by Kamran Pasha
She saw the color drain from Umm Jamil’s face as the shriveled crone, too, remembered the verses that she had dismissed so many years before.
Umm al-Fadl walked out of the Sanctuary quietly, leaving Umm Jamil to ponder the terrible prophecy that had come back to haunt her.
The old woman suddenly seemed like a lost child, looking around in confusion. She saw people staring at her and backing away. Umm Jamil could feel something happening to her as chills ran up her arms and legs. And then she looked down at her hands and saw ugly red pustules spreading across her flesh like a wild rash.
She turned to her brother, who was looking at her face in shock. Umm Jamil touched her cheeks and could feel the hard bumps that were breaking through the maze of wrinkles that had long since taken away her beauty.
Umm Jamil knew what these pustules were. She had seen them once before when she was a child. They were the markings of the same disease that had destroyed the invading army of Abraha, the Yemeni king who had brought an elephant to lay siege to the Kaaba. That same year that her nephew Muhammad had been born.
It was the plague.
And then she saw with horror that Abu Lahab’s blood-soaked face was erupting in the same warts. He, too, was being eaten alive by the monstrous disease that always came without warning and could kill an entire city in a day.
“Help me…help us…” Her voice sounded distant and small.
But the crowd saw the telltale signs of plague and the plaza was quickly empty.
Only Abu Sufyan stood alone by the well of Zamzam, staring in horror at his sister.
She reached for him, seeking his comforting embrace. Just as when they were children and he would hug her when she skinned her knee and the pain would vanish.
But Abu Sufyan backed away, tears flowing down his face.
“I’m sorry.”
She felt as if a hot sword had been thrust through her neck.
“No…my brother…please don’t leave me.. I need you…”
And then he was gone.
Umm Jamil stood alone by her dying husband, the ugly pustules racing like ants across her body. And then she fell to her knees and screamed. The terrible wail resounded through the city, carrying her horror across the valley of Mecca.
But her cries soon stopped and the echo vanished in the wind, to be forgotten forever.
10
One night, when the Messenger was out late for a meeting of tribal leaders at Uthman’s home, I decided to step outside my tiny apartment, which was beginning to feel like a prison cell.
Covering my hair with a dark woolen scarf and throwing on a cloak of golden camel skin, I slipped out of my house and left the Masjid courtyard by the northern gate. I had lived in Medina for over two years, but I rarely went out alone and there were many small avenues and streets I had not explored. I was not especially nervous, as the avenues of the oasis were patrolled by large numbers of Bedouin guards. The newcomers had sensed that the sands were shifting in Muhammad’s favor and they had sworn fealty to the man who was bringing order at least to the northern valleys of the peninsula. Even as Mecca and the cities to the south were suffering from a disruption of trade, the lands around Medina were booming.
As I strolled through the streets, I marveled at how wonderful it was to feel safe. I had been born into persecution and my earliest memories were of death and suffering. But since our victory at Badr, the storm had subsided and I suddenly felt free, like an eagle soaring through the skies unchallenged.
I was admiring the delicate arches of a house that stood on the outskirts of the oasis, where the paved roads melded with the sand, when a group of young men saw me standing alone. They whistled appreciatively and called out a variety of indecent proposals. Shocked at this crass impropriety, I turned to scold them and my face was suddenly lit by the full moon. Instantly their amorous attentions turned to embarrassment and fear as they recognized me. They had just propositioned the Mother of the Believers and risked bringing the wrath of God upon them!
The youths quickly bowed and scraped at my feet, asking forgiveness. I smiled, exulting in my young power, and warned them that if they ever spoke to a girl like that again, they would face grave punishment, which I left sufficiently vague to allow their own imaginations to take hold.
The boys scampered away, terror in their eyes, and I laughed. I was alone again and closed my eyes and let the warm wind caress my skin. I opened them again after a moment and looked north, through a gap in the hills that cleared a view all the way to the horizon. There was a whole world there that I hoped to see someday. Magical cities like Jerusalem and Damascus where the ancient prophets had lived. Or even further, to the famed seat of the fabled Byzantine empire. Constantinople, the largest city on earth, whose streets were rumored to be paved in silver and where the churches were as large as mountains. Or perhaps even beyond, to the ruins of a city called Rome that had once been the capital of the world but was now ransacked and forgotten. And if I made it that far, then I would of course go farther, to the lands where the sun is said to never shine and the world is lit only by stars.
It was a beautiful dream, and in my girlish heart perhaps I believed it would come true. I, who had been born with a wanderlust and a need for adventure, had known only two cities my whole life, both surrounded by sand dunes and policed by vultures and wolves. I longed to see flowing rivers and trees that carpeted the earth with life. To gaze upon mountains crowned in ice, where the clouds themselves fell like the rain. And it all seemed possible. I would never have believed that I would spend most of my life trapped inside the confines not only of this small town but ultimately inside the tiny walls of my home. Had I known what was to come, perhaps I would have kept walking that night into the desert, following the shooting stars to the wondrous world over the horizon. A world that would forever be outside the limits of my destiny.
A sudden cry awoke me out of my reverie. I pushed aside a strand of hair that blocked my ear and then listened carefully. There it was again. It was the distinct sound of weeping. Of a man crying in terrible grief.
I looked around to find its source. The only building nearby was a small barn that stood near the edge of the oasis. As I moved closer to the mud brick stable, the sound became clearer. I felt my heart pounding. Someone was hurt, perhaps had fallen and injured himself. God must have sent me here tonight to help this poor soul.
I approached the barn and pushed open the heavy wooden doors that had been bolted from outside. I was too naive to stop and ask myself why someone would be in a barn that had been locked from without, but I must have reasoned that the poor fellow had gotten stuck inside and had hurt himself trying to get out.
The door opened with a steady creak and the weeping stopped instantly. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness within and then cautiously stepped inside. It was an old structure, supported by beams of palm wood. There were open stalls for horses, the ground littered with fresh grass, but I could see no animals within. I began to wonder if I had imagined the sound when I saw a flash movement against one of the walls. My heart leaped and I cried out.
And then I saw him. A wretched-looking man was curled into a ball inside the stall, his face bruised and caked in dried blood. As the moonlight strengthened my vision, I noticed that his hands were tied with a thick rope and were bound to a post.
He looked at me with wild eyes full of fear.
“Help me…”
I had never seen anything like this. Someone had beaten this poor man and left him here to die. I stepped inside cautiously, my eyes looking out for any sign of rats or other unpleasant creatures in the corners.
“Who are you?”
The man spoke with a raspy voice.
“My name is Salim ibn Qusay…I am being held against my will…please help me…”
I saw his face better now. He as young, perhaps only twenty years old, and he had bright eyes that seemed to glitter like a cat’s in the dark.
“How did this happen to you?
”
Salim bowed his head.
“I was a traveler in the desert…” he said slowly. “A merchant from Taif…There was a young girl in the caravan…Yasmeen…I fell in love with her…I came to Medina to propose marriage…but her father has promised her to someone else…When he found us together, he tied me up and left me here to die…Please…help me…”
I felt a flash of righteous anger at his story. Despite the Messenger’s best efforts to eradicate the practice, such “honor killings” were still commonplace. The thought that someone could murder another human being for the crime of being in love repulsed me.
With a sudden yearning for justice and the sweet foolishness of a teenage girl who wanted to play a heroic role in this tragic tale of love, I tore my long nails into the heavy knot that bound him. After struggling with the rope valiantly for several minutes, my fingertips were rubbed raw, but I finally managed to loosen the bindings. At last, the rope came undone and Salim’s hands were free…to wrap themselves around my throat!
I tried to scream but his hands quickly moved to cover my mouth.
“You little girls always fall for the love story.” His whimper was gone and his voice was laced with menace.
I struggled as he pushed me against the wall. A flash of moonlight from a crack in the roof above illuminated my face for the second time that night.
Salim’s eyes flickered with recognition.
“You…you’re the child bride of the sorcerer…”
But instead of falling to his knees and pleading for forgiveness as the youths had done, he smiled wickedly.
“Well, then I’m truly going to enjoy this.”
As he leaned closer to me, I could smell the wine on his breath and the sick aroma of arousal that covered him like a cloud of flies.
He threw me down to the floor and then reached for my pantaloons. My heart pounded with the terrible anticipation of violation.
And then it was as if something took possession of my body. I was barely twelve years old and only half his size, when a fire ignited in my veins, giving me strength I had not imagined hid inside my tiny body.
I bit down against his hand, my teeth tearing a chunk of flesh from his fingers. He screamed and fell off me, and my feet swung hard into his crotch. Salim doubled over in agony. My pulse thundering in my ears, I ran past him. But he threw out his leg and tripped me. I fell face-first into the mud of the stables. Tears welled in my eyes. I could feel his cold hands lock around my ankles as he dragged me back into the cell.
I screamed with such force that I felt like my lungs were flying out of my chest to escape the terrible fate awaiting the rest of my body.
And then I heard the sound of voices. Men shouting from outside! As the steady drumbeat of footsteps raced toward the barn, I felt Salim let go of my ankles. There was a rush of air as he fled past me and escaped into the night.
My vision blurred and I saw no more.
11
I blinked heavily as sunlight poured over my eyelids. When I opened them, I saw a bright haze that slowly came into focus. A figure moved in front of me and I instinctively backed away in terror. But then his strong, manly features came into view and I gasped.
It was the gentle face of the Messenger smiling at me. He bent down over me and stroked my hair.
“Are you all right, Humayra?”
I managed a nod, and then looked around the barn, which had appeared cavernous the night before but was much more modest in the daylight.
“The man…Salim…where is he?”
A shadow fell over us and I saw my father, his face full of relief.
“He was a thief,” Abu Bakr said. “We caught him stealing in the marketplace. This criminal was to be punished tomorrow under God’s law, but now someone has helped him escape.”
I suddenly felt like the greatest fool on earth.
“Not someone, Father. It was I.”
The Messenger stared at me in shock.
“What?” both men asked in unison.
The back of my neck began to burn with shame.
“He told me a story…about how he loved this girl…and her father was keeping them apart…I felt sorry for him…So I loosened his bonds…”
I suddenly saw a dark cloud cover my husband’s face. His smile vanished and there was cold anger in his eyes.
“May Allah cut off your hand!”
I sat stunned for a moment, unable to process his fury. And then tears erupted from my eyes. The Prophet had never been angry with me before and I felt as if someone had just thrust a flaming arrow into my stomach.
The Messenger saw my grief but his anger did not abate. He turned away from me and I saw that there was a group of men standing by the door of the barn, keeping a respectful distance from this unfolding family drama.
“Organize a search party,” he said forcefully. “We must find him before he hurts anyone else!”
The men nodded and disappeared. My husband turned to look at me one last time, but I did not see any forgiveness in his glance. And then he stepped through the door and was gone.
I shook violently with grief and I turned to my father for his support. But Abu Bakr looked as stunned as I felt at Muhammad’s uncharacteristic rage, and he backed away from me as if I were a demon and not his daughter.
He left me alone on the cold floor of the barn. I stared around me at the gray walls that seemed to be closing in, burying me alive with my shame.
And then I remembered my husband’s curse and I lifted my hands and stared at them, waiting for the judgment of God that I knew would come upon me any moment.
I WAS STILL SITTING there like that hours later when I heard the sound of men approaching. And then the criminal Salim was dragged unceremoniously past me and thrown back into the cell from which I had freed him.
My father stood over the guards as they held the struggling captive down.
“Tie him doubly and post an armed guard at the door,” Abu Bakr said wearily. “He will be tried in the public square after midday prayers, and I would prefer that he actually show up for his judgment.”
The men tied Salim’s arms and legs, and gagged him for good measure.
I saw all of this from the corner of my eyes, but my focus remained on the palms of my hands.
I felt rather than saw the Messenger enter, for the hot morning air suddenly became cooler, as it always did in his presence. He watched me as I sat unmoving, staring at my hands with horrible anticipation.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you possessed by a djinn?”
I did not look at him. I found that I could look at nothing but my hands, which were pale and bloodless.
“I’m waiting to see which hand Allah cuts off.”
I heard the Messenger gasp as he realized I had taken his angry words at face value. And then he reached down and took my hands in his. He squeezed them tightly and I saw tears in his eyes.
We sat there, husband and wife, looking at each other. No words were said. None were needed.
And then the Messenger let go of my hands and raised his own upward in supplication.
“O Allah, Merciful and Compassionate Lord, forgive me for cursing this child. Bless her and anyone whom I have ever cursed.”
And then he lifted me to my feet and led me out of the barn, his fingers wrapped tightly around mine. As I walked past Salim, bound and guarded by men with swords, I saw the hint of a desperate plea for clemency in his eyes.
But my heart was not as big as my husband’s, and I had no forgiveness to offer.
SALIM WAS PUNISHED THAT afternoon for his crimes. He was dragged out in front of a crowd of witnesses by Umar, who tied him spread-eagled to iron stakes that had been hammered into the dark oasis earth. I watched without any emotion as Umar raised his sword and cut off Salim’s hands for theft. He screamed in agony, a sound that would have made me cover my ears and hide my face in horror and empathy the day before. But the girl who came out of the barn that morning was not the same girl who had
entered. I watched him writhe like a fish pulled from a stream, blood erupting in thick spurts from his severed wrists. And then Umar raised his sword again and chopped off Salim’s head as punishment for assaulting the Mother of the Believers.
The screams stopped instantly and there was only silence in the public square. I looked around to see the men’s heads bowed in silent prayer, the women’s faces covered in tears. They were all shaken by the severity of the punishment. But now there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what the price would be for breaching the hard-won peace of Medina. There would be no backsliding to the days of anarchy. Law had come to Arabia, and crimes carried consequences.
I took one last look at the grisly remains of the man who had taken advantage of my innocence, who had sought to mount me like a pig in the mud. And then I turned and walked away in silence.
12
A few weeks later, I strolled through the central marketplace of Medina with my friend Huda. She was sixteen and almost as tall as a man, with legs that seemed to stretch toward the sky. Huda was everything I longed to be, worldly and sophisticated. She regularly went with her father on trading missions to Persepolis and knew the latest fashions of all the beautiful women to the east.
The bazaar was one of my favorite places in the city. It was full of life and there was always some new merchant there, selling some rare item that I had heard about only in stories from cosmopolitan travelers like Huda. The stands carried everything from oranges and pomegranates that had been shipped from Egypt by sea to colorful spices from the east that smelled sweet and sour at the same time. Sometimes there were pets for sale, and I remember how delighted I was the time I saw a cage full of striped cats that I learned were baby tigers. But my favorite section of the bazaar was the long line of tables displaying jewelry—silver rings, sapphire earrings, and jade necklaces that the merchants claimed came from the mythical land of China, where the sun is born each day.
