3,000 Years of EID

Prologue: The Night That Broke the Clock

The crescent moon had always marked a beginning. For Ameer, it once signified family hugs, the scent of rosewater, and the distant echo of takbeer. But on the night of the Eid moon in the year 2025, something changed.

As the moon shimmered above his rooftop in old Lahore, something ancient awakened inside him. He blinked, and the stars blinked back. When he opened his eyes again, the call to prayer was no longer from speakers—it was from a man shouting atop a minaret carved in stone.

He was not in 2025 anymore.

Chapter 1: 900 BCE — The First Eid

He stood among people wrapped in animal skins, gathered around a desert fire. There were no mosques, no formal Eid prayers. Yet the essence was there—a sense of community, celebration, and submission.

“Eid Al-Adha,” someone whispered. The sacrifice of a ram lay at the center of the gathering. The people sang praises of a God Ameer knew well, but through words long forgotten by modern man.

Ameer wandered among them, unnoticed, invisible—or perhaps accepted as a traveler.

A young boy handed him a fig and smiled. “You look lost, stranger.”

“Where am I?”

“You are where hearts bow before time began.”

That night, he watched as they offered prayers under the stars. The moon above shone the same sliver of silver he remembered. But before he could ask more, the ground shook with silence, and he blinked—

Chapter 2: 630 CE — The Eid of Medina

Now he stood amidst the dust of Medina. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) had just returned victorious after the conquest of Mecca. The city pulsed with hope.

Children danced. Men wept. Women wore their best linen. Ameer could hear Arabic being recited—pure, unfiltered.

He watched as people gathered for the Eid prayer. There were no loudspeakers. No digital clocks. Just the sun’s position and the harmony of hearts.

A man beside him said, “This is the Eid that followed freedom.”

Ameer asked, “And what do you feel when you see the crescent?”

The man looked up. “I see a promise. Of unity. Of mercy.”

The air smelled of dates and wet earth. But just as the takbeer rose in waves across the city, Ameer felt time peel again—

Chapter 3: 1258 CE — The Eid of Ashes

Now he stood amidst ruins. Baghdad. Once the jewel of the world. Now a city burning under Mongol invasion.

Eid had arrived quietly. No laughter. No festivity. Just mourning.

Still, a few men gathered behind a scholar who led the prayer in whispers. They stood amid crumbled libraries, destroyed art, and stolen books. Yet even here, someone had lit a lantern.

An old man gave Ameer a piece of stale bread. “Eat. It’s still Eid.”

“How can you celebrate?” Ameer asked.

“Because even in ashes, we bow to the same Lord. Even if joy hides, faith doesn't.”

Ameer sat in silence, breaking bread in a city that no longer sang. He closed his eyes in prayer—and time slid again.

Chapter 4: 1492 CE — The Eid of Exile

Granada.

Muslims were being exiled from Spain. He watched families being forced onto boats with nothing but their Qurans and hopes.

Still, at dawn, in the shadows of palaces they once ruled, a few gathered in secret.

They whispered takbeer. They smiled through tears. Children clung to their mothers.

A girl handed Ameer a rose. “Eid Mubarak,” she whispered.

He knelt beside her. “Why do you smile?”

“Because the moon still came.”

That moon, the sliver of Eid, kept visiting humanity no matter how many times we lost our homes.

Chapter 5: 1858 CE — The Eid of Resistance

He found himself in Delhi, just after the failed uprising against British rule. Blood stained the streets.

Muslims were no longer allowed to gather openly. Mosques had been turned into barracks.

Still, in a hidden courtyard, an elderly poet led a small group in prayer. Ameer recognized him—Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor.

Zafar looked at the rising moon. “Even if I have no throne, I have Eid. Even if I have no country, I have prayer.”

Ameer whispered, “What is Eid to you?”

The old man replied, “A memory of Allah when the world forgets.”

Chapter 6: 1947 CE — The Eid of Separation

Now it was Lahore again. But the year was 1947.

Partition.

People were celebrating Eid while blood ran on both sides of the border. Trains arrived filled with corpses. Mosques echoed with cries, not chants.

Ameer wandered the refugee camps. A boy tugged his shirt. “Will we still have Eid?”

Ameer knelt down. “Yes. Even when hearts are broken.”

The camp made a simple feast—rice and lentils. A man recited takbeer with tears in his voice. It was the quietest, most powerful Eid Ameer had witnessed.

Chapter 7: 2025 CE — The Eid of Mirrors

And then, he was back.

Lahore. Modern, electric, alive. Fireworks cracked in the distance. The streets were loud with celebration. Social media was flooded with selfies. Families shared food across video calls.

He wandered into his home.

His mother gasped. “Ameer, where were you?! You disappeared two nights ago!”

He looked into the mirror.

His beard had grown. His eyes held centuries. His soul had returned aged.

“I think I went looking for Eid.”

She hugged him tightly, unaware of the thousands of Eids his skin had felt.

Chapter 8: The 3,001st Eid

One year later, the moon returned again.

But Ameer did something different.

He went to a quiet mosque and laid down a large white sheet. On it, he wrote the names of every child, every city, every voice he had seen through time.

Children came to join him, drawing crescent moons and stars.

He started a tradition — Eid of Memory.

A celebration where people remember Eids of sorrow and joy, where prayers are offered for ancestors unknown, where faith is not just practiced but preserved.

And as he looked up, the moon blinked.

Was it another time leap?

No.

Just a new beginning.

Epilogue: What Eid Really Is

Eid is not clothes. Or food. Or even the day off.

Eid is a bridge.

A bridge between what we’ve lost and what we still hold.

A thread that has survived 3,000 years of empires rising and falling, of languages changing, of hearts breaking and healing.

It is the same takbeer, rising like smoke from ruins and palaces alike.

It is the same crescent moon, peeking through clouds across time.

And if you look closely this Eid, you might find Ameer’s footprints somewhere in your heart — whispering:

"Eid Mubarak. From the very beginning."