Voice of British Muslim Women

Saira Iffat Bhatti, Slough

The air shifts. 

Something stirs. 

A thousand steps quicken without a word, 

As though the earth itself knows that something sacred is near. 

They’ve come from motorways and meadows,

Pushing buggies, carrying toddlers,

Draped in cultures and colours.  

Hearts alight with one shared hope: to catch a glimpse. 

To hear the voice that moves hearts before words are even spoken. 

The women’s side of the Jalsa Gah holds its breath. 

Not out of fear, but reverence. 

Security tightens, whispers soften,

Volunteers steady themselves – because today is no ordinary day. 

Today, Beloved Huzoor (May Allah be his Helper) is coming here. 

To us. 

To this blessed side of the Jalsa Gah that so often hears his words from afar –

Today, they see him near. 

The marquee hums like a waiting prayer. 

Mothers gather their children in their laps,

Daughters crane their necks slightly,

Grandmothers hum in familiarity. 

All lean forward, towards the silence before arrival. 

Then it happens,  a stir at the entrance. 

A wave of salaam that ripples through mind and being, soft yet thunderous. 

Tears blinked back, hands raised instinctively. 

As he enters, a servant of God

Stepping lightly into love. 

In that moment, 

No one remembers the long travel,

The mud-stained shoes, the heat, the tired backs. 

Only this: he came.

He looked towards us. 

And in his presence, we remember who we are. 

Why we are here. 

What it means to be part of something eternal. 

Today, the ladies’ side of the Jalsa Gah becomes a sanctuary. 

Not because of the grandeur, but because of the humility that walked into it.