It was our first evening in Jeddah and we were about to step out for dinner when my one and only daughter-in-law said to her mother-in-law, who also happens to be my wife, “Aunty you can’t go out in this attire. You have to wear an abbaya over it.”
“But why?” my wife argued. “Don’t you think my shalwar qameez and shawl is Islamic enough a dress?”
“Don’t argue, my dear,” I intervened. “It’s compulsory around here to wear an abbaya over your dress. If you go out without it, you will surely be arrested by the police and even if your son is a diplomat, you will spend the rest of your life in a Saudi jail for sure.”
This warning did the trick and a terrified Maimuna immediately wore a black abbaya over her dress. Now she looked like a black robed Dervish whose mental faculties were rather doubtful.
As soon as we stepped out of the house, Saljuk said, “Ammi do you have your passport in your hand-bag because if you don’t, you can be arrested and deported!”
Maimuna erupted like a volcano, “I have worn this abbaya thing in which I look like an escaped mental patient, now I have to carry my passport? I am not a prisoner. I refuse to go out.”
All of us had to beg her to comply with the local custom and she gave in grudgingly.
During the past one year, this was my second visit to Jeddah. And I was really amazed to see the changes in this once very close society, within a span of only few months. Magazines and newspapers were littered with the once forbidden photographs of unveiled woman, fashion models and film actresses. The police had decided no to be very pious and looked the other way when confronted with a female showing her abundant, streaked hair. Only the royal family was still out of bounds for the otherwise liberal Saudi press. So much so that even the police came under severe criticism for dragging a woman by her hair just because she was bareheaded.
There is a misconception in Pakistan that Saudi Arabia is a crimeless society. On the contrary there are murders, bank robberies, rapes and abductions, which are freely reported in press. I was almost a witness to a purse-snatching incident on Palestine Street.
During my stay, a controversy erupted about a recent issue of The National Geographic which carried a special report on Saudi Arabia. The Ministry of Information wanted it to be banned, but the liberal elements prevailed and it was allowed to go on sale.
The Cupid carries out his clandestine activities, despite being a persona non grata in the Kingdom. Saudi girls roam the streets of Jeddah in their latest four-wheelers, naturally with their drivers as they are still not allowed to drive, along the waterfront, or in the most fashionable street, Tahlia. There they would drop their mobile phone numbers in the vicinity of a boy whom they fancy so that he can pursue the matter latter on. I had also observed this in Qatar, where certain enterprising young ladies, fully clad, will arrive in the parking lot of some superstore, instruct their Indian or Sri Lankan driver to wait patiently, and would meet the object of their desires, till their ‘shopping’ was done.
While you are enjoying the delights of Jeddah, all the time you feel guilty. You are a fish which has been hooked and the line is being pulled and you desperately want to abandon Jeddah and head for the mother of all cities, Mecca. There you will find Him, who is truly pulling the strings and whose abode is in Khana Kaaba.
The very first sight of the universe that is Kaaba and thousands of white comets that rotate around it, the pilgrims, sent me in a reverie of unfathomable spiritual commotion and I became one of the comets performing the Umra.
Although during the Tawaf one should not look at the Kaaba, but I could not take my my eyes off it and I was rewarded with a sight which compelled me to smile. A black clad Iranian woman was holding an angel like child in her hands and was trying her best to persuade the baby to kiss the Kaaba with its rose petal lips. But the child refused to oblige and instead started playing with the cover of Kaaba, as if it was a plaything. Tiny hands were trying to clutch the black cover as a shriek of delight was let loose by the child. I am sure Allah, too, must have smiled on this little believer.
During Haj, despite all my best efforts, I could not kiss the Hajr-e-Aswad, the black stone, which has the honour of being kissed by my Prophet (Peace be upon him). I tried desperately but to no avail. It was not the rush of pilgrims only, rather the undisciplined pushing and jostling which threw me away everytime I approached it. At one time a young Pakistani recognized me and pulled me with his powerful arms through the crowd and towards the black stone. For the first time I could see the Hajr-e-Aswad. But I also noticed that there were some very old and feeble pilgrims who I had to push through to reach the goal. Here I gave up.
“Tarar Sahib, only a little more pushing would have done it. You have given willingly given up a great opportunity,” complained the panting young man.
“Well, I am a coward, I can bear the shoving of others, but I cannot push feeble old men and women. Afterall its just a stone as Hazrat Umar remarked, and its only sanctity is that our Prophet kissed it. So some other time.”
During my travels I have come across many milestones that bore the name of cities towards which I was travelling. Reading the names of Paris, Cordoba, Garanda, Rome, Damascus or Lahore always sent a strange sensation down my spine. But all these ordinary cities paled when for the first time I saw “Mecca Mukarama” and the name of “Medina Munawwra” on a milestone. Not just the first time, but everytime seeing these names mesmerised me. I cannot explain the magical impact of these names; they just float like dreamboats in your bloodstream.
Next day we were Medina Ke Musafir.
It was night and, Medina was truely Munawwar, as the brightest of stars had descend on earth to illuminate it. After travelling through modern highways and bridges, there emerged in front of our searching eyes the minarets of Masjad-e-Nabvi and in its cradle was the green dome of Prophet’s permanent abode. There has never been and never will be a structure which with its simplicity has the mysterious power of bestowing peace and love on all the billions who see it. Although Ustad Imam Din of Gujrat was a humorous poet not to be taken seriously, but in his uncouth innocence he came up with such a couplet that it became the envy of greatest poets. The couplet, in rough translation, is as follows:
Where there is my Prophet’s abode
That particular peace of land
Is in fact part of heavens.
As I was aware of the fact that Masjid-e-Nabvi closes at 11pm, for the night I repeatedly asked Seljuk in a state of nervousness “Do you think we will be in time to say our salaam to Hazur? Do you think ...”.
We enterd the great courtyard at about 10.30 when the announcements for the closing of great gates of the mosque echoed under the domes. We rushed towards ‘Bab-ul-Salam’ as a sleepy gatekeeper was kind enough to look the other way and let us enter the mosque. Where during the day you cannot find enough room to place your forehead on the floor, even in the farthest corners of the mosque, at this time of night there were hardly a few dozen people and all in a frenzy to offer Nawafil on the spots where placing a Sajda is a dream for every Muslim. And that spot is the white carpet of Riaz-ul-Junnah which, as we Muslims believe it to be, a part of Paradise and will ascend to the heavens on the day of Judgment because it is exactly the same area where the original mosque existed.
The Pillar of Ayesha, Pillar of Ali, in front of Minbar-e-Rasul, and at the spot where our Prophet use to pray. I was trembling with excitement because this indeed was a very rare opportunity; the announcements of closure were being repeated in a soft but firm voice. The caretakers were requesting every individual to finish their prayers and leave the mosque. My forehead was at the spot where my Hazur use to stand, my forehead on his feet, tears rolling down wetting the carpet and I remained there till a keeper touched my shoulders to indicate that the parting hour had come.
Then I rushed towards the Roza-e-Rasul to say my salaam, and there again I was amazed and grateful that only a very few people were standing in front of the Jali. And the at that moment I considered myself to be the luckiest man on earth, because somehow or the other, it so happened that I was totally alone in front of the Jali beyond which I could see the green and red cover under which Prophet Mohammed (Peace be upon him) is resting. I stood there reciting Darud Sharif, talking to him and thanking him and I felt as if my whole body was illuminated with the golden rays of moon of Medina.
All alone, standing in front of my Hazur, just him and me.
It was our first evening in Jeddah and we were about to step out for dinner when my one and only daughter-in-law said to her mother-in-law, who also happens to be my wife, “Aunty you can’t go out in this attire. You have to wear an abbaya over it.”
