at night, sit on your chest, and tug at your conscience. I wasn't going to share mine. For years, I even convinced myself that I would take it into the next world.
By jawad ali12 months ago in Confessions