In the beautiful valleys of Kashmir—underneath the snow-capped mountains and behind the closed doors of ordinary homes—many women are quietly suffering. Their pain is not always visible, and their deaths are not always marked by funerals. Some women are dying without a single wound on their body—because their death is not physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. It is a slow death caused by neglect, by abuse, by injustice, and by a society that refuses to listen.These women often appear fine to the world. They smile when guests arrive. They serve tea. They attend weddings. They manage homes. But inside, they are breaking. Every. Single. Day. Their hearts carry wounds no one asks about. Their eyes carry stories no one wants to hear. Their silence is loud—but our ears have become deaf to it.They are not dying from bullets or war. They are dying from words, from harsh treatment, from emotional starvation, and from the crushing weight of cultural expectations that deny them dignity. Many of them were never treated as full human beings—with needs, with feelings, with dreams. They were reduced to roles: someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s mother. And when they began to collapse under the pressure, society judged them instead of helping them.Some took their own lives. Others simply gave up on living. They stopped hoping. They stopped feeling. They died while they were still breathing.One of the greatest tragedies is that we claim to follow Islam—a religion that honors women, protects the weak, and demands justice. Yet in practice, many women experience the opposite from Muslims themselves. When they cry out, they are told, “Be patient.” When they suffer abuse, they are told, “Pray more.” When they speak up, they are told to stay silent “for the sake of family honor.” Their pain is dismissed in the name of culture, and often in the name of religion.Behind every silent woman is a home where violence is hidden behind the curtains. She whispers “Ya Allah” after every slap, but no one hears. She wipes her tears in the kitchen before serving food to guests. She begs Allah in sujood at night while her husband sleeps peacefully after breaking her with words. These bruises on her soul will testify on the Day of Judgment—even if no one believed her in this world.Many women suffer emotional abuse that leaves no scars but destroys their self-worth. They are called names, made to feel small, told they are a burden. They are mocked for their looks, their education, or their family background. They are told they’re “too emotional” or “too sensitive.” And when they finally break down, we call them unstable, never admitting that we were the ones who broke them. In many cases, a woman’s marriage becomes a transaction. She is “given away” for dowry, her worth measured in gold, gifts, or how much her father could afford to offer. And when she is treated poorly by her in-laws or husband, the same family that gave her away tells her to “adjust” and stay quiet. The Qur’an clearly commands: “Give women their bridal gifts graciously” (Surah An-Nisa 4:4), but we turned marriage into a business deal. And when she can no longer survive in such a marriage, we blame her for the failure. Even when a woman tries to hold on to faith, we fail her. We hand her a tasbih but deny her therapy. We tell her to pray more but never ask what is making her life unbearable. We tell her suicide is haram, but we do not create any environment where living feels halal.
“We need more khutbahs on domestic violence, mental health, and the rights of women—not just their duties. Families must stop trading daughters for reputation and wealth. If you can’t protect her, don’t cry at her funeral. Don’t ask Allah to bless your home while you are the reason someone else’s home has become a grave.As a community, we must invest in what truly saves lives. Build shelters, not just fancy masjids, Fund mental health clinics, not chandeliers. Offer therapy and support, not just lectures and tasbihs. Teach mercy in our homes and justice in our mosques. This is Islam—compassion in action.”
We fail to reflect the mercy of Allah in our actions. And then we wonder why she gave up.But here is the truth: she didn’t give up easily. She held on longer than most people ever could. We didn’t see her private sujood. We didn’t hear her cries in the bathroom. We didn’t witness her begging Allah for one reason to stay alive. She didn’t die from lack of faith—she died from a lack of love, a lack of safety, and a lack of mercy from the very people who claimed to love her. In our masjids, we hear endless khutbahs about the length of your trousers or the rules of wudu. But we never hear khutbahs about abuse, about depression, about injustice inside homes. No one says from the minbar, “O men, do not break the women in your homes.” No one preaches, “O parents, do not trade your daughters for dowry.” Her pain never made it to the sermon. But it made it to Allah. What hurts more than death itself is being surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone. Being married but unloved. Being touched but never cherished. Being told Islam honors women—while Muslims dishonor her. Being told to be patient—while no one practices compassion.And when she finally breaks—when she takes the pills, when she disappears into the river, when she leaves behind children she once dreamed of—we suddenly show up. We cry. We post on social media. We whisper, “How could she?” But Allah will ask, “How could you?” Where were you when she cried out to Me? Why did you bury her soul long before you buried her body?On the Day of Judgment, she will not stand alone. Allah is Just. She will be honored, not as a victim of suicide, but as a martyr of injustice. And those who abused her—or ignored her suffering—will be held accountable. Allah will ask: “Who broke My servant whom I had honored? Who silenced her voice when I gave her the right to speak?” This is not just a social problem. It is a spiritual emergency. Reform is not optional—it is a religious obligation. Muslim men must learn that strength lies in self-control, not in controlling women. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “The strongest among you is the one who controls himself when angry.” (Bukhari) . Real masculinity is mercy, not dominance. Our scholars and imams must speak boldly on these issues. If we can give sermons about clothing, we can give sermons about cruelty. If we can correct small ritual mistakes, we can address the big moral failures destroying our families. We need more khutbahs on domestic violence, mental health, and the rights of women—not just their duties. Families must stop trading daughters for reputation and wealth. If you can’t protect her, don’t cry at her funeral. Don’t ask Allah to bless your home while you are the reason someone else’s home has become a grave.As a community, we must invest in what truly saves lives. Build shelters, not just fancy masjids, Fund mental health clinics, not chandeliers. Offer therapy and support, not just lectures and tasbihs. Teach mercy in our homes and justice in our mosques. This is Islam—compassion in action. Finally, let us remember Allah’s promise in the Qur’an: “Indeed, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves” (Surah Ar-Ra’d 13:11). We must change—before the next silent scream, before the next janazah, before the next daughter is lost. Because when she cries for help and we stay silent, we are not just failing her—we are failing our deen. Let there be no more graves caused by our cruelty. No more silence mistaken for patience. No more shame in asking for help. Only justice. Only mercy. Only Islam—as it was truly meant to be.
(The author a teacher by profession is a freelancer. 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. Aftab Jan
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