Khawars Broken Idol

Khawar’s Broken Idol

BY: Ubaid

Arif Majeed Arif’s son, Khawar, belonged to a cultured and educated family with a deep love for knowledge. Both his parents were highly qualified and had a refined literary taste. His elder siblings were studying at reputable institutions, and just like the rest of the family, Khawar too developed a strong interest in reading. Their house always had newspapers and quality magazines for both adults and children. Surrounded by such an environment, it was only natural for Khawar to turn toward books.

The more he read, the more he felt drawn to the art of storytelling. The thought often crossed his mind: Why shouldn’t I also write stories so that my name, too, is mentioned with pride in school and within the family? Fired by this ambition, he wrote his very first short story and, without telling anyone, mailed it to a well-known children’s magazine.

Months passed. Then one morning, when the latest issue of the magazine arrived, Khawar’s heart leaped with joy. His eyes widened as he saw his story printed in the section dedicated to new writers. For a moment, he couldn’t believe it. His hands trembled as he showed the magazine to his family.

His elder brother glanced at it and smiled.
“Writing stories is a good hobby,” he said warmly, “but never forget that education comes first. Do not neglect your studies.”

“Brother, don’t worry,” Khawar replied confidently. “I will give full attention to my education. But I also want to become a great writer someday.”

There was a firm determination in his tone.

In the months that followed, Khawar’s stories began to appear regularly in different magazines. His school, family, and friends started to regard him with admiration. The joy of being acknowledged as a young writer gave him fresh motivation.

One day, his elder brother asked, “Khawar, have you ever heard of Afaq Asri?”

“Of course!” Khawar’s eyes lit up. “He’s one of the most famous children’s writers. In fact, he’s my favorite author.”

“Well,” his brother continued, “he happens to be a relative of one of my close friends and lives nearby. If you’d like, I can arrange for you to meet him.”

Khawar could hardly believe his luck. The following week, accompanied by his brother and his friend, he went to meet Afaq Asri.

When they entered his house, Asri welcomed them warmly. He shook Khawar’s hand, looked at some of his published stories, and said, “This is a good hobby. Keep writing, for it will also help you in your studies.”

Encouraged, Khawar hesitated a little and then requested, “Sir, if you could kindly guide me and correct my stories, I would be very grateful.”

To his delight, Afaq Asri agreed. Khawar returned home glowing with happiness. And yet, somewhere deep in his heart, he felt something unusual about Asri’s manner—the way he spoke seemed somewhat artificial, as if he were hiding his true feelings. But Khawar quickly brushed aside these doubts, unwilling to tarnish the image of his idol.

From that day onward, Khawar devoted himself even more passionately to writing.

After a while, he completed what he considered the best story he had ever written. Brimming with excitement, he carried it to Asri. The elder writer took the manuscript and said, “I’m a little busy right now. Come back next week, and I’ll return it.”

When Khawar returned, Asri handed him the story, rewritten in his own handwriting.
“It’s a fine story,” he remarked. “I only changed the beginning. Unfortunately, some tea spilled over your draft, so I copied it out completely.”

Grateful and unsuspecting, Khawar copied the story once more in his own handwriting and sent it to a magazine. In his covering letter, he proudly mentioned that he was a student of Afaq Asri, and that his mentor had guided him in refining the piece.

A few days later, the magazine’s editor telephoned Afaq Asri.

“Sir,” he said enthusiastically, “your student Khawar has sent us an excellent story. Truly remarkable! Since he mentioned your name as his mentor, I wanted to tell you personally that we have selected it as the special story for our upcoming issue. It will be featured on the cover, while your own contribution will be included inside the issue.”

The words struck Asri like a blow. His face hardened; his pride was wounded. How could a boy—a mere beginner—be given more importance than him?

Suppressing his anger, he replied coldly, “Editor sahib, let me clarify something. This boy writes some childish tales, and out of kindness I occasionally encourage him. But the story you are referring to is mine. I had misplaced it recently, and now I realize he must have taken it. Please don’t publish it under his name.”

The editor, taken aback, promised to hold off publication.

The moment he hung up the phone, Asri fumed. “How dare that boy steal my place, my honor!” he muttered bitterly. His jealousy boiled over. He called Khawar immediately and instructed him to bring back the revised manuscript so that further ‘corrections’ could be made before resubmission.

Khawar, touched by what he thought was concern, gladly agreed. He even prayed for his mentor’s health, thinking, How kind of him to improve my story so carefully!

But a few days later, a letter from the magazine arrived. Excited, Khawar tore open the envelope. As he read, his face paled. His hands shook. Tears welled up in his eyes.

The editor had written gently but firmly:
“You have attempted to pass off a famous writer’s work as your own. This is plagiarism. It is a serious offense. Kindly suggest what punishment you think you deserve.”

The words pierced his heart. The image of his idol, Afaq Asri, shattered before him.

For hours, Khawar sat in silence, overwhelmed by pain and betrayal. But then, wiping away his tears, he clenched his fists with renewed resolve.

“This is not the end,” he whispered to himself. “I will rise above this humiliation. I will prove that I can stand on my own feet. With education and hard work, I will carve out my own name in the literary world. And one day, the world will recognize me—not as someone’s student, but as a writer in my own right.”

A strange, bright determination shone in his eyes.