After we had stayed in Makkah for some time, my father began to worry deeply about our schooling. He had already received a letter from his elder brother back home, asking pointedly about our studies.
Fulfilling his duty, he went to enquire about getting us admitted to the Embassy of the Indian School in Jeddah. However, the management rejected us immediately. Their reasoning was simple and clear: how could a child who had studied only in the Malayalam medium, and did not know a word of English, be admitted?
And so, time went by.
Then, a manager at my father’s company named Omar Farooq Sahib, a gentleman from Pakistan, suggested a different path. He advised my father to admit us into Masjid al-Haram. At that time, classes were held between the Asr and Isha prayers. The area between Bab al-Fath and Bab Abdul Aziz on the first floor of the Great Mosque was filled with thousands of children studying under those grand arches, with students from many different nationalities.
We were officially admitted and registered in the office of Masjid al-Haram as students memorising the Qur’an. By His mercy, Allah blessed us to be students of the most sacred place on earth for the next year and a half. By the time we left, we had completed our studies there.
Our teachers were Ustadh Muhammad Noor, a Pakistani, and Shaikh Abbas, a Yemeni. The Yemeni scholar was blind, yet he taught us with a sight that came from the heart.
What started as a worry about missing a school year turned into a beautiful blessing from Allah. We were not just learning to read; we were breathing in the holiness of the Kaaba every single day.
By then, we had learned how to reach Masjid al-Haram by ourselves. My brother and I would usually travel by SAPTCO bus, and our father would join us later for the Isha prayer. After the prayer, we would return home together. This routine continued for the next several months.
