The Silent Strength of Zaman

The Story of My Brother Zaman

BY:Khan

My name is Zubaida Rasheed, and I am the sister of seven brothers. Out of these, six of them reached respectable and high positions in their careers, while the seventh—my dearest brother Zaman—seemed to fall behind in the race of life. Perhaps fate had placed a veil over his path, or perhaps he carried the burden of too much love and sacrifice in his heart. Whatever it was, Zaman remained different.

Zaman was closest to me in age. He came right after me, while the rest of my brothers were younger. My mother, a woman of deep faith and immense compassion, always prayed for all her children. She wished for each one to achieve success and live honorably. Strangely enough, although she gave her special prayers and affection to Zaman—her most caring and gentle son—his life turned out differently from the rest.

After completing his FA (Intermediate), Zaman had a strong desire to continue studying. He dreamed of gaining knowledge, perhaps pursuing a career that would allow him to serve people in meaningful ways. But our father had a long-cherished dream: he wanted one of his sons to join the police force as an officer. Despite our mother’s disapproval, Zaman, being an obedient son, respected our father’s wish and joined the police.

Before he left for service, my mother held him close and said, “My son, you have entered this profession, but remember my words. Think of my hereafter. Never allow yourself to earn a single unlawful penny. Never let your hands or mouth touch anything haram.” Zaman took those words to heart, almost as if he had stitched them into the fabric of his soul. During the ten years of his service, he never accepted even a coin of bribery. His honesty was so unshakable that it often made life harder for him.

I remember an incident he once shared. He had arrested a notorious criminal who begged him for release, offering a fortune in return. The man promised Zaman wealth beyond imagination, but my brother rejected him firmly. When bribery failed, the criminal threatened him: “If I land in jail because of you, I’ll come back and kill you.” Zaman didn’t flinch. Instead, he slapped the man and pushed him forward. Months later, the criminal was released and encountered Zaman again. Surprisingly, he approached him with respect and said, “Inspector, I’ve met many policemen, but none like you. I respect you. If you ever need me, ask. Just take care of yourself.” Eventually, that criminal died in a police encounter. When Zaman told this to our mother, she sighed deeply and prayed, “May Allah bless every mother with righteous children. And may He forgive that poor man too—what misfortune it was for his mother to raise a son like that.”

Our mother was a woman of constant prayer. She lived most of her life in a state of ablution, saying, “I must always be ready to ask Allah for my children’s safety and wellbeing.” She would encourage me too, “Daughter, you also have three sons. If you want to see them prosper, raise them to be brave and keep yourself in ablution. Prayers made in purity are always accepted.”

When her final illness struck, she called all her children together. She said, “The jewelry I received from my family—I want to give it to orphan girls for their weddings. If any of you wish to claim your share, speak now.” But all eight of us children replied as one: “Mother, it belongs to you. Please give it away as you wish.” With a contented heart, she gave her ornaments to a charitable home for orphaned girls, arranging marriages for four of them.

By then, six of my brothers were married. Only Zaman remained. My mother wished to see his wedding, but life did not allow her. Her death struck Zaman like lightning. The grief hollowed him out. He resigned from his job soon after, unable to find meaning without her prayers and presence. His superiors begged him not to make such a rash decision, but Zaman refused.

Our father was furious with him, especially since Zaman had rejected a marriage proposal from the daughter of one of his wealthy friends. Father believed this alliance would have ensured his rise in ranks and social standing. But Zaman argued: “What good is wealth without faith? I cannot tie my life to a house where honesty and belief are so weak.” These words enraged our father. He turned Zaman out of the house, declaring he no longer had a place under his roof.

Heartbroken, Zaman left and started small jobs, living in a rented room. His friends supported him through his hardships, and after some time, he left for Saudi Arabia. I remember the day he came to say goodbye. My eyes filled with tears as I prayed for his safety and success. For some time, he struggled to find employment there. Then, by Allah’s grace, he secured a position in a reputable firm. Slowly, his life improved—he even got a comfortable house.

I urged him to marry and settle down, but he would always refuse. Finally, to my relief, he married the sister of a close friend. My heart overflowed with gratitude to Allah that at last my brother’s home had been established.

Zaman’s journey was filled with trials—misunderstood by his father, burdened with grief after our mother’s passing, and tested by poverty and loneliness. Yet through it all, he remained steadfast in honesty, dignity, and faith. To me, he was not a brother who “failed” in the world’s eyes. He was the bravest of us all.