A Tale of Silent Sacrifice
By: Syed Majid Gilani
When a woman’s silence becomes her strength — Saabirah’s story is a reminder of the unseen struggles and unspoken endurance of countless women.
“She lived through storms in silence — and turned every tear into prayer.”
The morning light softly touched the courtyard as Saabirah moved quietly around the kitchen, dusting the wooden cupboards with her frail yet tender hands.
The air was still — the same house that once echoed with laughter and children’s chatter now stood wrapped in silence. Only memories whispered back to her.
Born into a modest family, Saabirah’s life was never luxurious. Her education ended early, but her heart was full of honesty, humility, and faith. Her simplicity was her beauty, and her service her pride.
At the age of eighteen, she stepped into her new home — not just as a bride, but as a ray of light. Her husband, a kind-hearted government employee, loved her deeply.
Her In-laws — her father-in-law, a retired officer, and her gentle, pious mother-in-law — treated her not as a daughter-in-law, but as their own daughter.
Her days bloomed with devotion. She cooked with love, served with care, and smiled through exhaustion. Maintaining relationships was her form of worship.
She visited her husband’s relatives, cared for neighbours, and spread affection in every corner of her world.
When she became a mother — first to a son, then to two beautiful daughters — her world glowed with purpose. She raised them with love that had no conditions, patience that knew no limits, and prayers that never ceased.
To ease her husband’s household expenses, she began teaching in a nearby private school. Even after work, she returned home with the same warmth and gentleness.
Saabirah continued contributing from her modest salary with quiet dignity. Her small earnings, though limited, gave her a sense of financial support and self-respect.
In the evenings, she also took tuitions — teaching neighbourhood children with the same patience and care at her home. Those extra hours of teaching were never for comfort or luxury, but to support the family and ensure her children lacked nothing.
Life was peaceful. She and her husband shared a bond built on love, respect, and faith.
Then one morning, her world collapsed. Her husband — her strength, her shelter — suffered a sudden cardiac arrest and passed away at a young age. At that time, she was just forty-two.
The walls of her home seemed to close in. Nights became longer. Her tears never stopped — yet she hid them behind her courage.
With three children still young and her in-laws to care for, Saabirah gave up her job and stopped her tuitions, devoting herself completely to her family.
She nursed her father-in-law and mother-in-law, at times through illness and their final days — wiping their tears, serving them, and comforting them like her own parents. Her love was quiet but infinite. Her sacrifice, unseen but endless.
Years passed. Her children grew, and Saabirah married them off one by one. To meet wedding expenses, she used her late husband’s savings, her own pension, and even sold her gold ornaments — everything she had.
She also maintained her husband’s ancestral house — repainting, repairing, and restoring it with her own hands. Every wall of that home carried a trace of her tears, her prayers, and her patience.
Even as age crept up, she kept working tirelessly — waking before dawn, offering prayers, cooking, washing, sweeping, and keeping her home spotless. She never demanded anything. She never complained. Her quiet energy kept the home alive.
When her only son, Imran, got married to Naila, she welcomed her with joy. She treated her like a daughter, guiding her gently and helping her settle into the family.
When Naila expressed her wish to work as a teacher in a nearby private school, Saabirah smiled and said softly, “Go ahead, my daughter. Don’t worry about home or the children — I will look after everything.”. And she did.
She raised her grandchildren like her own. Their fevers, their laughter, their first steps — she was there through it all. Even when sick herself, she smiled through pain to feed and care for them. “They are my son’s children,” she would whisper lovingly. “My husband’s legacy.”
Imran — loyal, respectful, and soft-hearted — was her pride. She quietly supported him in every way, even adding her family pension to household expenses, never mentioning it to anyone.
But then, slowly, the sweetness of her home began to fade. Naila’s tone changed — her words grew sharp, her heart colder. The warmth in her voice turned into command.
She began to oppose every suggestion Saabirah made, to belittle her, and to treat her like a burden. And one day, with chilling cruelty, Naila said the words that pierced Saabirah’s heart: “You should leave me, my husband, and our children — and live separately, alone.”
Saabirah stood silent — frozen, shattered, breathless. That house, the one she had sustained with her sweat and tears, now seemed to reject her. The same woman she had loved and cared for like her own daughter had turned her out.
When Saabirah refused to leave, Naila took an even darker path — filing false police and court cases to keep her separate from her family, her husband’s and father-in-law’s home.
It was the deepest wound of all — a cruelty not only to her heart but to the spirit of womanhood itself. A woman persecuting another woman — forgetting that she too will one day grow old.
Yet Imran, her son, stood firm beside his truth. He resisted the disrespect, the misbehaviour, and the move of his wife to keep his widowed mother separate and alone.
He tried his best to make Naila understand, to reason with her, to remind her of her duties and the sanctity of motherhood. But instead of realizing her mistake, Naila — finding her husband protecting, safeguarding, and respecting his mother, and unwilling to leave her alone — astonishingly made him a party to all the frivolous and fictitious police and court cases she filed against his mother.
The wounds ran deep, but Saabirah remained calm. She said nothing. She only wept silently before Allah and whispered, “Allah knows everything. He will decide.”
Now in her late sixties, Saabirah still wakes up before dawn. She spreads her prayer mat, recites the Qur’an, and prays — for her son, for her grandchildren, and yes, even for Naila.
Her hands tremble, her eyesight weakens, but her heart remains full of light. Her faith is her only strength. Her patience, her only wealth.
Her husband’s relatives often visit her, even after her husband’s death more than two and a half decades ago. They sit in the same courtyard where laughter once echoed.
They praise her — for her lifelong service, her patience, her strength. She listens quietly, with a faint smile and moist eyes.
She doesn’t seek sympathy — only justice. Not from the world, but from Almighty Allah. Until that day comes, she lives as she always has — praying, forgiving, and spreading kindness.
Her patience is her strength. Her silence is her honour. Her faith is her shield. Her truthfulness is her defence.
And her story — the story of Saabirah — is not hers alone. It is the story of countless women who give everything, lose everything, and still choose to forgive.
Such is the condition of a strong and financially independent woman with a loyal son like her — what then of those mothers-in-law who are weak, sick, and dependent?
Their pain goes unseen, buried beneath the false smiles of family respectability. The world loudly speaks about women’s rights but rarely about women’s wrongs — when one woman inflicts cruelty upon another.
Saabirah’s moist eyes question the champions of women’s welfare: “Do they see this woman too?”
Her wet eyes carry a humble request — that whenever you talk about safeguarding women’s rights and interests, speak of all women alike. Both daughter-in-law and mother-in-law are women. Laws are meant for both — not only for one.
Today’s daughter-in-law will be tomorrow’s mother-in-law. If cruelty by woman upon woman continues, what future will compassion have?
Let us remember: serving women is a divine cause — and that includes all women, whether mothers-in-law or daughters-in-law. Each deserves love, dignity, and justice.
(Syed Majid Gilani is a Government Officer by profession and a writer-storyteller by passion — weaving stories of faith, family, and real-life emotions. He can be reached at [email protected])