by A fleeting encounter that left a lasting light
A Saturday Whisper | Reflection 29
السَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ ٱللّٰهِ وَبَرَكَاتُهُ
O Allah, Lord of the dawn whose first light is gentler than the hands of a mother waking her child, let this morning pour into our lives like the first rain upon parched earth. Let our breaths be filled with gratitude and our steps with quiet determination. Grant our bodies health as steady as the heartbeat of the earth, our minds clarity that cuts through the fog of doubt, and our souls the joy of knowing You are near. Let the hours ahead be fragrant with kindness, and let every word we speak be wrapped in truth and mercy. Bless our families with harmony, our homes with light, and our days with the sweet rhythm of purpose.
It was the spring of 2018 and the air in Makkah carried that strange, indescribable scent, part oud, part dust, part holiness. After prayer my sister and I were making our way toward the Clock Tower to get some food. The crowd moved in waves, each person with a purpose yet all part of the same tide.
That was when we saw them, an elderly woman sitting on the ground with a young girl beside her who seemed lost in her own thoughts. The woman was trying to rise, struggling against her own weight and against gravity itself. As my sister passed by, the woman reached out, her voice soft but urgent, asking for help to stand.
My sister stopped instantly, without hesitation or calculation, and bent to assist her. The woman was heavyset, her frame requiring more than one pair of hands. I stepped forward and politely asked if I might help too. She agreed, and as I lifted her I realised she had only one leg.
We managed to get her to her feet. In that moment the young girl beside her suddenly sprang into action. She knelt down, took out a prosthetic leg, and began fastening it with careful, practiced movements. My vague suspicion became truth. This was their routine, repeated countless times, and we had stepped into a moment of their daily struggle.
The woman thanked us warmly and we walked on. A few steps later my sister and I exchanged glances and decided we could do something more. Perhaps we could buy her a wheelchair to make her journey easier. We turned back.
They were gone. Not just out of sight, but gone in the way a wave disappears into the ocean, leaving no trace of itself. In less than a minute they had been swallowed by the sea of pilgrims.
We stood there for a moment, scanning the faces around us. Then it struck me. In a place like Makkah sometimes you are sent to help someone not to change their life permanently but to play your small part in their story. Sometimes they appear in your life not for you to save them but for them to save you from the blindness of rushing past someone in need.
I never saw that woman again but I carry her with me still, in the way I notice those who struggle quietly and in the way I remember that some encounters are not meant to be repeated, only cherished.
And sometimes when I think back to that evening a few questions rise in my heart. How many people cross our paths each day carrying silent battles we never notice. How many times have we been too distracted to hear the quiet call for help.
When the chance to serve appears do we stop or do we keep walking. And what about the young girl. Was she her daughter, her niece, or a stranger bound to her by faith alone. Was she weary from the constant burden of care, or simply lost in her own fatigue when we first saw her. Did she, later that night, remember us as two passing souls who lifted her burden, if only for a moment.
May this morning hold for us such encounters, where the soul is stirred awake and the heart is reminded of its duty to humanity. May our eyes be sharp enough to notice the silent plea, our hands quick enough to help, and our hearts soft enough to care. Let our day bloom with purpose, and let its petals close only when we have touched at least one life with kindness.
Good morning to you, dear. Step into this day as though it were a garden waiting to be discovered, and let each hour be a flower you choose to water.
May your day be as bright as faith and as gentle as mercy,
Mani
Saturday, 16th August 2025