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Most recently published stories in Motivation.
The Night of Truth — When a Non-Believer Spoke from the Grave
In a small, quiet town lived a man named David, a kind but non-believing soul. He was generous with people, helped the poor, and smiled often — yet deep in his heart, he never accepted the existence of Allahُ جلّ جلالُہ, the Day of Judgment, or the life after death. Whenever someone spoke to him about faith, he would laugh softly and say, “When I die, everything will end — no heaven, no hell, only silence.”
By Ten Brothers wri8ers11 months ago in Motivation
From Vision to Impact: How Influential Women Magazine Celebrates Trailblazers Worldwide
Every great movement begins with a vision. It starts with one bold idea, one determined voice, and one moment of courage. That’s exactly how Influential Women came to life as a community built on the belief that women’s stories can inspire transformation. Through its two powerful platforms, Influential Women Magazine and Influential Women LinkedIn, this global brand continues to honor trailblazers who have turned vision into lasting impact.
By influentialwomenmagazine11 months ago in Motivation
Influential Women Who Inspire Change: The Heartbeat of Influential Women Magazine
Every generation has women who refuse to stand still, who see beyond challenges, and who dedicate their lives to creating something better. These women are the ones who inspire change, and they form the heartbeat of Influential Women Magazine. They are the reason the brand Influential Women exists — to recognize, celebrate, and amplify the voices that shape our world.
By influentialwomenmagazine11 months ago in Motivation
The Honest Shepherd and the Greedy Hunter
The Honest Shepherd and the Greedy Hunter Adapted from the story by Mukhtar Ahmad It was a quiet afternoon when Saeed, the shepherd boy, returned from grazing his goats and sheep. After dropping off the herds at various homes, he reached the house of the village headman, the Numberdar. There, he found the Numberdar’s wife sitting in a corner, weeping softly. Surprised, Saeed tied the goats and asked one of the servants, “What’s wrong with the mistress? Did she have a quarrel with the Numberdar?” The servant, Khero, sighed. “No, brother Saeed, there’s no quarrel. The Numberdar went to the city today and bought gold jewelry worth seven thousand rupees for his wife. On his way back, he stopped in the forest to eat lunch. The jewelry was tied in a silk pouch, which he placed under his knees while he ate. “But as he took his first bite, a monkey swung down from a tree, snatched the fancy cap off his head, and leaped away! The Numberdar threw a shoe at it and ran after the creature, but it was too high up the tree. When he returned, the silk pouch was gone. Some mischievous monkey must have taken it. He searched every tree but couldn’t find it. Exhausted and heartbroken, he came back home. Since then, the mistress hasn’t stopped crying—even though he’s promised to buy her new jewelry.” Saeed felt sorry for her and left quietly for home. He was tired that evening; he had gone deep into the jungle with his friend, the ape, and his legs ached. After bathing and eating at the village bakery, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until morning. The next day, Saeed drove his flock once again toward the forest. But when he reached the meadow where his goats usually grazed, he was surprised not to find his friend—the ape—waiting for him as usual. He sat on the grass, hoping the creature would appear, but the sun climbed high and still there was no sign. Worried, Saeed decided to go look for his friend. Leaving the flock behind, he went deeper into the forest, searching all the spots where they usually played. An hour passed—no sign of the ape. Then suddenly, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the trees. Saeed froze. The shot had come from the direction of Shahzad Nagar, a nearby town where hunters often came to hunt. Fear gripped him—what if the hunter had shot his beloved friend? He ran toward the sound. Soon, he saw a man standing in a clearing. The man’s back was turned, his rifle in one hand, and in the other—a silk pouch. On the ground lay a motionless monkey, blood oozing from its chest. Saeed’s heart sank. He immediately recognized the silk pouch—it must be the same one that held the Numberdar’s jewelry. The hunter turned slightly, and Saeed gasped. “Mr. Arshad! It’s you?” Arshad, startled, tried to hide the pouch. He was a friend of the Numberdar’s from childhood, though he now lived in the nearby city. “Saeed! What are you doing here?” Saeed quickly replied, “I heard the gunshot and came to see. So, you shot this monkey? It must be the one that stole the Numberdar’s jewelry!” Arshad hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I saw it holding this pouch. I thought it must be valuable, so I shot it.” “Then you should take the jewelry back to the Numberdar,” Saeed said. “His wife has been weeping nonstop.” But greed had already taken hold of Arshad’s heart. “Saeed,” he said softly, “the Numberdar is rich. He can buy more jewels. I’m poor—I work at a brick kiln for little pay. If I keep these jewels, I could start a small business. Please keep this a secret.” Saeed stepped back. “Arshad Sahib, I respected you. Don’t do this. It’s wrong.” Arshad’s tone hardened. “If you stay quiet, I’ll give you fifty rupees. But if you refuse, I’ll kill you right here. You’ll never tell anyone what happened.” Saeed’s heart raced. He realized Arshad was serious—and that silence would make him a partner in crime. Pretending to agree, Saeed blinked twice, then suddenly snatched the pouch and sprinted away. “Stop!” shouted Arshad, grabbing his rifle. A bullet whizzed past Saeed’s ear—it missed. Saeed darted behind trees, running deeper into the forest. Arshad followed like a shadow. At last, Saeed climbed a tall tree and hid among the leaves. From below, Arshad yelled, “I can see you! Come down!” Saeed, calm but defiant, tossed the pouch down. “Take your gold—it’s blinded you!” Arshad sneered. “You think you’re noble? Once you’re dead, no one will know the truth.” He aimed his rifle upward, finger trembling on the trigger. But before he could shoot, the bushes behind him exploded with a roar. A huge ape—Saeed’s friend—leapt from the trees. With one mighty blow, the beast knocked Arshad to the ground. The hunter’s gun fell away as he screamed in terror. The ape placed its heavy foot on Arshad’s chest and pressed down until he stopped struggling. Silence returned to the forest. Saeed jumped down and threw his arms around the ape, tears of relief in his eyes. The creature’s fur was damp—it had probably been playing near the lake. Taking Saeed’s hand, it led him toward the water. There, on floating logs, the ape began to splash and play, inviting Saeed to join. After some time together, Saeed said goodbye, retrieved the pouch from the bushes, and returned to the village. At the Numberdar’s house, he placed the jewelry before him and told the entire story. The Numberdar was astonished and deeply moved by Saeed’s honesty. “You could have kept this treasure,” he said, “but you chose truth over greed.” Since the Numberdar had no children of his own, he adopted Saeed as his son. From that day, the shepherd boy left his flocks behind and began to study diligently—while still visiting his friend, the faithful ape, in the forest. As for the Numberdar, he mourned the loss of his old friend Arshad, who had let greed destroy his soul—and his life.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Motivation
The Golden Pencil: A Lesson in Trust and Talent
The Golden Pencil BY ubaid Mukhtar Ahmed Fawad was a painter — and everything about him looked the part. A broad frame, fair skin, long shoulder-length hair, a white muslin kurta and pajama, and a betel leaf always tucked in his mouth. He had a small but vibrant studio in a busy part of the city. That little space was his world — his workshop, his gallery, and sometimes even his refuge. Fawad painted everything — landscapes, portraits, abstract art — but what made him famous were his pencil sketches. There was life in his lines, depth in every shadow, and a subtle emotion in every stroke. People came from all around to get their portraits made. Magazines and children’s storybooks often commissioned him to illustrate their covers. One afternoon, while he was lost in shading a portrait, a familiar voice called out, “Fawad!” He looked up to see an old friend — Khalid. The two had grown up in the same neighborhood, gone to the same school, but life had taken them in different directions. They shook hands warmly, laughter and memories spilling into the air. After some conversation, Khalid finally revealed why he had come. “Actually, I need a favor. My son Hamid loves drawing. He’s in ninth grade now — very bright and hardworking. I want him to learn under you.” Fawad’s face lit up. “I’d be happy to teach him! You should’ve brought him along today. Bring him tomorrow — I’ll see what he can do.” The next day, Khalid returned with Hamid — a shy, fair boy of about fifteen, polite and soft-spoken. Fawad handed him a pencil and paper and said, “Let’s see your work, young man.” Hamid quietly sat down and began to draw. Within ten minutes, he stood up and handed the paper to Fawad. The artist’s eyes widened — the boy had sketched him and Khalid in conversation, their expressions captured with stunning accuracy. Fawad rose from his chair, placed a hand affectionately on Hamid’s head, and said, “You have a gift, my boy. Your hand is steady, and your observation is remarkable. You’ll become a great artist one day.” From that day on, Hamid came to the studio every afternoon after school. He wasn’t just talented — he was diligent. He helped clean the dusty old canvases, arranged scattered paintings neatly, and turned the cluttered studio into a tidy, bright space. Fawad, who had long ignored such chores, was impressed. He rewarded Hamid with a hundred rupees — though the boy hesitated to take it until Fawad insisted. Soon, Hamid learned the differences between brush sizes, canvas textures, and color brands. He even began helping with magazine illustrations, and Fawad paid him for every piece. On the first of every month, he also gave Hamid a small allowance as appreciation. Hamid’s discipline made Fawad’s life easier. He began keeping a record of commissions in a notebook, ensuring that every client received their work on time. Fawad’s reputation grew — and so did his affection for his young apprentice. One afternoon, Fawad asked Hamid, “Do you eat lunch before coming here?” Hamid shook his head. “No, sir. If I go home for lunch, I’ll be late.” Fawad felt a pang of guilt. From the next day, he began taking Hamid home for lunch. His wife, Shazia, was always ready with food. Hamid was shy at first, eating quietly and sparingly, but Shazia liked him immediately. He reminded her of her younger brother. When she saw Hamid’s drawings — some published in magazines — she was astonished. “At this age? He’s brilliant,” she said to Fawad. From then on, she made sure to cook dishes Hamid liked. --- A few weeks later, a friend of Fawad’s returned from London and brought him a gift — a pencil made of pure gold, studded with tiny diamonds. It had a mechanical button on top and came with special sketching leads. It was beautiful — more like a piece of jewelry than a tool. Hamid was fascinated by it, his eyes sparkling as he examined it. Fawad smiled — he could tell the boy loved it. The next day, Hamid came to the studio as usual, but he seemed quiet. He worked silently on a series of drawings for a children’s storybook. When a client arrived, Fawad got busy talking, while Hamid moved around the table looking for something. A few minutes later, Hamid came up to him and said softly, “Sir, may I leave early today?” Fawad smiled. “Of course. Going to the circus, perhaps?” Hamid blushed. “No, sir. Just... need to get home.” Fawad nodded, and the boy left. After the client left, Fawad reached for his golden pencil — but it wasn’t there. He searched the desk, the drawers, even the floor. Gone. A cold thought crept into his mind: Hamid. He tried to dismiss it. No… not him. But the memory replayed — Hamid’s curiosity, his searching around the table, and his sudden request to leave early. By evening, Fawad had convinced himself. Hamid must have taken it. He went home, upset and disappointed. Shazia noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?” Fawad told her the whole story. She burst out laughing. “Oh, Fawad! You think that sweet boy stole your pencil?” Fawad frowned. “It’s easy for you to laugh. That pencil was worth a fortune!” Still smiling, Shazia handed him a cup of tea. “Before you scold your student tomorrow… maybe check your ear.” “My ear?” Fawad reached up — and froze. There it was. The golden pencil, tucked neatly behind his ear the whole time. For a moment, silence. Then both of them laughed — Fawad’s laughter tinged with embarrassment. “I doubted an innocent boy,” he said softly. “Never again. It’s wrong to accuse without proof.” Shazia smiled. “You should give that shiny pencil to Hamid. It suits his young hands better than yours.” The next day, when Hamid returned, Fawad greeted him with a warm smile — and a golden pencil wrapped in tissue paper. --- Moral: Never let suspicion overpower trust. True talent, like honesty, shines brighter than gold.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Motivation
Ahan’s Promise: Courage That Serves
Ahan’s Promise: Courage That Serves BY ubaid Ahan’s Promise Ahan was only twelve, but when he spoke his eyes were like bright embers. “Mother,” he said one evening, standing by the window as the valley’s last light faded, “I want to go fight for our homeland. I want to protect Kashmir and stand against those who harm our people.” His mother, Muneera, turned from the kitchen where she had been folding a simple shawl. She saw the fierce longing in her son’s face and felt both pride and worry. She walked over and gently stroked his head. “My child,” she said softly, “your courage is beautiful. But you are still very young.” Ahan straightened and looked out at the hills as if they held the answer. “Age doesn’t matter so much as the strength of the heart,” he insisted. “I will stand with our people. I will be a protector. I will not let those who harm our valley destroy its peace.” Muneera smiled sadly. She understood the depth of his passion. “Bravery matters,” she agreed, “but so does patience and wisdom. There are ways to serve that build lasting strength.” Ahan’s jaw tightened. “But mother, there is not much time. Bad things are happening—houses burned, families displaced. I cannot wait years to be ready. I want to help now.” Muneera led him to the small table and poured two cups of tea. The steam curled like a promise between them. “Listen,” she said, leaning in. “If you truly want to protect your homeland, study hard. Join the national defense when you are old enough, and train to be a disciplined and skilled guardian. A soldier’s strength comes from knowledge and patience, not only from strength of arms.” Ahan’s face showed both impatience and awe. “That will take time,” he said. “But we can’t only wait.” “You’re right,” Muneera replied. “And there are things we can do now—safe, honorable ways that help our people without bringing more harm. You can organize your friends and neighbors to support those who suffer. Gather food, blankets, and medicine. Help families who have lost their homes. Feed children. Help elders find shelter. That is also service. That is protection of a kind.” Ahan’s eyes softened. “So we could start a group? We could collect what people need and send it to those who lost everything?” “Yes,” Muneera said, smiling. “Form a team of caring young people. Ask your teachers and neighbors for permission to organize a community drive. Work with recognized aid groups or local relief committees so the help reaches rightful hands. This way you learn responsibility, leadership, and compassion — and you protect your people without becoming part of hatred or revenge.” Ahan imagined it: boys and girls walking through their lane with bags of rice and bread, elderly neighbors knitting warm socks, schoolteachers helping to pack crates of supplies. He could see smiles returned, hands clasped in thanks. The thought calmed a fierce part of him. “Will that make a difference?” he asked quietly. “It will,” Muneera said firmly. “Every warm blanket is a shield against the cold. Every meal you carry is protection against hunger. You will be building bridges of hope. And when the time comes for you to serve in uniform, you will carry this wisdom with you — how to guard not only borders but people’s lives and dignity.” Ahan stood up and touched his mother’s hands in salute, his small chest puffing with pride. “Then I will do both,” he declared. “I will study hard. I will grow strong and learn. And I will start our relief group today.” Muneera’s eyes misted. “That is my brave boy,” she said, kissing his forehead. “We will help with planning. We will speak to the headmaster, set a day for a collection, and make sure we work through the right channels. Remember: true courage knows the difference between strength and violence, and chooses life.” The next weekend their narrow street hummed with activity. Ahan and four friends marched door to door with careful lists and polite greetings. Neighbors handed over jars of preserves, extra blankets, small piles of clothing. The school principal lent the gym as a temporary packing center, and a local relief committee agreed to transport the supplies to the families who needed them most. Ahan learned how to write receipts, how to thank donors, how to keep calm when a delivery truck was late. Each small task made him feel older and steadier. Weeks later, when the relief boxes reached a mountain settlement, Ahan watched a child unwrap a worn blanket and press it to his face with a grateful, astonished look. The sight lodged in Ahan’s heart like a seed. Years passed. Ahan studied with focus, trained with discipline, and when he finally enlisted he did so with the blessing of his community. He carried the memory of the blankets and the meals with him into the drills and into the long nights of his service. The boy who had once only wanted to fight had grown into a young man who fought to protect — not to punish — and who never forgot the value of human life. On quiet evenings he would tell new recruits about the relief drives and the ways communities could heal. “Strength without compassion is hollow,” he would say. “Protect with honor. Serve with a heart.” Muneera, watching her son walk tall among other guardians of the valley, often whispered a blessing into the dark: may his courage always be guided by kindness, and may his love for his homeland always be a light that leads others to peace. And in the valley below, small hands still packed warm blankets, and neighbors still knocked on neighbors’ doors, because protection had learned to wear many faces — from the soldier’s uniform to the volunteer’s apron — and every one of them mattered.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Motivation
The Golden Reign of Justice: Caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA)
The Golden Reign of Justice: The Story of Caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA) Story: BY khan After the passing of Caliph Abu Bakr al-Siddiq (RA), the mantle of leadership of the Muslim world passed to Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA). His era became one of the most glorious and transformative periods in Islamic history. Under his leadership, the foundations of governance, justice, and social welfare were laid so firmly that traces of his system can still be found in modern institutions today. Caliph Umar (RA) was not merely a ruler — he was a visionary reformer who shaped the administrative, social, and moral structure of an expanding Islamic empire. During his rule, Islam spread rapidly across vast territories. The lands of Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and large parts of Persia came under the banner of Islam. But conquest was not his true legacy — justice was. He introduced a governance model so fair and humane that it continues to inspire political thinkers, historians, and social reformers across the world. Umar (RA) was the first to introduce the Hijri calendar, which remains the Islamic system of dating to this day. He established the concept of prisons, not as places of cruelty but of justice and reform. He organized salaries for the muezzins (the ones who call to prayer), arranged lighting in mosques, and founded the first organized police department in the world. For the first time in recorded history, he introduced stipends for infants, widows, the disabled, and the poor — establishing the world’s earliest welfare system. Under his leadership, military camps and regiments were formed, ensuring discipline and readiness in defense. He also set up a system to hold judges and governors accountable, something unheard of in those days. Umar (RA) was the first leader to institutionalize accountability for those in power, establishing that no one, no matter how high their status, was above the law. He often said, “The rulers who do justice sleep without fear at night.” For him, leadership was not privilege — it was responsibility. His philosophy was simple yet profound: “The leader of the people is their true servant.” Despite being the most powerful man in the Muslim world, his personal life was marked by humility and simplicity. His dining table never saw two dishes served at once. He often slept on the bare ground, using a brick as his pillow. His robe carried fourteen patches, one of which was made from red leather. He wore coarse, rough clothing — never silk or fine fabrics. When appointing governors, he would advise them: “Do not ride Turkish horses, do not wear fine garments, do not eat sifted flour, do not appoint doorkeepers, and never close your doors to those who come with complaints.” Such were his words — timeless lessons in humility and public service. One of his most famous declarations stands as a beacon of human rights even today: “When did you enslave people, while their mothers gave birth to them as free?” This one sentence alone captures the essence of equality and justice that defined his reign. Caliph Umar (RA) was also the first Muslim ruler to be called “Amir al-Mu’minin” — The Commander of the Faithful. Yet, despite his power, his heart trembled with accountability before God. He would say: “If even a dog dies hungry on the banks of the Euphrates, I fear that Allah will hold me responsible.” His concern for justice extended beyond humans — it embraced every living creature. Umar (RA) established a system so effective that echoes of it still resonate in modern governance. Whenever a letter is sent through a postal service, when a policeman wears his uniform, or when a soldier is granted leave after months of duty — they all unknowingly reflect the system pioneered by Caliph Umar. Whenever a government issues welfare payments to widows, orphans, or the disabled, it continues a tradition that began with him — the world’s first organized welfare state. Even non-Muslims of his time could not deny his greatness. It is said that many of the polytheists of his era admitted, “If there had been another Umar, the entire world would have followed Islam.” Indeed, his rule was not about power, wealth, or territory. It was about justice, equality, and service — values that transcended borders and time. Under his leadership, Islam was not spread by the sword, but by the strength of character, the fairness of the system, and the compassion of its ruler. Every land where Umar’s flag was raised still echoes with the call to prayer — Allahu Akbar. In those lands, generations later, people still bow their heads in submission to God, continuing the spiritual legacy he helped nurture. Today, historians call him the architect of the first true welfare state. Political thinkers cite his system as a model of transparent and accountable governance. And believers, to this day, invoke his memory as the embodiment of faithful leadership. Caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA) proved that greatness does not come from riches or thrones — it comes from justice, humility, and service to humanity. His reign remains a golden chapter in human history, reminding us that even in power, one can remain righteous, simple, and deeply human. And so, the world remembers him — not merely as a conqueror, but as the man who showed what true leadership means. Khan
By Khan 11 months ago in Motivation
The Art of Letting Go
People view walking away from a problem as being cowardly, you didn’t have the courage to face the difficulty so you decided to runaway. Walking away isn’t the same as running away unfortunately it often gets substituted for it. When a person decides to walk away from a battle, he or she is seen as being weak, a loser who chose not to fight and instantly people lose respect for such a person but you have to understand that walking away isn’t the same as running away.
By real Jema11 months ago in Motivation
The Power of One Step: How Small Actions Create Big Change
We often think of life-changing moments as grand events — the day you land your dream job, meet the right person, or finally hold your published book in your hands. But in truth, most transformations don’t happen in a single moment. They begin long before that, quietly, with one small decision — a step so small it almost feels invisible.
By Muhammad yar11 months ago in Motivation
Unbreakable: How I Rebuilt My Life When Everything Fell Apart. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
1. When the Ground Crumbles Beneath You I never expected my life to collapse in a single phone call. It was a gray Thursday afternoon when my manager told me I was being let go. No warning, no transition — just an empty desk and a final paycheck.
By Chilam Wong11 months ago in Motivation
