The Last Journey of Fazal

The Last Journey of Fazal

BY:Khan

“Keep this money safe,” Fazal whispered as he placed a small bundle in Razia’s trembling hands.

“What is this for?” she asked, staring at the bundle with suspicion.

“It’s for Sultan’s operation,” Fazal replied in a hushed, secretive tone.

“But… where did you get so much money?” Razia’s voice wavered with concern.

“That is none of your concern,” Fazal snapped, irritation flickering in his eyes. He did not want her questions, only her silence. Razia stood frozen, words dying on her lips, her heart beating with unspoken fears.

Inside the room, Sultan lay on his bed, his small body burning with fever. Fazal stepped closer, gazing at his frail son. He placed a hand on Razia’s shoulder and forced himself to speak steadily. “I have to go now.”

“Where are you going at this hour?” she asked in disbelief.

“To another city. There is urgent work,” Fazal replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

Razia’s voice broke. “What kind of father are you? Your son is struggling between life and death, and you speak of official matters?”

Fazal turned away before she could see his face. If only she knew. He left the house silently, leaving Razia in confusion and pain, and walked straight to the place he dreaded—the hideout of a man everyone called the heavy-bodied one.

“You look troubled,” the large man said as he emerged from his dim hut, his presence intimidating.

“Yes,” Fazal lowered his head.

“Good. Your destination is only a few kilometers away,” the man said, pointing into the distance. “You must follow the narrow road leading from the village of Malook Shah. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” Fazal murmured, though his voice betrayed his reluctance.

“There you will find the shrine of Saint Karam Nawaz,” the man continued firmly.

Fazal listened in silence.

“Tomorrow you will leave for your task,” the man said, a crooked smile stretching across his face.

That night, Fazal lay restless inside the hut. His body trembled as he thought of what awaited him. It was a turning point in his life, one that filled him with terror. Every nerve in his body rebelled against it.

At dawn, the heavy-bodied man shook him awake. “Get up, Fazal,” he barked. Fazal obeyed like a child, sitting upright instantly.

“Eat something,” the man offered, placing food before him.

“No,” Fazal whispered.

“Why not?” The man locked eyes with him.

“My heart won’t allow it.” Tears stung Fazal’s eyes.

The man placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Fazal, you need courage for this. Don’t worry about Sultan. He will recover. Think of this as your sacrifice for him.”

Fazal only nodded, too weak to argue. Soon he was on his way. A bus carried him through barren stretches until it stopped at Malook Shah village. From there he walked down a narrow, dusty road.

Before he could reach the shrine, a disheveled man appeared, blocking his path. “Do you think I don’t see? Do you think I don’t know?” the madman shouted, picking up a large stone and lunging at Fazal.

The commotion drew villagers, who quickly restrained the deranged man. “Don’t mind him, sir. He’s insane,” one of them reassured. Fazal exhaled deeply and continued onward.

Near the shrine, small shops lined the path. He stopped at a cigarette stall.

“Whoever comes here never leaves without his wishes granted,” the shopkeeper said, eyeing Fazal’s weary face.

“My son is very ill,” Fazal muttered while lighting a cigarette.

“Then do not worry. You will not leave empty-handed,” the shopkeeper promised kindly.

Soon Fazal stepped into the shrine’s courtyard. Worshippers surrounded the tomb, their heads bowed in devotion. Fazal found a quiet corner and sat down.

“You’ve come,” said a bearded man seated beside him.

“Yes,” Fazal replied faintly.

“Go to the center,” the man instructed, pointing towards the heart of the courtyard. Fazal obeyed and sat among the crowd.

“First time here?” asked another man nearby. Fazal remained silent.

“They say whoever walks here with true need has his prayers answered,” the stranger continued, noticing Fazal’s sorrowful face.

Sultan’s pale image flashed before Fazal’s eyes. He closed them and prayed fervently, whispering his son’s name again and again.

Suddenly, the bearded man gestured sharply. “Quickly!”

Fazal’s heart raced. For a horrifying instant, he felt surrounded by corpses. Rotting bodies pressed around him, their stench suffocating him. His mind screamed.

“No! This is impossible!” Fazal cried, stumbling to his feet. He bolted from the shrine, leaving the worshippers staring after him.

Minutes later, he was on the phone, his hands trembling.

“Fazal!” Razia’s voice rang with relief. “Sultan’s operation was successful! Thank God, he has been given a second life. Come home quickly.”

Fazal could hardly believe it. His knees weakened, his chest filled with overwhelming gratitude. He hurried toward the main road, desperate to return to his family.

But fate had other plans.

A sudden crack echoed in the air. Fazal felt his skull explode with unbearable force. He collapsed, clutching his head.

“A bullet… he’s been shot in the head,” someone whispered in shock.

Fazal tried to rise, but his strength failed. His vision blurred as scenes flashed before him—Razia’s worried face, Sultan’s frail body, the shrine’s glowing lights. Voices of prayer and sacred chants echoed in his ears as darkness closed in.

And then, silence.