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| from Wikipedia |
I awaken when it's time for fajr, the before-dawn prayer. The still morning air is carrying the overlapping sound of adhan from mosques near and far away. The multiple calls to prayer serve as a gentle and peaceful start of the day. But I am not quite awake yet. In 15 or 20 minutes, I hear the prayer over the loudspeaker, and the soft recitation of Quran draws me from my bed to go and make my own morning prayer.
I hear the adhan again around noon, reminding me that today is Jummah, Friday, and the Jummah prayer will start in one hour. Time to wrap up Muslims all over to wrap up business, studies, play or sleep, and get ready to go to the mosque. And sure enough, an hour later comes the first of three successive adhans. Three adhans. There is no mistaking the importance of this weekly prayer.
Today the first adhan is almost crisp, business-like. Time for prayer. Get to the mosque now. The second adhan is so full of pleading and remorse that it nearly stops me in midstep. Regrets pile upon my shoulders and bend my back. There is just so much, so much to ask forgiveness for. The third adhan soars to the heavens with longing. Almost painfully, my whole being resonates with the need to follow the sound of that final adhan up and into paradise.
The adhans have done their job. Three adhans from every mosque criss-cross and criss-cross and criss-cross the air. Simply put: it is time to pray. But this day the call to prayer was so much more than an announcement or a reminder.
I cannot explain the power of the adhan.
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