As the clock struck 4, a barely perceptible crackle over the public address system soon turned into a mellifluous call to prayer at
I sat on a raised platform facing the historic masjid in old
The platform ran east-west along the length of the quadrangle enclosing a large
courtyard where visitors milled about and joyous children scattered hundreds of
feeding pigeons into the sky to watch them circle overhead before settling down
once again among the grains an old Muslim man in a skull cap had spread in the
middle of the courtyard.
Click Play to listen to the muezzin at prayer time in Delhi's Jama Masjid
Visitors continued to stream in through the towering southern entrance. I let the muezzin’s magic work over me. After hours on foot through
crowded gallis here was a voice that made space I could meander in without
leaving my seat on the platform.
Behind me, framed in ornamented arches that looked out to the Red Fort in the distance two Muslim women in burqa sat cross-legged on the stone floor offering prayers from their holy book. The Urdu letters were visible from where I sat several feet away. Not once did they look up from the book in the time I was there.
The soft afternoon Sun slanted across the platform, echoing the warmth the muezzin's call to prayer lent the vanishing day.