The Woman Who Was Dead — But Came to Bless the Living

The Woman Who Was Dead — But Came to Bless the Living

Her name was Feroza Bibi.

Kind. Quiet. Always in white. Known across the town for her charity and healing duas. Widowed early, no children, no complaints. People said Allah had given her “the touch” — those she prayed for recovered faster than doctors expected.

She passed away on a Friday.

Peacefully, in sujood during Fajr.

They buried her by noon, near the old fig tree behind the town masjid.

Everyone cried.

But three days later… she knocked on someone's door.


---

It was late evening when an elderly woman, Aapa Jameela, opened her gate.

And there she stood — Feroza Bibi, smiling gently, holding a tasbeeh.

> “Beta, I came to read a small dua for your daughter. May she find ease in her exams.”



Before Jameela could speak, Feroza placed her hand over her daughter’s head, whispered a soft prayer, and left.

Jameela stood frozen.

Her daughter asked,

> “Ammi, who was that kind aunty?”



Jameela didn’t answer.

Because Feroza Bibi had been buried 3 days ago — and she was at the funeral.


---

The news spread fast.

Some said it was her twin (she had none).
Others claimed black magic (no evidence).
A few said they saw her grave — still closed, undisturbed.

But the visits didn’t stop.

She appeared outside a house where a boy had fallen sick, whispered a prayer, and left.

She comforted a widow and recited Surah Maryam with her.

She gave dates to a hungry child and told him:

> “Feed someone else when you're older.”




She never entered homes.

She never asked for anything.

She only gave duas.

And always vanished before Isha.


---

One man, curious and suspicious, followed her.

She walked slowly — hands folded, tasbeeh swaying, never speaking to anyone unless they were in need.

He watched her turn a corner behind the mosque.

When he turned too…

She was gone.

No door. No exit. No shadow.

Only the sound of wind.

And a faint scent of rose and rain.


---

The Imam made an announcement:

> “Stop spreading tales. Let the dead rest.”



But he himself avoided looking at Feroza Bibi’s grave at night.

Why?

Because every Friday night, after Maghrib… a small lamp glowed on her qabar.
No one lit it.
No one placed it.
And by Fajr — it was always gone.


---

A man once challenged her.

When she came to his gate, he said:

> “You’re not real. You’re a jinn.”



She smiled, gently touched his shoulder, and said:

> “Real or not, the dua is still sincere.”



His son, who had been bedridden for months, stood up and walked the next morning.


---

One boy secretly recorded her with his phone.

The video showed her lips moving… but no audio came out.
Only static.
And when he played it the next day — the file was corrupted.

No image.
Only a whisper:

> “Some blessings aren't meant to be captured.”




---

Then one day — the visits stopped.

Just like that.

No knocks.
No blessings.
No scent of roses.

The people waited.
Some even cried.

As if they’d lost her again.


---

But that Friday night, the entire town saw something.

Feroza Bibi’s grave… glowed.

Not fire.

Not light.

But something between — like peace made visible.

And above it… dozens of white petals floated in the air before slowly disappearing.

The Imam approached the grave.

He found no lamp.
No candle.
Only her tasbeeh — lying neatly on the soil.

Still warm.


---

Since then, people claim she still visits.

Not physically.

But:

Ill children recover after dreaming of her.

Frightened women hear her voice reciting Ayatul Kursi in their sleep.

Orphans say a soft hand tucks them in at night.


And every year on her death date, someone anonymously delivers bags of food, medicine, and sweets to the poor — labeled only:

> “From Feroza Aapa.”




---

The town doesn't question it anymore.

Because now they believe:

Some souls don’t stay behind to haunt.
Some… return to heal.