40 Days with God – Death and the Pleasures of Life

How far are we from our death?

We were on the highway to Medina, travelling at 120 KMPH on a scorching afternoon surrounded by arid desert and rocky mountains – the Arab countryside is a tough environment. The front tyre under the driver’s seat (Gulf has Left Hand Drive) had burst at noon, but the driver had managed to keep the hobbling bus in control. After a 2 hour break for tyre change we were back on the road again and passing through one of the numerous over bridges. Suddenly the tyre on the front right side of the bus burst with a huge blast. The steering slipped from the drivers hand and the bus veered rapidly towards the right. The strong Egyptian driver stood at his seat and leaned heavily on the steering using his full strength to turn the bus left. The bus brushed the railing on the right before turning left and coming to a halt. A few seconds delay and we would have plunged straight into the underpass 200 feet below.

It is amazing how we feel death will not happen to us, at least not in the foreseeable future when it is happening all around; accidents, bomb blasts, cardiac arrests etc. That afternoon we were only a few seconds away from imminent death. I can never forget the huge stunned eyes of the driver. It is so odd to see a strong, heavily built man completely mortified and in fear – the fear of what could have happened.

How much of our life we spend in regret or fear of what could have happened rather than experience fully what is happening?

The burst tyre

There were two predominant reactions in the bus; anger and fear. Travel brings out the true self, we had observed in our opening chapter and you could see how. The angry immediately went about blaming everyone from the driver for not having checked the vehicle properly, to the travel company which provided the bus, to the tour operator and even the Saudi Government for trying to commercialize the pilgrimage. The fearful began to cry and pray. Very soon though everyone realized they had a fascinating tale to recount so most of them got on their mobile, including myself, either narrating the incident to friends and family or clicking pictures of the burst tyre for posterity. Death, no matter how certain or close, is no match for life.

That is probably how it should be. But should we not in our life know that it is eventually going to end and that end may be sooner than we think. And everything thus is temporary – all success and failure, all sorrow and happiness, all defeat and hurt. There could not be a greater motivation to lead an egoless life of forgiveness and love.

I was, to be honest amused by the entire experience. This was an incident outside our control. If we had full faith in God – and that would be a minimum requirement for being on the pilgrimage – there was no reason to worry or get angry. God would do what was best for us and our loved ones. Yet, when put to test it was so difficult to be true to that faith.

We reached Medina at 11:30 PM in the night taking 13 hours for a 7 hour journey. The Masjid-e-Nabwi (The Mosque of the Prophet) was just 100 meters from our hotel, separated by a narrow lane lined on either side with street shops which where were closed for the night. Inside that mosque were the tombs of Prophet Muhammad and a few of his closes companions. To imagine that the prophet lay buried just a few hundred meters away from where we slept made the conscience alert with reverence, gratitude and fear.

From the hotel window we could see the huge open portico of the mosque largely empty due to the late hours. There was a sense of such peace and serenity that made the turmoil of the day seem so unreal and distant.

Medina is 400 kms away from Makkah, but in all other aspects it is poles apart. The temperature is 7 – 8 degrees cooler making it very pleasant, there is far more greenery than the stony mountainous landscape of Makkah and the people are far more hospitable and warm. A shopkeeper in Makkah would require three inquiries before he would respond with the price of a particular item, with the attitude of someone doing a favor. In Medina, the moment you paused in front of a shop, the shopkeeper would come around, shake your hand and take you inside to show his wares.

Just behind the central structure of Masjid-e-Nabwi which houses the prophet’s tomb, is the huge newly built prayer hall. On my third morning in Medina, which was a Sunday, I was sitting on the open roof top of that hall having just finished the namaz-e-fajr or the prayers before sunrise. There was an amazing sense of peace and quietude like an unhurried village morning. The sky was largely clear except for a few stray clouds near the horizon and in the slowly fading darkness one could the see a few pigeons flying in the backdrop of distant mountain slowly taking shape. It seemed as if there was no world beyond this place.

Sunrise at Masjid-e-Nabwi

As the sun started to rise I could see the grey clouds on the horizon slowly turn orange and then after ten minutes, as the sun came up their color changed back to grey. It was a fascinating experience to observe as nature changed color and hue. How fortunate are those who derive pleasure from the everyday joys that life offers – the peace of a morning, the smile of a child, the indescribable thrill of an orgasm, a great line from a book, a break from sleep in the night only to realize there are still a couple of hours for the morning alarm. They require no passport, no visa, no huge flats in high rise apartments with higher EMIs. Nature puts no price for its pleasures.

I walked back to my hotel room as the sun started to become strong. The shops had still not opened and at the corner of a narrow by-lane a small tea vendor was selling hot tea with biscuits and local bread. A mat lay spread on one side where the pilgrims who couldn’t afford private tour operators who provided food along with accommodation sat and enjoyed their morning tea.

I went to my hotel, picked up a cup of tea from the hot pot kept in the lobby and went up to my room where everyone was still asleep. It was like the Sunday mornings of my early youth and I felt if I switched on the TV there would be Rangoli playing on Door Darshan.

Medina is tranquil where Makkah was intense. Even the rituals at Medina are simple as compared to the physical, exhaustive circumambulations at Makkah. Was this part of the grand design? Does the calmness and peace after the toil and the intensity help you uncover another facet of your own self, help you probe even further within your own recess?

We will try and understand ‘how’ it impacted in the next chapter.

40 Days with God – Seeking Pardon

Can we imagine waiting for two decades to fulfill a cherished dream?

In today’s generation of instant gratification it sounds almost like a fable. One of the rituals at Haj is to greet as many people as you can, so after every namaaz (congregation prayers) as a practice most people greet pilgrims sitting on either side. It is then you realize what it is to become a ‘citizen of the world’ because your neighbor may be from any part of the world, any strata of society, any age group.

I met a Turkish tour guide, a Morocco businessman, an Afghani who wanted to know about T20 World Cup underway in India at that time, a Dutch IT contractor who was a former Tech Mahindra ITPian migrated a few years ago, a Pakistani from a village in Baluchistan where it was common practice to find letters on your front door seeking money for being ‘protected’ and an old Bangladeshi who had waited for 20 years to retire so that he could utilize the retirement money to make the pilgrimage.

How does one feel on achieving a purpose one has patiently waited more than two decades for? It was humbling to see the devotion in his eyes. Could we ever achieve that depth of feeling? Do the ‘haves’ realize what the ‘have not’s’ have?

It was also interesting to note that countries and regions have cultures and behaviors which make them distinct and identifiable. After a couple of weeks it became an interesting activity to look at a group and identify their country. And it went beyond dress and physical features. It extended to their demeanor, their public behavior. Not wanting to hurt any patriotic sentiments, it was clear how the Indonesians were so disciplined and organized, the Turks almost invariably wore the same light green color and when there would be time limit for certain rituals you could guess who would be the people rushing and jumping queues to get a glimpse.

A Pakistani lady was surprised to hear my wife talk about the comfortable and secure life we live in India. She thought, as did many Pakistani’s we met, that Muslims here were a harassed lot. It was obvious that they lived a life of strife there. When I asked a Pakistani which city he lived in, he instinctively replied “Bomb blast” before correcting himself to say Karachi. It was funny and tragic at the same time.

Do we value the things we have got, things we are so accustomed to that we take it for granted?

The first week at Makkah had been understandably more intense – the experience was new, the sights were new and there were a lot more tears and opening up as realizations started coming to the fore. The second week was more of reflection, of internalizing and knowing oneself better which led to a heightened sense of self-awareness and mindfulness.

This self-awareness though can be disturbing especially when the first thing it throws up is a lot of internal dirt which we had so conveniently camouflaged with our seemingly good intents. I like being a trainer and a writer, but I realized in those moments of self-awareness that it was primarily because it gave me an opportunity to be liked and praised. That my love for interaction was in fact my love for popularity and appreciation.

There is no doubt that all actions, to be pure, have to be performed with the sole intent of pleasing God. Could any of my ‘good’ deeds then stand up for scrutiny, because they were performed principally with the intent of making me look good. I do receive a lot of appreciation both for my training and my writing. Have I then already received my reward from the universe? How could I expect a higher reward from God? Why should I expect it?

As I sat in the mataaf (the open area encircling the Kaaba) one evening in our final week in Makkah these thoughts made me misty and fearful. I had come here seeking acquiescence from my God and the reward of becoming pure. But all I had to show were deeds done out of a unfailing desire to seek credit, when all the prophets and great people that I had been reading about lately were people who had led lives of hardship and sacrifice with no desire for acclaim. It left me completely hopeless and ashamed. For all the things I had, I was a pauper in deeds.

As I raised my hands for the dua (supplication) at the end of the last prayers for the night in this state of hollowness, a strange thought came to my mind. Why shouldn't I seek both from God? Why shouldn't he pardon my transgressions and still consider me amongst the pious? I felt like the stubborn child who knows he doesn't deserve a toy, yet is confident his parents will grant him one if only he persists.

The Quran says that Allah is many times more merciful than a mother. So shouldn't I expect to be shown mercy? Shouldn't I have a ‘right’ to be pardoned no matter how conceited my intents were? If my mother can then why can’t Allah?

And I demanded and pleaded in the same moment. There were no words because I didn't know what to say, how to express. Just a torrent of tears which flowed automatically as I stared besieged at the abode of God. I didn't want to leave the place, didn't want to go to the hotel or home or anywhere, just stand there and do whatever I could – beg, plead, threaten Allah to pardon and forgive me.

I don’t think I have ever cried that long in my life. Finally I turned around and left, slowly and unwillingly.

The street outside was largely empty as most pilgrims had returned to their hotels for the night and the temperature had turned slightly mild. It was as if I was returning from my Tawaaf-ul-vidat (the farewell circumambulation of the Kaaba) which was still a few weeks away. And it felt strangely liberating. I felt light and happy as I walked back to the hotel; the lightness of a person who knows not the result, but knows that he made a worthwhile attempt.

That night in the hotel room I indulged in some light banter, even cracked a joke with my roommate – the first time I had felt like that since I left Mumbai. We were soon to leave for our 2 week sojourn to Medina before we could return back to Makkah for the actual Haj rituals. Medina was the town where Prophet Muhammad had migrated to after the tribal warlords at Makkah had made it difficult for him to practice Islam.

The stage was set for the next phase of experience.