Zahida's Death
After Zahida's death, her five children were left deprived of a mother's love and protective embrace. The youngest son was only forty days old. Seeing the helpless infant, everyone expressed sympathy, yet Tahir was shattered from within. He looked at his children and felt crushed by the weight of a terrifying reality—he now had to raise and nurture five very young children all alone, while also continuing his job.
A thousand questions tormented him.When he would be at work all day, who would look after the children?Who would protect them in his absence?
Family's Grief
On the day of Zahida's death, all funeral arrangements were made at her mother's house. Neighbors from Zahida's area gathered as well. Since her family was uneducated, their grief turned into loud wailing and uncontrollable mourning. Women cried hysterically, repeating painful phrases:
"Why did she die so young?""What will happen to the children now?""She died in her youth!"
These words only deepened the sorrow of Zahida's mother and sisters.
Soon, Tahir's brothers, sisters-in-law, nephews, and nieces arrived as well. Being educated and aware of Islamic teachings, they did not indulge in loud mourning. Instead, they advised patience and restraint, reminding Zahida's family that Islam forbids such displays of grief.
However, some ignorant women from the neighborhood provoked Zahida's family, whispering cruel words:
"These people are not blood relatives. That's why they don't feel the pain.When someone loses their own blood, only then does it hurt.Zahida was not their daughter—so they don't care."
Their poisonous talk added fuel to the fire of sorrow.
Selfishness of Blood Relations
After Zahida was laid to rest, a painful question arose—Who would take responsibility for the children now?
Zahida's youngest son was only forty days old. The eldest daughter was eight years old, while the youngest daughter was barely two. In Tahir's absence during work hours, the children could not be left alone.
When everyone sat together to discuss the matter, an ugly truth surfaced.Neither Zahida's relatives nor Tahir's brothers and sisters-in-law were willing to keep Zahida's infant son, Zubair.
At that moment, Zahida's mother's maternal instincts erupted. She picked up the forty-day-old baby, pressed him to her chest, and said with trembling determination:
"I will raise him. I will give him a mother's love. I will become his mother."
She then suggested that Tahir's brothers—three paternal uncles—could take responsibility for the four daughters.
Tahir's brothers replied coldly:
"No one can keep four girls together.We can divide them—one child per family."
They further added that the youngest daughter, being only two years old, should also stay with Zahida's mother.
When Tahir heard that his children were being divided like possessions, his heart shattered. With pain and firmness, he spoke:
"Their mother has died—not their father.I am still alive.My children are not goods to be distributed.They will not be treated like servants or burdens.They will not grow up yearning to see each other's faces.
As long as I am alive, no one has the right to separate them.I will raise my children myself."
He paused, then added calmly:
"I will move my house near their maternal grandmother's home.During the day, while I am at work, they can stay with her.At night, when I return, my daughters will come home with me.And I will visit my son, love him, and care for him as well."
No one could argue further.
Zahida was buried, and for three days Tahir and the children stayed at Zahida's mother's house. After that, Tahir shifted his home close to her residence. Zubair continued to live with his grandmother.
Every morning before leaving for work, Tahir lovingly held his son, gave money to Zahida's mother for milk, prepared breakfast for his daughters, fed them himself, and then went to work.
The three elder daughters were admitted to school, but the real problem was Mehreen, the two-year-old. Initially, Zahida's mother kept her in the mornings, but later she refused, saying:
"My daughter-in-law also has small children.We cannot keep your daughter anymore."
This became a new trial for Tahir. A two-year-old child could not be admitted to any school. He had already kept his other daughters busy with school, madrasa, and tuition—but Mehreen remained a concern.
Tahir approached the headmaster of the government school and explained his situation. The headmaster replied:
"Her age is too young. According to government rules, we only admit children aged five and above."
Seeing Tahir's helplessness, he added kindly:
"But I will help you. Increase her age on the B-Form by two years.She will have to learn basic reading and writing—either through tuition or at home."
Tahir followed his instructions. Mehreen was sent for the admission test along with her sisters. As soon as the test paper was placed in her hands, Mehreen burst into tears. She didn't know how to write—how could she? She was only two.
The teacher called her elder sister, Amreen, and asked her to calm Mehreen down. Amreen lovingly comforted her sister and wrote the test for her. The paper was checked and sent to the principal, who, moved by compassion, approved Mehreen's admission.
Tahir admitted Mehreen to tuition and madrasa along with her sisters.
But his struggles were far from over.
Zahida's mother began demanding daily expenses for Zubair, asking for money repeatedly. She also insisted that Tahir should come every night after work to put his son to sleep before returning home.
Tahir's life became brutally exhausting.
He woke up before dawn. There was no gas in the house, so after offering Fajr prayer, he cooked breakfast on a stove, fed the children, prepared lunch for them, dropped them at school, and then went to work.
To ensure the children were never alone, he enrolled them in two different tuition centers. He picked them up at 8 p.m., went to his mother-in-law's house to settle Zubair, bought bread from a hotel, returned home, fed the children, put them to bed, and finally collapsed—his body aching, his sleep incomplete.
On Sundays, he spent the entire day with his daughters, discussing their routines, checking their studies, and monitoring their progress. He subscribed to a daily newspaper and brought storybooks every Sunday. The children read eagerly, and Tahir quietly tested their reading skills through love and patience.
Despite all this, Mehreen—only two years old—became emotionally disturbed. Such relentless struggle was too heavy for a child who needed a mother's warmth, not responsibility. She often ate nothing all day, surviving mostly on eggs, leaving her weak and deficient in vitamins.
Yet Tahir taught her everything—counting, alphabets, writing.
Just when Tahir was still fighting these battles, a new pressure emerged. His brother and sister-in-law began insisting he should marry again.
Nasir's sister-in-law had liked Tahir even before his marriage. For years, she had remained unmarried, waiting for him. Now, his sister-in-law brought a proposal, saying:
"My sister is unmarried. She wants to marry you.She is ready to accept your five children and give them a mother's love.Your struggles will end."
Tahir listened patiently, then replied firmly:
"I will not marry again—neither your sister nor anyone else.Any woman who comes into my life will treat my children as stepchildren.In my absence, she may oppress them.
My life's purpose is only my children—their education, upbringing, and a secure future."