Not only is Damascus a beautiful city to visit, it also has great religious value for Muslims

Heading towards the Istanbul Airport at midnight, I was wondering whether heavy snowing would allow me to catch the 1:20am Turkish Airlines flight to the city of Damascus. Luckily the departure schedule board showed the flight to be leaving on time. Hurriedly going through the briefing I checked in and settled in the lounge for a hot cup of Turkish coffee, and I did this with full knowledge because of a prior experience, that it would hit me hard and lead to heaviness in the head.

The fight was called on time and along with a handful of passengers I boarded the bus that was to take us to the aircraft. The plane was parked so far from the terminal building that I wondered if we were mistakenly being taken by bus to Damascus. At the sight of the aircraft, I almost fainted because it was a very small plane that possibly could carry only about 80-100 odd passengers. Since I suffer from the fear and believe that small aircrafts do not stand a chance in turbulent weather as against the ‘big birds’, I said a small prayer while going-up the gangway.

The snowing had stopped. We climbed out of Istanbul and after an initial ‘rocking and rattling’ the plane cruised at low height. The journey was smooth and we touched down at almost 2:30am, Damascus time.

Since Syria is always in the news and having been under direct rule of ‘Hafez Al Asad’ and his progeny since 1970 I was apprehensive. The clearance at the immigration and customs counter was friendly and without a glitch. I thanked for the beginning to be good.

At the exit there was a tall, handsome, slim and smartly attired person from the hotel where I was to stay, holding a placard, displaying my name. I was relieved to see him because taking a taxi in the wee hours of the morning in the first ever visit to a closed country was not a pleasant thought. He greeted and took charge of my suitcase and soon we were on our way to the city. The airport is at quite a distance. Since it was almost 3am and the speedometer showed 140kmph, I decided to engage him in conversation so that he would remain awake. That decision, I realised very quickly, was most foolish. I said, “I believe you do this job of to and from transfer to airport only part time; are you studying at some university during day time?” To my horror, he turned his head back, smiled and said, “Yes, how do you know?” “I guessed,” I said and requested that with that needle at 140kmph on the speedometer it was not a good idea for him to turn back and look into my eyes to make a reply. He again turned and said, “What?” I kicked myself and decided to seal my lips for the rest of the 40-minute journey to the hotel.

Damascus was on my itinerary for official banking reasons, but the motivation to visit really stemmed out of a fascination with the city, most importantly for my adoration of Syeda Zainab Bint-i-Ali, the granddaughter of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) whose remains lie in this city. Since my childhood, Syeda Zainab, is a lady I adore and ‘hero worship’ for the valour, courage and defiance she displayed while holding the Ahl-i-Bait together, following the great tragedy of Kerbala. In my view after Ummahatul Momineen and Hazrat Fatima, Syeda Zainab occupies the loftiest station amongst women, who toiled unrelentingly for the glory of Islam.

Saying my fajr payers, I thanked God for fulfilling my childhood desire to be in the city of Syeda Zainab. An early breakfast at 7am and then I was on my way to Syeda Zainab’s mausoleum, which is located on the outskirts of the city. Whilst on my way, my heart was pounding with excitement; the inner feeling was that I was heading towards the prophet’s house. I was gripped with passionate emotions.

I arrived at the mausoleum a little after 9am. It was thronged by visitors. I could see many Iranians in large groups. I made my way to the mausoleum and firstly in the prayer area I offered the nawafil of thanks and then moved to Syeda’s roza. Overwhelmed with emotion, I held the beautifully crafted silver grill that encompasses her grave. With my palms gripping the jali of her roza, I sat there for almost two hours. In my verbal salutation, I said to her, “Peace be upon you, oh! Daughter of the Holy Prophet; peace be upon you, oh.”

With the permission of the keeper, I took some photographs of the mausoleum and then headed towards the old part of Damascus, which houses the Great Mosque of Damascus (Ommayad mosque) and faces the old souk.

The site on which the mosque was built contains the religious remains of various people who earlier had ruled Damascus. The first of these sacred edifices is the Temple of Haddad, the storm, fertility and rain god of the Aramaeans, who inhabited Damascus in the 10th century BC. Subsequently, according to the rule of continuity, several temples were erected on the site that included the Temple of Jupiter, the Temenos sacred enclosure and the Peribol enclosure which was so immense that it surrounded the Temenos measuring 380m from north to south and 310 from east to west.

With the advent of Christianity, the Byzantines decide to build a church on this hallowed ground with monumental arcades using the building materials of the Roman period. With the Muslim conquest of Damascus by Khalid bin Walid, who promised protection to the Byzantine patriarch, the mosque revered by both religions, was divided. The first Mihrab in Islam was the Mihrab as-Sahaba (niche of the companions). I offered the salat in this marked area. I then stepped out to the courtyard facing the prayer halls. It is huge admeasuring 6,125 sq metres. In the centre is a fountain, used by people to perform ablution. I then crossed over to a Hujra of Al-Ghazzali, who taught to deliver lectures in this room but remained mostly recluse. Then there was the dwelling place of Umar Ibu Abdul Aziz. To the north-eastern corner is Al Hussain Hall that houses some belongings of Imam Zainul Abedin and also has encased in glass a ‘vertical grave’ which I believe was used to temporarily bury the sacred head of Imam Hussain following the Karbala tragedy.

Returning to the main prayer hall for zuhr prayers, I noticed the cenotaph of St. John, the Baptist or Prophet Yahya, as known in Islam. I recited salutations on Yahya Ahle Salam and sat down near his tomb. True to my Pakistani instincts, I began to quietly take photographs inside the tomb and the mosque, although it was prohibited. Whilst doing so, I noticed an extremely beautiful young lady with an infant in her arms who was going from one corner of the grave of Prophet Yahya to the other while her lips were moving in either prayer or supplication. I watched her keenly complete the task of covering all the four corners and then she laid her child near the tomb. The baby was beautiful.

Stepping out of the mosque, I went to the south and indulged in compulsive shopping that included Syrian delights (sweets), exquisite table covers etc. The sun was beginning to go down and I requested my guide to take me back to the hotel. A 36-hour stay in the city of Damascus was an event of a lifetime. The next morning, from the city of swords I was onboard to my next destination.