Power to the night of Power - Day 26

Today is my birthday.

Well, it is my lunar birthday. I was born on the most significant night in the Islamic calendar nearly 3 decades ago now - Lilt el Kadr [the night of power]. This is the only one of my three birthdays to ever be remembered by my parents. Bless em. This night however is not about me. Lilt el Kadr is about understanding the revelation. Celebrating in mind and spirit the power of knowledge.

It was today many more decades ago (okay centuries) that the Quran was revealed to the Prophet by the angel Gabriel. God revealed the Koran to Gabriel who then, verse by verse, ordered the Prophet to read [iqrah]. There are many variations on this but the most important and consistent element is the order to read. Today is meant to be devoted to reading the Quran and prayer. The verse in the Quran regarding Lilt el Kadr explains how this night is worthier than one thousands months. The idea being that to pray on this night is the equivalent of having prayed for one thousand months. The belief being that all your sins may be forgiven on this night of power. It is not only your actions but moreover your neya [intentions] that will determine your reward on this night. To perform a prayer is one thing; to declare to yourself the neya to undertake the spiritual journey of self improvement is another.

The surah in the Quran regarding this night begins with a disclaimer which transliterated amounts to 'Bestowed upon you is this revelation on the night of power; and what may you fathom to be this night of power'. It is in this disclaimer that we should be reminded of our human shortcoming to understand the concept of power, whether in terms of omnipotence or human power. Hence we are beckoned to read. The first revelation made ordered man to read. It would seem that we have almost forgotten this basic principle.

Qadr is derived from qadar (destiny/will). In the early days of Islam qadar was poised by a simple concept that whatever happens to you was supposed to happen to you and whatever did not happen to you was not supposed to happen to you. My mother often repeated this to me whenever I did not get that one job or placement, missed my flight, lost my keys, had my wallet stolen, whatever the situation it would always be “it was God’s will” or “May God only bring near that what is good for you and hide from your side that which is evil”. Why was God wasting time on my wallet? And, being the horrendously curious child that I was (and still am!), I could not help but state the obvious “but what if it’s qadar that evil should come my way so that good may come to others?” My irrational idealist reasoning was flawless. Not. Qadar in a sense is the theos-statutory limitation on free will. It is also that fluffy wall you can rub up against should nothing go your way “it was God’s will”. Overuse is dangerous. Not studying for an exam and claiming it was God’s will that you fail for example is not correct use of the terminology. Engaging in senseless violence on account of fictional divides and claiming it's qadar is not down with God either.

It is common that the Night of Power falls on the odd days of the last ten days of Ramadan. How it should fall on the 26^th day this year is beyond me. This also adds to the confusion my parents already hold regarding my date of birth. I can’t even blame the moon on this one. One practice that some adhere to during the last ten days of Ramadan is the I'tikaf [to stand by one’s decision]. In terms of Ramadan, I’tikaf means retreating to the mosque for the last ten days to block out any external influences and focus on praying and reading the Qur'an. Hardcore practitioners may reside 24/7 at the mosque for the entire duration. It is not far off from staying at a convent or monastery to consolidate one’s relationship with God. It is admirable on the one hand and in some cases it is taking the safest route. Beyond the safety of the mosque, there is work, commitments, family, etc. Those are the perils we must learn to endure and simultaneously derive our strength from to make it through the month. I am just not sure where the jihad (internal struggle – I insist on using the correct translation) is in locking oneself up for 10 days?

My moment of spiritual epiphany was a result of sharing a space with one million people, my inability to do math and a great dose of humour. A few years ago now I went with my parents to Mecca to undertake the Umrah [small pilgrimage]. It was not the first time I had been to Mecca. I know - many would give an arm and a leg to be in my position and believe you me I have some sense of the magnitude of the privilege. However, the first time I was in Mecca I was say 5 years old, and believe you me again the fondest memory I have is of sleeping under my Tom&Jerry duvet. So I cannot wholeheartedly say the first time I went to Mecca I experienced a spiritual awakening - they didn't have those t-shirts back then.

My memories from then linger on cartoon duvets, rotisserie chicken and the smell of rain. As if a right of passage from child to adolescent to adult, the last time I was there I remember standing outside the Mosque briefly after finishing the Umrah, my slippers in one hand with the other hand holding that of my mother's, looking up at the massive structure of white marble I could not help but look past the mosque, past the flock of white clad women, past the book vendors, past the 5 star hotels and on to the horrid bright yellow M only 100 meters away from the mosque. I swore out loud. Gone was the start of my sin-free life - only downhill from there on out.

The beginning of the pilgrimage saw qadar beyond qadr. Standing amidst the sea of believers I could not help but question my neya[intentions] and whether I deserved, let alone belonged, there. Where, along the scale of good to bad, did I belong? Was I standing next to a saint or a sinner? For 9 days I slept very little, read a lot, and after dawn I would lull myself to sleep with Vonnegut's 'Galapagos', if only for a couple of hours. The ninth day, when we actually preformed the Umrah, I woke up with the realistion that my thoughts were absolutely useless and that I was there because I was supposed to be there. End of story. Why it took 9 sleepless days - lets put it down to a futile jihad. One part of the Umrah is the Safa and Marwa where you walk up and down seven times between the two small mountains. As fate would have it, this signifies the struggle my name mate Hagar with an 'a', wife of Abraham, endured in search of water for her newborn son Ismael. She climbed both mountains look for a well, and she did this seven times before she returned to her son Ismael where by the patter of his feet a spring erupted which till this day flows - the Zamzam well. Why did she run between the mountains exactly seven times (3.15km)? I don't know. What I do know is that whilst I was pushing my mother in her wheelchair between Safe and Marwa, I lost count and we ended up running 9 times (3.9km). We figured next time we can just do 5 and call it even - the well is still there!

The whole idea of the pilgrimage in Islam is a commemeration of the onness of faith. Unity despite the diversity in race, gender, method of belief. Moving as one, praying as one, being one. The set of movements throughout serve as a reminder of the cause and effect paradigm. My actions are your actions are their actions. This realisation is what pulled me through in the end - qadar - the will of unity. It remains difficult to explain how a shared moment of doubt, fear, elation, humour, and absolute calm with not only my mother but around one million others at the same time leads to a light-bulb moment. Some say its like being at a concert but it is nothing as implicit as such. This is a silent testimony of humanity with as underlying soundtrack the patter of feet, the cricket and bird song, and the determination of your intentions to build on your willpower.

And it all comes together on a night like tonight ...