My dearest Noushaba: A letter to my late wife

Jalees Ahmad, Al Hakam

Jalees Ahmad is a pioneering member of the Al Hakam team and has been serving in multiple capacities since the newspaper resumed publishing in 2018 in English.

On 7 February 2024, while returning from their first trip to Rabwah, Pakistan, after their marriage, Jalees Ahmad and his wife were involved in a car accident on their way to Lahore airport, which tragically resulted in the sad demise of his wife, Noushaba Mubarak.

اِنَّا لِلّٰہِ وَ اِنَّا اِلَیْہِ رَاجِعُوْن

This was a shock to all those who knew them, not least the Al Hakam team, which has great love and regard for our dear brother Jalees.

While this is certainly a very difficult time for the family, we are incredibly grateful to Jalees for sharing with us just some of the life lessons he learnt and memories he shared with his beloved wife during their marriage of five years.

May Allah bless her soul with eternal peace and comfort and may she reside in the company of her loved ones. May the family be given perfect peace and patience in this difficult hour and steadfastness to continue their lives in service to God.

We ask our readers to remember our dear brother Jalees, his family and, of course, his wife, in their special prayers. (Editor, Al Hakam)

My dearest Noushaba,

Let me start off by saying, “Salaam”. Not only in a customary way, but also for the great emotional depth this word carries for me.

“Salaam”, if you remember, was the first thing you said to me back in 2013 when I visited Rabwah for my eldest brother’s wedding. Since then, that greeting of “Salaam” has been etched in my memory. Back then, I simply knew you as Khala Zaibun’s youngest daughter; little did I know the deep impact your simple greeting would have on me in the years to follow.

Nine years on, I remember this like it was yesterday. Back then, it did not even cross my mind that you and I would marry. But even then, I adored your simple greeting of “Salaam” because it was the first time during that visit that anyone from among my cousins spoke to me.

I vividly recall sharing this incident with you years later, when we were married. Considering how remarkable your memory was, I’m surprised that you couldn’t remember it.

Today, every moment from the time we spent together as husband and wife is rushing to my memory. Even some testing times that came our way return today with the silver lining they all had around them.

It had only been a month into our marriage that you began experiencing pain in your hip. I remember how bravely you endured this pain, which got worse with passing days, weeks, months, and for the next couple of years.

It was heartbreaking to witness you in such great discomfort. Eventually, the pain became unbearable, leading us to opt, albeit reluctantly, for hip surgery. I never let you feel it, but I must tell you today, that your time enduring this despair was unbearable for me just as much as it was for you. I had no choice but to always wear a brave face.

I remember when tears streamed down your face, and I pleaded with you – knowing too well that it was impossible – to transfer the pain to me in exchange for every iota of relief from me.

The pain was so intense that it made you offer salat seated on a chair. I remember the days when you attempted to prostrate after every prayer just to see if the pain would allow you. Failure, every time, left you in tears. This sorrow of yours taught me that even the act of prostration is a great blessing, often taken for granted. This is one of the lessons I learnt first-hand from you.

I recall how you remained steadfast in your faith throughout this testing phase of our lives. I particularly remember how you would often say:

“راضی ہیں ہم اسی میں جس میں تیری رضا ہو”

I reflect on our time just before your hip operation. To walk, you needed both a stick and my shoulder; each step was a silent testament to your resilience in the face of extreme discomfort.

And then came the long-awaited mulaqat with our beloved Imam^aa. As we entered Huzoor’s^aa office, upon seeing our struggle to make our way to him, beloved Huzoor^aa rose from his seat. I recall your urgency, nudging me to quicken our pace as you couldn’t bear the thought of Huzoor^aa standing and waiting for us. You imparted and reminded me of another valuable lesson: How each second of Huzoor’s^aa time is precious and we should not let it go to waste.

Then, months after the operation, I vividly recall the day you began walking without crutches. You took baby steps throughout our small home, holding my hand tightly. We sauntered around our home for about 20 minutes, practising how to walk again. I’ll never forget the tears of joy that welled up in your big, bright eyes and how you thanked Allah at each step.

In that moment, you taught me how even a simple act like walking can bring immense joy and serve as a means of expressing gratitude to Allah. Despite all my years of studying and reading books, it was you who taught me the true essence of gratitude in just a few minutes.

After the operation and recovery, I remember how jubilantly you resumed attending Jamaat meetings, walking for prayers and Friday Sermons – heading to Baitul Futuh mosque to not miss any Jamaat events.

Jalsa Salana UK 2023 was when you celebrated your newfound health to its fullest. I remember how actively you participated in your duties with great joy, made new friends and tried your best in spite of some post-recovery challenges that lingered on.

Despite our difficult years, what I cherish most about our time together is the happiness we found in each other’s presence. Never once did you make any demands of me, understanding my role as a missionary and life-devotee.

I think back now, whenever I would leave for the office, you would bid me farewell with a heartfelt “Fi amanillah” (in Allah’s protection) and tell me to message you once I had arrived at the office.

Even today, when you are no longer here, I find myself reaching for my phone to text you that I have made it safely to the office. A daily reminder that I can no longer hear you say “Fi amanillah”.

Yet this daily reminder is not without an essential lesson: The lesson you taught me about being content with God’s will. And this is something I carry with me every day, for how can I claim to be a Muslim if I cannot submit to His will?

Once we had recovered from the operation, we resumed our daily walks to the mosque. I deeply admire how eager and determined you were to walk to Baitul Futuh Mosque every Friday. I admire how you would always let me know, via text or call, as you left the house, as you arrived at the mosque, and when you had found a chair in the mosque; letting me know at each step so that I would not worry about your safety.

Sometimes you would forget to mention finding a chair, and I would send you an emoji of a chair with a question mark. Now that you have departed, I fervently hope, pray, and yearn for you to have found your seat in heaven.

And now that you are there, and I am not, convey my salaam to our Beloved Prophet Muhammad^sa – the salaam we both had planned to deliver together directly by travelling to Medina. For now, I can only pray that the blessed hand of Hazrat Muhammad^sa rests upon your head.

Another recent and important lesson I learned from you is how your actions demonstrated your profound understanding of the essence of waqf. After being reunited with your mother, father, and siblings in Rabwah, after a long and difficult period of almost five years, you didn’t shed a single tear. I must admit, this truly astonished me.

I had imagined that a young girl like you, living in a foreign country, separated from her family for five years and enduring so much pain, would surely shed tears upon seeing her mother again. But you didn’t. You showed me – nay proved to me – beyond any doubt, that you understood the true meaning of waqf and the responsibilities of being the wife of a life-devotee. I sincerely thank you with all my heart and am grateful to Allah for blessing me with a wife as remarkable as you.

I am left overawed when I now see how Allah’s plans work. What was it that made you fill out the Wasiyyat pledge only a couple of months before our trip to Pakistan? Did you know what was coming? Of course you didn’t! But He Who is All-Knowing knew. And it is through His grace that the process that can take a year was allowed by beloved Huzoor^aa to be fast-tracked and you left this world as a musiya.

While there, you bought a small gold nose pin. I still recall what you said as we made the purchase. You told me to remind you to add it to the Wasiyyat. Looking back now, I realise how deeply you understood the importance of Wasiyyat and keeping our humble pledges up to date. It was yet another priceless lesson you imparted to me.

I also remember, as does everyone who knew you, how impeccably clean and neat you kept everything. Your clothes, even those years old, always looked as if you had only worn them once or twice. You had a wonderful way of keeping things tidy and organised – something that was manifest in your mind and soul as well.

I thank you for always waking me up for Fajr prayer, Tahajjud and during Ramadan. You made Ramadan an experience that we both went through together. What joy it was to sail through this great spiritual experience together, as husband and wife. No one should take this precious experience for granted!

I thankfully and deeply admire how you consistently reminded me to pray for others. I thank you for your continuous support in my work. Never once did you object to my duties as a waqf, whether it was office work at home or on the days of Eid. You never made any demands. In fact, you embodied the true spirit of waqf.

Despite not having attended an Islamic school, I can attest that your knowledge of Islam was more than sufficient for engaging in religious and polemical debates. I believe it is a blessing of the Jamaat that whoever keeps a connection with Khilafat and the Jamaat, Allah bestows upon them knowledge and the art of articulate reasoning. You always expressed gratitude for being an Ahmadi.

Every Ramadan, I recall how you would complete the recitation of the Holy Quran with translation at least three times, sometimes even four. I always admired your consistent gratitude towards Allah for your faith and your deep respect and love for Khilafat; I still do.

I admired that whenever you mentioned a deceased person during a conversation, you would pray for them, saying, “May Allah grant them Jannat.”

O my beloved Noushaba! I am absolutely certain that whenever you are remembered by your loved ones, they too shall pray the same for you. Trust me, they will! And I trust Allah, these prayers will be accepted. 

In our short time of marriage, you have shown and taught me what it truly means to be patient, content with the will of God; how to smile through the pain; place the happiness of others before yourself; thank Allah for our faith; deeply pray for others; the list of the virtues I learnt from you just goes on. Having spent just under five years with you, I have learnt a lifetime of lessons that have reinforced my faith and spirit.

And now, I am living my life with the hope that I may perform some good deeds that I have learnt from you so that you may also be rewarded and your status elevated. For now, which seems like an eternity, all I can do is pray, continue to worship and befriend that Being to Whom you have returned. I pray, from the deepest recesses of my heart, that He takes good care of you, grants you Jannat and the companionship of the Holy Prophet^sa. And that he grants you the “Salaam” promised in the Holy Quran, for those who believe, and do good deeds.

I also pray that every waqif-e-zindagi is blessed with a wonderful wife like you.

My dear Noushaba! Rest in eternal peace.

Salaam,

Ever yours,

Jalees