The Journey of Umrah

I repent to You, O Most Merciful, for what I have done, for sins have accumulated.

Zaid and I boarded the Saudi aircraft in Mumbai at two-thirty in the early morning of the twenty-fifth of Shawwal, in the year one thousand four hundred and forty-seven after Hijra. The night had cast its veil over the city, and people surrendered to the tranquility of the pre-dawn hours. Yet, within my heart was an awakening that knew no sleep, for we were heading to the land to which souls yearn as birds yearn for their nests, to the House that Allah has made a place of return and safety for mankind.

Moments after the plane took off, sleep overcame us, as if divine compassion intended to spare us the fatigue of the journey. We awoke only to the gentle voice of a crew member announcing that the plane was about to land in Jeddah just before five in the morning. I opened my eyes to find the dawn spreading its first threads across the sky, and my soul filled with a strange feeling, not merely joy nor solely awe, but a blend of ancient longing, newfound reverence, and an inexplicable yearning.

Upon setting foot on the ground at Jeddah Airport, I witnessed an ease and swiftness in the procedures that I had not experienced at any other airport. It seemed as if the very earth was hastening us towards Mecca, eager to embrace us in its blessed sanctuary.

We performed ablution and donned the Ihram garments, those simple clothes that strip a person of worldly adornments, returning him to his original state: a humble servant before his Lord, possessing nothing but supplication and hope. We prayed Fajr in congregation and then made the intention for Umrah, responding to the call of the Lord of all worlds. It felt as if my heart too had donned its Ihram, purifying itself from burdens I was unaware of until they were lifted.

We hired a car to take us to Mecca, and as the road unfolded before us, my soul stirred with a peculiar agitation; for not every journey resembles this journey, nor does every arrival compare to arriving in Mecca. When we reached the Hilton Hotel on Jabal Omar, around seven-thirty, we found it nearly empty, in a tranquility befitting a city that awakens for worship more than for noise. We performed ablution again and headed towards the Sacred Mosque.

I cannot recall a moment in my life more profound than when my eyes first beheld the Kaaba on this journey. All speech ceased, and language lost its power to express. I saw the ancient House standing in majestic grandeur, as if it were not a structure of stone, but the beating heart of the world, with all souls revolving around it as celestial bodies revolve around their suns. I prayed to Allah to make me among the righteous, O heart, a stranger among ribs, rejoice, for you have called upon the All-Hearing, the Responsive.

We began the Tawaf at eight fifteen, and the circumambulation area was filled only with men and women walking briskly, so much so that we completed the seven circuits in a quarter of an hour. We could have finished sooner, but I slowed my pace at times, not out of fatigue, but because my soul resisted the swift passing of this bliss. Renovations were underway at the Kaaba, yet its majesty was undiminished in sight and heart.

During the Tawaf, Zaid asked me what I found most admirable in Mecca. I replied, barely hearing my own voice from the intensity of emotion: “Nothing on earth equals the Tawaf around this House for me. My Lord seems to appear before me. Woe to those who try to prove what is already evident, and who neglect the One upon whom all creation depends. How ignorant is the son of Adam! Obsessed with proving what is already manifest and attempting to prove the impossible.”

Here, I feel that a person returns to their primal nature, emerging from the confines of the self into the vastness of eternity. Each time I perform Tawaf, I am reminded of Ibrahim (peace be upon him), marveling at the great intellect granted wisdom and the greatest heart that submitted to the Lord of the worlds, leaving us this legacy to which the entire world continues to return.

We prayed two rak’ahs at the Station of Ibrahim, raised our hands in supplication, and asked Allah for the best of this world and the Hereafter, as much as I could ask. Among my prayers was to be granted the return to this House time and again, and not to make this visit my last.

Then we performed Sa’i between Safa and Marwah, which was another discourse of faith within my soul; I pondered deeply. Upon completing the Sa’i and shaving our heads, I felt an indescribable sensation: as if a weight had been lifted from the spirit, as if I had been reborn. The Umrah was not merely a ritual performed, but a rebirth of the heart, a secret cleansing of the soul from the dust of days.

I returned to the hotel around ten in the morning, filled with tranquility and contentment, finding nothing within myself but gratitude to Allah. I praised Him as one who has seen a blessing beyond price, and thanked Him as one who knows he was invited to the House of Allah as a grace, not by merit, and as a mercy beyond his own means. I said to myself: “O Lord, as You have made it easy for me to reach Your House and complete my Umrah, do not deprive me of this grace as long as I have breath, and keep my heart attached to this House as long as the heavens and the earth endure.”

Poetic Reflections on Love and Longing

The heart can no longer be soothed by false hopes;
The deceptions endured throughout life can no longer be endured.
In your intoxicating eyes, upon your rose-colored lips,
Lie countless songs that cannot be sung.
Without them, it often feels as though
We are nowhere to be found in either world.
We have sat in the shade of joy, endured the sun of sorrows,
Yet the shadows of your thoughts cannot be cast away.
Our hue and the flowers’ are akin in their wildness,
Wrinkles in the fabric of our lives cannot be smoothed away.
In the pursuit of peace, in the longing for contentment,
Our steps have wandered so far they cannot be restrained.
O cupbearer of the gathering, preserve the honor of our thirst,
In this full assembly, we cannot extend our hands in supplication.
Come, O writer, to this gathering, like the moths,
They approach the presence of the candle unbidden.