It's two years ago this month that we were in Makkah to perform the haj. It's a journey like no other. A time for conscience and contemplation. And a late, late honeymoon. The memory lingers as the idle mind succumbs to flashbacks. Two years on, the heady scenes and sounds are still stirring the senses. Everyone came back with tales of miracle moments. I'll tell you my six:
1. Poetry Meets Poetry.
Ya Allah, jadikanlah cahaya pada hatiku,
cahaya pada lidahku,
cahaya pada telingaku,
cahaya pada mataku,
cahaya dari belakangku,
cahaya dari hadapanku,
cahaya dari atasku,
cahaya dari bawahku.
Ya Allah, kurniakanlah kepadaku cahaya.
No, it's not a puisi mistik from Latiff Mohidin. It's a beautiful doa recited (in Arabic) as we approached Masjidil Haram. My first sight of the grand mosque froze me on my tracks. How could you not be consumed by this iconic celebration of Islam. The symmetrical grey lines, monochromic mosaic walls and rhyming motifs collided and colluded to render an aura of understated majesty and grandeur. The mosque is the ultimate poetry.
2. The Lady and the Lullaby
Sai'e seems second fiddle to the depth and intensity of tawaf. It was supposed to be a short, straight walk-trot of about 400 m, back and forth, six times, in a covered and climate-controlled pathway. Routine enough until things took a poignant turn as the mind conjured up visions of the lady and her infant, stricken with untold panic and fear, flailing back and forth, wailing for water in the scorching sands. Divine trials break the realm of reason. One of the doas for the Sai'e circuits brought pangs of nostalgia. The first time I heard these obscure lines was about 50 years ago. Mother used to serenade it to lull little brother to sleep. I could almost catch her flawless pitch chorusing as I recited the doa. So overcome, I broke down.
3. Rapping at Arafah
Wukuf was truly climactic, and the midday khutbah was its cusp. The sweeping scene of millions in white ihram flecking the barren Arafah landscape took my breath away. Nothing was more humbling as chiefs and chauffeurs mustered on equal terms. No paychecks and perks here, only faith, penance and surrender. The second half of the khutbah sent me into raptures as the adzan came on. The khutbah and the adzan overlapped in an Eminemesque rap as the mind slipped into half-trance, losing myself deep in the moment.
angin panas di luar khemah
menolak kita ke pinggir ingatan
lalu membakar dosa kita
maka kita pun terpegun
dan menatap dengan diam
( From award-winning "Wukuf" by Wan A Rafar, 1983)
4. Mudzalifah and Million Lights.
It was lepak time. And why not. From Arafah to Mina after Wukuf, it's a mandatory break (Mabit) at the plains of Mudzalifah after sundown at least for one heart-beat long. Off season, Mudzalifah was a flat wasteland with no visible vegetation, no sheds, no rain, not a thing. Imagine the epic transformation from zero to three million souls converging enmasse in half-darkness for the pause. Lights flickered for miles and miles out, as far as the eyes could take. Sheer pleasure and spectacle. Thanks to Arab efficiency, one heart-beat was actually four hours.
5. The Long March: Mina to Makkah
We chose to walk back from Mina to Makkah after we're done with the devil. It's cool, temperate climate as we joined other like-minded devil-bashers and quickly melted into a motley, cosmopolitan crowd marching toward Makkah. The long flowing line of pilgrims literally linked Mina with Makkah, reprising the physical and emotional "ordeal" of the early haj travellers without the combustion engines to ferry them around. Inspired and emboldened, we hit Makkah in no time and valiantly pressed on with tawaf and saie to complete our haj. We logged almost 20 km that day. No pain, all gain, we rewarded ourselves with a hefty briyani.
6. The Sheikh Sang
It was Subuh prayer on 20 November. The imam's rendition gave me goosebumps. What a way to vocalize God's verses: with power and pace. I'd heard the bluesy Al Sudais and Al Juhany, but this guy was different. He rocked! I wished he'd just go on and on as he sweetly muscled his way, shifting the tune and lifting the tone to drive the message home. He came on again for Subuh the next day with a moving recitation of the familiar Surah Al Munafiqun. And again for Maghrib on 27 November. Back home I googled him: Sheikh Khalid Al Ghamdi, one of the younger Makkah imams. Listen to his delivery of Surah Ale Imran on 24 July 2011 on YouTube. Add him to your listless playlists.
