Days to Treasure

After a brief rest, they woke again. It was Tahajjud time. They freshened up and walked towards the masjid — a very quick walk, and they were there within moments. They chose to stay outside, where the morning air was refreshing as always. Between prayers, they rested and made duas, reminding each other gently of what they could ask for from Allah. The night was quiet, and the asking felt easy in it.

The Fajr adhaan echoed through the air, and the prayer followed shortly after. Once the prayers concluded, they returned to the hotel. The breakfast at this hotel was not quite as impressive as what they had experienced at Anjum, but Alhamdulillah — they had a satisfying meal and enjoyed a good, unhurried heart-to-heart conversation before heading back to their room for a short nap.

Soon it was time for Dhuhr, and they walked to the masjid once again. The prayer was as soothing as always. The voice of the imam felt like a balm to the soul — bringing relief to the body as much as the spirit. The length of the surah recitation, whether long or short, no longer bothered anyone. Shehnaz, who often felt uneasy and impatient when recitation grew longer back home, found herself completely at ease here. She even enjoyed it.

After Dhuhr, they decided to do some quick shopping. Saji had been in touch with Kutty, who had kindly offered to take them on a ziyarah of the common historical and religious sites in Madinah. He had suggested they go after Dhuhr, but by the time salah had concluded, the timing no longer worked. They decided instead to return to the hotel for a break, come back to the masjid for Asr, and then venture out for food and ziyarah afterward.

That is exactly what they did. They walked back, rested briefly, returned for Asr, and when prayers were done, Kutty was waiting for them at the spot they had agreed upon.

It was already well past lunchtime, and they had yet to eat. They were craving the authentic Kerala meals they loved and had been hoping to find them at Biriyani Spot. Unfortunately, the timing didn't work out, and they had to explore other options.

Kutty took them first to a restaurant called Taj. But much to their disappointment, Taj didn't serve meals. The waiter there suggested dosa instead — a kind offer, but none of them were particularly keen on that. So they moved on to try another restaurant: Zam Zam.

At Zam Zam, they finally found what they were looking for. The restaurant served traditional meals that included thick rice, fish curry, a flavourful vegetable curry, crispy pappadam, and fish fry in both Maanthal and Matthi varieties. They were also served refreshing sambhaaram and sweet payasam to complete the spread, with chai to accompany everything. The meal felt complete — and deeply, warmly satisfying.

Somewhere between the restaurant and the drive back, Saji quietly told the others that Kutty had a very difficult personal story. She gently warned them not to ask too many questions about his private life — out of respect, and out of care.

Saji had spent some time with him earlier that afternoon, accompanying him while shopping since she hadn't needed to perform salah that day. During their time together, she had purchased boxes of dates — both Aaliya and Madinah varieties — to bring home as gifts. And it was during that same outing that she learned who Kutty really was.

His full name was Hussain. He had grown up in Saudi Arabia, which explained his ease with Arabic. He had enjoyed a comfortable childhood, and now he dedicated much of his time to teaching orphans the Quran — guiding pilgrims whenever the opportunity arose. A quiet, purposeful life built around service.

As their conversation deepened, Hussain shared something deeply personal. During the time when he had been looking to marry, he was suddenly struck by a mysterious and devastating disease — one whose name he either didn't know or didn't wish to speak aloud. The illness slowly ravaged his body. He lost several fingers on both hands. His legs were severely affected.

It was a statement of both profound loss and complete acceptance. He had lost sensation in his lower legs — and yet he spoke of it with gratitude. He was doing better now, he said. He was able to function reasonably well in his day-to-day life.

The story moved them all deeply. It was profoundly sad to hear of the immense suffering Hussain had endured. Yet it was equally, quietly inspiring to witness someone who had walked through such tremendous hardship still standing — facing life with courage, dignity, and unwavering faith. He had not merely survived. He had found a way to serve.

Lunch concluded in a more reflective mood. Kutty dropped them back at the hotel so they could rest for a while. They still had two more prayers ahead of them — Maghrib and Isha — before they would bid their final farewell to this blessed city.

As the realisation settled in that their time in Madinah was drawing to a close, every step felt heavier with the weight of departure. Every sight seemed more vivid. Every breath felt like something worth holding onto. Yet in the midst of that quiet ache, they whispered Alhamdulillah — a soft, steady reminder of the blessing of simply being here.

They had performed Umrah. They had walked the streets once trodden by the beloved Prophet ﷺ. They had felt the sacred pulse of a city steeped in centuries of devotion. Every corner, every call to prayer, every moment of reflection had etched itself into their hearts. What more could one ask for?