PUBLISHED November 16, 2025
I never had the opportunity to meet Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra in person, but I always felt a deep and personal connection with her. It was in the early 1980s, during my years at Oriental College, Punjab University, where I was pursuing my master’s degree in Urdu literature, that I first heard his name from my revered teacher and literary guide, Dr. Sajjad Baqar Rizvi. At that time, as I remember, Dr. Zehra was in the United States.
Baqar Sahib had taught thousands of students over the decades, but there were only a few whom he remembered with such warmth and pride, and among them, he often spoke of Arfa Zehra. Every time he mentioned her, his eyes shone with affectionate admiration. I still remember him describing his brilliance and conviction as a student, and later came across his own comment: “Maĩ Bāqar Sāḥib kī sar chaṛhī shāgird thī..” (I was the lovingly pampered student of Baqar Sahib).
There was a considerable temporal distance between his student years and mine, however, in my heart, I always considered myself his Khwajatash—a fellow disciple of the same master. Perhaps it was because, in the later years of Baqar Sahib’s teaching life, I was among the few who remained close to him, often engaging in lively discussions, what he affectionately described as “facing each other.”
Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra’s first love was always literature. He earned his master’s degree in Urdu literature and later pursued a doctorate in history. This academic evolution reflected his expanding intellectual horizons. As a pedagogue, she embraced the broader landscape of the humanities and social sciences, enriching her scholarship with depth and diversity. However, despite all his academic commitments, he never lost his touch with literature.
His language continued to be refined, gentle and melodious; His words were imbued with clarity and grace. The way he spoke conveyed a rare calm and dignity, his voice measured, his expressions lucid and his lips often adorned with a benign and knowing smile. He had the rare gift of turning intellect into empathy and knowledge into enlightenment.
His intellectual strength lay not in providing answers but in inspiring questions. In an information-saturated age, where everyone seems eager to offer conclusions, she reminded us of the deeper wisdom of research. She believed that genuine understanding begins not with answers, but with the courage to ask. As Firaq Gorakhpuri beautifully put it:
Maĩ pūchta to hū̃, magar javāb ke liye nahī̃..
(I ask questions, but not simply for the sake of getting answers.)
His reflections on modern indifference often returned to the same theme: that we have learned to ask the big metaphysical questions, but we have forgotten the simpler, more human ones: whether another person is okay or needs care. Behind such observations lies his moral conviction that knowledge and piety are empty if they do not give rise to compassion.
Born in Lahore around 1942, Dr. Zehra spent most of her life in that historic city, molding minds and spirits alike. His educational career reflected both intellectual rigor and spiritual depth: In addition to a master’s degree in Urdu literature, he earned a master’s degree in Asian Studies and a doctorate in American History. Her professional life was no less distinguished: she served as principal of the Lahore College for Women and later of the Government College, Gulberg, and in her later years as a professor at Iqra University. However, they were never the positions he held but the purpose that she fulfilled that defined her.
She often said that for her, teaching was not about transmitting information but about transforming perception. “If even two of my thirty-five students were influenced by me,” he once reflected, “I would consider it a success. I never wanted simply to teach subjects, but to teach how to live. Education is not for employment; it is for life.” This conviction, rooted in humility and purpose, defined more than four decades of his teaching career.
Dr. Zehra also stood out as a voice of reason amid rising extremism. His criticism was brave but never harsh. With his characteristic wit and calm, he once commented that in today’s world everyone seems willing to call each other an unbeliever, proof, he said wryly, that there are no true believers left. Behind those comments was not cynicism but pain: a lament for the loss of tolerance and self-reflection in society.
She was an enlightened scholar who sought to introduce vital and elemental changes in Pakistani society, in its ways of thinking and in its structures of feeling. However, she was never a “motivational speaker” in the superficial, performative sense that this term has come to mean. His influence came from ethical reasoning, not theatricality. Because of her emphasis on values and didactic clarity, some critics aligned her with Ashfaq Ahmad and other so-called Baba’s Intellectuals which was based on esoteric traditions. But unlike them, Dr. Arfa was in no way an obscurantist. His ideas were lucid, progressive and based on modern sensibility. Because she occasionally quoted Scripture or drew moral insights from religious sources, some left-wing or liberal commentators misplaced her within right-wing thought. Indeed, she constantly illuminated the humanist and pragmatic dimensions of religion, distinguishing his vision from both sentimental piety and ideological rigidity.
It was this balance between moral firmness and intellectual grace that made her respected across ideological divides. Those rooted in traditional thinking admired his grounded approach, while liberal voices, even when they disagreed, acknowledged his sincerity. She didn’t belong to any faction; she belonged to thought itself.
Spiritually, he found guidance in the vision of Rumi, whom he called his murshid. He often echoed his idea that the greatest power belongs to he who can let go, because he who cannot let go possesses nothing, whether in a treasure or a kitchen. Through Rumi’s lens, she cultivated detachment without denial and conviction without arrogance. His inner life was one of spiritual discipline and moral clarity.
Dr. Zehra’s literary activities extended beyond her lectures and essays. He translated several important works that brought world literature closer to Urdu readers:Ababeel (a Moroccan novel), Sultana’s dream, Daria Bibi (Bangladesh Jobs), and Auraa selection of stories focused on the lives of women. These translations were not just linguistic exercises; They were acts of cultural empathy, uniting voices across geography and gender.
Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra questioned assumptions and invited reflection on the cultural, ethical and social dilemmas of our times. His insights into our collective behavior and intellectual stagnation often provided both criticism and clarity. Even for those who did not always agree with his views, his words forced serious thought and self-examination.
In a society that is becoming increasingly empty and superficial, Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra stood out as an intellectual of both substance and style. His eloquence was never ornamental; he carried conviction, rooted in knowledge and moral conscience.
With her passing, Pakistan has lost one of its brightest voices: an educator, academic and humanist whose contributions transcended disciplines. She was not only a teacher but also a moral and cultural force, who nourished minds and formed characters. His presence was a mix of intellect and compassion; his speech, a confluence of wisdom and humanity.
His departure leaves a silence that feels greater than the loss. However, his voice, soft, thoughtful and slow, continues to resonate in every conversation in which knowledge meets consciousness.
Aftab Husain is a Pakistan-born, Austria-based poet who speaks in Urdu and English. He teaches South Asian literature and culture at the University of Vienna.
