313mahdi

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

How sweet the fragrance of the Majlis of a Muharram night is.

The gazebos where the chai is made and served and the lovers of Hussain gather like bees awaiting to collect the nectar from the flowers of love for the Divine and Ahlul Bayt.

The dress code maybe black but the hearts are pure as white although no colour can be used to define this love.

As the shoes come off and they enter the Majlis shoeless and sit crosslegged, or against the wall, all squeezing into the tight places, the mimbar empty but bright as can be awaiting the khateeb for the night.

The lights dimmed out so the focus remains on mullah and in pindrop silence the Khateeb begins to speak reminding the lovers of Tawheed, the message of the Quran, the majestic life of the Prophet and his progeny, discussing all that matters in life from love respect honour duties and lessons from the past and present but even with all that the stand of Hussain brights like a candle in our darkest moments extinguishing our pains and miseries that indeed not much matters but to uphold the Truth and to live with dignity at all costs.

The air will sweetened further the chorus of Salawats and the echos of the Naara Haideris to revive the sunnah of the Rasool, which was ofcourse to love his beloved grandson, his very sweet basil as he himself had described him.

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]

[313mahdi]