In the Name of Allah

Ahmad Raza was a children’s author who specialized in mystery and detective stories. His tales were filled with suspense and wonder, captivating readers of all ages. At home, besides him, only one trustworthy servant, Akram, managed the household. Ahmad Raza’s wife had passed away years ago, and their only son, a doctor, lived in the United Kingdom.

Each year, Ahmad Raza spent two months in the UK with his son. He left at the end of May, spent June and July there, and returned during the first week of August. As usual, he completed his travel preparations and gave Akram nearly two months of leave, asking him to visit every two or three days just to tidy the house.

Azfar, the son of Ahmad Raza’s neighbor, was a big fan of Ahmad Raza’s stories. He loved reading them but was also passionate about writing. Azfar dreamed of seeing his own stories published in children’s magazines. He had submitted several stories but had faced disappointment every time — none of his tales had ever been published.

Azfar was a ninth-grade student whose reading and experience were insufficient for creating truly polished stories. His writing was immature, with disconnected sentences and frequent grammatical errors.

A few days after Ahmad Raza’s departure, Azfar was playing cricket in the street with friends when, by accident, the ball flew into Ahmad Raza’s house. Following the unspoken rules of the neighborhood, Azfar had no choice but to retrieve it by climbing the wall. He knew entering someone’s home without permission was not ethical, but he was compelled.

He entered the backyard garden, where the ball had landed, and picked it up. As he passed the study room’s door, he stumbled against a stone, lost his balance, and his elbow nudged the door, which surprisingly opened. Curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped inside. Ahmad Raza was not home, yet the door was unlocked because Akram had forgotten to lock it after cleaning.

Inside, the study had wall-mounted shelves neatly lined with books and a large desk in the center, covered with scattered pages and files. Azfar instinctively moved toward the desk, picking up some loose sheets to skim through.

His eyes fell on a stack of papers with the title “The Fate of the Cloth Sellers” written clearly at the top, marked unpublished in smaller letters below. A daring thought entered Azfar’s mind: he could claim this unpublished story as his own, just by changing the characters’ names. Acting quickly, h stuffed the stack into his pocket, climbed back over the wall, and rejoined his friends.

At home, Azfar changed the names of the characters, made minor edits, and submitted the story to a children’s magazine — the very magazine Ahmad Raza had been contributing to for twenty years. Azfar knew each issue was prepared in advance, so he didn’t expect the story to appear in the June issue. However, even the July issue did not feature his submission. Surprised but hopeful, he convinced himself that perhaps it would be chosen for a future issue.

One day, while walking in a park near his home, Azfar heard a voice: “How are you, Azfar?” Startled, he turned and saw Ahmad Raza standing there, smiling. They had just returned from the UK.

“Uh… I’m fine, Uncle,” Azfar replied nervously.

“Why wasn’t your story published?” Ahmad Raza asked. A shock ran through Azfar’s body. “W-what do you mean? Which story, Uncle?” he stammered.

“The one you took from my desk,” Ahmad Raza said, his voice serious.

Azfar hesitated, but Ahmad Raza waved him to a bench, ignoring the lie. “Listen, Azfar,” he said softly, “writing is an art. To master it, you need three things: study, experience, and practice. Read widely. Experience comes with time. Keep practicing, and one day, you will succeed.”

Azfar listened attentively, eyes fixed on the ground. When Ahmad Raza finished, he said quietly, “I’m sorry, Uncle… please forgive me.”

“I forgive you, Azfar,” Ahmad Raza replied, “on one condition — never use dishonest means to get your story published again.”

Azfar stood up and began walking toward the park exit. After a few steps, he turned and asked, “Uncle… how did you know I took the story from your desk?

“In the Name of Allah!” Ahmad Raza said, rising from the bench and walking briskly away.

Ahmad Raza had been writing for the same magazine for twenty years. He had a habit of ending every story with a specific phrase, not part of the narrative, but a personal signature: “In the Name of Allah!” Azfar had changed the story and characters but overlooked this distinctive line. When the editor saw the submission, it was immediately clear that the original author was Ahmad Raza. That phrase alone revealed the truth.

Azfar finally understood his mistake, realizing how important honesty and respect are in the pursuit of creativity.