Among the believers

Does my Makkah-Madina affiliation irritate some of my Hindu friends?

FOR the first time in my life my Muslim identity was brought into play. This was in Makkah and Madina. It has always been my belief that Piazza St Mareo in Venice and the Naqsh-e-Jehan square in Isfahan are two of the world’s most exquisite spaces, enclosed on all sides by marvellous architecture all in such measured scale that an extra square inch here or there would have impaired the effect. But Madina was a startling discovery.

The lounge of the Madina Oberoi opens on to the grand mosque, possibly the largest in the world. The late King Hasan of Morocco built a mosque, in Casablanca on the Atlantic, symbolically a beacon of light for the West, on a scale as ambitious as the one in Madina. But the mosque of the prophet in Madina has a halo, like that of archangel Gabriel. There are 54 gates for entrances and exits. From each one of the gates one can see circular arches from one end to the other, like shimmering bracelets strung together.

The aura around the mosque derives largely from the knowledge that its expanse covers the entire area of Madina as it existed during the prophet’s lifetime. The old part of the mosque encloses the prophet’s grave, the spot where he conversed with associates and the pulpit from where he delivered sermons in the last decade of his life. And all of this in the shadow of the mountain, Ohad, where the prophet fought a historical battle.

The time of iftar, or breaking of the fast, is the magic moment casting that extra spell in Madina’s dusk. Row upon row of dastarkhwans, or narrow strips of cloth, are laid out on both sides of which sit the fasting congregation, cross-legged, waiting for the first sound of azaan, the time to break the fast.

For the first timer, the warmth of the experience is memorable. People will hold you by the hand and drag you towards their dastarkhwans— Nigerians, Moroccans and, yes, Afghans. In a row opposite me a head of state sat with a commoner. The two didn’t recognise each other. Iqbal’s famous line came to me: Ek hi saf mein kharey ho/gaye Mehmud-o-Ayaz (the emperor, Mehmud, and his slave, Ayaz, stood shoulder to shoulder for namaz. In prayer, they were equal in the eyes of God.) Just imagine, 1.5 million from a 100 nations breaking their fast and praying under one roof, sometimes spilling over onto the spaces outside. The management of such a large number, particularly during Ramadan and Haj, is a remarkable feat.

Makkah is a drive of 400 km from Madina through rocky desert, a path traversed several times by the prophet. The bustle of Makkah is in sharp contrast to the crowed calm of Madina. The imposing mosque which encloses the haramsharif, the Kaaba, built by prophet Abraham is hemmed in on all sides by palatial structures, most of them belonging to the Saudi royals.

The mosque surrounding the Kaaba is on three levels, air-conditioned and linked by elevators and escalators. The sight of Kaaba, the large rectangular structure, covered in black muslin lined with brocade was mesmerising. Pilgrims embarked on the Umrah (walking around the Kaaba seven times) saying in unison, ‘‘Labbaek’’, or I come to thee, O God, imparting to the Kaaba a sort of continuous mobility. By all accounts, there has never been a moment in the last hundreds of years when at least five thousands pilgrims have not been circling around the spectacular black monument in an unbroken chain.
For the Umrah, men have to clothe themselves in two unstitched pieces of white cloth. One covers the lower part of the body like a lungi. The other piece covers the top in such a way that the right shoulder remains exposed. As is common to several Hindu pilgrimages, the shaving of the head is recommended at the end of Umrah.

The history of the Kaaba, the several times it was demolished and rebuilt, inspired Mir Taqi Mir to write something which is relevant even to the Ram Janambhoomi issue: Mat ranja kar kasoo ko/ki apne to etekaad/Dil dhaye ke jo kaaba/Banaya to kya hua? (what is the point of building the Kaaba if in the process you have to break so many hearts?).

My first visit to Makkah and Madina brought home to me their unsurpassable beauty, but it also made me aware of the responsibility the Saudi regime shoulders in managing the world’s largest system of pilgrimage in an age and region of terrorism.
All of us have multiple identities: I am an Indian Avadhi, Muslim, reared in the composite culture of Urdu and westward looking to the extent that my formal education was in English. From these multiple identities, Islam was plucked as the sole factor identifying me with the millions in Makkah and Madina. It was an invigorating feeling. I would be lying if I denied that I wish some of my non-Muslim friends could share this experience.

Does my Makkah-Madina affiliation irritate some of my Hindu friends? Or do they abide by my dictum: my religion but our culture and civilisation.

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