“In Memory of My Moujj — Zainab”
They say God calls the best ones early.And sometimes, we are left wondering—why her?My Moujj, Zainab, was not a scholar in the eyes of the world, but she knew the Holy Qur’an by heart, read it with reverence, and lived it with love. She didn’t wear medals, but she wore patience. She didn’t build empires, but she built us. Born in Zinipora and married at just seventeen to my father, G. M. Bhat, she stepped into a modest joint family that lived in Gowhar Pora. My father was a mason, yet my mother saw beyond bricks. She saw stability in risk, prosperity in struggle. When poverty pressed us hard, she started a small shop—alone, determined. She planted a seed my father once doubted, but later nourished with his full heart. Together, they built not just a store, but a future. Petrol, poultry, fruit—the shop became a lifeline for miles. Land came. A home was built. Education followed. A dream was unfolding. And then, January 1995.God called her back. Just like that. A minor surgery turned tragic. In just 48 hours, she was gone. Not yet thirty. Three deaths within five months—our grandparents before her. Our world collapsed. But why does God take the good ones early?
“There is a room in our hearts where she(Moujj) still lives. Quietly. Eternally. We shall meet Moujj hereafter InshaAllah for the embraces that were missed. Till then I shall carry her name with my name as Ashraf Zainabi.”
May be because the world is too harsh for their softness. Maybe because he misses his finest creations too much. Or maybe because their test was already complete—and they passed with flying colors. When God takes someone like Moujj, He doesn’t just close a chapter.He opens a deeper one—inside those left behind.One filled with strength we didn’t know we had.One filled with grace we never thought we’d learn. She had one mission: our education. Even in the hardest days, she sent us to a private school in the village. Her dream didn’t die with her. It became our compass. My father, widowed so young, never remarried. He feared no woman could ever love us like our mother did. And perhaps he was right. He stayed, worked, guided, protected. Today, nearly sixty five, he lives with my elder brother—his rider son—tired but victorious. By 2025, I am forty one, married, father to two sons aged six and four. My brothers too are settled. Everything she envisioned, we have, we became. But Moujj is not with us. There is a room in our hearts where she(Moujj) still lives. Quietly. Eternally. We shall meet Moujj hereafter InshaAllah for the embraces that were missed. Till then I shall carry her name with my name as Ashraf Zainabi.
(The author a freelancer a teacher and a researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora is also Advisor at The Nature University Kashmir. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi
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