The Angel of Death and the Fall of Seth Waqar

The Awakening of Seth Waqar

BY:Khan

“Razia Begum, what nonsense is this? I don’t believe in such things. These are nothing but tales and myths. How can I accept what my heart refuses to believe?” Seth Waqar snapped in a dismissive tone.

Razia sighed deeply. “Astaghfirullah! Fear the wrath of Allah, Waqar. How many times have I told you not to utter such reckless words? You are playing with fire.”

Waqar leaned back in his chair with arrogance. “Begum, my name is Seth Waqar. Look at me—what do I lack? I own luxurious bungalows, the finest cars, countless wealth, everything a man could desire. And do you know how I earned all this? Through hard work. Day and night I struggled, and today, I stand at the top. Nobody handed this to me from the heavens. I achieved it all myself. Don’t keep chanting about God. If there really is one, show Him to me. Where is He? I don’t see Him. I don’t believe in what is invisible. You expect me to believe that some unseen angel of death comes to snatch souls? I don’t believe such stories.”

Razia shook her head in despair. “Please, eat your breakfast. Talking to you gives me a headache. You’re an educated man, Waqar, but blind in wisdom.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Waqar retorted. “You know well who wins in arguments. I’m leaving for the office.” He wiped his mouth with a tissue, stood up, and walked out arrogantly.

Razia whispered a prayer, her eyes moist. “Oh Allah, guide this foolish man. Soften his heart and show him the truth.”


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Later that day, Waqar drove his expensive car down the main road. He always drove himself, never allowing a driver near his precious vehicle. As he pressed the accelerator, suddenly an old man appeared in front of the car. Waqar slammed the brakes, narrowly avoiding a tragic accident.

His face turned red with anger. He stormed out, his voice trembling with rage. “Are you out of your mind, old man? Do you want to die? I nearly crushed you!”

The frail man folded his hands apologetically. “Forgive me, sahib. I stopped you because I needed help.”

Without hesitation, Waqar slapped him across the face. “Shut up! If you had died under my car, do you know the trouble it would cause me? Get lost!”

The old man pleaded, his voice trembling. “Sir, I even went to your house to meet you, but I wasn’t allowed inside.”

Waqar roared louder. “Didn’t I tell you to meet me only at the factory? How dare you come to my home!”

With tears in his eyes, the old man said, “My child is sick. I don’t have money to buy medicine. Please, sahib, give me some help.”

Waqar grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently. “Why should I give you money? The last time you borrowed, did you ever return it? Get out of my sight!”

The poor man fell to his knees. “For the sake of God, sahib, have mercy. I swear I will return everything. Please save my son.”

But Waqar pushed him away with contempt. “God? Don’t lecture me about God! If your God exists, let Him come down and help you. From today, you are fired. Don’t ever show me your face at the factory again.”

The old man wiped his tears, looked up at the sky, and whispered in a broken voice: “O Allah, You see everything. Take away this cruel man’s wealth. Send Your angel of death to him. Spare my son’s life and heal him, for I have nothing left.” With those words, he walked away.

Waqar muttered angrily, “Foolish old man. If God exists, let Him answer your curses.” He returned to his car and sped off, unbothered.


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That night, around ten o’clock, Waqar slept soundly in his lavish bedroom. But his peace was short-lived. In his dream, a terrifying figure appeared—an angel, glowing yet dreadful.

“I am the Angel of Death,” the figure declared. “The very one you denied. I have been sent by the Living God whom you mocked. Your time is over. Tonight, your soul will be taken. Your arrogance, your cruelty, your disbelief—your Creator is displeased.”

Waqar’s entire body trembled. Fear gripped his heart. He wept like a child. “Forgive me, O Lord! I was blind. I mocked You, but now I know You exist. Please grant me another chance. I promise never again will I oppress the poor. Spare my life, just once.”

The angel replied sternly, “You have been given one chance only because your Lord is Merciful. But remember, I shall return.” With that, the angel vanished.

Waqar woke up in terror, drenched in sweat despite the air conditioner humming. His fine clothes clung to his body. His heart pounded as he realized—this was no ordinary dream. It was a warning from the Almighty.

At that very moment, his arrogance shattered. He raised his hands in repentance. “Ya Allah, forgive me. You are real, the only Creator. You give life and You take it away. I will never defy You again.”


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Minutes later, Waqar picked up his phone and dialed his factory manager. The man was shocked to receive a call so late at night. “Sir? Is everything alright?”

Waqar’s voice, once filled with pride, was now humble. “Mr. Sabir, do one thing for me. That old worker I fired today—rehire him immediately. And whatever money is needed for his child’s treatment, provide it at once. I want everything done before I arrive tomorrow morning.”

The manager, astonished, could barely respond. “Yes… yes, sir. As you command.”

Waqar ended the call and leaned back against his bed. For the first time in his life, he felt true peace—not from wealth, not from power, but from turning back to the God he once denied.


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Moral: No wealth, power, or arrogance can save a man from death. True peace lies only in faith, humility, and kindness toward the poor.