Ramblings of an Imperfect Believer
By Ghazala Akbar
Kuwait
‘Kaaba kis munh se jaaoge Ghalib, Sharm tumko magar naheen aati’ (Mirza Ghalib)
It took me a long time to get there but I finally did it: the journey to the Kaaba. It raised a few surprised eyebrows and with justification, a few tongue-clicking disapprovals at my tardiness. Let me be honest. I have lived in the neighbourhood of Arabia on and off for nearly twenty-eight years so there is no excuse. ‘Tajdar e Haram ’is my favourite ‘Qawaali’ but it never occurred to me to follow the Sabri brothers’ advice.
My personal computer is IBM: Inshallah, Bukra, Maalish (God-willing, tomorrow, never mind).Every Ramadan, I keep the obligatory fasts. I have given to charitable causes. In short bursts of religiosity I also heed the call of the Muezzin, but not always the required daily number. For some reason I just did not feel an urgency to see the object towards which my prayers were directed or the place where it is located. An impediment always appeared. More likely, I created the hurdles and impediments myself. Like Ghalib, I was what they term a ‘cultural Muslim.’ It was time to make amends.
In the Islamic Religion, the first four principles -- belief in one God, his messenger and the finality of his message, prayer, fasting and charity are mandatory and non-negotiable. The fifth principle, the pilgrimage to Makka, allows for a little flexibility. There is another option in the form of a mini-Hajj, the Umrah. Unlike the Hajj, which occurs only in the last month of the Islamic calendar, there is no fixed time to make the mini-pilgrimage.
You just have to have the inclination and your time will come -- so the wise heads advised. But what if you are a woman? It is all very well to lecture one about time and inclination but they don’t issues visas to single women, do they? True, they don’t. I’m afraid that’s the law. Doesn’t that seem discriminatory and unfair? Perhaps. Ironic? Certainly.
The supreme irony is that a major focus of the rituals of Umrah and Hajj is to honour the trials and tribulations of a woman -- a poor, black, Ethiopian female servant called Hajar. As the story goes, Hajar, the mother of Ishmael, (son of Abraham) ran seven times between the hillocks of Safa and Marwa in a frantic search for water for her de-hydrated, dying infant.
Her desperate plight and determination so touched the Almighty that he directed the Angel Gabriel to spout a gushing spring of water in the barren rocks of Makka. As the sweet water rushed in a torrent, threatening to flood the whole valley, she cried ‘’Zamzam!’’(Stop!) Thereafter the flow of water eased and conserved into a Well, a fountainhead of life, a source that has never run dry for thousands of years. You can still taste the sweetness of the water today.
So how does one go to honour this Woman if your female status and the Law of the land single you out for discrimination? Fortunately, Laws can be re-interpreted using intellect, reason and a liberal application of common sense. In this day of instant travel, wiser heads have decreed that women can make the pilgrimage as part of a group accompanied by a token male escort.
Within the Holy Precincts, they are completely free and unfettered. Barring designated prayer areas for men and women and the customary modest garb there are no restrictions on the movement of women. Just as we come into this life alone and leave alone, we can move around the sacred precincts without the need of male relatives to escort us.
Objection number two: what about the outlay and the physical endurance that the journey requires? Even if one has the inclination and the time, aren’t the costs prohibitive for most people? Admittedly, they are steep -- both in financial and physical terms. However where there is a will, there is a way. It is a question of re-ordering priorities in one’s life, of deeming what is important.
Certainly, our first priority is to eat and satisfy our material needs. However, we also need to feed the soul. Those with the right intentions can and do find ways and means. In my case, I was trebly privileged. I had the willing male escort, the means and the stamina for which I am truly grateful. My good fortune makes me even more appreciative of those whom I saw sleeping and eating in the rough; the elderly who joined the throng in wheelchairs, some so feeble it was perhaps the last journey they would ever make.
Many of the visitors were my own compatriots. However, I saw no Shia, I saw no Sunni; I saw no Deobandi, Barelvi, Ahle Hadees or Ahle Sunnat. No Syed, Shaikh, Mughal or Pathan. No Sunni Tehreek,Tehreek Namoos e Risalat, Tanzeemul Madaris, Sipaah Sahaba, Jaamatud Dawa, Lashkare Jhangvi , Muslim Brotherhood, Taliban, Al Qaeda or the many sects and fancy names that have appropriated the right to speak for Islam in Pakistan and elsewhere in the world.
What does their absence tell me? It tells me that Makka and the religion it espouses is not a place or creed for schism and sectarianism and violence. Makka is not a capital of political Islam. Makka is free from Rulers and Oppressors. Makka is not Riyadh, Cairo, Teheran, Sana Damascus, Ankara, Rabat, Baghdad, Djakarta, Kabul or Islamabad. Makka is apolitical.
Makka belongs to nobody. It is a place of peace. It is the epicentre of the essential spirit of Islam: the fellowship of humankind. Its citizens are of differing hues and speak in many tongues but they coalesce single-mindedly around the Kaaba with one purpose: to affirm their belief in the one supreme deity, to ask for forgiveness and a place in the hereafter.
Seeing the Kaaba for the first time is an experience that goes beyond expectation. Nothing I had ever seen, read or heard prepared me for the moment. The euphoria is ineffable. It leaves you incoherent. Pictures, footage, wall hangings, verbal accounts, written accounts, even virtual 360 degree tours on the Internet cannot do it justice. It is not a temple, a church, synagogue or even a mosque. It is an icon of God’s oneness. Its epic grandeur lies in its inherent simplicity. Less is more.
Leopold Weiss better known as Muhammad Asad, a Jewish convert and translator of the Holy Qur’an encapsulates this beautifully: ‘ ... the builder knew that no beauty of architectural rhythm and no perfection of line, however great could even do justice to the idea of God: and so he confined himself to the simplest three-dimensional form imaginable – a cube of stone.’
The Kaaba’s only adornment is a black shroud with a border of holy verses embroidered in gold. Inset near the North-Eastern corner is the mysterious stone. Legend has it that the stone was a gift from heaven to Abraham. It used to be milky white but the sins of man have turned it black. The stone is revered not for itself but because the lips of the Prophet (PBUH) kissed it once.
The other wonder of the Kaa’ba lies in the phenomena that it is never alone. Somebody, somewhere on earth is either walking around it or praying in its direction. I had a grandstand stand view from the 16 th floor so I can affirm that the movement never stops whatever time of day or night. Like a ripple in a pond, like a swirling eddy, like bees swarming around a honey-pot, like electrons towards a nucleus, the square attracts a continuous flow of humanity, a never-ending round baton race. A square in a circle.
As each person completes their seventh circumambulation, others take their place. The circle grows bigger, wider, sometimes smaller but the activity never ceases. The sun rises and sets, the moon waxes and wanes but the Kaaba remains blissfully in sight, never disappearing literally or figuratively in the eyes of the beholder.
Alas, a view of heavenly bliss comes with a price. While the Friday prayers at the Masjid al Haram with around 50,000 worshippers was an occasion to savour, on our return we encountered some excruciating moments of man-made hell. Sucked into a massive crowd with no way forward, backward or sideways, it was akin to being wound up and asphyxiated slowly and spirally. The end seemed close.
Fortunately, Malak al Maut, the angel of death had an appointment in Samara and gave us a reprieve. I survived to tell the tale! The Authorities in the Holy Precinct do an admirable job given the sheer size and numbers of pilgrims. The place is spotless. However, they could and should do better in terms of crowd control and communication.
Barring the above incident, the whole experience was overwhelming. The magnetism of the black cube drew me repeatedly to its ambit. I gave up trying to marshal my thoughts into any semblance of order. The significance of Hajar, a servant, buried in its precinct is simply mind–boggling! The humblest, most debased of his creatures has a place in God’s house! From all of humanity HE chooses a poor black woman to honour his house. Even her name reveals a treasury of meaning. Hajj, Hegira, Muhajir, and Muhajjiba! This is the root of so many significant words. Surely, there is an underlying message here that I had not grasped before.
Is my experience what they call an epiphany? I am not sure but I do feel a tiny moment of clarity. Next question: Should I now wear a niqab, shroud myself from head to toe and commence a proselytizing campaign? Shall I take up arms and go on a bloody crusade to demolish churches, temples, synagogues, Sufi shrines? Should I attack people who might think differently? Rest assured! Only one thought springs to mind: the first word revealed to the Prophet (PBUH) by the Angel Gabriel: ‘Iqra!Read, in the name of thy Lord!
And as I read, further I come across an instructive verse: ‘O, Mankind! We have created you from a male and female andmade you into nations and tribes that you may know one another...’ (Surah Al Hujurat 49:13.) And yet another ...’We believe in God and in that which he has revealed to us and to Abraham, Ismail, Isaac, Jacob, the descendents and that which was revealed to Moses, Jesus ,and that which was revealed to the Prophets from their Lord. We make no difference between one and the other... (2:136). Message received and understood!
I believe my journey to the physical axis of the Muslim faith was well worth the effort. I went looking for something and found it. Or rather, it found me. Pity Mirza Ghalib couldn’t experience it. On my next visit God willing, I might do an Umrah in his name. Something tells me it probably isn’t necessary. There is enough humanity and wisdom in his verses to suggest that he doesn’t need my supplications on his behalf. God is merciful, even to imperfect believers.
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