Once, an elderly man came to Shaheed Dr. Zaka ur Rehman for a check-up. During their conversation, he asked about the man’s family and where he was from. Then he realized that this man was the father of someone he regularly bought chicken from.

After the check-up, when the elderly man offered to pay, he did not accept any money out of respect because the man was an elder and the father of someone he knew. His kindness and respect for others were always clear, and he never took money from those he wanted to help.

The elderly man later shared this story with his family. When his son came to offer condolences to his family, he told them about this kind and respectful gesture by Shaheed Dr. Zaka ur Rehman.

• I still remember when I got my UK visa. At that time, Jalsa Salana UK was happening. Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed lovingly told me: "No matter what happens, you must go to Jalsa. Even if no one goes with you, go alone. Don’t miss it." Then he said something that really touched me: "I always wanted to attend Jalsa, but I never got the chance. If you are getting this opportunity, please don’t miss it — go for yourself and for me too." But Allah had a different plan. On the second day of Jalsa Salana UK, Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman passed away and became a Shaheed. His words are still in my heart. It wasn’t just advice — it felt like a final wish, full of love and faith.

• Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed was a very kind and generous person. In our village, there were three women who were widows. Dr. Sahib used to give them monthly groceries and money from his own pocket. Also, in the Jamaat, there were some other widows whom he helped every month. He gave them money and food regularly without taking anything from them. He did all this with love and care, only to help those in need.

• I clearly remember that whenever there was a wedding in our village, or in his relatives or friends’ families, Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed always helped them in some way. He would always ask them if they needed anything and tried to support them as much as he could.

• There was a man in our area who had a small shop. He sold cement, gravel, and welding materials. One day, the owner of the shop asked him to leave. The man became very worried. He looked everywhere for a new shop for many days, but he could not find one. In the end, he went to Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed and told him about his problem. Dr. Sahib listened carefully and wanted to help. He had a shop that belonged to him. It was his own personal place, and it was empty. Dr. Sahib gave that shop to the man for free. He never asked for any rent or money.

One day, Shaheed Dr. Zaka ur Rehman’s son-in-law was sitting with him at the clinic when a patient came in and said he had a toothache. Dr. Sahib smiled, handed him 50 rupees, and said, “Go have some ice cream, it will feel better.”

After the man left, Dr. Sahib laughed and said to his son in law, “I know you’re surprised, but I understand what kind of pain he’s talking about. He comes often with some excuse or another, just to ask for money. And it’s not even mine that I’m giving, I’m only sharing what Allah has given me.”

As his son, I witnessed first hand the unwavering sincerity and quiet sacrifice with which Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed served the Jamaat. During his time as Secretary Maal (Finance Secretary), there were many instances when the expected donations fell short—often during times of financial hardship within the community. With deep devotion and silent humility, he would cover the deficit from his own modest means, never seeking praise or acknowledgment. He played a vital role in the financial affairs of the Jamaat and always ensured that his own contributions were submitted punctually, never once delaying them. He did all of this purely out of love for his faith and heartfelt commitment to the Jamaat. His actions spoke louder than words, and his legacy of selfless service continues to inspire me every day.

From my earliest memories, I was always by his side. He would take me to his clinic every day, even when I was just a little girl. I’d sit quietly beside him, watching him relieve people’s pain, showing gentle care even to the most distressed. He would teach me how to assist with small dental tasks, explain the names of medicines, and guide me with such trust, as if he already knew I would one day walk this path.
That was the moment I knew: I wanted to serve. I wanted to heal. And that light — the light of compassion and service — he lit in me from a very young age.
Medicine, you could say, runs in my blood. My grandfather was a dentist. My grandmother, a Lady Health Worker. And my father he was the heart of our family and the soul of our service to society. He passed on that calling to me not just as a profession, but as a legacy.
During my pharmacy degree, he was always there. Guiding me, calming me when the stress became too heavy. I still remember how he would say, “Just relax… you will do it, I know you will.” That quiet faith of his gave me more strength than I can explain.
He helped me begin my practical journey at Aziz Bhatti Shaheed Hospital in Gujrat, where he once trained. Later, I interned at THQ Wazirabad, where my grandmother had worked. Even as a child, I saw how he treated patients — never turning away the poor, often lowering or waiving his fees for widows, laborers, and those in need. Many times, I saw him treat people for free, accepting nothing but a prayer. His friends loved spending time in his clinic. I can still picture his glowing face as he’d sit among them, offering tea, listening closely, and laughing warmly. If any of them was in pain, he carried that pain like his own. He was a shelter for many.
More than just a father, he was also my friend. We shared our thoughts, our ideas, our worries. He loved spending time with us his family was his pride. Every moment spent together was precious to him. And now, after his martyrdom, this world feels hollow. But I carry his values, his teachings, and his love with me every single day.
He made me who I am — and because of him, I will always stand tall.
Bullets may have taken his body, but they could never take his strength, his spirit, or his legacy.
He lives in every life he touched.
He lives in every value he taught.
And he lives in me.
Me and my family will carry his name with honor, his mission with courage, and serve with compassion. We will live in a way that keeps his light shining — boldly, bravely, and forever.

On April 2nd, 2024, Allah blessed me with a son, whom we named Muhammad Faiz Ahmed. He was born prematurely and spent several months in the hospital due to his delicate health. Those were the most difficult days of our lives — full of anxiety, uncertainty, and silent prayers.

During this challenging time, my uncle — Dr. Zaka-ur-Rehman Shaheed — became a pillar of strength and love for us. Our bond with him grew even deeper during these months. He was not just a relative; he became our greatest source of comfort, wisdom, and spiritual guidance. In the moments when I was too overwhelmed to turn to my own parents, I found myself turning to him for advice. And his response was always calm, wise, and uplifting. He especially encouraged me to write a letter to Hazrat Khalifatul Masih (aba), saying, "Now is the time to seek prayers. Write to Huzoor immediately."

He loved my son Faiz Ahmed immensely. Even in his final days, he kept asking about my son. His concern never faded. He gave me special advice — "Take care of your son with full dedication. He is an amanat (trust) from Allah."

There was a special depth in his words, as if he could see beyond the present moment with a heart full of spiritual insight. Those conversations and his love for my child are etched deeply in my heart.

In those fragile days, he didn’t just give us hope — he taught us how to stay connected with Allah, how to have sabr (patience), and how to find peace through prayers. His legacy lives on not only through his service but through these tender moments of love and care.