Lahori Novels
Khuda Wo Waqt Na Laye
The air hung heavy with anticipation, a hushed silence settling over the room. The old man, his face etched with the weight of years, sat hunched over, his eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug beneath his feet. His granddaughter, Maha, watched him, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this was the moment she had been waiting for, the moment her grandfather would finally share the story that had been whispered about for generations.
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The old man cleared his throat, his voice raspy with age, “There was once a village nestled amidst the rolling hills, a place where time seemed to stand still. The villagers lived in harmony, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of nature. They were a simple folk, content with their lot, their needs few and their desires even fewer. But then, as fate would have it, a stranger arrived in their midst. He was a man of imposing stature, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. He spoke of faraway lands, of riches beyond imagination, of a life where desires knew no bounds.”
The villagers, initially wary of the stranger, were soon captivated by his tales. He painted a picture of a world where wants were fulfilled without effort, where happiness was a commodity that could be bought and sold. He spoke of a life where individuality was celebrated, where conformity was a distant memory. The villagers, yearning for something more than their simple existence, were drawn to the stranger’s promises.
One by one, they succumbed to his allure, abandoning their traditional ways and embracing the stranger’s teachings. The village, once a haven of peace and tranquility, was transformed into a crucible of ambition and greed. The villagers, blinded by their desire for material possessions, turned against each other, their once harmonious relationships shattered by envy and resentment.
As the stranger’s influence grew, so did the discord in the village. The once-verdant fields lay fallow, neglected as the villagers pursued their newfound desires. The river, once a source of life and sustenance, was polluted by the waste of their extravagant lifestyles. The air, once filled with the songs of birds and the laughter of children, was now thick with the fumes of their factories and the clamor of their machines.
The villagers, trapped in a web of their own making, were miserable. Their hearts, once filled with joy and contentment, were now empty and hollow. They had traded their simple happiness for a life of fleeting pleasures, only to find that the pursuit of happiness had left them devoid of any true joy.
The old man paused, his gaze turning towards his granddaughter. “Maha,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion, “happiness is not something that can be bought or sold. It is not a destination to be reached, but a state of being that arises from within. It is found in the simple things, in the beauty of nature, in the love of family and friends, in the kindness of strangers.”
Maha, her eyes glistening with tears, nodded in understanding. She had heard the stories of her ancestors, the tales of their lost paradise. She had seen the emptiness in the eyes of those who chased after fleeting pleasures, their lives devoid of any true meaning. Her grandfather’s words resonated deep within her soul, a beacon of hope in the darkness of a world consumed by materialism.
The old man continued, “The stranger, in his pursuit of wealth and power, had forgotten the true meaning of happiness. He had sacrificed his soul for material possessions, only to find that they had left him empty and alone. He had lost sight of the beauty of the world around him, blinded by his own greed and ambition.”
As the story unfolded, Maha learned a valuable lesson. She learned that true happiness was not found in the accumulation of wealth or the pursuit of fame, but in the simple joys of life, in the love and kindness that bound her to her family and friends. She learned that material possessions were fleeting, but the memories of shared experiences, of laughter and love, would last a lifetime.
The old man’s voice trailed off, his eyes closing as if lost in a distant memory. Maha sat quietly, the weight of his words settling upon her like a gentle snowfall. She had heard the stories of her ancestors, the tales of their lost paradise. She had seen the emptiness in the eyes of those who chased after fleeting pleasures, their lives devoid of any true meaning. Her grandfather’s words resonated deep within her soul, a beacon of hope in the darkness of a world consumed by materialism.
As she left her grandfather’s house, Maha carried his words with her, a guiding light in the darkness. She knew that the path to true happiness was not an easy one, but she was determined to follow it, to live a life of meaning and purpose, a life filled with love and kindness, just as her ancestors had done.
