(On the occasion of Maulana's visit to the U.S., Summer of 1996)
To fellow mumineen & mumenaat,
When I reached Houston airport last Friday morning, I drove unusually fast so as not to miss Aqamoula's arrival at the Masjid. The directions given in the mailout had been precise, yet, from Barker Cypress to Coventry Road seemed longer than the map would indicate. Little York (the street before Coventry) is a traffic light. I stopped and asked, just to be sure. Not to worry. I made it there by 10:45 AM. The street had been blocked by a police cruiser to other traffic, the officer cheerfully waved me on.
The crowd had already gathered there, orderly and quiet, people chatting, patiently waiting in the shaded walkways, or in the bright sun. Naturally, the men were all in white, the women's ridas providing a colorful contrast. None seemed perturbed, no hectic dashing around, no shouting for people to do this or that. You could sense the excitement all around you. The arrangements seemed well planned, to the extent that they had volunteers to gather your shoes in plastic bags, and give you a token. Uniformed police provided excellent parking control.
Aqamoula (TUS) arrived around 11:52 AM, and mumineen spontaneously burst in cries of Nareh Taqbeer. A beautifully decorated green umbrella shaded our Moula as he gently made his way, walking on the red cloth upto the large stainless steel polished doors having a "star" design engraved on them. Someone motioned the crowd to silence as Moula prayed a dua and said some words (which I could not hear, unfortunately). Once Moula passed through the doors, the usual dash, grab, shove, push, olympic preliminaries started.
Bhai Mohammed Khurrum has given us excerpts of Moula's bayan. I was particularly moved when Moula mentioned Busaheba, how he misses her, and his "ghar" has become "suna" without her.
Kadambosi was done by everyone (everyone), Moula seemed as if he wanted mumineen to take all the barakaat he can give, without caring about his personal well being or rest. Many mumineen got the chance to hold Moula's hand as he left the Masjid, unhurriedly, giving shifa, including almost everyone around him with his serene and kindly gaze.
The hall where the "jaman" was held, was just a block away, yet most chose to drive. The afternoon sun was not kind now. It was around 3:45 pm, when I made my way there. Once again, the planning and coordination continued to amaze me. (No, by now I was getting used to having everything being as it should be.) A swarm of blue jacketed "shabab" members were there to wash your hands, bring you water, serve food and take care of your needs.
It was while I was eating the delicious food (including biryani) that the thought struck me. All this nemat that we are receiving comes to us because our Dai, our Moula (TUS) thinks of our needs and instructs the khidmat guzars to take care of us, for his sake. What shukr can we give our Moula? How can we show our love for our Moula? Can we? I don't think we, with our imperfections, our weaknesses, our doubts, and our frailties, can come close to adequately expressing our shukr. It was then that I realized the true significance of Moula's words in the masjid, when he said, "Mumineen, as much as you love me, know that I love you even more".
Mohammedi Masjid, the newest one in North America, had finally realized its dream with the dawn of Id e Milad, Rabi ul Avaal 12, 1417 AH. The masjid, enclosed sahan and a huge tent on the grounds outside, were packed with people from all over the world, it seemed. The faces of people were happy, lots of smiles and exchanges of salaams. A feeling of goodwill and camaraderie manifested itself throughout. And why not? This was indeed a momentous day for the USA and Canada, and for Houstonites, especially.
I had made my way into the masjid a little late, but by some blessed good fortune found a place close to the taqht, towards the left side as Aqamoula (TUS) would sit. There are six round columns supporting the balcony for women, four facing Moula, and one on each side. These were decorated in brown, with green fronds on the top, to resemble trees, creating an impression of one being in a vari, chaman, a garden. Red and green inscripted flags were strung across the balcony above, adding to the festive spirit.
Aqamoula (TUS) entered the masjid around 11:10 AM, and as he made his way towards the Qibla, mumineen were all vying for his attention and barakaat of his deedar mubarak. Moula would raise his hand on each side, giving everyone tasalli and their thirst would be quenched. I have been told that when Moula raises his hand and acknowledges us, he is saying salaam to us. What more can mumineen want? Our Moula, our Aqa...we are his servants,... and for Moula to say a salaam to us shows how close he is drawing us to him.
When Aqamoula (TUS) ascended the taqht, he turned to the right, then straight ahead, and then to the left, and up towards the balcony, raising his hand, encompassing all with his shafaqat and salaam. A few minutes passed, with the usual commotion surrounding Moula. Then Shahzada Qusai Bhaisaheb stood up and made his way towards the back of the masjid. And then, though all could not see, they could hear the welcoming words from the representative of the Mayor of the city of Houston. The lady stood in the sahan, just behind the masjid doors and was addressing Moula from that place. The city was proud and honored to have this masjid, this community here. I don't recall her exact words, but the gist was that on behalf of the city she welcomed and thanked us. The Mayor had conferred honorary citizenship upon Aqamoula (TUS), she said. She was well prepared, sincere, articulate and warm.
Then Shahzadasaheb thanked her and the city of Houston for their welcome. Aqamoula (TUS) looked towards her, smiled, and raised his hand, as if in acknowledgement of her kind words. It would appear that this part of the welcome was over. But then the unusual occurred. She wanted to speak again. This time, the words gushed out, straight from the heart. No prepared text here. She was moved by what she had witnessed, and her repeated words of thanks had that emotional fervor that comes from one who has been touched, who now believes.
Later that afternoon, while chatting with people, sitting in the airconditioned comfort of the huge tent, I kept thinking of that incident. And then I realized its meaning. When Moula raises his hand, it is not just an acknowledgement, a salaam. It is the giving of his blessings and love to us, the love a father feels towards his children, always wanting the best for them, always wanting them to succeed and achieve even more. The difference is only that this shafiq Bava of ours, wants all this for us not just here but for the hereafter. If a stranger who sees our Moula for the first time can receive it and feel it, how much more fortunate are we.
Abde Syedna (TUS)
Zoher Ghadiali