The Dark Bars of Nazias Prison

The Dark Bars of Nazia’s Prison

BY:Khan

Inside the suffocating walls of the black prison cell, Nazia felt her soul strangling. The sorrow of separation from her loved ones was unbearable. Day and night she wept bitter tears of regret, but it was all in vain. Time that had once slipped away could never be retrieved. Memories ran before her eyes like moving pictures on a screen. Whenever a woman taunted her, it was always the same words: “What a shameless, dark-hearted woman you are, without an ounce of modesty.” She would cry, scream, and wail, but the iron bars of prison had now become both her painful life and her slow death.

Nazia had been her father’s only daughter. Her parents were extremely poor. Her father worked as a laborer, barely earning enough to feed the family dry bread twice a day. From a young age, her cousin Rashid had desired her, but she never gave him a glance. Instead, she dreamed of marrying a rich man’s son. Having starved for most of her childhood, her heart longed for luxuries, for beautiful clothes, and for feasts she had never tasted. As she grew into a stunningly beautiful young woman, her desires bloomed alongside her youth. Boys from her neighborhood were infatuated with her, and she carried her beauty with arrogance.

Soon she started talking to a few of them, just enough to receive gifts and meals. Though she knew her limits, she only wanted to escape the hunger and explore the outside world. When her father discovered her behavior, he forced her into marriage with Rashid, the cousin she disliked. Rashid sold snacks on a street cart. At first, after the wedding, he tried to treat her well and feed her properly. But soon, the old misery returned. Poverty and hunger became her daily companions once more.

She despised Rashid. Even when he gazed at her lovingly, she would scold him harshly and forbid him from even looking at her. He, however, remained captivated by her beauty and longed for children. But Nazia had no intention of becoming a mother. “The man who cannot feed me,” she thought, “how could he ever feed my children?” Determined, she refused him motherhood. Rashid grew more violent, beating her in fits of rage. Tired of daily abuse, she yearned to escape like a free bird. Yet she had nowhere to go. Her parents’ home was drowning in famine, and she could not return. Many times, she thought of ending her life, but she could never bring herself to do it.

Rashid’s younger brother, Bashir, worked in a factory in the city. Whenever he visited, he told tales of city life, of wealth and freedom. Nazia’s heart burned with desire. She knew Rashid had some savings, gold, and even a house. But she had no access to them. Slowly, she began to trap Bashir with her charm. It was not long before he became infatuated. Even Rashid’s worker, Afzal, who helped at the cart, was enslaved by her beauty.

Her life went on in this tangled mess of love, hunger, and abuse—until one night changed everything.

Masked men broke into the house at midnight. Shots were fired. A bullet pierced Rashid’s chest, and he collapsed lifelessly on the floor. Nazia screamed, sobbed, and tore her clothes in grief. The whole neighborhood gathered, shocked at the brutal death. Soon after, all of Rashid’s property, jewelry, and money came under her name. She pretended to mourn, but within weeks she left for the city, chasing her dreams of freedom.

In the city, she abandoned her lovers one after another, drowning herself in alcohol, music, and nights of sin. To society, she portrayed herself as a wronged widow whose cruel brother-in-law had ruined her life. In reality, she had thrown away all traditions, values, and morals. She became a rebel, embracing crime as if it were ordinary.

Sometimes she returned to her village, acting again like the innocent Nazia whose life had been destroyed in one tragic night. Meanwhile, the police relentlessly investigated Rashid’s murder. They tortured Bashir, suspecting him of the crime, but later proved him innocent. Their search continued—until finally, the truth emerged.

The real murderer was Nazia.

She was arrested from a nightclub, dressed in revealing clothes, dancing and singing without shame. Furious and humiliated, she was dragged into custody. At first, she denied everything. Beaten daily by the lady inspector, she stubbornly repeated: “I didn’t do anything.” But the wounds on her body, the weight of guilt, and her broken spirit eventually forced her to confess.

Through sobs, she revealed the truth:

“Rashid always oppressed me. Even with money, he never fed me properly. He beat me, demanded children, and I grew sick of him. Then his brother came from the city, and I trapped him with my beauty. At the same time, Afzal, his worker, also fell for me. Afzal had ties with criminals. Together, we planned Rashid’s murder.

That night, I drugged Bashir with sleeping pills, knowing he was drunk. Then Afzal and two men entered with masks. I screamed, pretending to be terrified. Rashid rushed out, and they shot him in the chest. I tore my clothes, cried loudly, and accused Bashir of attempting to violate me. I said Rashid died trying to protect my honor.

Afterward, I lived with Afzal in the city, but he betrayed me too. Broken, I turned to alcohol, to sin, to rebellion. I forgot what was right or wrong, forgot faith, forgot family. I became a vile woman.”

Collapsing into tears, Nazia wept as her statement ended.

The lady inspector, after recording everything, looked at her coldly and said:
“Now what is the use of regret? When God gave you an honorable life, you wasted it. You thought you could deceive the world. But you forgot the truth: real power belongs only to Allah. No matter how clever a criminal is, they can never hide their crime forever.”