Faith and Family

In the embrace of Madinah and the silence of Badr, a Kashmiri son finds deeper faith on a journey shaped by history, devotion, and family.

- Faroog Hussain Dar

I started just before dawn, under the soft glow of Medina’s early light. I stood outside Gate No. 21 of Masjid al-Nabawi, hand in hand with my mother and father. We had made it together to this sacred land. And it didn’t feel real at first.

We walked the same streets where the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) once walked, prayed in the mosque where he led the faithful, and breathed the same stillness in the air, as if the city itself was holding its breath in reverence.

Inside the mosque, every step felt lighter. The call to prayer echoed gently across the marble courtyard.

My father placed his hand on my shoulder. My mother looked at the Prophet's resting place through tearfilled eyes. I whispered: Alhamdulillah.

After our prayers, we made our way to Badr. It’s not a long drive, but the air changes. The land opens up, raw and wide. And then we were there, on the ground where the first battle of Islam was fought.

The battlefield was silent now, but I could almost hear the cry of Allahu Akbar in the wind. I imagined the courage it took. A small group, standing firm in their faith, facing an army three times their size. My chest tightened. This wasn't just history. It was sacrifice, carved into the soil beneath our feet.