40 Days with God – An End

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'.]