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Hajj Sequel 4: The Old Man and the Ka’ba
By Anonymous
Posted July 13, 2004
Sequel 1: Just A Dream or A Call For Hajj? Sequel 2: Preparations - Logistical, Physical, and Spiritual Sequel 3: Bangle Between Fingers |
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Hemingway’s Old Man was attracted by the sea, and there, he dreamt of lions. My Old Man, much older and weaker than Hemingway’s, came from hundreds of miles away attracted by the Ka’ba. There he spent his days and nights worshipping the Lord of the universe and seeking His pleasure, not fishing and daydreaming.
One small act, or rather answering the call of the conscience, opened the way for me to meet and spend some time with that very special Old Man.
During the few days that I spent in Makkah prior to the hajj, my regular habit was to go to the haram about one and a half hour prior to the adhan for fajr prayer. There, after securing a place on the floor of the Ka’ba, I would spend the time in making tahajjud prayer, du’a, and zikr of Allah (swt). These early morning hours were among the best times I had in my entire hajj trip. With the background of the night sky, although blurred by the floodlights, and thousands of people circulating around, the Ka’ba looked beautifully serene, peaceful, and majestic. Whether in prayer or in zikr, my communication with Allah (swt) was at its peak, often reaching the point of ecstasy. My two eyes shed much more tears in those moments than in any other time or place, with the exception of perhaps the plain of Arafat.
On this particular night, I was a little late. After pushing through the crowed, when I finally reached the stairs leading to the floor of the Ka’ba, one look at the crowed below made me realize that it was too late now to try to find a spot there. I turned back and started moving from one place to another inside the building in search for a place. After some struggle, I eventually found a place next to a pillar and a staircase. This made my small prayer place a little more comfortable and secure than wide open ones where people frequently cut in the front or go over the shoulder as they look for places. I immediately stood up for tahajjud prayer. A few minutes later, another man moved in and sat next to me. From his looks and apparel, he appeared to be as an imam or some sort of religious figure from the Indo-Pak subcontinent.
My devotion in tahajjud prayer was interrupted when a woman in full niqab came and tried to persuade him to leave and go elsewhere. But he paid no attention to her. After trying for some time, she gave up and left. During the next ten minutes, she came twice and each time tried to eject him from that place. But the man simply ignored her. She did not bother me as I was in prayer every time she came. Then, while in prayer, I suddenly realized that she must be a female police officer and where we were sitting was probably a female-only place. After ending my salat, a quick look around confirmed that indeed this place was for females only. The only reason she did not bother me was that I was in prayer each time she came. There were many men sitting here and there, and so we two were not completely alone in the middle of the majority women. Besides, my place was a little isolated one – all “good” justifications to stay put.
My conscience immediately objected. I remembered the scenes that I observed many a times while sitting in the floor of the Ka’ba – the scenes of male police officers mercilessly evicting females from the floor of the Ka’ba where they had been sitting and praying for hours and awaiting the fajr prayer. Apparently, females are not allowed to sit and pray on the ground floor of the Ka’ba. The policemen were only performing their duties and telling the women to go back to their designated prayer areas. But they were rude and it did not matter for the police whether the woman he was trying to evict had been sitting there with her husband or son. Whether she will be able to find a place inside the complex in the female area or how she would be able to reunite with her male relative was not his concern. His mission was simply to evict her and to achieve that objective he employed words and body language that were utterly rude.
Every time I saw such rude evictions – and I saw many – my heart broke and I felt like crying out loud. It was, as if, someone was piercing my heart with an arrow. I would feel terribly sorry for her but completely powerless to do anything about it.
As I remembered the above scenes, I though to myself: What justification do I now have to sit in this female-only section?
All these thoughts flashed through my mind in half a second. I made up my mind and told my neighbor that this section was for females only and we must leave this section and go elsewhere. He, however, was not willing to leave. I got up, folded up my prayer rug and picked up my handbag and started to leave. As I left, I saw him moving into my place and solidifying his position.
I wished the Saudi authorities had realized that they needed male police officers even in female sections. How effective can a female police, covered from head to toe in niqab, be against the overpowering male? The moment I got up to leave, I knew that at that late hour when fajr time was only about half an hour away, it would be only waste of time and energy in trying to find a place anywhere inside the complex. I, therefore, directly headed towards the closest gate that would take me out of the complex into the wide-open area where I might still find a place. This would be the first night when I would not be able to pray with the Ka’ba in sight. Nevertheless, I felt comfortable at heart that I did the right thing. I came out in the open and soon found a place right next to an old man, about 65 years of age, who, like many others, was sitting on the hard marble floor without any rug. I politely asked him to get up so that I could put my prayer rug sideways, thus allowing both myself and him to sit on it. This small gesture made him very grateful. I asked for his du’a and he immediately made du’a for me. This du’a of an old pilgrim made me so happy and I felt fortunate that I left the old place and came here. But further reward for me for answering the call of the conscience earlier was yet to come. A few minutes later, my old companion got up and left. When some time passed and he did not return, I thought that perhaps after taking care of his needs, he found some other place elsewhere. I was thinking of putting my prayer rug straight (so that I did not have to make sujud on the hard floor) when I saw that a few rows ahead of me, an old man just joined and was preparing to sit down. He was probably about 85, his back a little bended due to old age, and he appeared to be very feeble. I got up and went to him and tried to tell him that he could sit right next to me on my prayer rug. He was an Arab and did not speak English. But from my gesture, he understood what I tried to convey to him. He came with me slowly, as if even walking was not easy for him, and as he sat down, he tried to thank me and tell me that he was very grateful for helping him. I grabbed him by his shoulder to reassure him and to make him feel comfortable and asked for his du’a. He looked at me and said something in Arabic that I could make out as something like: “It has become wajib on me to make du’a for you.”We both tried to have a conversation with the other but neither knew the language of the other – I did not know Arabic while he did not know English. He was trying to tell me something in Arabic using hand gestures, but I could not understand what he was trying to communicate to me. It appeared that he was in need of something. I desperately tried to know what it was. There was an Arab man who was sitting next to me. I asked him if he knew English. He nodded a “no”. I thought I must find someone who speaks both Arabic and English. There were people walking to and fro – some were looking for spots and others were walking towards the Ka’ba or coming back from it (after probably failing of find spots there). I stood up with the hope of catching an Arab who might speak English. Anytime an Arab approached towards my direction and he appeared to be educated, I would grab him and say, “Salamu alaikum. Do you speak English?”I was only getting negative reponses but I kept trying. Finally, success came. One gentleman responded in clear English. I begged him to help me. I told him that I met this old man and he appeared to be in need of something. I told him that I want to help him with whatever he needed but I just did not know what he needed for I did not know Arabic while he did not know English. I asked him if he could talk to him and then translate to me about what he needed. He agreed. He spent a few minutes talking with him. He then told me that the old man was from Yemen. He came to perform hajj. He was now thirsty for a cup of tea. I thanked him very much for translating his need to me, and he left. From the gestures that the old man was making before in trying to tell me what he needed, I was now convinced that he was not only thirsty for tea, but also his throat was probably discomforting him (respiratory infection is very common during hajj) and tea was something that could give him some relief. I also felt that he was probably hungry as well. I got up and went to the nearby store and came back with a cup of hot tea, some cake, a sandwitch, and water. I was not hungry myself and so I offered all these to him. He smiled and tried to thank me in his language. He gladly accepted the tea and the cake but gave the sandwitch back to me to eat. He started to eat the cake and drink the tea. I felt glad that I brought the cake, for it appeared that he was indeed hungry. When he noticed that I was not eating, he asked me to eat the sandwitch. I tried to tell him that I was not hungry, but he insisted that I eat. Not wanting to refuse his request, I ate the sandwitch. He then offered me the cup of tea that he was drinking from so that I could share a few sips of tea from it as well. As I accepted the cup from him, my heart melted down in humility and respect for him. Sharing tea from the same cup? It is almost inconceivable in that “civilized” society where I came from. Would we not be passing germs to one another? Should we not feel uncomfortable that the tea in the cup had been moistened by the other’s mouth? I am reminded of an incident that Muhammad Asad (Leopold Weiss) talked about in his Road to Mecca. It was 1920s, and he was traveling by train in some Arab country. An Arab man was sitting across from him on the opposite row. When the train stopped and vendors swarmed the train to sell various things, he purchased a piece of cake through the window of the car. As he turned around and sat – cake in his hand – his eyes fell on Asad on the oppositie row. Immediately, he broke his cake in two and extended one of the pieces towards Asad saying, “tafaddal”. This is something that Asad, an European Jew, could not think of seeing in Europe. There, there is the “civic” barrier between individuals. To this Arab, there was no such thing. To him, it did not matter that Asad was a white European and not a Muslim. I took a few sips from the cup, and then extended it back to the old man with thanks. He took it back from me and continued drinking from it as if I was a dear son of him whose touch of mouth in the tea was something that he was wanting to have. There was still some time left for tahajjud. I got up and started to pray. I noticed that he was also praying while sitting. Since my prayer rug was spread sideways so that we could both sit on it, I was making sujud on the hard marble floor. Then, while praying, I noticed him slightly untying the ihram cloth which he used to bundle up his few belongings and spreading it to where I was making sujud. The extension was not long enough to cover my area of sujud. So, while still in prayer, I moved slightly closer towards him and was able to make sujud on his ihram cloth. I wanted to show him that I accepted the favor that he granted me. Time for fajr came and he stood up for fajr prayer. Un until now, he had been praying while sitting. He was so week that I noticed him struggling to get up after the first raka. So I released my right hand, grabbed him around under his arm, and pulled him up as I stood up myself. Fajr prayer ended and it was time for me to get back to my hotel. Before leaving, I thought of doing something but I was not sure how he would take it. But I thought of giving it a try anyway. It was apparent to me that he was a poor man (his few belongings where bundled in his ihram cloth). I was not carrying much money in my wallet – only a note of a hundred riyal and a few smaller notes. I took the note out, grabbed one of his hands, and inserted the note into his palm. He looked at the note, and then looked up at me with baffling eyes. I smiled, and grabbed him around with my arm to reassure him that this was only a gift from me and I would be happy if he took it. He murmured something in Arabic and then raised his hands in du’a. I grabbed my handbag and got up in preparation to leave. Seeming me about to leave, he tried to get up so that I could pull my prayer rug from under him. I immediately stopped him, and using gestures, told him that this prayer was his now and I was not taking it back with me. This even baffled him more and he raised his hands in du’a again. As I left him, he was still in du’a. I slowly walked away from him without looking back, with my mind full of thoughts and reflections. I wondered what had I done for which Allah (swt) blessed me with the company of such a pious old man who, in his feeble age, came many hundreds of miles away – probably by bus – to visit His house. Was it because I answered my call of conscience and left my secure place in the female-only section? I felt Allah (swt) had rewarded me by sending two angels to me in the form of two old men. I felt so good as I walked back to my hotel, with my heart and soul in joy and full conviction that Allah (swt) would answer his du’a for me and would accept my hajj as Hajj Mabroor. My inability to speak Arabic prevented me from having a useful conversation with him so I could not know where he was staying in Makkah and what was his address in Yemen. I now regret that I did not seek further help in getting those information out. If I had his address, then I could now write him a letter. Or perhaps I could have paid him a visit on my way to Makkah again someday, insha Allah. Yet one more difference between Hemingway’s Old Man and my Old Man. His Old Man came ashore with the bare skeleton of a marlin whose flesh was devoured to the bones by sharks. My Old Man went back home with his bag full of bounties from Allah (swt). May Allah (swt) accept his hajj and my hajj as Hajj Mabroor. Ameen. >> Next: Hajj Sequel 5: A Cup of Tea That Was Never Drunk |