"It's been only two months and a few days since we arrived in Makkah. Our arrival was immediately after Ramadan, so we have witnessed an empty Makkah with only the locals. We have sometimes observed an almost empty Masjid al-Haram with very few people performing the circumambulation (Tawaf). At times, it was so deserted that one could touch and kiss the Hajar al-Aswad during all seven rounds of Tawaf. However, now, as Hajj was approaching, Makkah was filling up with pilgrims from various nations and backgrounds.
My brother and I usually accompanied our father in the evenings to greet the Hajis who came from our areas. My father had taken it upon himself to serve them as much as possible. This is the best one can do while staying in Makkah. As Muhammad Ali,(Cassius Clay), said, 'Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.' This sentiment resonates strongly with those staying in Makkah and serving the pilgrims."
"The arrival of Pathucha was our next major story for us. She's my father's older sister, my aunt. Although not widely known beyond her village Edechery, she's a bit of a legend there. She came to us on the 2nd of Dil-hijja-1408 (1988), along with Thazildar Basheercha from Kasaragod. She told us stories about what was happening back home, and we eagerly listened to her tales. In those days, there were no means of communication other than writing letters now and then. So her stories were a pleasure to hear.
At first, she seemed sad and upset about leaving her home, animals, and family behind. She had never left her small kingdom since her creation. But now, she left everything dear to her for the sake of Allah, following His command. For believers, His Command matters more than all the fancy things in the world. Those fancy things are like what we need for a journey, but our real goal is something bigger—His pleasure, the eternity behind the curtain of life. And in a way, Hajj is a migration from the lower worldly life to the higher goals of life.
It's like how kings need thrones and palaces, butterflies are after nectar, and for Pathucha, it's her cows and goats. Everyone has something they love, and everyone's love is strong, even if what they love is different.
We're a bit like Zulaikha from the story of Prophet Yousuf (a.s). We get attracted to externally beautiful things that catch our eye, but those things are far from the real beauty. True beauty is often hidden in nature and needs to be sought. Thus there's a spiritual side to it. Father was conveying these things to us, but rarely myself or Pathucha understood these matters. For someone who understands the language of cows and goats, quoting Allama Iqbal or higher poetry becomes irrelevant.
As time passed, Pathucha became happier with us. We all did Hajj together, which was the first time for both her and us. My mom had done it before, and my dad makes sure to do it every year he's in Saudi Arabia, with Allah's grace. After the Hajj was over, we used to go to Masjidul Haram with Pathucha. She would pray and perform her recitals while sitting with her legs stretched out. She was once "found missing' and was not seen at the spot where she was supposed to sit. Later she was found in another area inside Masjidul Haram, actually talking with an Indonesian elderly lady. Like her, the lady was also talking in her language. Perhaps both understood each other's emotions. The language of the heart is the same even though tongues differ. She kept Kaaba at the center as the landmark and moved to another area.
We had our second trip to Madeena Munawara when Pathucha was about to travel back to India. This time, Tazildar Basheercha also accompanied us. His finger was almost cut in an elevator at Masjidul Haram. The car was tightly packed, and I remember the sacrifices we had all along the way. My father was like a mystic, driving his car in high spirits and talking. His speeches continued throughout the journey, up and down. In Madeena Munawara Pathucha lost her spects and was again sad for a while. In return journey we dropped both of them at the Hajj terminal at Jeddah and said our farewells. On that day, we went to the room of Beeran Hajika who stays at Jeddah, a native friend of my father. Then we slept over there, tired and exhausted.
(Pathucha is now in her grave, in the Mercy of her Rabb, waiting for the day the trumpet will be blown and the day of resurrection when all of mankind will be resurrected before their Master. May Allah shower His immense Mercy upon her. May Allah unite her and us in His everlasting abode of Mercy, the Paradise.)
