The Fall of Pride

The Fall of Pride — A Lesson from Asim’s Life

BY:Khan

Asim was my childhood friend — my closest companion and the brightest mind in our little village. He was handsome, intelligent, and, as people would say, born under a lucky star. But with all his blessings, he carried one great flaw: pride.

His family was among the most respected in our village. Every villager admired them, not only for their wealth but for their generosity and kindness. They owned vast lands — thousands of acres of fertile fields and lush gardens. Their beautiful house stood at the far end of the village, surrounded by green orchards and golden crops, like a palace smiling amidst nature. Behind it flowed a crystal-clear canal, adding to its splendor.

Asim and I studied together in the only school in our village. We were both good students, sitting in the front row, always eager to learn. Every teacher loved Asim for his quick mind and charming manners. But as time passed, I began to notice a change in him. Slowly, he started drifting away — from studies, from teachers, and even from me.

We were still friends, but not like before. He began keeping company with people who led him astray. The same boy who once greeted elders with respect now mocked them behind their backs. He started skipping school, flaunting his wealth, and looking down on others. His arrogance grew with each passing day.

I often tried to advise him. “Asim,” I would say, “humility and respect bring more honor than wealth ever can.” But he would just laugh it off, saying, “You talk like an old man, my friend. Money and power are what matter in life.”

Our teachers, too, tried to bring him back to the right path, but he never listened. His grades began to fall, his manners worsened, and his once-admired personality turned into one that people whispered about with pity.

Still, I didn’t give up on him. I believed that one day he would realize his mistake.

Time passed. Life moved on. We reached the final year of school — the year of our matriculation exams. Just a few days before the exams, our village faced a disaster unlike any before.

One stormy night, fierce winds began to blow. Within hours, they turned into a violent cyclone. The sky roared, trees were uprooted, and entire houses collapsed. The next morning, when the storm finally calmed, devastation lay everywhere. Fields were ruined, livestock was dead, and dozens of families had lost their loved ones.

Asim’s family was among the worst hit. Their grand mansion, once the pride of the village, had crumbled. Most of his family members were gone — including his parents. Only Asim and a few others survived.

When I saw him after the storm, he was broken — not just in spirit but in fortune. The boy who once had everything was left with nothing. He was only eighteen, standing amid the ruins of his past life.

The village school was also destroyed, so our education came to a halt. I tried to convince Asim to move with me to the city, to start over, to study again — but he refused. “This is my fate,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing left for me to build.”

I left for Lahore soon after, to pursue higher education. I worked hard, earned scholarships, and eventually became a respected figure in the field of education. For years, I wondered what had become of Asim, but time and distance buried our connection. Letters stopped coming, and life moved on.

Two decades later, fate brought me back to my hometown. I had returned as an education officer, a man with position and respect — yet the streets of my childhood still felt the same. One afternoon, I decided to look for Asim. I still remembered his old house, though I knew it might not even exist anymore.

When I reached the place, the grand mansion was long gone. In its place stood a small wooden stall. Behind it, selling ice cream, stood a tired man with gray hair and weary eyes. It was Asim.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. He looked at me and smiled faintly, as if recognizing an old dream. We talked for a while — about school days, teachers, and the mischief of childhood. His voice trembled, his eyes distant.

When I stood up to leave, he extended his hand, not for a handshake, but for help.
“Do you have a little money to spare, my friend?” he said softly. “Business hasn’t been good.”

I placed some cash in his hand, feeling an ache in my heart. The proud boy who once mocked others now stood before me, humbled by life itself.

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but think how fragile fortune can be — and how arrogance can destroy even the strongest of souls.


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Moral:

Never disobey your elders, and never take pride in what God has given you. Gratitude brings growth; arrogance brings downfall.