Assalamualaikum.
Day ten of our Umrah—our fourth day in Madinah—was marked by a blessing beyond words: the visit to the Rawdah. It was not simply another stop in our journey, but the heart of it, a moment where time seemed to soften and the soul was drawn into a sanctuary of peace.
Breakfast.
I share my wife's photos first.
My wife had an individual booking for the Raudah at 10:20 AM. Simultaneously, Andalusia was allocated a Muasasah slot for a different women's group. At the Mutawif's request, my wife joined that group, which proved beneficial as they were accompanied by Ustazah Jamilah.
Entering the Raudah is no longer a matter of free will; it requires a permit booked through the Saudi government’s Nusuk app. When we performed Umrah in 2024, the earliest we could secure a slot was just three days before our visit. Now, the system has become much more flexible, allowing bookings up to a month in advance. Best of all, while the app previously required us to be physically in Saudi Arabia to work, it can now be accessed and used even while we are still in Malaysia.
Our Mutawif advised us to book our Rawdah slots as soon as our Umrah visas were approved and before leaving Malaysia. While he suggested evening slots to avoid clash with any daytime tours, my wife and I chose a morning slot on the day before our flight home. Based on our previous trip, late-night slots can be quite tiring, especially for women. We decided that visiting the Rawdah was our priority, even if it meant skipping a group activity that overlapped with our time.
Securing a slot often feels like a matter of fortune; while some book with ease, others struggle to find an opening before their departure date. For those unable to secure an individual permit, there is still hope through Muassasah slots allocated to Umrah agencies. The only challenge is that these group slots can be released at any time, often leaving pilgrims with very little notice to prepare.
In our group, the Muassasah slot was only available for the men; however, the short notice meant that even some of them missed out. It was particularly disheartening for the women who hadn't secured a Nusuk permit, as no group slots opened up for them before our departure. To ensure they didn't miss out entirely, a visit to the 'edge' of the Rawdah was arranged so they could at least offer their salutations from nearby.
My wife and I had a bit of a scare that morning when the Nusuk app suddenly updated to a new format, making our approved permits inaccessible. Luckily, we had the foresight to screenshot our original permits beforehand. When we reached the gate, we showed the screenshots to the staff, and Alhamdulillah, they accepted them without any issues.
To prevent outsiders from infiltrating the group, Ustazah Jamilah advised everyone to line up closely. It is common for those without permits to try their luck by blending in with organized groups. Thanks to the group’s discipline, these attempts were thwarted. Leading from the front, Ustazah Jamilah instructed the women to keep up with her pace—if she sped up, they had to move quickly as one unit to keep the line secure.
There are two checkpoints before entering the Rawdah. At the first stop, Ustazah Jamilah suggested the ladies to perform the Tahiyatul Masjid prayer. Upon reaching the second stop, she advised them to stay alert and ready, as they would soon need to move quickly to secure a good space for prayer inside the Rawdah.
Alhamdulillah, under Ustazah Jamilah’s guidance, the group managed to secure spots in the very front row of the Rawdah. Praying there was incredibly peaceful; with a guard stationed nearby, the usual pushing and crowding were kept at bay, creating a protected space to focus. My wife was even blessed to find a spot at the far end near the Mimbar. When she later shared her experience with me, she was overwhelmed with such gratitude that she was moved to tears by the beautiful opportunity Allah had granted her.
When my turn to visit the Rawdah arrived, I was ready with my 12:00 PM slot booked via the Nusuk app. I made sure to screenshot the permit just in case. Since my designated queuing time was 11:30 AM, I left the hotel at 10:45 AM. I entered Masjid an-Nabawi through the Northern Courtyard, then circled around the Eastern side to reach the Rawdah entrance at the Southern Courtyard.
As I stepped out of my hotel, there was a distinct "butterflies-in-the-stomach" feeling. Even though I had my Nusuk permit ready, I felt a sense of urgency. I found myself constantly checking my phone to ensure the screenshot of my permit app was open since the approved permit in the apps was inaccessible due to the apps' new format. I feared that any technical glitch might stand between me and the Riyadhul Jannah (Garden of Paradise).
Looking around, I saw hundreds of others from every corner of the globe—all moving with the same singular purpose. There is a silent, beautiful bond with the strangers walking beside me. I felt a sense of belonging to something much larger than myself.
The moment I stepped onto the white marble of the masjid’s courtyard, a sudden Sakinah (tranquility) often descends. The panic of the "booking" and the "crowds" begins to melt away, replaced by the realization along with the hundreds other pilgirms that I am a guest of the Prophet (ﷺ), and I was invited to this sacred space.
As I approached Gate 39, my focus sharpened. I observed the crowds and the guards, mentally preparing to follow instructions and stay close to my group. The physical tiredness of the journey disappears, replaced by a surge of energy to make the most of the precious minutes ahead.
The Rawdah—known lovingly as al-Rawdah al-Mubarakah, Ar-Rawdah ash-Sharifah, and Riyazul Jannah—is not merely a space within Masjid an-Nabawi; it is a sanctuary where heaven seems to touch the earth. To step upon its green carpet is to step into a garden promised by the Prophet ﷺ himself, a garden from the gardens of Paradise.
Here, the heart softens and the soul feels embraced. Scholars have spoken of its mystery—whether it will one day be carried into Paradise itself, or whether it already breathes Paradise into the present moment. But for the pilgrim standing within, such questions dissolve into a deeper truth: the Rawdah is a place where prayers are lifted, where peace descends, and where gratitude overwhelms every thought.
It is not only a sacred geography but a living reminder of mercy. To be here is to feel the nearness of the Prophet ﷺ, the nearness of Paradise, and the nearness of Allah’s acceptance. The Rawdah is less about definition and more about experience—an experience of humility, of longing, and of joy that lingers long after one has stepped away.
Standing within the emerald-green boundaries of the Rawdah, the world outside ceases to exist. There is a weight to the air here—not of burden, but of profound peace—as if the space itself is saturated with centuries of devotion and the presence of the Beloved ﷺ.
In this "garden from the gardens of Paradise," my heart feels both impossibly full and entirely emptied of worldly care. I am overcome by a wave of immense gratitude, wondering what I have done to deserve this invitation to stand on such sacred ground. It is a moment of absolute humbleness; here, titles and status fade away, leaving only a servant in front of their Creator.
Performing my two rak’ahs of nafl prayer, every prostration felt like a conversation. As I whispered my sincere du'as, I looked at the faces of my Muslim brothers beside me. Their tears, their raised hands, and their whispered pleas mirrored my own. In that moment of brotherhood, my heart opened further, and I asked Allah SWT to grant and fulfill their du'as just as I hoped for my own. Their longing was my longing; their hope was my hope.
Yet, even in this peak of happiness, a quiet sadness begins to ache in my chest. Even as I sit here, I am already grieving the departure. I find myself wondering: When will I ever be invited back? Is this my final farewell?
But I choose to turn that fear back into thankfulness. I am here now. This opportunity was written for me, and for every second spent in this blessed space, I say Alhamdulillah. If this is the last time, may these moments sustain me; if it is not, may my heart remain forever tethered to this Rawdah.
Leaving the Rawdah is a transition that lingers in the soul. It is not simply stepping away from a sacred space—it feels like being gently pulled from a sanctuary where the heart had found its truest home. The moment I crossed the threshold, a bittersweet heaviness settled in, as though my spirit resisted the movement of my body.
My heart felt unusually anchored, weighed down by a desperate desire to turn back, to steal just one more glance, one more prayer, one more breath of that blessed air. It was a unique kind of spiritual homesickness, the kind that begins not after a long absence but immediately, the very instant I leave.
The physical departure was marked by a profound stillness. The bustling sounds of the rest of the mosque start to rush back in, yet they felt distant. My mind was still back on that green carpet, replaying the moments of my sujud and wondering if I said everything I meant to say in my du'a.
I found yourself walking backward as long as the guards allow, keeping my eyes fixed on the pillars until they disappear from view. It was a moment of deep vulnerability where I realized that while my body is moving toward the courtyards of Madinah, a piece of my soul has stayed behind, tucked safely within the boundaries of Paradise on earth.
Yet within that ache was gratitude—gratitude for having been allowed entry, for the chance to bow in prayer and whisper du‘a in a place where angels descend. The sadness of departure was softened by the happiness of having been there at all. And so, even as I walked away, I carried the Rawdah within me: its peace, its mercy, and its reminder that Paradise is never far from a heart that longs for it.
Seeing the Green Dome is one of those moments that resists language, where words falter before the weight of feeling. It is as though the heart recognizes something eternal, and in that instant, love, longing, and gratitude all converge into a single breath.
There is happiness—pure and radiant—at being so near to the resting place of the Prophet ﷺ, a joy that humbles the soul and reminded me how fortunate I was to stand in its presence. Yet that happiness is braided with longing, a yearning that stretches beyond the moment, as if the dome itself awakens a desire to remain close forever.
Gratitude flows like a tide, washing over every thought: gratitude for being chosen to witness it, gratitude for the chance to lift my gaze toward its emerald crown, gratitude for the reminder that faith is not only lived but also seen in symbols that endure across centuries.
And in the quiet of that gaze, humility settles in. The Green Dome does not simply inspire—it anchors the believer in remembrance, whispering that this nearness is a gift, not a right. To behold it is to feel both small and infinitely blessed, carrying away a memory that will live in the heart long after the eyes have turned away.
To be continued.
Till the next coming entry, inshaAllah. Meanwhile do take care.
No photograph or videos may be reproduced, downloaded, copied, stored, manipulated, or used whole or in part of a derivative work, without written permission from Syed Amran. All rights reserved.
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