HIRA AFZAL
His mother had died. He spent his days caring for his father, and his nights were passed in peace and silence. His father was extremely pious, and it was the son’s duty to serve him (gratitude and obedience).
The household was extremely simple. Even at the time of his death, nothing more than a few old clothes were found in the house. Yet the father had been a teacher and had lived a very dignified life.
He obtained higher education and, due to his abilities, moved from a village to Islamabad. Despite the difference between city life and village upbringing, he never forgot the values taught by his parents.
Unseen ingratitude entered his life slowly.
In the early days of marriage, he lived with his parents. After some time, his wife began to insist on living separately. Gradually, quarrels started increasing. Even though his mother had passed away, his father was old and dependent. The wife would complain about his father’s presence and the responsibilities attached to him.
Eventually, he rented a separate house.
He would visit his father once a week. Sometimes twice a month. With time, the visits became even less frequent. The father would wait all day for his son. Despite illness and weakness, he would prepare food himself and try to manage his daily chores.
The son became so busy with his children and wife that he could not spare time for his father. Nights passed, but he did not even call to ask how his father was.
One day, he received news that his father had passed away due to hunger and illness. His stomach was empty, and his medicines had run out.
He rushed to the village, but it was too late.
Standing by the grave, he cried bitterly, but regret could not bring back what was lost.
“Ingratitude is not always visible; sometimes it quietly eats away relationships.”
One day, when he was reciting the verse, he suddenly stopped, because in the Arabic of the verse the words “Mercy” and “Compassion” were used. As he repeated the verse again and again, tears began to flow from his eyes.
He stopped reciting and began to think deeply.
“Why am I crying?” he asked himself.
“I am reading the existing translation of the Qur’an, yet I am not satisfied. I feel as if the meanings of these words are not fully reaching me. There must be something missing.”
These words echoed in his heart again and again. That day, he developed a deep love for the Qur’an and translation.
He opened other translations. In one, he saw a footnote explaining the depth of meaning behind those words. His heart felt great relief, and he felt peace.
Then he thought: “Why do we limit ourselves to only one translation? The Qur’an was revealed for all times, and its meanings are vast. No single translation can fully capture it.”
He realized that every translator chooses words according to his own understanding, language skill, and limitations. That does not mean the Qur’an is limited; rather, it shows the vastness of its meanings.
Some people criticize translations and claim only Arabic should be read, but they forget that understanding is essential. Without understanding, recitation alone cannot fulfill its purpose.
His mother’s voice echoed in his mind. She used to recite the Qur’an with love and would often say: “Understanding is more important than just reading.”
Today, he clearly understood that message. The ingratitude he had shown in daily life now stood before him in a different form.
He realized that neglecting understanding is also a kind of ingratitude—an ingratitude toward knowledge, toward guidance, and toward the blessings given by Allah.
“All my life,” he thought, “I was stuck in forms and appearances. I never tried to reach the depth of meanings.”
“O Lord,” he prayed, “forgive me. Grant me the ability to understand Your words, not just recite them.”
From that day on, whenever he recited the Qur’an, he tried to understand its meanings. He began reading different translations, reflecting on them, and letting the words guide his life.
He finally understood what Allah meant when He said that the Qur’an is a guidance for humanity, and that a person truly benefits from it only when its meanings enter the heart.
These are the people who are saved from ingratitude—those who recognize blessings and value them, and who do not merely read the Qur’an, but walk alongside it. These are the people who discover the Qur’an, live according to it, and shape their days and nights according to its purpose.
The word “mehr” (kindness/affection) carries a meaning that is itself a form of truth. It teaches that one must acknowledge blessings in time, and that giving gratitude its due right is essential. Silence can sometimes become a form of injustice.
“Why didn’t you come?”
He asked himself repeatedly.
“I didn’t come before,” he admitted.
“I didn’t come at the end either.”
The meanings of the words became clear to him, and Allah’s wisdom revealed itself beautifully. He realized that simply questioning everything is not enough, nor is it enough to merely read. True benefit comes when a person understands, reflects, and then acts. Only then does one truly appreciate blessings.
In fact, recognizing blessings is itself a protection against ingratitude. Gratitude, mercy, and recognition of rights—all are connected.
“So now, what should I do?” he asked.
“Just acknowledge,” came the answer.
“So this is ingratitude?” he asked again.
“Yes,” the voice replied gently.
“We neither came before, nor stayed behind, nor even tried to understand,” he said thoughtfully.
He strongly affirmed this realization.
He was no longer smiling, but his heart felt lighter—as if a heavy burden had been lifted.
