He lived in a small four-marla house — a thousand square feet — beside the transformer in the back lane of the mosque. Fifteen years had passed since he had settled in this village. Everyone respectfully called him Maulvi Sahib.
In winter, his voice echoed through the loudspeaker at five in the morning, and in summer at three-thirty. The whole village would wake up whenever he would say Allahu Akbar!”. His day began with the recitation of the Qur’an. Early in the morning, he taught children to read the Holy Book; the rest of the day he spent with friends or sitting in the courtyard of the mosque. After the afternoon prayers, he would again teach the children.
Throughout his life he only knew how to read the Qur’an — not how to understand it. He never wanted to know the meaning of verses.
In the village, Shias and Sunnis had lived together for centuries. No one ever asked about each other's sect. Everyone shared each other’s joys and sorrows. But Maulvi Sahib’s heart was filled with bitterness for the Shia community — a silent hatred that could one day turn into fire.
Shia children also came daily to learn from him, and each time he quietly resented it. He disliked Malik Sahib, the village headman, who always spoke against sectarian division and insisted that all were one. The Maulvi’s hidden resentment grew each day — like a spark quietly fed by dry wood.
Then one evening, as the sun sank behind the minarets of the mosque, the Maulvi was teaching his students. His eyes fell on a Shia boy. At that moment, some dark shadow inside him awoke — faith trembled, and the devil took over. He took the boy into the small chamber beside the mosque… and his actions led to indecent behavior.
The child was innocent, but he could not remain silent. When he returned home, he told everything to the father.
For that family, the news fell like lightning. In their culture, honor stood even higher than faith. Hearing such a thing was worse than death itself.
The Maulvi lost the ground beneath his feet. He feared the scandal would spread through the village like wildfire. In panic, he ran to the mosque, turned on the loudspeaker, and shouted in a trembling voice:
“Those who insult the noble Companions of the Prophet (peace be upon him) are apostates — and must be killed!”
Then he named a man:
“Fiaz Hussain — he has blasphemed against the Companions! He is a disbeliever, he is wajib-ul-qatl! Liable to be killed”
That Fiaz Hussain was the father of the very boy with whom he had committed shameful acts.
The news spread through the village like flames in a dry forest.
From every direction came the cry — “Kill him! Kill him!” Faces burned with rage; hearts filled with the poison of faith.
And the Maulvi… went home and began his ghusal — the ritual bath of purification.
Water kept running — but it could not wash away the dirt in his heart.
Outside, the noise grew louder.
The village was about to burn.