Mother of the Believers: A Novel of the Birth of Islam

by Kamran Pasha

  And then I saw it. Partially buried under a small mound of sand, a black stone winked out at me, its white flecks glittering in the harsh sunlight. I smiled in delight and thanked Allah for helping me find the necklace. I quickly pulled it out of the ground and wiped it clean. I held it close in my palm rather than tie it to my neck and risk having it fall off again. And then I looked up at the sky and realized that the sun was now far above me. I blanched—how long had I spent out here, alone in the wilderness? Had it been hours? I cursed my own foolishness. The Muslims should have been on the road to Medina by now, but my little excursion had delayed the entire army. Scouts were probably searching frantically for me, and the whole camp would be in disarray at my disappearance. My heart racing, I ran back to the hillock and climbed down, practicing a thousand apologies in my head for having held up the entire expedition.

  And then I froze as the campground came into sight.

  The area was deserted. There was not a single human being or animal left of the entire armed contingent. I stood there in utter shock, my breath caught in my throat. They were gone. The Muslims had broken camp and left without me.

  I looked around desperately and called out for help. But there was no sign of any stragglers, and the only answer was the mocking call of my own echo.

  My vision blurred as I stood forsaken in the empty wasteland where no man or woman could survive alone for more than a few hours. Tears fell readily from my eyes and I could feel their bitter salt on my tongue. The mad thought crossed my mind that the only water I would ever taste again would be that which flowed from inside me.

  I sat down in despair, the necklace falling from my hand and landing on the dry earth that would soon become my grave. I looked in fury at the simple onyx beads whose pursuit would now cost me my life. And then I felt all the color drain from my face.

  The necklace had fallen in such a fashion that the beads curled up to form a smile, a cruel, mocking jeer. And then the wind rose and I thought I could hear a terrible, inhuman laughter echoing all about me.

  25

  I wandered alone in the desert for hours, following the tracks of the camels eastward toward Medina. The dromedary beasts moved like falcons through the shifting sands and the army was in all likelihood already most of the way back to the oasis. If I continued on my present course, I would be able to reach home on foot within six days. Which was, of course, six days longer than I could survive without any food or water. And yet something kept pulling me forward, some desperate hope that my absence from the caravan would be noticed and a search party sent back. But as the sun fell toward the horizon, my hopes began to dwindle. And when the last light disappeared from the sky, they died with the sunset.

  A blackness fell over the wilderness that was so thick that even the sea of stars above me could not shed any light on my path. The air that had sizzled with merciless wrath during the day now became still and deathly cold. I lay down on the coarse sand and hugged myself tight, hoping to keep my body warm enough to survive until the sunrise. But my teeth chattered viciously and tremors of ice ran through my veins.

  The world began to darken further, and even the stars faded from my view. My head began to spin and my breathing slowed to a soft whisper. I could feel my heartbeat wane and I no longer had the strength to fight.

  I was falling into a chasm that had no bottom and I finally surrendered and gave myself to the void.

  I AWOKE WITH A start at the sound of drums pulsing in the distance. The world remained black all around me, and when I looked up into the sky, I could see no stars. For a moment, I was confused. Had I died? Was this the barzakh, the barrier between worlds where souls were stored until the Day of Resurrection? I looked around in trepidation, expecting the terrifying forms of Munkar and Nakir, the angels of death with black faces and piercing blue eyes, to appear at any moment and begin the solemn questioning of the soul in the grave. The angels were said to ask three questions: “Who is your Lord? Who is your prophet? What is your religion?” Those who answered correctly—“Allah,Muhammad, and Islam”—would be granted peace in their graves until the Final Judgment. And those who answered with falsehood would suffer torment that would prefigure the horrors of hell.

  I gripped my hands to my chest, waiting and watching, the sacred words of the Fatiha repeating on my parched lips. And yet no angels appeared. But I heard the thunder of drums grow louder and a red glow appeared on the horizon. But it was not the welcoming glare of sunrise, but something else, for the sky remained black save for the throbbing, pulsating halo beyond the hills.

  There was something that was both enticing and terrifying about that light. It beckoned to me and I felt drawn toward it. And yet a voice inside my heart said to stay where I was, to avoid the mysterious light and all the secrets that it offered. I struggled with myself, but my curiosity finally took hold of my heart and I walked toward the unearthly glow.

  I climbed up a tall dune, struggling with the shifting sand beneath my feet that kept threatening to pull me back. But I finally managed to make it to the top of the hill and was able to look down at the source of the light. My eyes grew wide as I saw a campfire burning in the distance, the flickering flames dancing and calling out to me with the hope of rescue.

  I began to run, joy in my heart. God had heard my prayers and the danger was over. Where there was fire, there were people. I should have hesitated, wondering who would be out here in the middle of the night, whether they were friend or foe. A pretty girl alone in the wilderness would be easy prey for the Bedouins, who followed no law save the call of their lust. And yet some part of my heart reasoned that I would be safe once they knew who I was. Even a bandit would find more value in ransoming the wife of Arabia’s most powerful man than in taking her virtue.

  As I ran closer to the fire, the drums grew louder. I saw figures milling about the light and I slowed, my prudence finally reasserting itself. I crept closer to the burning pyre until I could get a clear look at these people and decide whether it was indeed wise to reveal myself.

  And then I froze when I saw who they were. It was a group of women who looked disturbingly familiar, dressed in robes of scarlet and gold, their anklets jingling as they danced around the fire. They were led by a tall woman whose face was covered by a veil and who was beating a timbrel with intensity. The strange women swayed and swirled by the fire, their bodies shaking in an ecstasy that would have made me blush had I not been so disoriented. What were these women doing out here in the middle of the night, dancing and throwing themselves about as if they were making love to unseen spirits? My blood began to chill and I suddenly regretted having followed the light.

  I was ready to crawl back over the hills and take refuge from these strange and alluring figures when I saw the veiled woman who led the dance raise her arm. A golden armlet reflected the raging fire and I could make out a distinct shape—two snakes winding about each other, and where their jaws met, a glistening ruby sparkled in defiance.

  I stopped breathing as I realized who this woman was.

  Hind. The mad wife of Abu Sufyan, who had eaten the flesh of the martyrs.

  I wanted to run but my legs were rooted to the spot. And then I saw a flash of light above me and heard the terrible crash of thunder. And I realized that the reason I could see no stars was that the heavens were covered by thick, rolling storm clouds. The lightning flashed again, and a sudden torrent began, rain plunging down from the angry sky and flooding the earth around me.

  I felt the hard drops hitting my face like tiny pebbles and I opened my mouth, desperate for water after hours of wandering in the desert. But the rainwater tasted different, salty and vile, and I retched violently. And then the sky was lit by a dozen terrible jagged bolts and for a moment I could see the world clearly about me.

  The raindrops were not clear, but crimson.

  The sky was raining blood.

  As my heart pounded in horror, the unholy torrent struck the campfire. But instead of extinguishing the flames,
it was as if oil had been poured upon them, and the fire burned higher and brighter, illuminating the desolate valley as bright as day.

  And then I saw a sight I will never forget. All about me the ground was littered with corpses from a battle. Men in armor, their breastplates pierced by dozens of arrows, arms and legs dismembered and thrown to the side like refuse. The terrible stench of rotting flesh engulfed me and I wanted to scream, and yet no sound emerged.

  And then I watched with horror beyond horror as the veiled Hind stopped her dance and turned to look in my direction. In the light of the raging fire she could now see me, and she suddenly laughed with bloodcurdling viciousness. Her maidens, whom I now recognized as the same madwomen who had danced over the body of Hamza, pointed at me and sneered.

  And then Hind was walking toward me and I saw that the timbrel in her hand had become a mighty sword, the blade curved and cruelly jagged. At that instant, my terror overcame my shock and I began to run. Yet everywhere I turned, I was blocked by a sea of corpses, and I had no choice but to step on their bodies, feeling the sickening sensation of my feet sinking into their rotting flesh.

  I could hear Hind’s laughter growing closer but I dared not look behind me. I needed to get away, far away from this madness. Every prayer I knew was on my lips, and yet the nightmare continued, my supplications met only with the terrible roll of thunder from above.

  And then my sandals jammed inside the open mouth of a dead soldier whose skull I tried to run over, and I tripped, falling hard on my face. I desperately tried to move, to pull my foot free from the teeth of the poor man whose corpse I had no choice but to desecrate. I managed to pry my foot loose from the jaws of the unlucky soldier and crawled away, shuddering in disgust. I was ready to get back to my feet when lightning flashed and I saw the face of the poor man clearly.

  It was the face of your father, my sister’s husband, Zubayr ibn al-Awwam.

  My eyes went wide in horror and I could not move. Zubayr lay on the ground and I saw that his head had been severed from his body. In each of his hands he held a sword, even as he had that fateful day he had protected our lives at Uhud.

  I wanted to scream, but it was as if my tongue had been ripped from my throat.

  And then I saw a figure lying beside him, pierced with a dozen arrows shot through his breast, his eyes looking up at me accusingly.

  It was my sweet cousin Talha, the one man who loved me more than himself and had nearly died fighting those who sought to sully my honor.

  Tears exploded from my eyes and I felt myself swooning. And then, in that terrible moment, Hind appeared, standing above the bodies of two of my dearest and closest friends, laughing in contempt. I threw myself at her, clawing at her veiled face with my fingers. She appeared startled by my onslaught and raised her sword to strike me. Somehow I found the strength to kick her in the womb, and she doubled over in pain, letting the blade fall from her grasp. I immediately took up the weapon, which felt surprisingly light and natural in my hand, and in an instant I was standing atop the fallen Meccan queen, the blade at her neck.

  The terrible image of Talha and Zubayr dead before me consumed my eyes and I raised the weapon, ready to strike.

  “You did this to them!” I screamed.

  And then Hind spoke words that have never left me and haunt me to this day.

  “No. You did.”

  I did not understand what she meant and I did not care to. Screaming with animal rage, my heart crying out for vengeance, I sliced the blade down and cut Hind’s head from her sensuous body.

  As her decapitated skull rolled away, the veil fell off.

  And I dropped my sword in horror.

  For I was looking at my own face.

  26

  I screamed with such intensity that I woke myself from the nightmare, the cry still echoing from my lips even as my eyes blinked in confusion. There was no battlefield, no sea of corpses. My beloved Talha and your father, Zubayr, were nowhere to be seen, nor was the ghastly demon image of Hind—or was it myself?

  I was alone where I had collapsed hours before, in the middle of the empty desert, with only scorpions and lizards to keep me company. For a moment, a wave of relief ran through my veins and I said a silent prayer thanking Allah that what I had seen was just a dream, a delusion arising from the terror of my predicament.

  And then my relief faded and the stark realization of my situation came back to me like a kick to the stomach. I was alone and lost in the wilderness, and had not had a sip of water since noon the day before. My head was pounding and the world swam before me as I tried to rise to my feet. I would not able to survive another day out here like this, and by the time the search parties reached me from Medina, I would be a desiccated corpse, partially consumed by the sands and the ferocious insects that hid in the shadows of the wastes.

  And then I turned my head and saw the red glow on the eastern horizon. At least the sun would be up shortly and the icy air would give way to its unrelenting fury. I held myself tight, trying to warm my bones as the winds slapped at me from all sides, like an angry mother chiding a troublesome child. I had no choice but to keep moving toward the sun, hoping against hope that the caravan had returned for me during the darkness, that soon I would be home again in my small but comfortable little chamber in the courtyard of the Masjid. How I had longed to escape that tiny room as if it were a prison! And now I would have traded my soul for a chance to sleep inside its sturdy walls, free of wind and rain and the raging furnace of the sun. During the worst moments of my confinement, I had dreamed of running off into the open desert, letting the sands caress my bare feet and the air wash freely over my uncovered tresses. But now I hated this vast openness, this stark emptiness that was a dungeon far worse than any designed by man.

  As I stumbled forward, memories of my family came back to me. My beautiful mother, softly whispering a lullaby to me as I fell into safe slumber in her arms. My father, hunched and careworn, yet always smiling at me with sparkling eyes that knew only kindness. My sister, Asma, whose plainness and strength and quiet dignity gave her more beauty than all the flighty girls whose glitter faded with time. As I coughed up dust from my battered lungs, I said a silent prayer that they would not grieve for me for long. Their lives were difficult enough without the weight of heartache and the bitter poison of loss.

  And then the crimson disk of the sun broke over the horizon and I blinked in surprise. A figure was silhouetted against the heavenly fire, a man on a camel, riding steadily in my direction. No caravan, no contingent of soldiers that would have normally made up a search party for so august a person as a Mother of the Believers. Just one man, moving inexorably toward me.

  I looked around, but there was nowhere to hide in the vast nothingness. And then I moved out of pure instinct. I grabbed a sharp rock whose cruel edges looked as if they could tear open flesh down to the bone. And then I pulled up the veil that I had tied around my waist and hastily covered my face.

  And then the sun rose higher and I saw the man’s face and recognized him. He was a youth of twenty years named Safwan who had often come by the Masjid to help the Prophet’s daughter Fatima feed the People of the Bench. He had no wealth or social position, but his darkly handsome features always set my girlfriends giggling in his presence. Safwan was the source of many unspoken fantasies among the women of Medina, although he was remarkably pious and seemed utterly unaware of the heated thoughts he inspired in others.

  And now he was here in the desert, and we were alone.

  As the climbing sun illuminated the world about us, Safwan stopped his camel and stared down at the tiny figure standing inexplicably on the desert plain. I saw him blink several times as if he was trying to convince himself that I was not some sort of mirage or twisted vision of his mind.

  And then I saw his dark eyes fall upon my onyx necklace, the accursed object that had brought me to this wretched place between life and death. And then I saw the color drain from his face.

  “Inna
lillahi wan inna ilayhi rajioon,” he said, reciting the prayer in the Qur’an that is said when man faces adversity or a situation beyond his ability to handle. “Truly we belong to God and truly we are returning to Him.”

  I stared up at him, unblinking, utterly unable to speak. And then Safwan climbed off his camel and approached me slowly, one hand on the hilt of his dagger.

  “Are you…are you the Messenger’s wife? Or a djinn sent to lead me astray?” There was fear and wonder in his voice, and I realized that he had not been sent to look for me. Somehow, by the strange hand of fate, this lone warrior had been wandering through the desert wastes and had come upon me at my moment of dire need. If ever there had been any small part of my heart that had questioned or doubted the existence of God, it vanished forever in that remarkable moment in the desolate wilderness.

  My vision blurred as tears of joy and disbelief flooded my eyes.

  “I am no djinn,” I managed to croak out. “Please…help me.”

  27

  I had awakened from one nightmare and found myself in another. Within hours of my miraculous return to Medina, the daggers of envy were bared against me. The Messenger had dispatched search parties when he learned that I was missing from my howdah. But when the people of Medina saw me returning in the company of Safwan, salacious talk of my time alone with the attractive soldier began to spread like a brushfire. Nervous whispers fanned into open word in the marketplace that I had arranged to fall behind the caravan so that I could tryst with my young lover. Even though I was secluded again inside my tiny apartment, the rumors were so prevalent that they quickly reached my shocked ears.

  The Messenger of God reacted swiftly, calling the believers to a jamaat at the Masjid where he openly declared his rejection of such gossip, which was apparently being fomented by Abdallah ibn Ubayy and his disgruntled cohorts among the Khazraj. The gathering had become heated as members of the rival tribe Aws openly accused Ibn Ubayy of slandering the Mother of the Believers, and there had been a tense moment when it appeared that the ancient hatred between the clans had been rekindled and could lead to open warfare. Sensing the dangerous mood of the crowd, the Messenger had called for calm and forgiveness and then quickly dispersed the gathering. And yet the reopened wounds between the tribes did not heal so easily, nor did the accusation against me die with the Prophet’s defense.