None of the visitors was a physician; they were simply Muslims. Then a doctor prescribed that a pumpkin be roasted and its liquid given to him to drink—this was on Tuesday, and he died on Friday—so he said, “O Ṣāliḥ.”

I replied, “At your service.”

He said, “Do not roast it in your house, nor in your brother’s.”

Al-Fatḥ ibn Sahl came to the door to visit him, but I kept him out (1). Ibn ʿAlī ibn al-Jaʿd also arrived, and I held him back as well (2). When the people became many, my father said, “What do you think?”

I answered, “If you allow them in, they will pray for you.”

He said, “I will seek Allah’s guidance.”

So they began entering in groups until the house was full: they would ask him questions, pray for him, then leave, and another group would come in. The crowd swelled, the street filled, and we closed the gate of the alley. A neighbour of ours came, his beard freshly dyed, and my father remarked, “When I see a man reviving even a single practice of the sunnah, I rejoice at it.” (3)

Then he said to me, “Send someone to buy dates and make the expiation for an oath on my behalf.”

There remained in his purse about three dirhams.

When I informed him of that, he said, “Praise be to Allah.”

He then said, “Read the will to me.”

I read it, and he approved it.

I used to sleep beside him; whenever he needed something, he would nudge me and I would hand it to him. He kept his tongue moving in remembrance and did not groan except on the night he died. He continued to pray standing—I would support him so that he could bow and prostrate, then lift him from his bowing.

Pains of urinary retention and other ailments beset him, yet his mind remained sound. When Friday came, the twelfth of Rabīʿ al-Awwal, two hours into the day, he passed away.