The Crown of Dirt

As the chilly wind blew outside, a mother hugged her son Faraz close in a dilapidated mud hut that was only illuminated by a flickering oil lamp.

The boy muttered, "Mom, when are we going to get rich?"

"When you turn your dreams into truth, my son," the mother added with a gentle grin.

A year before, Faraz's father had perished from starvation. To keep her infant alive, his mother swept floors and laundered clothes. Her sole aspiration was to educate her son and provide him with a better life.

Fate then knocked on their door one night.

Uncle Qasim showed up, a wealthy, well-dressed man with a menacing gleam in his eyes. "Let your son accompany me," he urged. He will be fed and educated, and I will also send you money.

The mother let Faraz go with a shaky heart, hoping it was the correct decision.

However, the reality was terrible.

Qasim took Faraz to the city, not for study — but to be a servant in his opulent residence. Faraz survived alive solely because he hoped his mother was getting paid, worked all day, and was beaten when he was exhausted.

Months went by. His mother became ill and frail. Faraz persisted obstinately and in silence.

Qasim yelled at him one evening, "You think you're clever? Leave now!

Faraz took off running. Alone, barefoot, and bleeding — into the frigid streets of a city that didn't give a damn.

He was disoriented and hungry as he roamed for days. Then one morning a school principal saw him shining shoes outside a mosque.

The man offered, "Want to study?"

With tears in his eyes, Faraz nodded.

Everything changed in that instant.

He received literature, food, and shelter from the school. Faraz put in more study time than everyone else, was awarded scholarships, and eventually started his own company.

Years went by...

One day, he drove back to the village in a black car, wearing a nice suit, and approached the same dilapidated cottage.

With eyes hollowed down from years of strain, his mother stood at the entrance, feeble.

"Come with me," said Faraz with a smile. You are no longer required to endure suffering.

He led her to a lovely house that was warm, well-lit, and dignified.

This time, his mother shed tears, but they were tears of pride.

Moral: Dreams are weapons, but poverty is brutal. Additionally, a mother's prayer has the power to raise her child from the ground up to the skies.