Death be not proud; for she walked with angels, smiling 

A personal narration of a grandmother’s final moments and the extraordinary life she lived — from her struggles as a young widow to her peaceful departure at ninety-six (96).

By Sheikh Saleem

It was Tuesday evening when time seemed to pause. The room was filled with a calm silence- only the faint sound of breathing and whispered prayers broke it. We stood by her bedside – her son, daughter, her daughter-in-law, and I, her grandson-in-law — witnessing a sacred moment, a transition from this world to the next.

She was 96 years old; frail, weightless, her bones visible beneath paper-thin skin. Every breath she took seemed like an act of courage. Yet, even in that fragile body, there was dignity, serenity, and faith that had carried her through nearly a century of life.

In those Final moments, she rested in the lap of her son-like a child resting in her mother’s arms-breathing softly.

We brought her the holy water- Zamzam. Her eyes fluttered open as if she recognized it instantly. With trembling lips, she drank the holy water with devotion, as if she knew what she was being given. Nothing spilled from her mouth. She ensured that not a single drop of that sacred water fell — a final act of reverence, performed with full consciousness.

That frail soul had a history of uncommon and unusual strength. Around six decades ago, when she was in her late twenties, life tested her in the harshest way — her husband passed away in November 1967, leaving her alone with young children and an uncertain future. But she did not bend. She didn’t give up and became both mother and father; protector and provider. She fought all odds bravely and brought up her kids.

Her sons often recall those years — how she would walk to the nearby jungle, thrice a day, to fetch firewood. She would carry heavy loads on her back, return home, do farming, cook, clean, and still make sure her children studied. In a time when widows were silenced by circumstances, she fought her way through it — quietly, bravely and steadfastly.

Her husband- Gh Rasool Bodha was among the first few Muslim Headmasters in the entire Kashmir Valley. When he passed away, the loss was not only personal but symbolic- the family had to uphold the values of knowledge and dignity he had lived by. She took that responsibility upon herself.

In a time when educating children, especially in rural areas, was rare, she ensured that her sons continued their studies. She fought every social and financial barrier to keep her husband’s legacy of learning alive; becoming both guardian and guide to her young children.

As I watched her breathing fade in and out, these memories came alive in my mind — stories I had heard from her sons, from my better half and from those who had witnessed her willpower firsthand. Neighbours remember her as a woman of immense determination. Her life was a story of how dignity survives even in the harshest storms.

As she lay breathing, pausing and breathing again, these stories echoed in my mind-stories I had heard from her sons and from my wife– stories that were now unfolding before my eyes.

She was suffering from Pneumonia; her breathing was irregular and shallow. There were long pauses between her breaths; moments when our hearts froze, thinking she had taken her last — and then she would breathe again, as if cherishing each remaining moment, valuing every breath.

Sometimes she opened her eyes — just for a fleeting second — to see her family gathered around. Those glances seemed to comfort her; they carried peace while seeing her family around. She would then close her eyes again and rest, as if reassured that her family, her life’s purpose, was complete.

It was ‘Asr’ time. My father-in-law offered Asr prayers (Late Afternoon Prayer) beside her bed. I took her gently in my lap and gave her a few more sips of holy water till he completed his prayer.

That setting brought back memories of my late grandfather, Gh. Mohammad Shah whom we fondly called ‘Lala’. He had passed away peacefully, listening to the recitation of Surah Yaseen.

Revered scholars – Molvi Rehmatullah Mir Qasmi and Mufti Nazir Ahmad Qasmi — had been present at his bedside then, reading the words of the Holy Quran at his death bed. My mother told me later that they recited Surah Yaseen- one of the chapters of the Holy Quran as is recommended at this moment.

That memory guided me. I opened the Quran and began reciting Surah Yaseen. Her breathing grew slower, but I could feel that she was listening — her face calm, her lips still. As I recited the verses:

“And We placed therein gardens of palm trees and grapevines and caused them to burst forth from some springs…

That they may eat of His fruit. And their hands have not produced it, so will they not be grateful?…

Exalted is He who created all pairs – from what the earth grows and from themselves and from that which they do not know.”

(Surah Yaseen, 34-35-36)

Her breathing paused — longer than before. The room fell into silence. My father-in-law signalled me to check. We laid her gently on the bed, checked her pulse, and tried to revive her. But she had already begun her journey to eternity.

She had left — quietly, beautifully — while listening to the words of her Creator. Her pair that God had created (Her husband) had departed her six decades ago and she was all set to meet her pair in heavens.

We have often heard our religious scholars describe how angels descend at the time of a righteous soul departs, angels descend from heaven carrying a fragrant shroud and perfume from Paradise..The Angel of Death appears in a gentle, comforting form and calls out, “O good soul, come forth to forgiveness from Allah and His pleasure.” And the soul is lifted softly, like a drop of water slipping out of a vessel. They say the soul of a believer is removed like hair is removed from flour.

That evening, as we sat in silence, it felt like we had witnessed that very description. There was peace in the air. Her face looked serene, her lips still touched by the taste of Zamzam. The pain had ended. The journey had found its destination.

All her sons and daughters were present at this sacred moment- the most significant journey of her life. One of her younger sons, who had travelled to Jammu to arrange his daughter’s medical college admission, received news of his mother’s deteriorating condition earlier during the day. Without a second thought, he rushed back home, choosing to be by her side rather than pursue that important errand. He reached well in time, joining his brothers and sisters as they surrounded their mother in her final moments — a circle of love that she herself had built through a lifetime of sacrifice.

The farewell that followed was equally profound. The last bath, traditionally given by women experienced in funeral rites, was performed by her own daughters and granddaughters. It was a heart-warming act of love that reflected how she had raised a generation of women grounded in faith, dignity, and strength.

The family decided that her funeral prayers would not be held in the mosque courtyard, as is customary, but in the very home where she had lived all her life- a home that had witnessed her joys, struggles, and prayers. Late into the night, her sons, grandsons, relatives, and neighbours gathered to offer Namaz-e-Janazah within those familiar walls. With moist eyes and trembling hands, they carried her to the ancestral graveyard beside the house — her final resting place, surrounded by the soil and people she loved. There, under the calm night sky and cold Mountain breeze of October, her mortal remains were laid to eternal rest, accompanied by heartfelt prayers and whispered farewells.

She left behind not emptiness, but a legacy of resilience, faith and love. She was the root of a vast family tree, now flourishing with nearly sixty grandchildren and great-grandchildren — each a living continuation of her courage.

She isn’t gone. She lives in all those she raised, in every prayer she once whispered, in every hardship she silently endured. She lives in the warmth of her home, in the memories she left behind, and perhaps, in a smile now resting in heaven.

May her soul rest in eternal peace! 

Author Sheikh Saleem is the Editor-in-Chief of Kashmir Convener. This piece is written in memory of his grandmother-in-law, who lived a life of faith, strength, and compassion.