In Karachi, fires are rarely only fires, they are also divine audits of governance.Re-imagining the last moments of the fire victims of Gul Plaza is painful. For a brief moment, the mind must have resisted what the senses already knew.It may have begun with a wrong smell in a familiar corridor, a bitterness mistaken for nothing serious. A thin veil of smoke slipped under tube lights while someone trusted that rescue, like routine, always arrives.Then the smoke took command. It filled stairwells and corridors, thick and suffocating. The air burned. Lights died. The building turned into a maze where exits failed and shutters jammed.Hour after hour, breath grew heavier. Eyes burned. Lungs filled with poison. Children cried. Mothers lifted their faces upward in prayer. Fathers searched the unseen sky for help. They waited for angels to descend through the smoke.The angels did not appear from the skies.Phones carried desperate pleas: break a shutter, cut a hole, reach the roof, let air in. Outside, families stood before the burning plaza with raised hands and tearful eyes, asking heaven to intervene.The angels did not appear from the skies.Inside, verses were whispered between coughs. Forgiveness was sought. Final messages were sent. Names were shouted into smoke until they became prayers. Faces turned upward again and again, searching for wings in the darkness.The angels did not appear from the skies. The smoke thickened. Heat intensified. Hope narrowed to one belief: surely heaven would answer. But the skies remained silent. But do angels descend in modern tragedies like Gul Plaza? Yes, they come. They always come. The pain is that they often come years before the flames.Angels are not only creatures of light in religious imagination. Sometimes, they are simply human beings placed at the right point of responsibility. They are those who draw the first lines of a structure, deciding whether it will be a home, a workplace, or a trap. They are those who approve the plan, who check the stairways and exits, who question materials, who insist on ventilation, alarms, sprinklers, and clear evacuation routes. They are those who refuse shortcuts when shortcuts are dressed as “practicality.” They are those who say no, even when a no is expensive and unpopular and costs them a career.They are the architects who choose safety as a moral decision, not a decorative option. They are the engineers who treat structural stability like a trust, not a transaction. They are the approving authorities who understand that a signature can be as deadly as a matchstick if given carelessly. They are the inspectors who do not accept favors, and do not look away, and do not treat violations as minor. They all are angels, if only they knew.If they understood, they would recognize their angelic duties.Because God does not only test a trapped worker on the day of the fire. God tests the system long before. God tests the hands that design, the eyes that inspect, and the offices that approve. God tests whether human beings value life over speed, profit, and paperwork.Shakespeare captured this moral truth without mentioning buildings or flames: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” When tragedy repeats itself in cities, the public often blames fate. We blame the weather, the wiring, the “unfortunate incident.” We describe it as if it descended from the sky, random and unavoidable. But many disasters are not random. They are assembled, decision by decision, omission by omission, over many years.A blocked staircase is not an accident. It is a choice repeated until it becomes normal. A missing alarm is not a mystery. It is a project budget line someone decided was unnecessary. A locked exit is not bad luck. It is a mindset that values control over escape. Unsafe electrical load is not destiny. It is negligence wearing the mask of routine.And the most terrifying part is not ignorance. The required measures are widely known, and they have been known for years.Fire safety is not a certificate framed on a wall. It is a living discipline. Commercial buildings must not become vertical coffins. Emergency exits must be clear, accessible, and adequate. Inspections must be real, not ceremonial. Approvals must be earned, not managed. Enforcement must be consistent, not seasonal, waking only after funerals.So what should Gul Plaza teach us?It should teach that prayers in smoke are not a replacement for responsibilities in daylight. It should teach that faith does not excuse negligence. It should teach that if government functionaries, regulators, architects, engineers, builders, and inspectors treat safety as secondary, they are not merely failing a professional duty; they are betraying a divine trust.For every hand that touches a file, a plan, a permit, an inspection note, a compliance report, a “minor deviation,” and a “just this once,” the reminder is plain.They are not merely employees. They are angels disguised in human form, stationed long before the fire, tasked with saving lives they may never meet. When they perform their duty with integrity, they answer prayers before they are even spoken. When they compromise, they do not only break rules; they break families.Gul Plaza is not only a story of smoke and screams. It is a mirror held up to our systems, and to our conscience.If angels did not arrive in time that day, it is because too many angels ignored their wings years earlier.Let every approval be treated as a prayer answered in advance. Let every inspection be treated as a life in hand. Let every shortcut and compromise be treated as a future funeral.

Tanveer AshrafThe writer is a civil servant and can be reached at tanveerashraf111@gmail.com.

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