A Debt of Honor: A Lesson in Integrity and Legacy

I was out in the market, attending to some errands, when my phone rang. The screen flashed a name that made me freeze. It was the name of a dear friend—someone who had passed away a few months ago. He used to visit me often regarding business matters, and seeing his name again was nothing short of a shock.

Confused and startled, I answered the call. On the other end, a young voice said,

“Assalamu Alaikum, Uncle. I’m Lateef’s son. I’d like to meet you.”

I told him I was on my way to my shop and asked him to come there.

Not long after, two young men walked into my shop. As soon as I saw them, memories of their late father came flooding back. My eyes welled up, and I quietly wiped my tears so they wouldn’t notice and feel hurt.

After exchanging greetings, the older son took out a notebook.

“Uncle,” he began, “we know our father used to come to you for printing and other business needs. For the past two weeks, we’ve been clearing all his pending accounts. Please let us know if he owed you anything—we’re here to pay.”

Hearing these words, I couldn’t hold back my emotions. Tears rolled down my face as I reached out and held his hand.

“My dear son,” I said softly, “the day I heard about your father’s passing, I made Allah my witness and forgave everything he owed me.”

The younger brother insisted,

“Uncle, please, just tell us how much it was. We want to pay you back.”

I reassured them both that I had sincerely and wholeheartedly forgiven their father. There was nothing more I wanted.

They then showed me the notebook. It was carefully organized, listing names of people their father had owed, along with payment records and signatures confirming that the debts were settled. They told me that so far, they had returned nearly 950,000 rupees. Some people had come without any proof, but they paid them anyway out of trust. Only two people had refused to take the money—one was me, and the other was their maternal uncle.

I asked them gently,

“And what about the people who owed your father money?”

Their expressions turned somber.

“Uncle,” the older one said, “there are eight people who collectively owe us about 4.2 million rupees. Two of them completely denied ever borrowing from our father. The other six are making excuses, dodging us.”

Before leaving, the two young men hugged me. I kissed their foreheads and assured them of any help they might need. They thanked me and walked away, leaving me with a heart full of emotion and reflection.

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Dear Readers,

Debt is a delicate and serious matter. We should strive to live in such a way that when our time comes, we don’t leave behind any unpaid dues. At the very least, we should leave enough behind—and make our will clear—so our debts can be paid off easily.

And if someone passes away and owed you money, then for the sake of humanity, honesty, and fear of the Hereafter, reach out to their family and accept what is rightfully yours—or, if you can afford it, forgive them.

Swallowing someone’s money or delaying repayment is not only morally wrong but brings disgrace in this life and punishment in the next.

I personally know a man who unjustly took possession of his deceased business partner’s wealth. In the final days of his life, he faced extreme humiliation—not just from society, but from his own children. He was so miserable that he would pray for death, yet even death seemed to avoid him.

So please—be mindful. Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you. If something is an amanah (a trust) or a loan, return it to its rightful owner without delay. It's better to face small sacrifices today than suffer disgrace and torment tomorrow.

This story isn’t just about debt—it's about honor, legacy, and the values we leave behind. Those two young men taught me more about integrity in one short meeting than many learn in a lifetime.

Their father may have left this world, but through their actions, he continues to live on—with dignity and respect.