How
does one feel on reaching the destination, on achieving a cherished objective?
A
philosopher has said that when you have achieved a goal there is nothing
further to achieve, once you have reached the destination there is nowhere to
go. What he obviously meant was that the journey to achievement was the source
of fulfillment, the reaching to the destination a greater motivation than the
destination itself.
What
one felt in the days immediately after the Haj was a feeling of emptiness that
comes with the relieving of responsibility, when you know that there is nothing
left in your control. Like the lightness that comes after giving an important
exam; you have done whatever you could, good or bad, right or wrong and it was
now with the examiner to decide the grades.
For
the past five weeks, day after day you had prepared for that one afternoon in
Arafat, that one night in Muzdalifah, that one tawaaf of the Kaaba and the stoning of the devil – things that you
will probably never do again in your life. And now that it was all over what
remained was only the return journey back to the world.
And
it was an infinitely sad thought. Of having to give up this life of submission
and love, of closeness and affinity for a life of daily chores far away from
this holy precinct.
Yet
the world was the field of application and what good is all theory if not
applied. And that was the biggest fear; could we go back to the rigmarole of
the routine and still retain this same sense of love and divinity?
The
one sign, the book says, that your Haj was accepted by Allah, that you had
passed the exam, is that your life transforms after return. That it becomes
easier to lead a righteous life as prescribed by the Quran and God. Would there
be a change in my life once I return? And what would be that change or
transformation that the books talk about?
And had I performed the Haj
correctly enough to bring about that change? Had my Lord accepted my
supplications?
The
days immediately after Haj were of hope and despair – hope that sprang from a staunch
belief in the boundless mercy of the Lord, that if my intent had been good His
actions would be generous, and the despair that comes from the realization that
there was always something which I could have done more – the nights when I
wanted to go to Masjid-al-Haram but kept sleeping, the visit to Masjid-e-Namra
on the afternoon of Arafat when it was just a walk away etc.
And
there was one big fear; the fear of how I would be able to sustain this same
sense of seeming purity on going back into the world, of whether I would be
able to put into practice all the good things that I had learnt, the
realizations that I had.
Would I be able to know the right
and the wrong in any situation and then have the courage to do the right?
There
was only one answer to this – to get the intent right. If I could be constantly
aware of my intent and ensure that it remained pure, the actions that would
emanate from it would be largely correct.
That
is how a Haj, and any pilgrimage, which purifies your intent, has the ability
to transform you.
The
final ritual that remained before we undertook the trip back home was the tawaaf-ul-vida, the farewell circumambulation
of the Kaaba. The transfer of pilgrims from Mecca to Medina had not yet started
and Masjid-al-Haram was overflowing with people. The biggest anxiety you have
as you take the seven rounds of that holy structure for one last time is that you
don’t miss out on any dua, any prayer
for self or for any person you know. For
you will never get this opportunity for a long time again.
As
we finished the obligatory namaaz on completion of the tawaaf and stood for one
last time in the physical presence of the Kaaba, I tried to keep my eyes open
without blinking for as long as I can, with a childlike desire to capture that
black stone structure in my eyes forever so that from tomorrow when I raise my
hands to my ears at the start of a namaaz
with the statement ‘…and my face towards the Kaaba’ I can picture the actual Kaaba
in front of me like I would in Masjid-al-Haram.
The
incessantly moving crowd didn’t allow the occasion to stand at still and take
in all the glory for the one last time. There were other lovers, pilgrims who
had come at later dates and needed their time with the beloved, like we had in
the beginning. It was for us to say a quick good-bye and let them indulge in
the privilege.
I
quickly turned around and traced my steps back towards the exit not turning
around to look again one last time as I had initially thought. The final adieu wasn’t
emotional or sad, it was strangely fulfilling and complete, like the closing of
a much worked upon task, like the finishing of an assiduously read book.
It
was the last namaaz in a local mosque
in Azizia before starting on our return journey which was far more sad and
painful.
We
had to leave before mid-night for Jeddah to catch an early morning flight back to
Mumbai. Dinner was going to be served after namaaz-e-isha
(the last of the five mandatory namaaz
to be offered every day) and loading of luggage would start immediately
afterwards. Hence the instructions were to quickly return from the prayers and
finish the supper as early as possible so that things could be wound up in
time.
As
I raised my hands for the last time in the namaaz, the body felt heavy and
leaden and every action seemed like an effort. And when I bowed for the last
time in sajda (supplication) I didn’t
want to get up, to distance the forehead from that holy land, to lose contact.
And I cried and cried from the pain of partition not praying for anyone or
anything just wanting to sit there and feel the presence, to capture forever
the essence of having been to the holiest of all places for a Muslim.
After
what seemed like a long time, when the mosque was all but deserted and the
keeper had switched off most lights and when it seemed too late for the dinner
I got up and left quietly.
It
was my last namaaz at Mecca till destiny will take me back again.
[In
the next episode we will see what it takes to put the theory at work, what happens when as they say 'the rubber meets the road'.]
