The Cost of a Lie: A Child’s Lesson in Honesty

The Cost of a Lie

BY:Ubaid

It was eight o’clock in the morning when someone knocked on the front door. An eight- or nine-year-old boy named Asad rushed to open it. Outside stood his father’s friend, Uncle Adnan.

“Son,” Adnan said kindly, “please call your father. I have something important to discuss with him.”

Asad ran back inside and entered his father’s room.
“Papa, Papa! Uncle Adnan is outside. He wants to meet you.”

At first, his father didn’t respond. But when he heard Adnan’s name, he turned over in bed and said irritably,
“Go and tell him I’m not home. I need more sleep.”

“But Papa, you are at home,” Asad replied innocently.

His father raised his voice, “Do as I say! Tell him I’m not here.”

Reluctantly, Asad returned to the door and told Adnan, “Papa isn’t at home.” Hearing this, Adnan smiled politely and left.

But the boy’s heart remained heavy all day. He knew his father had lied—and worse, he had been forced to lie as well. In the evening, unable to contain his guilt, Asad went to his grandfather.

“Dada Abu,” he confessed, “Papa told a lie this morning just so he could keep sleeping. He even made me lie for him.”

His grandfather sighed deeply. “My dear child, lying is indeed a grave matter. Your father should not have done that. We are Muslims, and our beloved Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) not only forbade lying but even cursed it. Yet today, we often lie casually—while people in the West, who are not Muslims, sometimes value truth more than us.”

Asad’s eyes widened. “But Dada Abu, those people are Christians. Are they also forbidden from lying?”

“Yes, son,” his grandfather explained. “They are also People of the Book. God has forbidden lying for everyone. That’s why I want to tell you all a story tonight at dinner about how seriously they take honesty.”

The Dinner Table

That night, after dinner, everyone sat around the table waiting for Dada Abu’s story.

He began:

“Many years ago, a student from Pakistan went to Britain to pursue higher studies. Instead of staying in a hostel, he rented a room as a paying guest in a family’s home. Do you know what a paying guest is?”

Asad’s younger cousin Umar asked, “What is that, Dada?”

“A paying guest,” the grandfather explained, “is like a lodger who lives with a family, eats their meals, and shares their home life. Sometimes he may even share a room with their children if there isn’t a spare one. This student lived with a kind couple and their six-year-old son. Over time, he became quite friendly with the little boy.”

One day, the couple had to leave for some urgent work. They asked the student, “Do you have plans to go out today?”

“No,” he replied.

“Then please look after our son for a few hours,” they said. He gladly agreed, since he enjoyed the child’s company.

While the student was reading later that day, he suddenly heard a crash and the sound of crying. He rushed to the kitchen and saw that a glass of water had slipped from the child’s hands and shattered on the floor. The boy stood frozen, frightened.

The student consoled him: “Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mother I broke the glass.”

That evening, the boy came to him, looking sad. With downcast eyes, he said, “Uncle, I told Mama the truth—that I broke the glass. I didn’t want you to take the blame. Most of all, I don’t like lying.”

The student was touched, but the next morning he received an unexpected knock at his door. It was the boy’s mother.

“Good morning,” she greeted him politely. Then, with firmness in her voice, she said, “We always considered you a respectable person. But yesterday you encouraged our son to lie. That is unacceptable in this house. We have never lied to our child, nor taught him to lie. For that reason, we can no longer keep you here. Please find another place to stay within the next twenty-four hours.”

The student was stunned. He had only meant to protect the child. But for that family, honesty was non-negotiable.

The Lesson

As Dada Abu finished the story, silence filled the room. Everyone turned to look at Asad’s father, who sat with his head bowed. At last he spoke softly:

“I am sorry. I realize now how wrong I was. I won’t lie again, even if I’m tired or unwell. Thank you, Asad, for making me reflect.”

His father’s words surprised everyone. Then Dada Abu added:

“We must all hold ourselves accountable. Whether we are customers or shopkeepers, bosses or workers, teachers or students—too often we lie many times a day. We dismiss it as harmless, or we use it to deceive others. But lying is never small in the sight of God. I, too, ask for forgiveness.”

Asad’s father nodded. “And it’s thanks to my son. Had he not spoken up, I might never have realized my mistake.”

Dada Abu looked at all the children around the table and concluded:
“My dear ones, never lie. Even if it seems small, even if it seems easier than telling the truth—remember, honesty is the foundation of faith, and a single lie can destroy trust forever.”

That night, the family went to bed with a lesson engraved in their hearts: truth is light, and even the smallest lie casts a shadow too dark to hide.