“O happy soul! Return to Your Lord cheerfully and loved; now join the company of My servants and come into My Paradise” (Al-Fajr: 27–30).

Writing these words is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. How does a son put into language the life of a mother whose presence was a mercy, whose prayers were a shield, and whose love shaped not only a family but generations to come?

My beloved mother, Amina Begum, returned to her Lord in late December 2025, at the age of 103. She lived a long life, but even a century feels too short when someone’s heart is so full of faith, devotion, and quiet sacrifice.

My mother was born in 1922 in the remote village of Bhata, in the district of Gujarkhan. Life there was simple, often hard, but it was rich in faith. From those early years, her relationship with Allah was deeply rooted. She carried that faith with her wherever she went, untainted, sincere, and unwavering.

She was a woman of profound piety. The Quran was her closest companion. She read it daily, lovingly, reverently, and lived by its guidance. Tahajjud was never a burden for her; it was a joy. Night after night, while the world slept, my mother stood before Allah in prayer, whispering du’as for her children, her grandchildren, and the Ummah. I am certain that many doors opened in my life because of those unseen prayers offered in the stillness of the night.

My mother was remarkably independent until her final years. Despite her age, she insisted on caring for herself, washing her own clothes by hand and preparing her own meals with quiet determination. She disliked being a burden on anyone and took dignity in self-reliance, seeing it as a form of gratitude to Allah for the strength He had given her. This independence was not stubbornness, but a reflection of her inner strength, humility, and deep sense of responsibility, qualities that inspired all of us who had the honour of serving her.

She was also extraordinarily generous. Giving came naturally to her, without hesitation or expectation. Whenever I would share my writing projects or scholarly work with her, she would immediately raise her hands in du’a, praying for their success. Often, she would insist on sponsoring those works as well, seeing them not as worldly achievements but as acts of service to faith and humanity. Her belief in me, and in the power of knowledge shared for Allah’s sake, strengthened my resolve more than she ever knew.

My mother’s generosity extended far beyond our family and into the wider community. With quiet sincerity, she sponsored the full construction of a new wing at Taibah Model School in our village, funding new classrooms so that children could learn in a dignified and nurturing environment. She also paid for the building of the new kitchen at the Bobbersmill Community Centre, a space that now serves hundreds of people every week. She gave without seeking recognition, seeing these acts not as charity, but as an investment in sadaqah jariyah, an ongoing reward that would benefit generations long after her return to Allah.

In 1966, my mother made a courageous journey to England with my late father, Haji Karamat Hussain, seeking a better future for their family. When my father passed away in 1979, she bore the weight of widowhood with patience, dignity, and complete trust in Allah. Before coming to live with me in Nottingham in the mid-1980s, she lived in Halifax with my brothers and sister, nurturing the family with the same love, discipline, and spiritual grounding wherever she was.

From the mid-80s onwards, my mother lived with me in Nottingham. Having her under my roof was one of the greatest honours of my life. We were not simply caring for her; we were serving her and in doing so, serving Allah. Every moment with her was a lesson in humility, gratitude, and steadfast faith. She was content with little, never complained, and always reminded us to be thankful, no matter the circumstances.

My mother was blessed with six children, four sons and two daughters, and by the grace of Allah, she became a grandmother to twenty-four grandchildren. She loved them all deeply, prayed for each one by name, and rejoiced in their successes as if they were her own. Her legacy lives on in them: in their values, their faith, and their sense of responsibility towards others.

In her final years, my mother made a deeply personal and heartfelt decision. She wished to return to Pakistan, to spend her last days closer to her roots and to be buried in the family cemetery. In 2023, she left the UK for the final time. It was not an easy farewell, but it was one filled with acceptance and peace. She knew where she was going, and more importantly, to Whom she was returning.

My mother lived a life of quiet greatness. She was not known to the world, but she was well-known to Allah. She sought no recognition, no praise, only His pleasure. If there is any good in me, in my work, or in my service, it is by the grace of Allah and through the tarbiyah, prayers, and sacrifices of my mother.

My dear mother, you have returned to your Lord. May Allah forgive you, elevate your rank, expand your grave with light, and grant you the highest place in Jannah. Your prayers continue to live within us, your love continues to guide us, and your memory will forever remain a source of strength.

I was honoured to be your son. May Allah reunite us in the Hereafter, under His mercy and shade.

Prof Dr Musharraf Hussain Al Azhari