PUBLISHED November 16, 2025
I never had a chance 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 Masters in Urdu Literature – that I first heard her name from my esteemed teacher and literary guide, Dr. Sajjad Baqar Rizvi. At that time, as I recall, Dr. Zehra in the US.
Baqar Sahib had taught thousands of students over the decades, yet there were only a handful whom he remembered with such warmth and pride – and among them he often spoke of Arfa Zehra. Every time he mentioned her, his eyes sparkled with loving admiration. I still remember him describing her brilliance and conviction as a student, and later I came across her own remark: “Maĩ Bāqar Sāḥib kī sar chaṛhī shāgird thī..” (I was Baqar Sahib’s lovingly pampered student.)
There was a considerable time gap between her college years and mine, but in my heart I always considered myself her Khwajatash– a fellow disciple of the same teacher. Perhaps it was because in the last years of Baqar Sahib’s teaching life, I was among the few who remained close to him and often engaged him in lively discussions – what he fondly described as “locking horns”.
Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra’s first love was always literature. She earned her master’s degree in Urdu literature and later earned a doctorate in history. This academic development reflected her broadening intellectual horizons. As an educator, she embraced the broader landscape of the humanities and social sciences, enriching her scholarship with depth and diversity. Yet she never lost touch with literature despite all her scholarly engagements.
Her language remained refined, gentle and melodious – her words imbued with clarity and grace. The way she spoke carried a rare calm and dignity, her voice measured, her expression clear, and her lips often adorned with a knowing, benign smile. She had the rare gift of turning intellect into empathy and knowledge into enlightenment.
Her intellectual strength lay not in giving answers, but in inspiring questions. In an age filled with information—where everyone seems eager to jump to conclusions—she reminded us of the deeper wisdom of inquiry. She believed that true understanding begins not with answers, but with the courage to ask. As Firaq Gorakhpuri beautifully put it:
Maĩ pūchta to hū̃, magar javab ke liye nahī̃..
(I ask questions, but not just for the sake of answers.)
Her reflections on modern indifference often returned to this same theme: that we have learned to ask the big, metaphysical questions but have forgotten the simplest, most human ones—whether another person is well or in need of care. Beneath such observations lay her moral conviction that knowledge and piety are hollow if they do not give rise to compassion.
Dr. Born in Lahore around 1942, Zehra spent most of her life in the historic city, shaping minds and spirits alike. Her educational journey reflected both intellectual rigor and spiritual depth: in addition to a master’s degree in Urdu literature, she had a master’s degree in Asian studies and a Ph.D. in history from the United States. Her professional life was no less distinguished: she served as principal of the Lahore College for Women and later of Government College, Gulberg, and in her later years as a professor at Iqra University. Yet it was never the positions she held but that purpose she served it defined her.
She often said that teaching for her was not about transmitting information, but about transforming perception. “If even two of my thirty-five students are influenced by me,” she once reflected, “I would consider that success. I have never wanted to teach subjects only, but to teach how to live. Education is not for employment; it is for life.” This conviction—rooted in humility and purpose—defined over four decades of her teaching career.
Dr. Zehra also stood out as a voice of reason amid rising extremism. Her criticism was fearless but never harsh. With her characteristic wit and composure, she once remarked that in today’s world everyone seems ready to call the other an infidel – proof, she said with irony, that there are no true believers left. Behind such comments lay not cynicism but pain – a lament for the loss of tolerance and self-reflection in society.
She was an enlightened scholar who sought to bring vital and elemental changes to Pakistani society – in its modes of thought and its structures of feeling. Yet she was never a “motivational speaker” in the superficial, performative sense that term has come to mean. Her influence stemmed from ethical reasoning, not theatrical. For her emphasis on values and her didactic clarity, some critics aligned her with Ashfaq Ahmad and other so-called Baba intellectuals which drew on esoteric traditions. But unlike them, Dr. Arfa is by no means an obscurantist. Her ideas were clear, forward-looking and grounded in modern sensibility. Because she occasionally quoted scriptures or drew moral insights from religious sources, some liberal or left-wing commentators mistakenly placed her in right-wing thought. In truth, she consistently illuminated humanistic and pragmatic dimensions of religion that separate her vision from both sentimental piety and ideological rigidity.
It was this balance of moral firmness and intellectual grace that earned her respect across ideological divides. Those rooted in traditional thought admired her grounded approach, while liberal voices, even when they disagreed, recognized her sincerity. She belonged to no faction; she belonged to the tank itself.
Spiritually, she found guidance in the sight of Rumi, as she called her murshid. She often echoed his insight that the greatest power belongs to the one who can let go, because the one who can’t let go owns nothing—whether in a treasury or a kitchen. Through Rumi’s lens, she cultivated detachment without denial and conviction without arrogance. Her inner life was characterized by spiritual discipline and moral clarity.
Dr. Zehra’s literary pursuits extended beyond her lectures and essays. She translated several important works that brought world literature closer to Urdu readers—Ababeel (a Moroccan novel), Sultana’s Dream, Darya Bibi (Bangladeshi works), and Aurata selection of stories centered on women’s lives. These translations were not just linguistic exercises; they were acts of cultural empathy that bridged geography and gender.
Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra questioned assumptions and invited reflection on the cultural, ethical and social dilemmas of our time. Her insights into our collective behavior and intellectual stagnation often provided both criticism and clarity. Even for those who did not always agree with her views, her words forced serious thought and self-examination.
In a society that is becoming increasingly hollow and superficial, Dr Arfa Sayeda Zehra stood as an intellectual of both substance and style. Her eloquence was never decorative; it carried conviction, rooted in knowledge and moral awareness.
With her passing, Pakistan has lost one of its most luminous voices: an educationist, scholar and humanist whose contributions cut across disciplines. She was not only a teacher but also a moral and cultural force that nurtured minds and shaped characters. Her presence was a mixture of intellect and compassion; her discourse, a confluence of wisdom and humanity.
Her departure leaves a silence that feels greater than loss. Yet her voice—soft, thoughtful, undisturbed—continues to echo in every conversation where knowledge meets conscience.
Aftab Husain is a Pakistani-born and Austria-based poet in Urdu and English. He teaches South Asian literature and culture at the University of Vienna
