5
HERE, I AM, VISITING YOU AGAIN
By Ninie G. Syarikin
Assalamu’alaikum, ya Hajar!
Peace be upon you, Honorable Lady!
The great mother of little Ismail
Here, I am, visiting you again
Full of gratitude with the Grace of God.
Here, I am,
setting my foot once more
on your soil,
stepping my feet again
on your path,
the track that you had trodden
thousands of years ago,
that we, Muslim mothers in the world,
are trying to keep alive
and follow through.
The route that you had walked on
millennia ago,
that the Muslim fathers of the world
are trying to commemorate
in honor of you.
If you were here today,
you’d be moved
and proud in humility,
to witness how peoples of
all nations, cultures, colors, and profiles
are cherishing you in celebration.
Walking briskly, barefoot,
from Safa to Marwah,
then from Marwah to Safa,
seven rounds
till the legs ached
and feet numbed.
But, what we are doing, ya Hajar,
is incomparable to what you did.
Your path was hard and rocky,
the sands must’ve burnt your feet,
the sun must’ve scorched your head,
and the heat must’ve suffocated your body,
and still you had to run back and forth
in great anxiety,
without knowing whether and when
to find water for your infant son.
Your present path is made of smooth marbles
with solid roof to shield the burning sun
and hundreds of fans rotating continuously
to generate coolness.
Assalamu’alaikum, ya Hajar!
Peace be upon you, Courageous Lady!
I’ve come a long way
to tread your path
to re-energize my motherhood
to renew my faith in facing
the challenges of raising my offspring.
If you were here, at the moment, ya, Hajar!
You’d be joyful to observe
various actions of the worshippers
in doing their sa’i.
A father looked very proud
carrying his little daughter.
A little boy napped on his mother’s lap
who was sitting on a wheelchair
pushed by her bigger son.
A big boy pushed a wheelchair,
full of three little children
who were sitting on each other’s lap.
Obviously, they were enjoying their ride
while I horrified
should the little one most front fall over,
since no seatbelt fastened,
except two other little hands
wrapping his waist from the back.
May their guardian angels watch them!
Then, a father walked hand in hand
with his little girl;
an adult son duly pushed his dad;
a young granddaughter pushed her granddad
who was also holding his other grandchild
on the wheelchair;
an adult son patiently pushed his old and frail mom,
which reminded me of her high position in Islam:
“Ya, Rasulullah!
Who is the most worthy of my best companionship?”
Allah's messenger, Peace be upon him, answered:
"Your mother."
The man asked again: “Who next?”
Allah's messenger, Peace be upon him, answered:
"Your mother."
The man asked again: “Who next?”
Allah's messenger, Peace be upon him, answered:
"Your mother."
The man asked again: “Who next?”
Allah's messenger, Peace be upon him, answered:
"Then your father."
“Aljannatutahta uqdamil ummahati”
“The paradise lies under your mother’s feet.”
The height of the day, however, was
when the entourage of what seemed to be
members of the Saudi Royal family
were making their rounds.
A few princes in white robes
with their red-checked kafiyehs
surrounded several princesses in
flowing black cloaks with their faces
totally covered by black chadors
concealing their beauty,
along with their maids who were also in
flowing black cloaks with their black headcovers,
except that they were without veils.
From their faces,
I recognized that those maids
were from my home country, Indonesia,
which was a common sight in this kingdom.
Their countenance mirrored contentment,
or was it happiness, and perhaps, a little pride
in serving their mistresses and masters?
The Princes and Princesses?
Wallahu alam bissawab, God knows best!
Whatever it was,
my observation at the Masjidil Haram
indicated that the Royals veiled their faces
and their commoner maids showed theirs.
Was that a deliberate attempt to show
the different status?
A veiled vanity?
Or merely a practical reason for the Royals
to be able to identify their servants?
So as not to mistake them
for other princesses?
Whatever it was,
I was hoping that they were not forgetting
the legacy of Hajar,
here, on her own very path.
That Hajar had been a maid,
to Lady Sarah,
may Allah be pleased with both of them!
Hajar, then, was lifted to become
the wife of a great prophet,
Ibrahim Alaihissalam,
then again was honored to become
the mother of another great prophet,
Ismail Alaihissalam.
While Sarah, may Allah be pleased
with her patience and kindness,
was finally blessed with her own son
at her old age,
who later also became a great prophet,
Ishaq Alaihissalam.
Allahu Akbar! God is Great!
The entourage of
those princes and princesses
were encased by several police
who acted as thin separators
from the rest of the pilgrims.
A stout prince who seemed to be
the oldest in the group,
led the convoy by reciting prayers loudly,
that were repeated faithfully by
the rest of the convoy:
“Rabbana”
“Rabbana”
“Atina”
“Atina”
“Fiddunya”
“Fiddunya”
“Hasanah”
“Hasanah”
“Wafilakhirati”
“Wafilakhirati”
“Hasanah”
“Hasanah”
“Waqina”
“Waqina”
“Adzabannar.”
“Adzabannar.”
Yet, my most favorite sight of
all sa’i worshippers was
a little girl of about 3 or 4 years old
who was sitting on her father’s shoulders.
The little girl was so joyous,
chattering non-stop merrily
with her busy little hands
frequently hitting her daddy’s head,
as if beating a drum,
while sometimes pulling his poor hair.
That little girl definitely took delight
in her high ride,
which reminded me of
similar fond memories
when my family and I used to visit
Grandma’s house decades ago.
Subhanallah! Glory be to God!
Human beings,
regardless of their races and locations,
act the same way,
with their mind, thoughts, wits, and passion.
Assalamu’alaikum, ya Hajar!
Peace be upon you, Noble Lady!
Here, I am, making my ziyarah again
Full of gratitude with the Grace of God.
If you were here, now,
you’d be joyful to see
various manners of the worshippers
together doing their sa’i,
gratefully celebrating
your patience and endurance.
NGS
Washington, DC, Sunday, September 22, 2002