Shab-e-Ghizaal Ka Safar

 

Shab-e-Ghizaal Ka Safar

The wind whispered secrets through the desert dunes, carrying with it the scent of earth and the faintest trace of blooming jasmine. Beneath a sky strewn with stars, Zareen tightened her shawl around her shoulders and gazed into the vast emptiness ahead. It was the night of Shab-e-Ghizaal—the night of the gazelle—a fabled phenomenon said to guide wanderers to their destiny.


For centuries, travelers had spoken of the elusive white gazelle, whose appearance during the darkest nights foretold the unraveling of hidden truths. It was said that those who followed its trail would confront their deepest fears and uncover secrets long buried by time.

Zareen’s journey had begun three days earlier when a withered old woman appeared at her village’s edge, clutching a bundle of ancient scrolls. “You have the eyes of a seeker,” the woman had said, her voice like dry leaves rustling. “Shab-e-Ghizaal will come for you. Follow it, and you will find what your heart truly desires.”

At first, Zareen dismissed the woman’s words as the ramblings of a stranger, but that night, a dream came to her. In it, a radiant gazelle leapt through the desert, its hooves leaving trails of silver light. When she awoke, she knew her path was set.

The desert was merciless, even under the cool embrace of night. The soft glow of the crescent moon cast long shadows over the dunes. Zareen’s lantern flickered, threatening to extinguish with every gust of wind. She carried little—a waterskin, a satchel of dates, and the scroll given to her by the old woman.

Hours passed before she saw it. At first, she thought it was a mirage—a trick played by her weary mind. But then it moved. A white gazelle stood atop a distant dune, its coat shimmering as though spun from moonlight. Its eyes met hers, and in that moment, Zareen felt a pull, as though an invisible thread connected them.

The gazelle turned and bounded away. Without hesitation, Zareen followed.

The chase led her deeper into the desert, where the sand grew colder and the air thinner. Each time she thought she had lost the gazelle, it reappeared—standing still, waiting for her to catch up. Its presence filled her with both wonder and unease. What awaited her at the end of this journey?

On the second night, as dawn approached, Zareen stumbled upon the remnants of an ancient caravan. Broken wheels, tattered cloth, and rusted swords lay scattered across the sand. Among the ruins, she found a small, jeweled amulet. The sight of it sent a jolt through her—it was identical to one her mother had worn, a keepsake said to belong to their ancestors.

The gazelle appeared again, standing silently among the ruins. Zareen’s heart raced. “What is this place?” she whispered, but the creature offered no answer. Instead, it leapt away, its hooves glowing faintly in the growing light. She clutched the amulet tightly and continued.

On the third night, the desert transformed. The dunes seemed to ripple like waves, and the stars above grew impossibly bright, illuminating a hidden path. The gazelle led her to an oasis unlike any she had ever seen. Towering palm trees swayed in a wind that carried the scent of myrrh and honey. At the center of the oasis stood a crystal-clear pool, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly light.

The gazelle approached the water and dipped its head, motioning for Zareen to do the same. She hesitated but then knelt beside the pool. As she peered into its depths, the water began to shift, revealing visions.

She saw her mother, young and vibrant, standing in a bustling marketplace. She saw a great storm sweeping through the desert, scattering her ancestors’ caravan. And then she saw herself—standing at the edge of a vast cliff, a glowing orb in her hands.

The vision faded, leaving Zareen breathless. The gazelle stood beside her, its eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to pierce her soul. “Is this my destiny?” she asked, but the creature only turned and began to walk away.

By the time dawn broke on the fourth day, Zareen found herself at the edge of a towering cliff, just as she had seen in the vision. Below, the desert stretched endlessly, its sands glittering like gold. In her hands, she held the orb—a sphere of light she had found within the oasis pool.

As the sun rose, the orb began to glow brighter, and a warmth spread through her chest. She understood now. The journey of Shab-e-Ghizaal was not about finding answers but about uncovering the courage to face the unknown. The gazelle had been her guide, but the path had always been hers to walk.

With a final glance at the horizon, Zareen stepped forward, the light of the orb merging with the rising sun. The desert seemed to sigh, as though it, too, had been waiting for this moment.

And so, the legend of Shab-e-Ghizaal lived on—a tale of courage, discovery, and the endless journey of the soul beneath the starlit sky.

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