From pulpits of mosques to gatherings of scholars, one message has echoed across centuries and civilizations: this world is a temporary stage, a place of trial and amusement for all living species. The Qur’an repeatedly reminds humanity that worldly life is fleeting, deceptive, and transient. Yet among all creation, it is only the human being who will be questioned about the purpose for which he or she was created. This divine accountability, so clearly stated in Islamic teachings, seems to have faded from the consciousness of modern man.

Ironically, it is the contemporary human—armed with education, power, and authority, who appears to have lost credibility by forgetting the eternal world (Akhirat). We discuss death openly, quote Qur’anic verses with ease, and yet behave as if life on earth were permanent. The verse “Qul nafsin zā’iqatu al-mawt”...every soul shall taste death..is universally known, but rarely internalized. Death has become a slogan rather than a guiding truth, an idea spoken lightly but lived negligently.
Religion teaches that worldly life is a test, not a destination. However, greed and material obsession have overtaken many professions and institutions. Except for those hearts that remain deeply connected with Allah, many individuals entrusted with responsibility have polluted institutions with selfishness and injustice. Authority, instead of being exercised as a trust (amanah), is used as a means of personal gain. This moral decay is not merely administrative; it is spiritual.
As Muslims, we must pause and express gratitude to Allah for blessing us with the most perfect guide humanity has ever known: Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. He was not only a messenger, but a teacher, reformer, and embodiment of justice, compassion, and humility. His life presented a complete blueprint for personal conduct and public governance. His character marked by mercy, fairness, patience, and integrity offers solutions for every era. Had we truly followed his example, success would not have been confined to the hereafter alone; it would have manifested even in our worldly institutions.
Unfortunately, many have turned away from this prophetic model and chosen other paths. In doing so, they have metaphorically “sold their souls,” reminiscent of Christopher Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, who entered into a contract with the devil through Mephistophilis in exchange for temporary power and pleasure. Today, that same Mephistophilis seems to confront people at every hour of the day...not as a visible demon, but as greed, temptation, and unchecked desire. Contracts are signed daily, not on parchment, but in the heart: morality exchanged for material gain.
This raises a profound question: if our presence in this world is temporary, why do we plan as if it were permanent? Why do we cling so tightly to power, wealth, and status, knowing full well that none of it will accompany us to the grave? The illusion of permanence blinds many to the reality of accountability. The Akhirat is spoken of, yet rarely prepared for.
This reflection becomes even more pressing when we observe those individuals who have been granted authority by Allah particularly officials entrusted with shaping institutions and guiding the youth. Power, in Islam, is not a privilege but a responsibility. Those who hold it will be questioned more severely. Yet many forget that their authority is not self-earned, but divinely permitted. They act as if answerable to none.
The situation in Jammu and Kashmir, particularly within the higher education sector, illustrates this moral crisis. Repeated assurances are given to the oppressed and the struggling often in the form of official notices and “colored papers” suggesting that issues are under consideration. But time and again, these promises dissolve into emptiness, leaving behind frustration and despair. Sympathy, which should be the first quality of leadership, is treated as an unnecessary luxury.
Islam describes human beings as Ashraf-ul-Makhlooqaat the noblest of creation. Nobility, however, is not defined by rank or wealth, but by humility, generosity, and justice. An official responsible for subordinates must act with compassion, understanding, and fairness. Sadly, such values appear increasingly rare in modern administrative culture. The Akhirat is forgotten, and with it, the fear of standing before angels who will question every misuse of authority.
Instead of creating pathways for the youth, many officials block them. Instead of nurturing talent, they weaken systems. When compared with other states of India, Jammu and Kashmir lags behind not because of lack of talent, but because of faulty systems and indifferent leadership. History proves that officials who sincerely care for the future of youth are remembered with honor. Those who sabotage systems for selfish ends are remembered with regret or forgotten entirely.
We have forgotten the Qur’anic lessons. We have forgotten the sayings and the lived example of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. This forgetfulness has cost us justice, peace, and moral clarity. Yet hope remains. Moral decay is not irreversible. If hearts turn back to Allah, if authority is reclaimed as a trust, and if prophetic character is revived in governance, change is possible.
Let this be a moment of introspection. Power will fade, wealth will vanish, and titles will be stripped away. Only deeds will remain. May the arrogance of worldly obsession be buried, and may goodness, justice, and accountability rise again for the sake of this world and, more importantly, the eternal one to come.

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