The Physician of Peace: A Tale of Finding Calm Within

The Search for Peace

BY:Khan

In this world, every human being is chasing one thing above all—peace. Some seek it in the quiet wilderness, others in the shallow comfort of sleeping pills. Some find temporary calm in music, while others lose themselves in the beauty of nature.

For Karim Bakhsh, peace seemed like a distant dream. His life was filled with the constant noise of his wife and children, and though he loved them dearly, their chatter and chaos often overwhelmed him. Whenever the clamor of home became too much to bear, Karim would escape to the old wooden bridge over the river. There, he would sit for hours, staring at the waves as they danced and rippled beneath the sky, hoping the flowing water might wash away his restlessness.

One evening, in a moment of despair, Karim confided in the village imam, Tabarak Ali. “Mullah sahib,” he sighed, “my heart longs for peace, but I cannot seem to find it anywhere. Tell me, what should I do?”

The imam stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, “Karim, I have heard of a wise physician in the nearby village of Kesar Ganj. They call him ‘Hakim-e-Pur-Sukoon’—the Physician of Peace. Go to him, perhaps he will help you.”

The very next morning, Karim saddled his humble donkey and set off for Kesar Ganj. After a long ride, he arrived at the Hakim’s clinic. To his surprise, the renowned physician was not busy treating patients but was instead lying back against a bolster, snoring peacefully.

Karim coughed politely, and the Hakim stirred, lazily opening one eye. Without moving from his place, he reached out, felt Karim’s pulse, and asked in a drowsy voice, “So, you want peace?”

“Yes, sir,” Karim replied earnestly.

“How much of it?”

Karim was startled by the question. “As much as you can give me. Complete peace, if possible.”

The Hakim smirked. “Then bring me four people.”

“Four people? Why?”

“Because true and complete peace,” said the Hakim, yawning, “can only be found in the graveyard across the river.”

Karim frowned. “No, Hakim sahib, I don’t want that kind of peace. I only wish for some relief from the constant noise of my household. Not a single moment passes in silence.”

The Hakim nodded, then asked abruptly, “Do you have a rooster at home?”

“No,” Karim replied, confused. “But why do you ask?”

“Buy one today. Now off you go!” With that, the Hakim pulled the quilt over himself and went back to sleep.

Though puzzled, Karim obeyed. On his way home, he bought a rooster from the marketplace. The children were delighted. They clapped and laughed, chasing the bird around the courtyard. But within two days, the rooster’s loud and untimely crowing had driven Karim nearly mad. At dawn, at noon, even at midnight—the bird’s voice shattered whatever calm remained.

Helpless, Karim returned to the Hakim and poured out his complaint. The Hakim, half-asleep, asked, “Do you have a dog at home?”

“No,” Karim replied suspiciously.

“Then get one. At once.” The Hakim turned over and fell asleep again.

So Karim went to the wrestler Suleman and bought a big dog. The children rejoiced even more. But now, alongside the rooster’s crowing, the dog barked at every passing shadow. Day and night, noise engulfed the house. Karim’s misery grew unbearable.

Once more, he trudged to the Hakim’s clinic and recited his woes. The Hakim stretched, yawned, and asked, “Do you have a donkey?”

Karim, frustrated, snapped, “Apart from myself, there’s no other donkey in my house!”

“Then get one,” the Hakim said firmly.

And so, Karim purchased a donkey from Bhulo the washerman. But that night, the rooster crowed, the dog barked, and the donkey brayed until even the neighbors came knocking. “Karim!” they shouted angrily. “Your animals are driving the whole street mad. Get rid of them immediately!”

Karim returned once again to the Hakim, who calmly instructed, “Return the donkey.”

Karim did so. The following day, he noticed a strange quiet in the house. For the first time in weeks, he slept peacefully. He hurried to tell the Hakim.

“Now get rid of the dog,” the Hakim advised.

“But my children love the dog,” Karim protested. “And it guards the fields at night.”

“Do as I say,” the Hakim insisted.

Reluctantly, Karim parted with the dog. That night, the silence felt overwhelming. The absence of barking unnerved him. Life seemed too quiet.

When he reported this to the Hakim, the physician said, “Now slaughter the rooster.”

Karim’s patience broke. “No, Hakim sahib! That I cannot do. My children love the bird, and its crowing greets our mornings. Without it, the day feels incomplete.”

“Your treatment is not finished,” the Hakim scolded. “The rooster must go.”

Defeated, Karim obeyed. But when the rooster was gone, the house felt empty and lifeless. The silence was so heavy it frightened him. For the first time, Karim realized how much those little sounds had meant.

Finally, he returned to the Hakim. This time, the physician was fresh, dressed in a spotless white sherwani and a velvet cap. Smiling, he asked, “And now, how do you feel?”

Karim sighed. “My home is peaceful, but it feels hollow. The silence chokes me. I realize now that my wife and children, their chatter, even their chaos—these are the true joys of my life. Without them, there is no real peace.”

The Hakim placed a gentle hand on Karim’s head and said softly, “Exactly, my son. That was your cure. Peace does not lie outside—it lies within. Those who seek it only in silence or in escape will never find it. True peace is in gratitude, in family, in embracing life with all its noise and color.”

Karim returned home, no longer restless. The shouts of his children, the clatter of the kitchen, even the rooster’s absence—all became part of a deeper calm. He had finally understood that peace was never about the world around him. It was always about the heart within.