Overlooking the Bosphorus from the shores of the Golden Horn, the Eyup Sultan Mosque stands as one of Istanbul’s most cherished landmarks.

Tonight, on Laylat al-Qadr, one of the holiest nights in Ramadan, it is time to revisit the legend behind this architectural marvel.

Before the faithful filled the mosque and its rose-scented mausoleum welcomed the believers, there was a dream.

Built in 1458, its location was determined based on a vision seen by Aksemseddin, the mentor of Sultan Mehmed II, making it the founding structure of Istanbul’s tomb architecture.

Drawing thousands of visitors each year, the mosque remains an active place of worship while captivating visitors with its rich history and striking architecture.

Beneath the illuminated domes of Eyup Sultan Mosque, the heart of Istanbul beats in unison. 

Worshippers arrive in waves—some clutching prayer beads, others holding whispered hopes close to their chests. Together, they pray Tarawih, seeking forgiveness, divine mercy, and nearness to God on Laylat al-Qadr.

Revered as the night when the Quran was first revealed to the Prophet Muhammad through the Angel Jibreel, Laylat al-Qadr is considered the holiest night of Ramadan. Muslims spend the night in worship, seeking forgiveness and blessings.

On this night, Eyup Sultan is illuminated—not just by lights, but by history and stories.

“I’ve lived in Istanbul for ten years,” says Abdurrahman Abdul Mujeeb, a 23-year-old Sri Lankan student. “But this was my first time praying Enderun-style tarawih. It was deeply emotional,” he tells TRT World.

Nearby,  Eussuv Al-Fayyadh bin Mohd Fauzi, 24, from Malaysia, smiles. “I come here every week, but during Ramadan, it’s different. People linger after prayers. It feels like family,” he says.

Nowhere in the city does it feel more sacred than in Eyup Sultan. The mosque is surrounded by towering cypress trees and a cemetery. To walk through here during Ramadan is to step into a centuries-old prayer. 

From the grand mausoleum of Abu Ayyub al-Ansari to the quieter tombs of poets, saints, and statesmen like Sokollu Mehmed Pasha and Mehmed IV, every corner whispers devotion.

If you ever find yourself in Istanbul during Ramadan, follow the scent of roses. Sit beneath the towering plane trees. Watch as lanterns sway in the night breeze. Let the prayers of centuries wrap around you, like a shawl.

Mosque born of memory

According to prominent Ottoman historians and chroniclers like Tursun Bey and Ashikpasazade, the resting place of Abu Ayyub al-Ansari—one of the Prophet Muhammad’s closest companions—was lost after the Arab siege of Constantinople in the 7th century. It remained hidden until 1453, when Sultan Mehmed II conquered the city and sought to spiritually anchor his rule.

A vision guided his mentor, Aksemseddin, to the site of a grave believed to belong to Abu Ayyub. Within years, the Eyup Sultan Mosque rose around it. Completed in 1458, it became the first major religious structure of the Ottoman era—not just a mark of conquest, but of continuity.

But the bond between the Prophet Muhammad and Abu Ayyub al-Ansari runs deeper than conquest.

When the Prophet migrated to Medina during the Hijrah, it was Abu Ayyub who welcomed him into his home—not just as a guest, but as family. The Prophet lived there for seven months, choosing it over other homes because his camel, guided by divine will, came to rest at Abu Ayyub’s doorstep.

This sacred hospitality is why Abu Ayyub remains beloved—not just as a warrior of faith, but as the host of the Prophet.

To this day, his tomb in Eyup is washed with rose water—an act of reverence and tenderness. The scent that lingers in the courtyard during Ramadan is more than tradition; it is an echo of a sacred friendship that once shaped Islamic history.

Here, amid the whispers of prayer and the scent of blooming devotion, the memory of that first home in Medina quietly lingers.

Memory meets devotion

On Laylat al-Qadr, Eyupsultan’s courtyard glows with spiritual urgency. Beneath swaying lanterns, some seek solitude in dua, while others gather with family, passing down stories over warm simit and gulps of rose water.

The alleys, once home to Ottoman gathering halls like Feshane, hum with quiet footfalls. Pilgrims arrive from every corner of the city. From Pierre Loti Hill, Istanbul watches in reverence.

As the sun dips behind Istanbul’s seven hills, the moment before iftar is almost sacred.

A cannon booms in the distance. And conversations fall still.

Hands pass dates, lips murmur blessings, and the courtyard becomes a mosaic of memory—children in Ramadan costumes, elders with prayer beads, first-time visitors taking it all in.

Among them was a local boy who simply said, “Teravih is nice. I go with my dad every night. It feels like an Eid.”

Iftar without borders

On the night of March 12, in the Bahariye Mevlevihanesi—a 19th-century Sufi lodge nestled in Eyupsultan—Ramadan gathered Istanbul’s international Muslim community under one roof.

Muhammad Tahiri, a devoted community organiser, initiated these communal iftars in 2018 to support expats who often spend the holy month away from their families and homelands.

“We wanted to make everyone feel they belonged,” he tells TRT World.

Seven years later, that small idea has blossomed. This year, the menu included Uyghur cuisine, Syrian coffee, and Palestinian desserts—each bite a bridge between communities. “Tonight, 350 people came. It’s more than food—it’s solidarity,” Tahiri adds.

Their largest gathering, held in the courtyard of the Suleymaniye Mosque, once hosted over a thousand people. 

“If the weather allows,” Tahiri hopes, “we’ll return there before Ramadan ends.”

For future memories

On the evening of March 23, following tarawih prayers, the courtyard of Zal Mahmut Pasha Mosque came alive with the joyful sounds of children’s laughter. The night is filled with songs, stories, and a kind of wonder only childhood can hold.

Children sip sherbet, play Karagoz & Hacivat shadow puppets, and tug at each other’s sleeves in games of tug-of-war.

Organised by ESONDER (Onder Imam Hatipliler Dernegi), the “Joy of Ramadan with Little Hearts” (Kucuk Yureklerle Ramazan Nesesi) festival revives the warmth and community spirit of traditional Ramadans.

According to the association’s statement, the event was designed to be so memorable and full of joy that, in the future, when children say, “Where are the Ramadans of the past?” (Nerede eski Ramazanlar?), this evening will be among the first memories that come to their minds.