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🌙 THE LAST RESPECTABLE MAN
Master Ghulam Rasool had lived long enough to see respect go out of fashion.
There was a time—he remembered it faintly now—when schoolteachers were treated with the same deference as judges. When people stood up when he passed the bazaar, and shopkeepers sent their children to him for advice. Those were days when words carried weight and promises had honour stitched inside them.
Now, at sixty, he sat at Haji Mushtaq’s tea stall like a forgotten lamp post—present, but unseen.
The people of the town still called him Master Sahib, but the title was decorative now, like putting flowers on a broken grave. Children no longer ran to him with notebooks. Instead, they screamed, cheered, and sometimes even danced like circus monkeys whenever Councillor Tariq Gujjar’s white SUV appeared at the corner of the street.
Ghulam Rasool would sigh, his moustache drooping like he had trained it for sorrow.
“Perhaps decency died,” he murmured once. “Or perhaps it shifted careers.”
Haji Mushtaq heard him and chuckled while stirring sugar into forty cups at once.
“Master Sahib, in this town, even the flies have become corrupt. Why should morals survive?”
The tea stall erupted with laughter.
Master Rasool smiled politely—he was used to being the punchline for truths no one wanted to face.
I. The Town’s New Love Affair
Councillor Tariq Gujjar was everything the town celebrated now: money, noise, sunglasses, and shamelessness. He had the swagger of a man who believed God sent him to earth with a built-in spotlight.
Whenever he entered the bazaar with his entourage of jobless boys and rented security guards, people rushed to greet him as though he carried gold coins in his pockets.
“Councillor saab zindabad!”
“Leader of the poor!”
“Future MNA!”
Future MNA indeed, Master Rasool thought. But Master Rasool also believed that if Tariq Gujjar ever became prime minister, Pakistan would apply for refugee status in Afghanistan.
Children ran behind Gujjar’s SUV like stray dogs chasing a food truck. Men stood proudly behind him taking selfies. Women watched from balconies, cursing him but secretly fascinated by his rising power.
Gujjar—despite being illiterate, dishonest, and allergic to hard work—was now the “face of progress.”
Meanwhile, Master Ghulam Rasool, who had educated hundreds, solved disputes, and guided youth for decades, was treated like outdated software.
That irony gnawed at him every day.
II. Nomi and Shabbo: Youth Without Direction
Master Rasool’s son, Nomi, was twenty years old and as directionless as a plastic bag blowing in Lahore’s winter wind.
He wasn’t stupid—no, he had the intelligence of a lawyer and the laziness of a politician. He wanted a good job, but he wanted it to walk to him, ring the doorbell, and apologize for being late.
His father pushed him toward government departments, colleges, offices. Nomi pushed back with excuses:
“Abba, I’ll apply tomorrow.”
“Abba, the weather is too hot.”
“Abba, what’s the point? Everyone gets jobs through references now.”
Then there was Shabbo, the neighbour’s daughter, who was the exact opposite: sharp-tongued, fearless, and annoyingly sensible.
While Nomi lounged around dreaming of wealth, Shabbo roasted him daily.
“Nomi, if laziness were an Olympic sport, you’d lose—even your laziness wouldn’t bother competing.”
He glared at her.
She smirked.
Their bickering was famous in the entire lane.
But beneath her sarcasm, Shabbo liked Nomi’s kind heart.
And beneath his frustration, Nomi admired her strength.
But neither acknowledged it—publicly.
III. The Theft That Shook the Town
One Monday morning, a scandal erupted like a surprise thunderstorm.
The charity fund meant for repairing the government school’s roof—a roof that had been leaking since Pervez Musharraf’s era—had disappeared.
Every rupee.
Vanished.
As if it sprouted wings and flew to Dubai.
The whole town buzzed with anger.
“Who stole it?”
“Who is the thief?”
“Who will save our children now?”
Within hours, fingers pointed in every direction except the right one.
Then someone whispered at the tea stall:
“What about old Master Rasool? He handled school funds ten years ago, didn’t he?”
Another man added:
“Yes! I heard he kept extra money from donations once. Someone said he has a secret bank account.”
A third voice chimed in:
“He looks innocent—that’s suspicious in today’s age.”
Within half an hour, the rumour tightened around Master Rasool’s neck like a noose.
He, who had taught half the town to read, was now accused of stealing from schoolchildren.
He sat silently, his face pale but dignified.
In his chest, something cracked.
IV. The True Thief
Of course, the thief was none other than Councillor Tariq Gujjar.
He had used the school roof money to buy:
A treadmill (which he used once)
A generator for his farmhouse
Three new smartphones (because “a leader needs backup phones”)
A fancy watch that made him look important but made him late to every meeting
People knew this.
The wind knew this.
Even the flies sitting on the sugar jars at Haji Mushtaq’s stall knew this.
But hypocrisy was the town’s favourite dessert, and it was served fresh every day.
V. The Breaking Point
When Nomi saw his father being insulted in public, something inside him erupted.
His voice, usually soft, thundered:
“Who dares accuse my father? He didn’t steal anything! You know who did!”
People stared at him with mock sympathy.
“Beta, calm down.”
“Maybe your father forgot something.”
“Maybe there was a miscalculation.”
Nomi trembled with fury.
For years he had ignored the world’s injustice.
But this—this was personal.
Shabbo stepped beside him, eyes blazing.
“This whole town has mush for brains! The real thief has posters everywhere!”
Haji Mushtaq nearly dropped his pot of chai.
VI. Nomi’s Mission
That night, Nomi and Shabbo became investigators.
They sneaked around like cheap detectives in a low-budget drama.
Shabbo kept whispering:
“Stop shaking! You’re trembling like a stolen motorcycle!”
“I’m not shaking,” Nomi hissed. “This torch is heavy!”
Together they found:
photocopies of receipts
villagers ready to testify
pictures of construction workers saying they never received payment
and, the crown jewel:
a recorded audio of Tariq Gujjar saying—
“School roof? Let the kids study under umbrellas. I need a treadmill.”
Shabbo burst out laughing so loudly that stray cats fled.
VII. The Town Gathering
On Friday, a huge crowd gathered in the main square, expecting drama.
They got it.
Nomi stood on a chair and presented the evidence.
The town fell dead silent.
Even the crows paused mid-caw.
People looked at Tariq Gujjar.
He smiled arrogantly, then boomed:
“This boy? He can’t even afford socks! And he wants to lecture ME?”
The crowd chuckled uncertainly.
Then Master Ghulam Rasool slowly stood.
His dignity returned to him like a forgotten friend.
He said quietly—yet the words cut like a blade:
“Respect does not vanish. People simply stop deserving it.”
Something shifted in the air.
A moral earthquake.
People turned toward Tariq Gujjar, shame rising like heat.
For the first time, whispers turned against him.
VIII. The Fall of the Pretender
Sensing danger, Tariq Gujjar slipped toward his SUV.
A group of men blocked him.
“Returning the funds would be wise, Councillor.”
“You’ve disgraced us all.”
Cowardice flickered in his eyes.
Within hours, the scandal spread beyond the town.
His posters came down.
His guards disappeared.
His political dreams collapsed like the school roof he refused to fix.
Justice may be slow, Master Rasool thought, but when it wakes up, it bites hard.
IX. A Bittersweet Victory
The town apologized to Master Rasool.
Some genuinely.
Most reluctantly.
One man said, “Master Sahib, we knew you’d never do such a thing.”
Another said, “We were always with you.”
Master Rasool simply smiled and said:
“If you were always with me, why am I hearing it for the first time today?”
People looked embarrassed.
Shabbo elbowed Nomi. “Your father has more swag than half the town.”
X. The Ending — A Sunset and a Beginning
As the sun dipped behind the rooftops, Master Rasool walked home with Nomi and Shabbo.
Nomi said softly:
“Abba… today felt like you became Master Sahib again.”
Master Rasool looked ahead, eyes thoughtful.
“No, beta. I didn’t become respectable again.
You all simply became human for a moment.”
They walked on.
Behind them, Haji Mushtaq shouted at the crowd:
“BREAKING NEWS! Truth wins today! Everyone enjoy it—by tomorrow we return to our usual stupidity!”
The town laughed.
And for the first time in years, so did Master Ghulam Rasool.
✍ Written by:
Dr. Arshad Afzal
Pen Name: Faraz Parvez
🌐 Read more stories, literature, and insights:
www.TheMindScope.net
