Days of Hajj in Exile: Our Silent Sacrifice, Memories of the Homeland, and Eid Prayer
As soon as the moon of Dhul-Hijjah is sighted, a strange spirituality spreads through the atmosphere. Here in Saudi Arabia, where we reside, these blessed days of Hajj carry a distinct aura. The resonance of caravans heading toward Makkah Al-Mukarramah and a special silence blanketing everywhere imbue the heart with an indescribable feeling. But for us expatriates, these ten days and the approaching feeling of Eid al-Adha unleash a storm that stirs up all the memories locked inside us.
When our eyes close, we do not see the streets here, but rather the lanes of our homeland where festivity begins days before Eid. The noise of animals tethered in the alleys, the sounds of them chewing, and the innocent joy of children wearing new clothes competing to feed grass to the sacrificial goats. That scene when preparations for sacrifice are underway in the courtyard of the house, the sound of sharpening blades, and the spontaneous commotion of children that envelops the entire neighborhood—how beautiful and serene is all of that, isn't it?
Then comes that special moment on the morning of Eid—the Eid prayer! When we head toward the Eidgah in our homeland, along the way we meet friends, acquaintances, relatives, and elders of the neighborhood. Everyone is embracing one another, and the echoes of "Eid Mubarak" resound. That scene after the prayer, when everyone hugs and washes away old grievances, is a special kind of unity and peace found only in the soil of one's own motherland. The gossip with friends on the way back home, and everyone sitting together at the breakfast table upon arrival—all these memories bring moisture to the eyes at that moment.
However, here in exile, the experience of Eid prayer is vastly different. There is prayer here, and mosques are crowded, but that sense of belonging and those familiar faces we long to see are missing. When we step out after the prayer, everyone is rushing off toward their respective duties or rooms. There is no traditional long embrace for Eid greetings here; people just smile at each other, say "Eid Mubarak," and the lonely journey resumes once again. In some corner of the heart, there is always a lingering regret: If only those friends, brothers, or that father were standing in this prayer row with whom we have prayed Eid since childhood!
Neither is there the clamor of animals in the streets here, nor the innocent screams of children, nor the traditional hustle and bustle of Eid. Eid here is simply named after the phone call made early in the morning. That phone call, where hearing the voices of family members makes it feel as though we are right there in that same courtyard at home. The persistent plea of the children, "Abbu, when will you come back? Everyone else's Abbu is home for Eid!"—these sentences are no less than daggers, yet we expatriates must hide all these wounds behind our smiles.
This season of Bakra Eid reminds us why we are here. In these blessed days of Hajj, while Muslims worldwide gather at a single center, we are offering our own prolonged "sacrifice" here. This sacrifice is not just of wealth, but of distance from loved ones, of the best moments of our youth, and of watching our children's smiles and their precious childhood through the screen of a mobile phone. Whether we are steering a wheel, standing at a shop, or busy on duty, our minds and souls are constantly in that courtyard back home where Eid preparations are at their peak.
This hard work we put in day and night is our true sacrifice. We sweat here so that the glow of Eid can remain alive on the faces of our family members. Even while feeling lonely here, we are buying happiness and a golden future for our loved ones.
On the upcoming Eid al-Adha, when the world rejoices, we expatriates will stand with this same silent life. There is no need to despair, because this hard work and distance of ours will not go to waste. One day, those same streets will be there, those same rows of prayer will be there, and that same boisterous atmosphere of Eid will return, and you too will be present with your loved ones. This time is a test that we must pass with a smile.
In the end, I would only say: keep your courage, because:
Even if I became an exile, I will not remain an exile forever,
One day my Master will bestow His grace, and I will sit among my loved ones again.
To all my fellow expatriates who are performing their duties away from their homes on this sacred occasion, I extend my utmost encouragement and advance greetings of Eid al-Adha. May Allah make things easy for us and grant us the opportunity to celebrate Eid with our loved ones soon.
What are your thoughts about this piece of writing? Do express your views in the comment box; we eagerly await your comments.
Humbly seeking your prayers, Sagar Pardesi
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