I had planned on going to Masjid Abdul Razak. It was the 29th of Ramadan. Traditionally, the mosque hosted the last of the five khatam ul-Quran sessions during the last ten days of Ramadan. It’s something I look forward to every year, largely because the mosque had played a significant part in my youth.
But that night as I drove past the mosque and saw the burgeoning crowd spilling out from its sides, I realise that I would likely not have a place to pray.
In a split second, I decided that I would go to Masjid Abdul Aleem Siddique instead.
I arrived at a mosque that was quiet. It was serene. Despite being the penultimate night of terawih, the mosque was not overly packed. The night was cool and I was comfortable.
After eight rakaats of terawih, I turned to the bhai beside me and asked, “This mosque do eight or twenty?”
This Ramadan I was determined to complete twenty rakaats of terawih every night for thirty days. It was a personal challenge, something I don’t think I ever done.
“Twenty brother,” was the reply.
If you’ve never been there before, let me describe the interior of the mosque for you. The mihrab is surrounded by an arched dome with intricate letterings and geometric designs. While the carpet is blue - it always reminds me of the sea - the walls are white. On either side of the mihrab, the 99 Names of God are carved out in earthy brown calligraphy. It’s majestic and somewhat magical, not something you’d expect to find within the quiet clusters of landed houses in Telok Kurau.
Yet, I remember the first time I found myself at this mosque more than twenty years ago. This was a time before the mosque had gone through an extensive facelift. Despite being steeped in history, I recall vaguely its simple, unassuming interior.
Back then, I had arrived for Asar. Truth be told, I cannot recall how I ended up there because it wasn’t a school day. And I shouldn’t even have been out. You see, that was the time when society was faced with the threat of SARs and schools were shut down - something unheard of at that time.
It was a period after 9/11 when the United States was at war with terrorism. It was a strange time when together with its coalition of the willing, they deemed Iraq, with its weapons of mass destruction - a threat to democracy and mankind. It was a time when fear and confusion enveloped media and society. For a teenager, the end of the world felt imminent. I wasn’t sure if we would live to see another week.
And on that day, I believe it was sometime in March 2003, I found solace within the quiet walls of Masjid Abdul Siddique.
And on this Ramadan night, I couldn’t help but feel the parallels between this visit and the one more than two decades ago.
