The True News

The True News – Story No. 1491

Mr. Fayyaz’s house was slightly larger than the other houses in the neighborhood. That in itself was not surprising. But no one really knew where his family was or who lived with him. A servant named Bashir would come to the house for two hours each morning, and through him, the neighbors occasionally learned a few details.

Bashir, however, had a major flaw—he loved gossip. He enjoyed uncovering people’s flaws and sharing exaggerated stories. His knowledge extended not only to the habits of neighborhood men but also to their wives. Whatever he saw or heard, he would spice it up with rumors and present it to others, though when it came to Mr. Fayyaz, even twelve layers of gossip would evaporate quickly. Bashir would simply say, “Sir is a quiet man. He minds his own business. He follows principles. His wife passed away in an accident long ago, and he never remarried. He has a son who is either studying or running a business elsewhere. Sir is generous—he gives his salary promptly on the 28th of every month. When I need something, I can ask. And—” he would pause for effect, “I suspect Sir is involved in some shady dealings with drug sellers! Ask me how.”

“How?” people would ask.

Bashir replied, “He never lets me enter a large room. There are cupboards everywhere, a big desk, thick books, papers, and two chairs. He says I might ruin his things, so he does the cleaning himself.”

This vague statement was enough for neighbors to run their imaginations wild. They spun tales, each more exaggerated than the last, sharing them with others. When these stories reached the women in the neighborhood, they became even more colorful, and those who shared them became convinced of their truth.

Such gossip usually surrounded every man and woman in the neighborhood, but because Mr. Fayyaz lived alone and allowed his servant only brief visits, stories about him were particularly alluring.

One morning, as usual, Bashir arrived at eight. He rang the doorbell lightly, as instructed, but the door did not open. Mr. Fayyaz watched the visitor through a security camera. Bashir pressed the bell again, then a third time, but the door remained shut. His mind raced: maybe Sir was sick, asleep, or out on business. Soon, his imagination transformed “maybe” into “something serious.”

By mid-morning, the neighborhood was buzzing with rumors: “Did you hear? Mr. Fayyaz had a gang fight. Many were injured; some died!” “No, it was with another gang,” someone else said. “He’s badly hurt; he might not survive!” The women whispered and called each other in secret, fueling panic.

The men, gathered for breakfast, were furious and fearful. “Check Mr. Fayyaz’s house! See what’s going on!” some demanded. “Our neighborhood’s reputation is at stake. If crime spreads here, no decent person will visit.” After heated discussions, they decided to confront him and evict him if needed.

Just then, Sheikh Sahib’s young son ran in, gasping, “Captain Ijaz has been martyred!”

“What?” Sheikh Sahib shouted.

“It’s on TV! Our neighborhood was mentioned. He was a brave soldier, and he died fighting the enemy. Doctor Fayyaz, his father, is being interviewed tonight at eight,” the boy explained.

The news stunned everyone into silence. The community realized the rumors were baseless. Women who had spread gossip fell quiet, ashamed of their assumptions. Bashir disappeared, likely embarrassed.

At eight that evening, all channels broadcasted the interview. Dr. Fayyaz, the proud father, spoke softly: “He was a very brave boy. From a young age, he wanted to serve his country. He never harmed birds or animals and always sought justice. Allah blessed him with a noble life.”

Images of Captain Ijaz, wrapped in flowers, appeared on screen. Tears flowed freely among the neighbors. From that moment on, no one spoke ill of Dr. Fayyaz again. The neighborhood learned a powerful lesson: rumors can destroy reputations, and the truth may be far nobler than imagination allows.