How Letting Go of One Employee Nearly Cost Him Everything — A Powerful Lesson on Compassion and Success

A few years ago, something unexpected changed my life. It wasn’t a grand event, a motivational speaker, or a bestselling book. It was a scrap of old newspaper — a small piece that came wrapped around fresh jalebis I bought from a street vendor. That simple, grease-stained piece of paper carried a column that would quietly reshape how I viewed wealth, compassion, and the unseen threads connecting our lives.

I’ve always been a reader. So naturally, when that scrap had words on it, I paused to read. I don’t remember the writer’s name, but I remember the story — maybe not word for word, but the message has stayed with me ever since. Today, I want to share it with you.

The Story of Sheikh Sahib

The columnist wrote about visiting a businessman friend one day. As they were leaving his office, a clerk approached, complaining about a peon who, in his words, was lazy and negligent. The driver joined in the grievance. Irritated, the businessman immediately said, “If he isn’t doing his job, fire him.”

But the writer intervened. “Why not talk to him first?” he suggested. “Maybe he’s struggling with something you don’t know about.”

And then, to illustrate his point, he shared the story of Sheikh Sahib.

Sheikh Sahib started life as a modest office clerk in Lahore. Fortune, however, smiled on him. His employer took a liking to him, eventually arranging a marriage between Sheikh Sahib and a member of his family. From there, fate’s doors swung wide open. Sheikh Sahib climbed the ladder of success, from owning a single shop to multiple factories. Wealth came in abundance. He built a life many could only dream of — moving from a rented room to an apartment, and eventually, to a grand mansion in one of Lahore’s elite neighborhoods.

In time, needing help around the house, Sheikh Sahib hired Sultan — a simple, kind, and diligent man from Chakwal. Sultan kept to himself, never involved in gossip or disputes, and worked faithfully.

One morning, fate intervened. Sheikh Sahib returned home unexpectedly and, while Sultan was watering the plants, the pipe slipped, accidentally spraying water on Sheikh Sahib’s clothes. Furious, Sheikh Sahib didn’t wait for an explanation. Despite Sultan falling at his feet, begging forgiveness, Sheikh Sahib fired him on the spot.

Sultan packed his few belongings and sat by the gate, hoping for forgiveness. But when Sheikh Sahib returned that evening and saw him still there, he ordered the guard to drive him away. Sultan disappeared into the night.

Time passed. Success slowed. One factory caught fire. Workers died. His fortune started to wither. His beloved elder son died in a tragic accident, and one by one, losses mounted. Sheikh Sahib was forced to sell his mansion and move to a modest home. He sought help from spiritual guides, shrines, and anyone who promised a prayer that could turn his fortunes around.

Finally, someone recommended a revered elder visiting Lahore. Desperate, Sheikh Sahib visited the man, recounted his misfortunes, and begged for guidance.

After a brief meditation, the elder opened his eyes and asked just one question:

"Why did you fire Sultan?"

The question shattered Sheikh Sahib. He burst into tears, realizing how carelessly he’d severed the thread of another man’s livelihood — the thread that, unbeknownst to him, had once tethered his own prosperity. The elder explained:

"God is the Provider, but He appoints people as means for one another. Just like water flows through canals and streams to irrigate the land, sustenance flows through people to reach others. If you block the flow, you might cut off your own share in the process."

Sheikh Sahib tried to find Sultan — searching old documents, traveling to Chakwal — but Sultan was nowhere to be found. His regret consumed him. A broken man, he made repeated trips hoping to find forgiveness. In time, grief took its toll, and Sheikh Sahib passed away, carrying that remorse with him.

The Lesson That Stayed with Me

When the columnist finished this story, he told his businessman friend, “Don’t fire your peon. His sustenance is linked to yours, and cutting it off could bring consequences you never foresee.”

That scrap of a column changed the way I lived. I became more mindful about those around me — the people who, in big ways and small, make my life easier, richer, better. I started making a conscious effort to ensure that, through me, no one’s livelihood would be taken away unnecessarily. Even when times got tough, I held on to those who worked with me. I understood that sometimes, we are not giving charity — we are preserving the channel through which our own blessings arrive.

And the truth is: I was never left empty-handed. God always provided. New opportunities emerged, and unexpected sources of support arrived. The more I became a source for others, the more I received.

A Thought for You

Perhaps it’s time for all of us to ask ourselves:

Whose livelihood is tied to ours?

A housemaid. A clerk. A peon. A driver. A vendor. A freelancer you hire.

Even a kind word, a small favor, or timely support can become the means of someone’s sustenance — and through them, perhaps your own is preserved.

Let’s make a quiet promise today: No one’s livelihood should ever be cut off because of us. If we can be a source, let’s be one. And may the Provider of all means, in turn, always provide for us.

InshaAllah.