Chapter 4-The Holy Umrah

An experience of a lifetime

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When they planned the Umrah, they hadn’t intended for it to fall on a Jumma day. But that was how it unfolded. Umrah on a Jumma day. what more could one ask for?Fajr- That was all they could think about. They wanted to make it inside the Harram as soon as possible. The hotel had provided directions to them- simple, straightforward. A quick walk to the escalators, they had said, and then the Harram would be right in front of them.

They left the hotel and walked in the direction they had been instructed. The escalators appeared, rising upward toward the Harram level. With whatever energy they had left and with their tired bodies fueled by restless hearts, they walked swiftly.

But when they arrived, they saw blockades. Multiple gates were closed. Access to the Mataf area, the open space around the Kaaba was restricted.

So they made a decision. They would pray Fajr with the scattered crowd around them.

The scattered crowd quickly shifted, moved and aligned. Within moments, it formed a solid, unified shape. Rows upon rows of people, all facing the same direction, all waiting for the same call.

They took off their shoes and tucked them into their bags. They sat close to one another. They prayed two rakat of Tahiyat-ul-Masjid, the greeting of the mosque. Then they waited.

The Fajr adhan began.

The feeling of listening to it was indescribable.

The sound filled the air, deep, resonant, ancient. The ambience, The people, The smell aroung and cleanliness lingered. The sky was beginning to soften. The air was cool against their skin. The floor beneath their feet felt firm and sacred, worn smooth by millions of footsteps over centuries.

Everything could be absorbed. Everything was alive.

They prayed Fajr. And when the prayer ended, they rose with a singular purpose.

It was time to begin Umrah.

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The First Sight

Due to the many gates that remained locked, they had to move toward Gate 79. They walked in, removed their shoes again, and tucked them into their sling bags. Then they began walking toward the Kaaba.

They all knew to not look at the Kaaba in fragments. Not to catch glimpses of it in bits and pieces. You had to be at a place where the Kaaba was completely visible. That is the right way to do it. That way, it would be etched in your memory for a lifetime.

The walk did not seem long. But the craving to see the black structure was intense.

Saji made sure her sons followed closely. Yazen and Saif stayed near, their young faces serious, focused. Shehnaz and Nazia held hands the whole time. Shehnaz had always been scared of being lost in huge crowds. Ever since she was diagnosed with depression, things looked very different to her. She had the fear of separation, of being swept away. Nazia had promised she wouldn't let go. And she kept her word.

They kept walking. Closer. More closer. Some more closer.

And there it was. The Kaaba.

Standing proud. Tall. Timeless.

Shehnaz felt her heart go fuzzy. May be that was the only word for it. A warmth, a lightness, a trembling all at once. Nazia, Soni, and Saji stood beside her, all of them in awe of what they were looking at. They spoke in whispers, trying to put into words how they felt looking at it. But words felt inadequate.

They had been transported to another world.

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Tawaf

Now came the time for Tawaf — seven complete rounds around the Kaaba.

The crowd came in like a wave. The closer you got to the Kaaba, the harder the crowd pushed. Bodies pressed together, movement constant, each person carried by their own urgency and devotion. Shehnaz held onto Nazia tighter. Soni and Saji walked in the front closely followed by Shehnaz, Nazia and the kids.

This was the place where duas were read. Where duas were asked, for yourself, for your family, for every person that is important to us, and for all those who had requested you remember them in your prayers.

Shehnaz referred to her pages and phone, reciting the duas she hadd carefully written down. Nazia, Soni, and Saji did the same, each carrying their own lists, their own hopes and prayers. The four of them made duas for themselves. For others. They reminded each other of what they could ask the Almighty, for health, for guidance, for forgiveness, for Jannah and for everything in this world and the next. Duas for forgiveness, Duas for peace, Duas for health, Duas for Risq, for Baraqah, for Aafiyah,..... the list grew each time they thought more about what they could beg for from the most giving.

Saji's boys stuck close to them. Yazen and Saif followed the rules that men in ihram had to observe- no stitched clothing, no covered head, humility in every step. They moved with a seriousness that made Shehnaz's heart swell with admiration. She thought about her own kids and prayed all of their kids could come visit this place with their hearts filled with Imaan. Aameen!

The seven rounds were tough. Physically demanding. Spiritually consuming. But they were also deeply wanted, deeply aspired for.

When it was done, they felt successful. Tired, yes. Sweaty. Thirsty. But victorious.

They moved toward the next step.

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Prayer and Zamzam

Two rakat of prayer. That was what came next.

They found a spot. Not easy in the crowd, but they managed. They prayed quickly, hearts still trembling from the Tawaf. They made more duas. Whispered. Tearful. Hopeful.

Next was Zamzam.

They looked for an area where the blessed water was available. When they found it, they drank. And drinking it felt like they were drinking straight from the very fountain of Zamzam itself. It didn't feel like it was coming from a bottle or a cup. It felt real. True. Sacred.

They drank deeply, letting the cool water settle into their chests, their souls.

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Sa'i

Next came Sa'i, the walk between Safa and Marwah. Seven times, back and forth, tracing the steps of Hajar as she searched for water for her son Ismail.

This was very different from Tawaf.

As they walked, they imagined how hard it must have been in the past. No ceiling to shield them from the scorching sun. People walking barefoot on burning ground between the mountains. This corridor had smooth floors. It was thousands of times easier, they said to each other. And yet, even this felt difficult.

The crowd moved in a straight line. Pushing and shoving happened in one direction. People walked with a minimal distance between them. Kids sat on their parents shoulders as the parents walked the distance. They could hear the babies crying. There was this one toddler who recited "Labaik Allah" loud and clear. People turned around to look at him whispering Masha Allah!

There were green lights marking certain sections where men were required to increase their pace, a brisk jog, replicating the urgency Hajar must have felt. Saif and Yazen made sure they followed it, their young legs moving quickly, faces flushed with effort.

Shehnaz watched them with quiet awe. How passionate they were. How dedicated. How seriously they took every task.

At the ends of the hills- Safa and Marwah, there were duas to be recited. People stopped briefly, hands raised, voices murmuring prayers before resuming their walk.

They completed their seven walks between the hills. Legs aching. Breath shortened. But hearts full.

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The Final Step

The final task was cutting their hair.

The women had decided they would do it back at the hotel. But the boys wanted to complete theirs immediately. They walked toward the closest barbershop.

Saif trimmed his hair. Yazen shaved his head completely. Both emerged feeling proud of what they had accomplished. Their Umrah was complete.

The women still had to wait. But first — breakfast.

They walked back to the hotel in quick, long strides. Since it was their first time venturing out that day, the roads and surroundings were still unfamiliar. After a while, the Anjum Hotel came into view, and they walked toward it with purpose.

The hotel's complimentary breakfast was scheduled to close at 10:30 a.m. When they entered the lobby, the clock read 10:32. They walked swiftly toward the breakfast hall, hoping they weren't too late.

The person at the entrance let them in but asked them to be quick—the counters were already closing. They moved fast, filling their plates with whatever they could manage to grab. Then they sat at a table and ate quickly, finishing the meal as fast as they could before everything was cleared away.

They talked. Discussed moments from the journey. Small observations. Quiet reflections. Laughter mixed with exhaustion.

When they finished, they rushed back to their room.

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Complete

Saji would cut Soni's hair. And Soni would return the gesture by cutting Saji's.

Shehnaz had a pixie cut, so there was very little hair to trim. Soni effortlessly cut a small length—just a symbolic snip to fulfill the requirement. For herself and Nazia, who both had longer hair, the cut would be about an inch. She proceeded to cut Nazia's hair with the same care and precision.

And now — NOW — the Umrah was complete.

What a relief they felt in that moment.

Their entire journey had been focused on this. Every flight. Every layover. Every conversation. Every prayer. All of it had been building toward completing Umrah. And they had done just that.

Now, they could dedicate their time fully to duas and salah. Without the weight of incompleteness. Without the urgency of a task left undone.

They sat together in the hotel room, tired, disheveled. The air conditioner hummed softly. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The city of Makkah stretched out beyond their window, alive with movement and prayer.

Shehnaz looked at Nazia. Nazia looked at Soni. Soni looked at Saji. And all of them smiled.

They had made it.

Not perfectly. Not without struggle. But they had made it.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, sitting together in a small hotel room thousands of miles from home, they felt something deeper than relief. Deeper than accomplishment.

They felt gratitude.

Gratitude for the opportunity. For the ease with which everything had unfolded. For the companionship that had carried them through. For the children who had joined them with such sincerity. For the husbands who had supported them without hesitation. For the strangers who had shown them kindness. For the open gates and the patient drivers and the charming clerks and the gentleman with the chair at Newark Airport.

For all of it.

"Alhamdulillah" they whispered

Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Alamin
Praise be to Allah, Lord of all the worlds.

Their journey wasn't over. Madinah still awaited them. More prayers. More reflection. More moments to carry home.

But for now, in this room, in this city, at this moment, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

And that was enough.

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