Mina

Labbaik:The story of my Hajj (Part 10)

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Mohsin Aziz

The journey from Arafat to Muzdalifa, though brief, was brimming with anticipation and spiritual weight. Muzdalifah is a vast, open plain situated between the sacred lands of Arafat and Mina, It holds deep significance in the sacred rites of Hajj. Its name, derived from the Arabic root meaning nearness, symbolizes the pilgrim’s closeness to the Divine after the pivotal day at Arafat.

Located to the southeast of Mina, Muzdalifah is more than just a resting place. It is a sacred pause. Here, pilgrims spend a night under the stars where hearts are stilled and prayers whispered into the open sky. It is also known as Al-Mash’ar al-Haram, or The Sacred Grove. It is also referred to as Al-Jam’, meaning “the gathering”. It is here that pilgrims from every corner of the world gather to rest together to get energy for the rest of the rites.

From the tranquil plains of Muzdalifah, pilgrims gather small, smooth, pea-sized pebbles—seemingly insignificant stones that will soon become symbols of resistance against evil. These pebbles are carried forward to Jamarat, where for three consecutive days, pilgrims perform Rami al-Jamarat—the ritual stoning of Satan, reenacting the unwavering faith of Prophet Ibrahim (peace be upon him).

In the quiet of Muzdalifah, beneath the canopy of stars and amidst the murmurs of prayer, the soul finds a moment of reflection, unity, and nearness to the Creator. Here, in the vast and silent expanse of Muzdalifah, beneath the open sky, pilgrims spend the night of the 9th of Dhul Hijjah in an atmosphere unlike any other. There are no tents to shield them, no fans to ease the heat, no air-conditioned comfort. Only sand beneath and the heavens above. It is a night of simplicity, humility, and reflection.

Up to this point, the uniformity of Ihram—two plain, unstitched white garments worn by every male pilgrim—had visually erased many distinctions. Yet, differences in worldly comfort still lingered on. Pilgrims arrived through a variety of arrangements. Some came on modest packages, staying in basic hotels, where even meals might not be guaranteed. Others, through premium packages, enjoyed the luxury of five-star accommodations near the Haram, complete with full board, air-conditioned transport, laundry services, and other conveniences.

Muzdalifah is the true culmination of equality for the pilgrim. Here, all distinctions dissolve completely. Here, status, wealth, and privilege lose their meaning. Everyone, regardless of background, sleeps on the same open ground beneath the vast night sky. There are no tents, no private enclosures. Only the most basic of facilities such as public toilets and washrooms are provided. Each pilgrim must find a small patch of earth, lay down a mat, and settle in for the night, shoulder to shoulder with millions of strangers.


In Muzdalifah, all return to the essence of Hajj—equal before God, stripped of excess, and united in submission. In the stillness of the night, beneath the stars, the pilgrim is reminded that true honour lies not in comfort or wealth but in faith, humility, and the sincerity of one’s heart. Pilgrims lie on the ground, and often dust tarnishes their white Ihram. It is a powerful reminder that one day, we all will go beneath the ground in our graves with only a few pieces of unstiched white clothes.

‘Everyone shall taste death. And only on the day of resurrection shall you be paid your wages in full. And whoever is removed away from the fire and admitted to Paradise, he indeed in successful.  The life of this world is only the enjoyment of deception (a deceiving thing)’  (Al Quran, Surah Al Imran:185)

It is a reminder that whatever our position in life in terms of fame and economic status, we must not act haughty. Finally, we have to leave this world without all that we have so proudly achieved, made, and collected. Only provisions that will travel with us and accompany and benefit us in the next life are our good deeds that we send now. Muzdalifah  reminds us of the ultimate truth, that everything faces except our relationship with Allah. It also puts our ego to dust and reminds us that in the end, everything will be dust.

By the time our bus reached the sacred ground, much of the space had already been taken. Pilgrims were everywhere—resting, praying, and searching for a patch of earth to call their own for the night.

Despite the simplicity, Muzdalifah is brightly lit, its floodlights cutting through the darkness like a reminder of the modern world intruding upon this timeless ritual. For someone like me, that light brings a particular struggle—sleep doesn’t come easily when the sky never truly darkens. But perhaps that, too, is part of the test: learning to rest the body while the soul remains awake to the deeper meaning of the journey.

A constant buzz filled the air over Muzdalifah. The rhythmic whir of helicopters and the soft, persistent hum of drones circling above cut through the stillness of the night. They hovered like silent sentinels, part of the Saudi government’s efforts to monitor and manage the immense crowd spread across the sacred plain.


In recent years, the authorities have taken steps to ease the pilgrim’s burden by laying down wide stretches of soft, carpeted flooring. But by the time we arrived, every inch of that comfortable area had been occupied. I managed to find a small spot near our bus, while members of our group quickly unrolled their plastic mats in a nearby open area.

My wife spotted an empty space about 25 yards away, nestled beneath two trees. Though it was nighttime and the shade didn’t matter in the traditional sense, we soon realized the trees offered unexpected advantages. First, their branches helped soften the glare of the powerful overhead lighting, creating a dimmer, more restful space. Second, the tree trunks—along with a nearby shrub—provided a modest sense of enclosure, a bit of privacy amidst the vast sea of pilgrims. Here, we not only found a secluded place but a touch of solace.

We opened our backpack, and like a magicians hat, things started rolling out. I had brought one cotton bedsheet, which I put on the mat. Our mat was on sand and was speckled with tiny pebbles. With a slightly thick bedsheet, the mat became a bit more cushy. It softened the ground beneath, offering just enough comfort for bodies to ease on it. We had also brought two light cotton blankets. We had a very small self inflatable pillow for my wife while I preferred my backpack as a pillow. By the time we were ready with our preparations, I could hear multiple azaans echoing beautifully. Their melodies weaving a serene tapestry of devotion across the ground.

It was time to pray maghrib and isha. It is Sunnah of the Prophet to pray maghrib and isha combined together, one after another. They are prayed at the time of isha. This is called Jama Takhir, i.e., combining late as they are combined at isha time and not at maghrib time. Thousands of small prayer congregations could be seen. It’s not practical to have one communal prayer, though there is a mosque at Muzdalifa.

The mosque at Muzdalifa is called Masjid Mashar al Haram. It is between Masjid Al Namirah at Arafat and Masjid Khaif at Mina. It can house about 12000 worshipers. There were just under 2 million people at Muzdalifa. There is no option for the rest to pray in their own groups. At isha time in Muzdalifa, there are thousands of Jamaat’s go on simultaneously. It’s a sight to behold. Every group does its own azaan and prayer. Our group was led by Asif bhai. He was our imaam (prayer leader) for both maghrib and isha. The first 3 rakaat of maghrib was prayed. It was followed by a shortened isha of 2 rakaat following the tradition of the Prophet.

After finishing prayers, I sat with my group, and we chatted a bit. At around 9, I came back to my place and started collecting pebbles. Jamal bhai had already gifted every group member small cloth pouches for keeping pebbles. Pebbles have to be collected for all three days of stoning. Each person needs 49 pebbles. 7 for the first day and 21 each for the next two days. I had to collect 98 pebbles for myself and my wife. I saw people collecting more than required in case somebody else requires pebbles. It would not be possible to go back and collect again. Pebbles can not be taken from anywhere. They have to be from the ground of Muzdalifah only. I took at least 25 pebbles extra.

After the pebbles were collected, we ate a very light meal for dinner. After Isha prayers, food packets were distributed by the Saudi government along with a small gift bag. The gift bag was prepared very thoughtfully. It had a water bottle, an umbrella, a sling bag, and a small plastic hand fan. I took only one gift bag and one food packet for both of us. The food packet had a water bottle, a bottle of juice, a croissant, and a chocolate cake. We took only the water bottle and cake from it. We divided the cake into two and both of us took half cake each. We had brought a small packet of dry nuts. We ate the nuts. From the gift bag, we kept the umbrella, hand fan, and sling bag. We left the water thermose there itself. In the morning, we had to go directly to Jamarat. We were not in a position to carry any extra weight.

After taking our light dinner, we did our azkar. We were now ready to sleep. It was going to be a unique experience for us – sleeping with the most diverse group of almost 2 million people gathered at one place from each and every nook and corner of the world. It is the Rahma of Allah Subhanahu Tala that between the busy day of Arafat and the tough day of first Jamarah, the night of Muzdalifah is not kept for prayers. It’s for taking rest and sleeping. This is the Sunnah of the Prophet. Here at Muzdalifa, the reward is not in Qiyamul Layl or recitation of the Quran  or lots of azkar. Rather, the reward has been kept in sleep and rest. Subhan Allah.

In the small space we had carved out for ourselves, we lay down to catch a few hours of rest, for tomorrow promised to be long and demanding. Earlier that day, we had endured what was perhaps the hottest day of Hajj. At Arafat, not far from Muzdalifah, we had taken refuge inside our air-conditioned tent, shielded from the sun’s unrelenting blaze. And now, just a few hours later, we found ourselves lying under the open sky, our mat spread over coarse sand.

One side of our mat was two trees and a bush that gave us covering. On one side was a very large group of Egyptian pilgrims. On the other side were two pilgrims from our group. One Pakistani and a Bangladeshi. The Bangladeshi uncle was old. He had a very gentle demeanour, always a gentle smile on his face.  The Pakistani person was a lecturer in some university in Oman. He had taken the responsibility of the Bangladeshi uncle. He never allowed him to do anything. He would always be running around and bringing food, water, or whatever required by the uncle. That is the spirit of Hajj. Taken care of each other. Helping each other.

Yet, to our surprise, the night air in Muzdalifah was merciful. The heat had receded. A delicate breeze stirred the leaves above us, rustling the branches with a soft, soothing rhythm. Each time the leaves parted, the moon revealed itself in all its brilliance, shining in a sky so clear it felt like a window to the divine. In that moment, it was easy to believe that Malaika (angles) had descended quietly from the heavens, and it was the fluttering of their wings that sent this blessed breeze drifting through the night.

Two small blessings made our stay at Muzdalifah noticeably more comfortable. The first was a pair of neck fans. It was indeed a thoughtful gift from my dear friend and colleague, Umar Ali Khan. Second was a power bank that my wife insisted on bringing. It was a small but powerful power bank. We both slipped on our neck fans, which we had fully charged earlier at our hotel in Makkah. Their quiet hum brought instant relief, gently circulating the cool night air around our faces.

To our pleasant surprise, the fans’ battery life endured far longer than expected. When mine eventually began to slow, I simply connected it to the power bank and drifted back into sleep. Altogether, we managed to rest for a full two and a half hours. It was a deep, undisturbed sleep. It was, contrary to all our earlier apprehensions, the most restful sleep we’d had in days—a gift of serenity cradled under the open sky.

I woke up in the morning to the sound of people chatting with each other. I realised that fajr time is near. I immediately went to the washroom and made wudu (ablution for prayer). Soon, Fajr Azaan was given, and prayer was held. Asif bhai was our imaam. After fajr prayers, UstadhWaseem (one of the muallims in the grouo) gave a small bayan and also explained about the plan for the day.  Now we had to go to Jamarat for the first stoning of Satan. I had taken a lot of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) packets with me from Muscat. Before going to Jamarat, my last activity at Muzdalifa was to drink water with ORS mixed in it. We packed our bagpack and left our place at 6 a.m. and went to the bus, which was just in front of us. Our bus left  Muzdalifa at 6.20 a.m. for Jamarat. On our journey towards Jamarat, Asif bhai led us to say talbiyah loudly. The atmosphere of the whole bus was laddem with reverence and submission, filled with the sound of talbiyah.

Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik

Labbaik La Sharika Laka Labbaik

Innal Hamda Wan Nemata Laka Wal Mulk

La Sharika Lak

(To be continued in Part 11).

References:

Al Quran. Interpretations of the meaning of THE NOBLE QURAN in the English language. Muhsin Khan. Darussalam Publications, 2011.

Labbaik: The story of my Hajj (Part 9)

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Mohsin Aziz

The following morning, on the 5th of June, just after Fajr, a bayan was held in the tent on the virtue of sabr—patience. As the beds were retracted, the space transformed into a modest yet serene gathering area. Pilgrims sat cross-legged on the floor, the air filled with quiet reverence.

After the bayan, I joined a few fellow pilgrims in bringing tea to share. People were scattered in small, peaceful clusters—some engaged in heartfelt conversations, others immersed in the recitation of the Qur’an. A few were quietly engaged in their morning azkār, their fingers rhythmically moving along the beads of their tasbih.

I, too, sipped my tea, savoring both its warmth and the calm of the morning. It had become my daily habit during the Hajj to jot down a simple to-do list for the day. It was a small act—barely five minutes of planning—but it brought a sense of clarity and purpose to the hours ahead. As each task was completed, I would strike it off the list, a quiet satisfaction settling within me.

Once my tea was done, I reached for my pocket Qur’an and began to recite, letting its timeless words wash over me in the stillness of the sacred morning.

At around 5 a.m., Asif Bhai arrived and, in his usual calm and composed manner, announced that everyone should be ready by 5:30 a.m.—we would be heading back to the hotel. The bus, he said, was scheduled to depart at 6:00 a.m.

I immediately called my wife to inform her. Like me, she was puzzled. Weren’t we supposed to remain in Mina for at least three days? we wondered aloud. It seemed there were differing opinions among the various schools of thought regarding the duration of stay in Mina. But as we would soon come to realize, this decision wasn’t necessarily rooted in fiqh—at least not in our understanding of it. It was a logistical or organizational call, and we simply had to follow suit.

In fact, after the dinner fiasco yesterday, our team leader Jamal bhai decided that we would go to the hotel and take breakfast in the hotel and stay there till maghrib. The group will do early dinner and come back to the Mina Camp after maghrib. Isha will be done at the camp, and the night will be spent at the camp. This way the problem of food will be solved and the obligation of spending night at the Mina would also be fulfilled.

We reached the hotel at 6.30 a.m. Our room was as it is except that it was cleaned by the hotel staff, and bedsheets were changed. Supplies in the washroom had been replenished. I immediately went for breakfast. Unlike Madina Hotel, the good thing about Makkah Hotel was separate dining areas for men and women. The name of the restaurant was Tasneen (tasneem is the name of a spring in the Paradise). In the ladies’ section, there was no entry for men. It was good. Ladies could take their food in a relaxed atmosphere. However, in the men section, it was allowed for families to sit and partake food together. It was not very ideal but practical. There were a few ladies, some elderly who were on wheelchairs. They had come with their sons or husband’s. If they had to go to the ladies’ restaurant, who would take care of them? They came with their mensfolks to the male section.

Breakfast at the hotel was a lavish affair. A grand spread of dishes adorned the tables. It was a rich array of breads, fresh salads, cut fruits, and an assortment of delectable sweets. Yet, for me, simplicity was the key. I helped myself to a modest combination of a single slice of bread, a fluffy omelette, a few pieces of watermelon and pineapple, and a warm cup of karak tea. This became my morning ritual for the entirety of my stay in Makkah.

Among the many offerings, the live omelette station was the highlight. Every morning, I would eagerly join the queue to watch the magic unfold. The chef behind the station was a man of Saudi-Rohingya descent, his skilled hands swiftly crafting the perfect omelette.

The presence of the Rohingya in Makkah is quite significant—thousands of them now call the city home. Some are citizens, others hold legal residency permits, while many remain without official status. Their journey to Saudi Arabia began during the reign of the late King Faisal, a time when they first sought refuge here, fleeing the turmoil of their homeland(Ahmad, Syed Neaz, 2009). When I did my Umrah in 2015, that time also our Porter at the hotel was rohingya. He was a Saudi citizen. In Makkah, their presence has woven itself into the rich fabric of the city’s culture, and each morning, as I waited for my omelette, I couldn’t help but think about the long history of resilience that these people carry with them.

Arafat: The Soul of Hajj

Today was the blessed Day of Arafat — the very heart of Hajj, the day when pilgrims stand before their Lord in humble submission, their hearts full of longing and their hands raised in earnest du‘ā’.

Our day began early. We left our hotel at 9:00 a.m. and arrived at our Mina camp by 9:30. According to the schedule shared by our group leader, we were to be ready by 10:30 a.m. to depart for Arafat. Though we left a little behind schedule, by the mercy of Allah, we reached Arafat by 11:15 a.m.

Our assigned tents were well-organized and spacious. The men’s tent, number 41, was quite large and accommodating, while the women’s tent, number 62, was conveniently close by. Despite the intense heat of the day, the interiors of the tents were remarkably cool — outfitted with multiple air conditioners and blowers. In fact, it was so cool that I even turned off one of the units for comfort.

There wasn’t much scheduled activity before the prayer, as Zuhr was to be delayed and combined with Asr, following the Sunnah of the Prophet ﷺ. Around 12:15 p.m., the powerful and poignant Khutbah of Arafat was delivered from Masjid Al-Namirah. Though we were not physically present at the masjid, we experienced the moment through a live broadcast on our mobile phones from within our tents. It was a reminder of how technology can serve a sacred purpose.

Following that, a special Khutbah for Omani pilgrims was also relayed through the audio system in our tents, resonating through the quiet calm of Arafat as we listened attentively.

As we waited for the time of prayer and du‘ā’, the atmosphere carried a sense of serene anticipation — a stillness before the spiritual downpour. The Day of Arafat is not about external activity but deep, internal reflection. It is a time for shedding burdens, for baring the soul, for turning to Allah with every hope, every fear, and every secret desire.
Among all the sacred days that adorn the Islamic calendar, the Day of Arafat stands as the pinnacle of divine mercy, the very soul of Hajj. It is not merely a moment in the pilgrimaget. Is the pilgrimage. As the noble Hadith declares: “Arafat is Hajj.” Without it, the Hajj is void, incomplete. While there may be expiations for shortcomings in other rites, for missing Arafat, there is none — such is its gravity and grace.

On this sacred day, the pilgrim’s soul finds itself standing at the threshold of the Divine, in the vast plain of Arafat, under the open sky — where countless prophets once stood, where the Mercy of Allah descends more abundantly than on any other day.

At Arafat, the rituals reflect the solemnity of the hour: the Zuhr and Asr prayers are combined and shortened, performed with humility and reverence. Then begins a sacred stretch of time — from Asr until Maghrib — a time not for idle talk or worldly distraction, but a time wholly dedicated to du‘ā’.

Here, hands are raised, hearts are softened, and eyes overflow with tears as pilgrims pour out their souls to their Lord whispering hopes, seeking forgiveness, asking for guidance, pleading for mercy, and yearning for the ultimate gift: a beautiful ending (ḥusn al-khātimah) a death upon faith.

On this day, one begs for freedom from the blazing fire, for the Book of Deeds to be placed in the right hand, for ease and safety on the Day of Judgment, and for nearness to the Most Merciful in the gardens of eternity.

It is the day when angels descend in thousands, when sins are washed away like dust in the wind, and when the veil between servant and Master feels thinner than ever. There is no gathering on earth more beloved to Allah than the gathering at Arafat. It is the day on which Allah boasts in front of Angels, showing them his servants standing and seeking forgiveness in millions.

Due to high temperatures, Saudi authorities had called on the pilgrims to stay inside tents from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. (Oman Observer,  2025, June 5). I tried standing outside at around 3.30 p.m. outside the tent in open but could not manage more than 5 minutes. It was excruciatingly hot. I came back to the comfort of the tent.

Inside the tent at Arafat, every possible comfort had been thoughtfully arranged. It was a testament to the hospitality and care extended by the Government of Oman. Despite being in the heart of a desert plain, the atmosphere inside was nothing short of remarkable.

Rows of refrigerators stood well-stocked with chilled water bottles and an assortment of refreshing fruit juices — mango, orange, mixed berry, and more — each a welcome relief from the heat outside. Fresh fruits, including apples, oranges, and plums, were provided in generous supply, offering both nourishment and energy for the long day ahead.

Two massive deep freezers drew quite a bit of attention — filled with a delightful variety of ice creams, enough to bring a smile even in the solemnity of Arafat. I treated myself to one, savoring the cool sweetness in the calm of the tent.

But what truly caught my interest was something that felt like a small luxury in the middle of a spiritual journey, piping hot karak tea. Rich, fragrant, and perfectly spiced, it was a familiar comfort, and I gratefully sipped a cup right after the ice cream to protect my throat. There was no harm in being extra cautious. After all, common cold, sore throat, and fever often find their way into the ranks of pilgrims during Hajj, when bodies are tired and immunity stretched.

The care and detail in these arrangements didn’t go unnoticed. They were more than just physical comforts — they reflected a spirit of generosity, a reminder that ease can be a part of devotion, and that serving those on the path of worship is itself a noble act.

Arafat day is a busy day. Three points are to be touched on the same day. Morning, you are in Mina. Before Zuhr, you have to reach Arafat. Maghrib has to be prayed at Muzdalifa. It is physically and spiritually straining. As per the schedule shared with us, we were asked to be ready by 5.45 p.m. so that the buses could start by 6.15 p.m. towards Muzdalifa.

Jabal al-Raḥmah (The Mount of Mercy)

An important place of interest for the pilgrims, besides the Masjid Al Namirah, is the Jabal Al Rahma (the mountain of Mercy).
Standing silently in the heart of the plain of Arafat is a small, rocky hill that is witness to history. Many people from my tent were going to Jabal Al Rahma, but due to intense heat, I decided not to go. It was visible from outside our tent. At around 4 p.m., a group from my tent decided to go. I was also invited, but I politely excused myself. In hindsight, It proved to be a correct decision. Nobody could actually reach there. The gate near our tent, which provided access to Jabal Al Rahma, was closed by the authorities as a precautionary measure due to heavy rush at the mount. When the authorities saw a very heavy rush near the Jabal, they decided to stop others from reaching there, thus potentially averting  any possible mishap.

It was on this hill that the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ delivered his final sermon during his Farewell Pilgrimage — a sermon that echoed the timeless values of justice, equality, and the sanctity of life. Here, countless hearts have turned to Allah in repentance, and countless prayers have ascended to the heavens.

Though not a requirement of Hajj, many pilgrims yearn to climb this hill — not for its height or challenge, but for what it represents. It is a symbol of divine compassion and human humility. It is the place where Adam (‘alayhis-salām) and Ḥawwā’ were reunited on earth after their descent from Paradise and where their repentance was accepted by Allah. Ever since, it has been a place where forgiveness rains down upon those who seek it with sincerity.

From a distance, Jabal al-Raḥmah may appear as nothing more than a rugged elevation of stone. But to the believing heart, it is a sanctuary of hope — where sins are shed like worn garments, and the soul feels closer to its Creator than ever before.

To stand at its base, or even to gaze upon it from afar, is to be reminded of the endless mercy of Allah — the One who forgives again and again, no matter how many times we return.

It was standing on this Mount the Prophet declared that the Deen has been completed, a sign for sahaba that the Prophet’s mission is complete and it is time for the Rahmatul lillalmin to meet Ar Rahman and Ar Rahim. It was a powerful sermon, a charter of equality and human rights that the world had not heard before. This Farewell Sermon was delivered by the prophet on the Day of Arafat on 9 Dhul Hijjah, 10 Hijri. The Prophet said:

‘O People, lend me an attentive ear, for I know not whether I shall ever be amongst you again after this year. Therefore, listen carefully to what I am saying and take these words to those who could not be present here today.

O People, just as you regard this month, this day, and this city as sacred, so regard the life and property of every Muslim as a sacred trust. Return the goods entrusted to you to their rightful owners. Hurt no one so that no one may hurt you. Remember that you will indeed meet your Lord, and He will indeed reckon your deeds.

Allah has forbidden you to take interest; therefore, all interest obligations shall henceforth be waived. Your capital, however, is yours to keep. You will neither inflict nor suffer any injustice. Allah has decreed that there shall be no interest, and all interest due to ‘Abbas ibn ‘Abd al-Muttalib is waived.

All blood feuds from the days of ignorance are abolished, and the first claim I abolish is that of Rabi’ah ibn al-Harith.

O People, beware of Satan for the safety of your religion. He has lost all hope that he will ever be able to lead you astray in major things, so beware of following him in minor matters.

O People, you have certain rights over your women, and your women have rights over you. They are your partners and committed helpers. Treat them well and be kind to them, for they are your companions and trusted aides. You have taken them only as a trust from Allah and with His permission.

O People, listen to me in earnest: Worship Allah, perform your five daily prayers, fast during the month of Ramadan, give Zakah from your wealth, and perform the pilgrimage to the House if you are able.

All mankind is from Adam and Eve. An Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab, nor does a non-Arab have any superiority over an Arab. A white person has no superiority over a black person, nor does a black person have superiority over a white — except through piety and righteous action.

Learn that every Muslim is a brother to every other Muslim, and that the Muslims form one brotherhood. Nothing shall be legitimate to a Muslim which belongs to another Muslim unless it is given freely and willingly. Do not, therefore, do injustice to yourselves.

Remember, one day you will appear before Allah and answer for your deeds. So beware, do not stray from the path of righteousness after I am gone.

O People, no prophet will come after me, and no new faith will be born. Reason well, therefore, and understand the words which I convey to you. I leave behind me two things: the Qur’an and my Sunnah. If you follow them, you will never go astray.

All those who listen to me shall pass on my words to others, and those to others again. And may the last ones understand my words better than those who heard them directly.

O Allah, be my witness. O Allah, be my witness. O Allah, be my witness.‘

To this day, when pilgrims gather in the plains of Arafat, they are reminded of the message of the Prophet. They reflect upon it not merely as philosophical and historical narration but as a covenant between them and the Seal of the Prophet’s.

We had to start at 6.15 p.m. but there was a delay. Many of the pilgrims who went to Jabal Al Rahma were either stuck their due to heavy rush or got confused on the way back. Eventually, we managed to leave Arafat at 7.15 p.m. and reach Muzdalifa only just before 8 p.m. A new adventure awaited us.

(To be continued in Part 10)

References:

Ahmad, Syed Neaz (2009) Burma’s exiled Muslims. The Guardian, 12 October. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2009/oct/12/burma-muslims-rohingya-saudi-prisons?utm_source=chatgpt.com.

Oman Observer (2025, June 5) Hajj: Pilgrims pray at MountbArafat in Hajj apex. Available at: https://www.omanobserver.om/article/1171580/world/region/hajj-pilgrims-pray-at-mount-arafat-in-hajj-apex

Labbaik: The story of my Hajj (Part 8)

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Mohsin Aziz

On the night of June 3rd, we received a message that the following day, we would be moving to Mina. The moment we had long prepared for was finally approaching . Our Hajj was about to begin. The actual rites of Hajj span just five days, from the 4th to the 8th of June, yet they carry the weight of a lifetime’s journey. I had to don Ihraam once again.


The following day, we departed from our hotel and journeyed to Mina. It is a vast uninhabited plain, just a few kilometres from Masjid al-Haram. It is popularly known as the “City of Tents,” Mina transforms into a sprawling encampment each year, its barren ground giving way to thousands of white tents that stretch as far as the eye can see. For the sake of order and efficiency, the area is carefully divided into zones based on nationality. Pilgrims from each country are allocated specific sections, their tents neatly pitched within designated boundaries, creating a mosaic of cultures unified by faith.

According to the programme shared by our group head, lunch was scheduled earlier than usual—12:45 p.m. instead of the routine 1:30. The plan was clear: eat early, leave by 1 p.m., and reach Mina by 2, just in time to offer Zuhr prayer amidst its sacred plains.

But this is Hajj, and in Hajj, the unexpected is almost a part of the ritual. With so many hearts beating together in one group, someone is bound to face a delay. A misplaced item, an illness, a forgotten step, and when one slows, all must wait.

The test, then, is not of time but of temperament. Not to grumble. Not to let impatience bubble to the surface. It’s all about trust and surrender and going with the flow without applying too much mind.

My wife and I were ready by 1 p.m., as planned. I had taken a shower with the deliberate calm of preparation and scented myself with perfume: one final act before donning the simplicity of Ihraam. Two unstitched pieces of white cloth, yet so heavy with meaning. The world had narrowed now: no distractions, no ornaments, no identities. Just a pilgrim among pilgrims.

Anticipation stirred within me, laced with quiet apprehension. A prayer circled in my chest: May I do nothing wrong. May I carry this responsibility well. But behind the nerves was a rising tide of joy. This was it. The journey of lifetimes. The invitation was answered. The moment had arrived. I had waited and prepared for this moment for five years.

Due to a delay, we could only reach Mina by 3:30 p.m. The bus took us very close to the Oman camp, but we still had to walk the remaining distance — hardly 500 metres. By then, most people had already arrived.

As we walked, we passed by the tents of several countries, including the Indian ones. Tents were everywhere. It was a vast sea of white fabric. People filled every possible space. Some were sitting, others standing. Some prayed with their beads, some chatted, some were on the phone, calling loved ones back home. A few frantically searched for their companions, while others sat in calm reflection. Some looked worried; others looked at peace.

I could hear a chorus of languages all around me. It was a symphony of cultures and backgrounds blending together. It felt like a united nation of spirituality. But everyone was dressed the same. Two simple pieces of unstitched white cloth. No brand names. No designer labels. No markers of wealth or status. Just seamless simplicity. Here, in this sacred valley, everyone stood equal. There was no rich, no poor. No masters, no servants. No hierarchy of status, only the humility of the soul.



“Ek hi saf mein khade ho gaye Mahmood o Ayaz

(Mahmoodand Ayaz stood in one row)

Na koi banda raha, na banda nawaz

(No one remained a master, and no one slave)

(Allama Sir Mohammad Iqbal)

Kings and beggars, scholars and labourers — all stood shoulder to shoulder, bound not by class, but by faith. The illusion of the world melted into the truth of our shared humanity. Languages differed. Faces came from every corner of the earth. But the prayer was one. The purpose was one. The dress was one. And in that oneness, there was peace — a rare, humbling peace that only true equality can bring.

At exactly 3:45, we arrived at the Oman tent, our hearts filled with anticipation and relief. At the entrance, we presented our Oman Hajj Cards, small yet necessary tokens that granted us passage into this sacred space. Just beyond the threshold lay a large, open tent, alive with the gentle hum of activity. Here, refreshments were laid out generously—tea, water, and a variety of juices awaited the weary pilgrims.

The aroma of karak tea lingered heavily in the air, rich and inviting, impossible to resist. I gave in to its warmth, grasping a cup with gratitude, its steam curling into the still air as I moved forward.

The camp was thoughtfully arranged, with separate tents for men and women. For the men, the tents were divided according to Muallim, maintaining a sense of order and familiarity. The women’s section was mixed, given their smaller number, but no less organized or welcoming.

A fine mist drifted through the passageways, cooling the searing heat of June—the peak of summer in Saudi Arabia. Mist-spraying systems had been set up all around, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere, softening the blazing sun with each delicate spray.

Our camp was located in Zone 4, marked as Camp No. 55, nestled along Street 68. Within this layout, the tent for Asif Bhai’s group was numbered 22 for men and 32 for women. By some stroke of divine luck, or perhaps thoughtful planning, these two tents stood side by side, making coordination smoother and our experience far more comfortable.

Once we settled inside our tents, the call to prayer Azaan echoed softly, a soulful reminder of the sacredness of our journey. As the melodious notes filled the air, preparations began for Zuhr and Asr prayers. The heat of the day seemed to soften under the weight of devotion, as everyone quietly readied themselves for worship.

Both prayers were offered in Jamaat (congregation), right within our tents. The atmosphere was serene, infused with humility and unity, as rows of pilgrims stood shoulder to shoulder, hearts aligned in reverence.

In a thoughtful gesture, Asif Bhai had brought along microphone speakers and an impressively long wire to ensure that no one would be left out. One speaker was placed inside the men’s tent, while the other was passed into the adjacent women’s tent.

This simple yet meaningful setup allowed the ladies to participate fully in the Jamaat, their voices rising in silent harmony with the congregation. It was a beautiful display of inclusion and collective worship, reflecting the spirit of Hajj in its truest form.
This year, the Government of Oman had taken a thoughtful step forward in enhancing the Hajj experience. Instead of the traditional floor cushions, each Mina tent was equipped with sofa-cum-beds. It was a remarkable upgrade that brought much-needed comfort to the pilgrims. These weren’t just functional additions; they were sturdy, cushioned sofas, inviting enough to sit on with ease and effortlessly transformable into full-sized single beds.

Each sofa came neatly arranged with a pillow, a fresh pillow cover, a bedsheet, and a light blanket. These small touches spoke volumes of careful planning.

For Muzdalifah, I had packed two additional sheets—one to use as a base and the other as a cover. But I soon realized that even these wouldn’t be enough. The tent was surprisingly cold, a sharp contrast to the blazing heat outside. Powerful blowers circulated chilled air throughout the tent, maintaining a noticeably low temperature. While it offered respite from the summer sun, it also meant bundling up was essential.

Gradually, everyone settled into their designated sofas. A calm stillness filled the space. Some pilgrims gently opened their Qur’ans, the rustle of pages blending with the low hum of devotion. Others held books of supplications, quietly whispering prayers with closed eyes and serene expressions. A few, curious and practical, stepped outside to familiarize themselves with the washrooms and nearby facilities, ensuring they knew the layout for the long days ahead.

In those moments, a beautiful sense of purpose and peace descended over the tent—each person immersed in their own reflection, yet united in spirit. I was feeling a bit tired. I stretched my sofa into bed and lay down. I didn’t know when I fell asleep. It was the soulful call (azan) for Maghrib that shook me out of my slumber. We followed the same pattern as before, gathering for prayer in quiet unity. This was our first Jahri Salaat (a prayer recited aloud by the Imam), and as it began, I was instantly captivated by the mesmerizing beauty of his voice.

The Imam’s Qirā’ah was soulful and deliberate, each verse flowing with meaning and emotion. Though the prayer was slightly longer than usual, I found myself completely immersed, each word drawing me deeper into reflection. It was a moment of pure spiritual connection, and I cherished every second of it.

After the prayer, I made my way to the cafeteria tent.  The familiar aroma of karak tea once again called out like a comforting friend. I must clarify here that water, tea, fruits, ice cream, everything was free of charge from the government of Oman. I picked up two steaming cups—one for myself and the other for my wife. Unlike the rest of our journey so far, this was the first time we weren’t staying together.


After the Isha prayer, we were informed that dinner was on its way and that food packets would soon be distributed. The announcement brought a sense of comfort. After a long and spiritually intense day, the thought of a warm meal was welcoming.

After the Isha prayer, a short but deeply moving bayan (sermon) was delivered inside the tent. It focused on the immense blessing of Hajj. It was a timely and gentle reminder of the extraordinary honour we had been granted.

We were reminded to be grateful to Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala, who had chosen us, from among millions, to answer His call. Every year, countless believers long for this journey. Many meet all the conditions—health, wealth, and intention—but still, for reasons only Allah knows, they were not called. The fact that we were here, standing in Mina, was not a coincidence. It was a divine invitation and a privilege beyond words. He was right. I realised that I was one among only 470 expatriates that got an opportunity to perform Hajj this year (Oman Observer, 2025)

The speaker urged us to carry this awareness in our hearts throughout the days ahead. We were reminded that we were not ordinary travellers. We were rather Ḍuyūf ar-Raḥmān (guests of the most Merciful). And with that honour came great responsibility.

He gave a beautiful analogy: When we are guests in someone’s home, we are mindful. We speak politely, we behave with respect, and we are careful not to overstep boundaries or act inappropriately. Here, in these sacred lands, we were not just guests in a home. We were guests of the Lord of the Seven Heavens.

The message was clear. Every word, every action, and even every thought should reflect gratitude, humility, and consciousness of the divine presence. It wasn’t just a sermon—it was a moment of deep reflection. Many of us sat silently afterwards, feeling the weight of the journey ahead and the spiritual responsibility it placed upon us.

But as time passed, there was still no sign of food. Whispers of concern began to ripple through the tent, especially as some of the diabetic pilgrims began feeling uneasy. For them, the delay wasn’t just about hunger—it was about managing their health in already demanding conditions.

Soon, the organizers explained the reason behind the delay. The food truck had left the hotel on time and had reached very close to our camp when, suddenly, police barricaded the road, diverting all traffic to a longer alternate route. What we didn’t realize was that after we had arrived at our tents relatively quickly, the area around Mina had become heavily congested.

Thousands of pilgrims were still pouring in, and in an effort to control the crowd and manage the flow of traffic, the authorities had begun to close roads and redirect vehicles. It was an understandable decision from a logistical point of view.

It seemed Jamal Bhai had a sense that dinner might be delayed. Wasting no time, he thoughtfully arranged for some fruits and biryani to keep everyone going. It turned out to be a wise move. We had a light meal, sharing fruit among ourselves, and for those with a sweet tooth, a few even indulged in ice cream despite the late hour.

I, however, avoided anything cold—I was being extra cautious, determined not to risk a sore throat during these crucial days of Hajj.

By 10 p.m., the camp began to quiet down. Fatigue had caught up with everyone, and one by one, we retired to our sofa-cum-beds, grateful for a chance to rest. But the peace didn’t last long.

Suddenly, a commotion stirred the silence, and I woke up, momentarily disoriented. I checked my watch—it was 12:30 a.m. The long-awaited main dinner had finally arrived.

Some people got up and eagerly took food packets, the aroma filling the tent once again. But like many others, I chose to stay in bed. Sleep won over hunger, especially since we had already eaten earlier and didn’t feel the need.Thus ended our day one of Hajj.

The next morning, we learned that the late-night meal had been excellent—a detail that brought a few smiles and some lighthearted regret, but no real complaints. After all, we were well-fed, well-rested, and most importantly, spiritually grounded for the days ahead. But in the end, we were content. The real nourishment was the patience we practised and the quiet unity that bound us together through even the smallest of trials.

(To be continued in Part 9)

Reference:

Oman Observer (2025) 13530 Omanis, 470 residents to perform hajj from Oman,l. May 20. Available at: https://www.omanobserver.om/article/1170814/oman/community/13530-omanis-470-residents-to-perform-hajj-from-oman

Labbaik: The story of my Hajj (Part 6)

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Mohsin Aziz


Before I proceed further along the sacred path of Hajj, it is only fitting to pause and turn back the gaze of the soul to revisit the stories past of Makkah and Kaba. Turn to the ancient valley of Bakkah, whose barren hills cradle not only the Kaba but the very genesis of divine submission. For this is no ordinary place. This is the land where the footprints of prophecy are pressed into the earth, where history and revelation converge in quiet majesty.

It was here, in a desolate and waterless desert, that Prophet Ibrahim, his wife Hajar and son Ismail rewrote the concept of love, devotion, total submission to the divine Will and say yes to every Divine command without second thought.

It was here that the father and the  son would raise the foundations of the Kaaba with bare hands and bowed heads, invoking, ‘Our Lord, accept this from us. Surely, You are the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing.’ The Kaaba thus rose not as an architectural marvel but as a monument to obedience, sacrifice, and love. It was selfless devotion that made Kaba a celestial axis around which hearts would forever turn.

To revisit this history is not merely to recount events but to reconnect with the spiritual core of Hajj itself. It is to understand that every step of this pilgrimage echoes the footsteps of those who walked not with certainty of destination but with certainty of faith.

For in understanding their history, one begins to grasp the profound depth of this pilgrimage, not merely as a ritual, but as a timeless connection to the divine narrative woven through the sands of Arabia.

Macca

In the barren and sun-scorched valley of Makkah, where not a soul stirred and no drop of water was to be found in the merciless desert, Prophet Ibrahim (peace be upon him) left his beloved wife, Hajra, and their infant son, Ismail. The land was lifeless, void of habitation, for in such an unforgiving terrain, life only blooms where water flows. Even the birds, messengers of vitality in the wild, steer only toward the whisper of springs.

Then, by the mercy of the Almighty, the miraculous spring of Zamzam burst forth from the earth, quenching the thirst of mother and child, marking the dawn of divine providence. As the water gushed and glittered under the sun, birds began to circle above — drawn by instinct to the promise of life below.

Far off, a caravan journeyed through the parched expanse — it was a noble tribe from Yemen, the Bani Jurhum. Their eyes caught sight of the birds wheeling in the distance, a sign too telling to ignore. Where birds soar, water surely lies beneath. They halted their journey and dispatched scouts to investigate.

Upon arrival, the men beheld a wondrous sight: Bibi Hajra, seated beside the spring that had turned a lifeless valley into a cradle of life. In awe and respect, they asked her, “May we dwell near you?”

With wisdom and grace, she replied, “Yes, but you shall hold no claim over the water.”

They accepted her condition without hesitation, for the honour of settling near such a blessed spring was more than they had bargained. Thus, the once desolate valley became a place of gathering, and from that sacred spring, a civilization would rise — all by the will of the Most Merciful. Bani Jurhum sent a message to their families back home. The families came, and within no time, a desolate God forsaken place, by the Will of Allah, became a permanent settlement. Ismail grew with them and learned Arabic from them. They also loved and adored Ismail. When Ismail grew up, he married in the Jurhum tribe. This was the acceptance of Ibrahim’s prayers. When Ibrahim was leaving his wife and child,  he prayed to Allah,

‘O Our Lord!I have made some of my offspring to dwell in a valley with no cultivation, by Your sacred House (Kaba); in order, O Lord, that they may offer prayers perfectly (iqamat al salat) so fill some hearts among men with love towards them, and O Allah provide them with fruits so that they may give thank. To our Lord! Certainly, You know what we conceal and what we reveal. Nothing on the earth or in the heavens is hidden from Allah.’ (Quran 14:37-38).

And (remember) when Ibrahim said,’ My Lord ‘Make this city (Makkah) a place of security and provide its people with fruits, such of them as believe in Allah and the Last Day, He (Allah) answered :’As for him who disbelieves, I shall leave him in contentment for a while, then I shall compel him to the torment of the Fire, And worst indeed is that destination’ (Al Quran, SurahalBaqara:126).

He was so sure and had such faith in Allah that Allah will not let his family alone in this harsh deseart that he even prayed for the prosperity and safety and security of the city that was not there. He had faith that it will be there. 

‘My Lord, make this a secure city and provide its people with fruits – whoever of them believes in Allah and the last day’ (al baqarah 126).

My Lord, make this city (Makkah) secure and keep me and my sons away from worshipping idols’ (surah Ibrahim 35).

Ibrahim, as the epitome of a true Muslim, was not solely preoccupied with the physical safety and protection of his family, as one might expect. True to his noble character, his heart was equally burdened with the spiritual wellbeing and growth of his loved ones, as well as the inhabitants of Makkah. With a soul that yearned for their elevation in faith, he earnestly prayed for their guidance, their peace, and their spiritual flourishing. His concern transcended the worldly, seeking instead the eternal well-being of both his family and the faithful of that sacred land.

Our Lord! Make of us Muslims, bowing to thy (will), and our progeny a people Muslim, bowing to thy (will); and show us our place for the celebration  of (due) rites; and turn unto us (in Mercy); for Thou art the Oft-returning, Most Merciful (2:128).

This aspect of Ibrahim personality is perfectly defined in Quran.

‘Verily, Ibrahim was an Ummah or a nation obedient to Allah, Hanifa, and he was not one of those who were Al Mushrikun (Al Quran, Surah al Nahl:120).

Names of Makkah

Makka, like Madina, has multiple names. One of the ancient names of Macca is Bakkah. It is mentioned in the Quran.

‘Verily! The first House (of worship) appointed for mankind is the one at Bakkah (Makkah) full of blessing, and a guidence for Al-Alamin (tge mankind and jinns) (Al Quran, Surah Al-Imran:96).

Makka (Al Quran, Surah Al-Fath:24).

Umm al qura (Al Quran, Surah Al-Shura:7).

Al baldah (Al Quran, Surah Al Naml:91).

Al balad (Al Quran, Surah Ibrahim35).

Al balad al amin (Al Quran, Al Tin :3).

Al balad al haram (Al Quran, Surah ).

Haram al Amin (Al Quran, Surah Al-Ankabut : 67).

Some of the other names used for Makkah are

Makkah al Mukarrama, Al mamun, Salah, Al qarya,

Building of Kaba

After leaving her wife and son, Ibrahim used to visit them from time to time. On one of the visits, Ibrahim told Ismail,’O Ismail, Allah has commanded me to do something. Ismail responded , “Do what your Lord has commanded you to do’. Ibrahim asked him, ‘Will you help me?’. Ismail replied,’I will help you’. Pointing to a raised ground Ibrahim saidm ‘Allah has commanded me to build a house here’.

They laid the foundation, and Ismail started bringing stones and giving to Ibrahim, who started building the kaba. When the structure got higher and it was difficult for Ibrahim, Ismail brought a stone (called Al Maqaam) for Ibrahim to stand on it. Ibrahim stood on the stone and continued building the house of Allah. While they were going around building  kaba, both kept praying to Allah to accept their effort:

‘And (remember) when Ibrahim (Abraham) and (his son) Ismail (Ishmael) were raising the foundation of the House (the Kabah at Makkah), saying, ‘Our Lord! Accept (this service) from us. Verily! You are the All-Knower, All-Hearer. Our Lord! And make us submissive unto You and of our offspring a nation submissive unto You, and show us our Manasik (all the ceremonies of pilgrimage – Hajj and ‘Umrah, etc.), and accept our repentance. Truly, You are the One Who accepts repentance, the Most Merciful’ (Al Quran, Surah Al-Baqarah:127-128).

Kaba became the first sanctuary in the history of mankind. Quran says:

‘Behold: The first sanctuary appointed for humankind was that at Bakka (Mecca) Blessed and a guidance for the world’s’ (Quran   3:96).

Acceptance of a Prayer

Ibrahim also prayed for a messenger to be sent to the people of Makkah from their own people who can recite them verses of Allah and guide them. Ibrahim prayed while constructing Kaba:

‘Our Lord send amongst them a messenger of their own who shall recite unto them your verses and instruct them in the book and al-hikmah and sanctify them. Verily, you are the All-Mighty, the All-Wise’ (Al Quran, Surah al Baqarah:129).

With the passage of time, the tribes around Mecca forgot about the message of Ibrahim. They slowly became distant from the deen e hanif of Ibrahim. From pure monotheism, they moved to idolatry. Arabs started idol worship. Each tribe had its own idol. Some of the bigger gods whose idols were kept in the kaba over time were laat, manaat, uza, habal, etc. Still, they gave importance to the Kaba. There was hajj every year, but the rituals had changed. Tawaf was often done in naked state by both men and women. Udhiya meat and blood were smeared on Kaba. Talbiyah was changed. Many did not go to the Arafat. They did not consider it necessary.

Still, kaba was reveared. Its status as santuary was respected. Quraish took it as an honour to provide food and water to the pilgrims. This position gave quraish influence beyond Macca. Warring tribes would often come to Quraish to get their disputes settled. It was this influence that Abraha wanted to curtail by destroying Kaba.

When the transgressions of the Arabs in general and Quraish in particular reached its peak, the prayer of Ibrahim was answered, when, from among the people of Makkah, the last Prophet, Khatimun Nabiyyin, Mohammad  Sallal la hu Alaihi Wasallam, was born. At the time of Prophet Mohammads birth, his grandfather, Abdul Muttalib, was the custodian of Kaba. The course of history was about to change like never before.

When Makkah was conquered and reclaimed, the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ entered the sacred precincts not as a conqueror but as a servant of Allah. He ordered the idols to be cast out from the Kaaba. Kaba was restored to its original purity and monotheistic sanctity. The House of Allah was cleansed of centuries of falsehood. It’s hallowed premises once again resonated with the call of tawheed. In that moment, the Qur’an proclaimed:

‘Truth has come, and falsehood has perished. Indeed, falsehood is ever bound to perish.’ (Al Quran, Surah Al-Isra:81)

Names of Kaba

Like Madina and Makkah, Kaba, being the most revered House of Allah, is lovingly called by various beautiful names such as Bait al atiq, Bayt al muharram, Al bayt, Al bar Al Atiq, etc.

Kiswa and the Key of Kaba

Today, kaba is covered with majestic and richly embroidered black coloured cloth calked kiswa.. It was not always like this.  Its covering tradition dates back to pre‑Islamic times. King Tubbaʾ al‑Humayri (a Yemeni ruler) is believed to have been the first to ceremonially cover the Kaaba. After the conquest of Makkah, the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ used a Yemeni cloth, and subsequent caliphs varied its colour. It chnged from white to red. Eventually, black colour  was adopted during the Abbasid era (Kaul, Anvita:2024). Today, the Kiswa is produced annually in Makkah, crafted from black silk with elaborate gold and silver embroidery, and replaced each year on the 9th of Dhu al‑Hijjah (Khan, Arfa:2023, The National,  2022).

Whe Makkah was conquered by the Prophet he got all the idols removed and established the true form of hajj. At the time of Fath Makkah, the Prophet allowed keys of Kabah to be kept by the family  that was already in charge of the keys – Bani Shaibi.  The key was the responsibility of Qusai bin Kilab. It passed to his eldest son, Abd al Dar. The Prophet not only allowed the family to keep the key but said that it shall remain with the family until the judgement day except an oppressor taking it from the family. The family is performing this duty now for 16 centuries (Al-Thaqafi, Tareqm 2020).

Though the physical landscape of Hajj has undergone remarkable transformation in modern times, its sacred rituals and enduring spirit remain untouched by change. The essence of submission, sacrifice, and spiritual rebirth continues to flow through every rite, just as it did centuries ago. Today, the pilgrim finds shelter in air-conditioned tents at Mina, comfort in the enhanced facilities of Arafat, and rest in the rising skyline of Makkah’s modern hotels. The logistical burdens may have eased, but the inward journey — the call to humility, reflection, and surrender — remains as profound and unchanging as ever. The soul still travels the same timeless path, seeking nearness to the Divine.

(To be continued in Part 7)

References:

Al-Thaqafi, Tareq (2020, July 30) A history of the management of the Kaba. Arab. Available at: Newshttps://www.arabnews.com/node/1711991/saudi-arabia

Kaul, Anvita (2024) What is the Kiswa, the sacred cloth that covers the holy kaba in Mecca?. The Indian Express, June 14. Available at: https://indianexpress.com/article/explained/explained-culture/kiswah-sacred-cloth-covers-holy-kaaba-mecca-9797209%5D(https://indianexpress.com/article/explained/explained-culture/kiswah-sacred-cloth-covers-holy-kaaba-mecca-9797209.

Khan, Arfa (2023) Unveiling the Story Behind the Kiswa: Covering the Kaaba Throughout History.u TimesGlo, June 26. Available at:
https://timesglo.com/unveiling-the-story-behind-the-kiswa-covering-the-kaaba-throughout-history%5D(https://timesglo.com/unveiling-the-story-behind-the-kiswa-covering-the-kaaba-throughout-history.

The National News (2022) How the Kiswah is Made for Hajj Each Year, June 20. Available at:
https://www.thenationalnews.com/gulf-news/2022/06/20/how-the-kiswah-is-made-for-hajj-each-year%5D(https://www.thenationalnews.com/gulf-news/2022/06/20/how-the-kiswah-is-made-for-hajj-each-year.