Chapter 1: My Son Muhammad

Forty three years before the Prophet Muhammad stood on the mountain of and called his people to the religion of Islam. His grandfather, Abdul Muqtfarib, Stood on the same spot. My people, hear me, O people, Quuresh of the outskirts, Quuresh of the Hollow. In the name of all. Lord of this blessed valley and sacred house, we bow in gratitude, as generations before us have done. As for what follows, it was only a few weeks ago when we

We celebrated the victory of Allah against the people of the elephant, but the time for celebration has passed. I have received word that my dear son Abdullah, a young man from his wedding has died. Amidst the crowd, Lady Amina remained a distant figure, nearly obscured at the foot of the mountain. hidden from the shocked crowd around her. Bears down upon my soul more than words. Express my son with vigor. dreams in his heart, set forth to Yathrim. Yet he never Only a fleet.

And then he embarked on that fateful caravan journey. And now he is no more. In these moments of anguish, I am reminded of life's harsh reality. It is but a fleeting journey, merely our lives and our deaths. Destroys us, but time Time, relentless and unforgiving, ravishes all it touches. Time is the destroyer of all things. Time has destroyed my boy. Islam by touch presents. My brother. No. From the visionary minds behind Book One. I I'm so so sorry, Auntie M

An audio with adventure of the life of the Prophet Muhammad. Amina did not wail. She did not pull her hair or slash. As Abdul Muttalib descended from the mountain, he saw her gently place a hand on her belly. A gentleness only a mother could express, and he understood why she was.

Book 2. Persecution. CHAPTER One My Son Muhammad Amina Bintwah looked about as alive as any widow would after earning that title. Her physical form showed no signs of ailment, yet there was a subdued light behind her eyes. A glow that had waned and dimmed over time. Sorry about the wait. Two fools pickering over a donkey. Can you believe it? Ah sometimes I feel like these people will find any excuse to pull out swords. Dates? Thank you, Abdelmatton. But I'm fine. I kindly ask you reconsider.

You are eating for two now. Unless you are planning on sacrificing the infant to the gods, in which case I would more urgently ask you to reconsider. I won't bury Abdullah's child alone. A wise choice, Lady Amina. Our children are the only things that carry our legacy. A dead line is a dead legacy. And I would not want La's legacy to die so pointlessly. Nor would I. How how are you? I am well. I think not. Your husband is dead. You hardly spent a twilight with him and now he's gone.

You mean to upset me? No, no, my lady I merely want you to see the great fortune you are. You are pregnant after only one night with my late son. A great blessing from Ola. A chance to let your husband's legacy live on. Your child can bring greatness to our family and clan. He will be great. I know he will. You are so sure it is a boy. Have you visited a soothsayer? Not a soothsayer. I've been having dreams. But I probably shouldn't take them.

They are only dreams after all. Abdul Muttal leaned closer to Amina. I dear lady. I saw a dream years ago about a great spring in many I listened to that dream and I was like, dug where I had envisioned it. And because of that. I discovered this Amzam well, the lifeline of Mecca. Dreams are not to be ignored. I I hear a voice telling me that I will bear a boy. A boy that will lead this nation. That is an interesting dream indeed.

It is not just the dream, Abdul Muttanad. This is my first child, and perhaps I'm inexperienced, but I feel nothing no hardship or fatigue or pain and the light oh Habdan Muttalab there is a light settle down What light? What are you talking about? I saw a light emanating from my womb and it reached all the way to the palaces of Shem in Persia. I don't know what it means. Amina. Apologies. You are fine. Everything you have told me sounds like a glad tiding from our Lord.

Worry. All will be. Understand Yes, yes, you're right. There is a final matter to attend to. My son left his house to his family, and I do not think he would object if I handed you the key. It's important that my grandson has a safe and secure home. Don't you agree? Of course. He also left a flock of sheep in the and a fair amount of money. but use it wisely.

Do not allow pride to prevent you from asking me for anything you might need if it does not suffice. Thank you, Sayyid Abdelmutton. One final thing. Balaka, you can come in. And war rags, this is Bob. I bought her for Abdullah before he married you. She never got the chance to serve him. I suppose you will find better use for her. She has a quite outgoing personality. Yes, Baraka. She is your new mistress. You'll have to excuse her Arabic.

You know how slaves are. Thank you. I'm sure I will manage. You are correct, Abdin Muttaddin. I am in great fortune, but for a reason you have completely overlooked. And what is that, my lady? I have an excellent father in law.

In Abdullah's home, Amina slept soundly. Apart from the snoring of the slave girl, Baraka, the humble abode was enveloped in profound silence. Yet, in a realm beyond the waking world, a voice audible only to Amina stirred within her dreams. Amina. अमिना Carry in your womb the leader of this nation. When he arrives on this earth, then say, I seek refuge in the one divine. From envy's grasp a shield I twine.

Strong protectors guide his way. Beneath righteous leaders may my son sway. In a realm untouched by adversity's hand, he serves the praised and glorious grand. Until he witnessed. All to be And all there is and all to see. His sign or radiate. From high. and palaces and sham sky. When he arrives, Muhammad be his name. Ahmed in Torah. Gospel the same Praised in heavens, earth, and so on. His name is Muhammad in the Holy Quran.

Amina was overwhelmed by the voice, so powerful and profound. In the midst of her dream, she saw a light emanating from her, stretching out from her belly to the starry night like a golden carp. And through the darkness she saw the magnificent palaces of Busra in Sham glowing with the light from within her. Amina was breathing heavily. She placed a delicate hand on her belly. Muhammad.

The passing months brought forth a radiant Amina, her pregnancy flourishing without a trace of weariness, no sharp pains, no soreness, defying all expectations. Despite warnings from friends and relatives about the impending labor's pains, when the Monday of the twelfth day of the month of Rabi al Awal finally arrived, Amina hardly felt a thing. You push. Baroka stood by her mistress's side, along with two midwives. Yes, very good. You're almost there. Yes, I see. He's almost out. He's

What is that? What's happening? Look you The entire room glowed with a white light. From everywhere, Baraka craned her neck towards the ceiling. What seemed like magnificent floating stars were descending slowly towards the room. They're going to fall on us. They're going to fall on us. And then all at once the light was extinguished. Amina was breathing heavily, and a beautiful baby boy sat on his knees at her thighs.

Eyes open, staring at the sky, not crying. Baraka wrapped the infant in a blanket. His umbilical cord was already cut. May Allah have mercy on you. Ah! Who said that? Is he all right? Let me see him. Huh? Yes, he is out and healthy. Better than He's not even crying. Good very good.

Wonderful job, my lady. Congratulations on the Muhammad! محمد محمد Baroka nuzzled the baby under her chin with one arm and pulled the window curtain with the other. I praise Allah. Look at this boy. Mu Talib turned to the bystanders behind him. He lifted Muhammad over his head. Yeah. A BO Abdul Ruzza, the son of Abdul Motwalib, ran as fast as his heavy legs could be.

His excitement and exhaustion gave his cheeks a reddish flare. He ran to the Kaba and burst in without knocking. Is it true? Let me see him. Calm down, brother. You don't want to wake him. Oh my oh my oh my what a blessing Abdul Muttalib cradled a sleeping Muhammad in his arms, all of his children and grandchildren looking at him with love and joy. In the realm of gratitude, my heart does soar to the one who bestowed this boy I adore.

Blessed he is beyond all measure. Thank you, Ola, for this wonderful treasure. Amina was resting by him, her face at peace. He stands on With grace and charm. He fills each heart. Bayalat, look at him. Isn't this wonderful, Abdulazza? Another addition to the great clan of Benu Hashem. He even looks like Abdullah. Why look at that, Abas, you're right. Congratulations to you, Lady Amina. Thank you, Abdulazza. Shielded from envy's venom.

Abbas. Yes, father. Come kiss your new nephew. He's going to be like a brother to you. Father, may I hold him? Gentle now. That is Abdullah's one and only heir. Bach and Bach, what a healthy lad. My slave girl, Thueba, ran to me and told me that you gave birth to a boy. I was so happy, I freed her on the spot. I'm delighted to hear that, Abdullah. An interesting name you've chosen for him. Muhammad. From the root of Ham, praise. Ahmed is the praiseworthy, Mahmud is the one who is praised.

But Muhammad? Now that is some eloquent Arabic right there. The one who was constantly and consistently praised and deserving of it. Splendid naming, I must say. Thank you, Abdmanov. Sorta just came to me. Abdul Muttalib liked it, so it fit. I want him to be praised amongst the people as I want him to be praised by Allah in the heavens. What's that mark on his back? It looks like a dark bump. Hm. Must be a birthmark.

I'll get the Weba to nurse him. She nursed Hanza as well. Heh You're gonna have to pay her to do that, brother. You freed her, remember? Oh Right. All right, every one. Give Lady Amina some time to rest with her new son. The time to shower him with affection can come later. Right now. The lad needs sleep. Come on, let's go, Abu Lahab. Don't call me that.

As soon as the last member of the family had exited the Kaaba, Amina looked down lovingly at her son. She knew exactly what to say. I seek refuge in the one divine. From envy's grasp of should I divine? Аміна'схарфет супейшенко. Remained confined within the sacred walls of the Kaaba. But the news of Muhammad's arrival echoed across the world in the most extraordinary ways imaginable. Rabbis and priests alike.

Looked to the sky and noticed a very peculiar star in the night sky. Its appearance mirrored the ancient prophecies. Foretelling the birth of a destined messenger. In Persia, the great white palace of the Emperor shook and quaked violently, leaving balconies topped. The eternal flame of the Zoroastrians, worshipped and kept ablaze for centuries, was instantly extinguished that very night, without any explanation.

away from the sights of mortal men, the malevolent Shaitan, king of the devils, inexplicably began to cry on his cursed throne. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself grasped the gravitas of this momentous arrival. But on that night, All Amina could feel was immense maternal love for her son Muhammad.

A few weeks later, Amina was pacing around the room, nervously twisting her head scarf and chewing her lip, while Barak addressed Muhammad. Maybe he's not ready this year. We can wait till next year, right? No But the desert is so dangerous. What if he gets lost? Or they run out of water? Danger us? Yes, Baraka. It means bad. What if the Bedouins do not treat him right? No, no. No bad. Allah protects.

Amina gave him a loving smile, tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't think of any other excuse. She knew she was stalling. Alright, very well. She scooped up her son and went outside. The city center was full of parents with their newborns and infants. Once a year. The nomadic tribe of Benusa ibn Bakr would visit Mecca and, for a handsome fee, would take the newborns with them into the desert to live in the fresh air. Arabs were nomadic in origin.

And up until the great Qusay ibn Kilab had ordered permanent settlements built in Mecca, even the Quraysh had been nomadic. But now the Quraysh were city dwellers, and city life was not ideal for raising healthy, strong, And independent Arab children. Attention, parents of Graish. The time has come to entrust our children to the desert from whence we came. We are proud of our great town, but the townsman is a prisoner.

To be in one fixed place, yesterday, to day, or to morrow is to be a target of time, the ruiner of all things, Our infants need fresh air where diseases cannot spread. They need the pure and divine Arabic language of the Bedouins and not the contaminated slang of the cities. Let our children experience the pitching of tents, the mounting of camels, and the navigation of dunes. Let not the luxury and sloth that lurk in the shadows of every wall spoil their instincts to survive and thrive.

Let their first two years be in the freedom of the desert.

Amina swallowed hard. Two years? Two whole years without her beloved son? Abdul Muttalib sent her a non-verbal expression of good luck. And then the Ben Usad entered through the gates. Amina at once knew their reputation was not exaggerated, their lips were crusted from drought and thirst, skin weathered by constant sands and sun, they rode their mules and camels into the city.

The commotion that ensued rivaled that of the goat and livestock markets. All through the streets, Amina saw parents of the Quraysh trying to sell off their babies to the Bedouin parents, who would nurse and raise them in the desert for two years. Make sure he gets plenty of milk and only speak to him in post. Excellent. It's a deal. Here's my son. Amina stood by with Muhammad. She hoped the boy looked healthy enough. A couple approached her. Salutations, Miss.

This be a son? Yes, this is Muhammad, born in Rumi al Owen. He doth seemeth very hale and haughty, but whither in his father, prithe? His father passed away. There be no father present? Well, his grandfather is Abdul Muttalib, and his father did leave us. Enough. Wealth. The Ben Usaad woman was yanked away by her husband, who whispered in her ear, If the lad hath no father, then there may be no assurance of payment. His grandfather, too, is not of vast wealth.

for he bears the burden of overseeing a whole tribe. Verily our prospects for compensation may be dim, I doth apologize, but methinks we shall decline that offer, fair lady. The couple left Amina standing alone, with her rejected son cooing none the wiser. Abdullah, I know, I know, thou art hungry. If he keeps weeping like this, none shall want to give us their child. They will think we are a starving lot. Dearest husband, we are starving. Outside the city of

Mecca, Khalima, and her husband Harith from the Benusad were late to the great send-off. Khalima tried her best to calm her crying child, but he had been bawling non-stop for two days. The mule they rode on was so emaciated that it Hanima wouldn't have been surprised if it dropped dead at any Their mule was so slow that the rest of the Benusad had arrived at Mecca hours before them. Halima feared there would be no children left for them to take.

Dearest husband, why do you not endeavor to milk the camel once more? Because it is even more dry than a bone. Every time I have tried in vain, and the outcome has been none. Our mule is slow. Our child is starving. I regret to say it, but this journey is fruitless. We are in need of the money, Abicapcha. What awaits us back home other than dead crops and drought. Thou art unable to nourish thine own. Own child, what doth prompt thee to believe you can nurse?

Verily, our Lord hears my child's weeping better than you, and he will not leave us in such a state. By the time Halima's exhausted mule brought them to Mecca, it was a very good thing.

Nightfall. But all the children of wealth and nobility had already been There's still that boy from Banu Hashem. A boy? Yes, Amina's son. Nobody else would take him. Her husband felt uneasy. They had journeyed a great distance to care for her child, but if nobody else would Who is this? Good even, fair lady. We are in quest of a young lad. I believe his name to be Muhammad. Yes, yes, this is Muhammad's family. Oh, I thought there was no one left from your people.

I'm Amina Amina bin Twahem from the Banu Zohra. Baraka, please bring Mohamed. Banu Zohara? We were told he was Banu Hashim. He is, he is. His father was Banu Hashim, but he passed away before his birth. There you are. Here's my beautiful child. Oh, he appears very strong and healthy. Harith, the lad is an orphan. We cannot. No! Please! I have money. And he has a great and noble family. I beg you forgive me, dear lady. We art in dire need, lacking all means.

We require something more certain and complete. Please, nobody will take my boy. I just want him to be strong and to grow. Nobody will give him a chance. And yes, he doesn't have a father, but I'm sure you'll adore him, and he'll be a blessing to your family. Kalima's heart shattered at the sound of desperation in Amina's voice. I beg your forgiveness, Millie. ご視聴ありがとうございました Must be all. Amina never felt more alone than in that moment, watching tearfully as the couple walked away. Uh

Halema. Yes, dear husband. We should return for the boy. You said it yourself. He is an orphan. We can ill afford to be charitable. Halima felt miserable. Her son had cried himself to sleep. Their exhausted donkey was barely alive. their camel still had no milk, and she was going to be the only woman from the Benusad to go home with no baby from Mecca. That part stung her the most. Just once in her life, She wished she wasn't less privileged than others.

How oft have we left That lady was entirely might have offered her aid. Perhaps. Thou art well aware that Blessings come. Yeah. The Benusad left the outskirts of Mecca with their new suckless. Alima and Harid picked up their tent and loaded their camels. Halima looked over her shoulder and Back Alema? She had almost forgotten about the final step before taking a child. and departing his home. Nevertheless, She was astounded to see him drinking happily. They made their farewells.

Felt her spirit soar to the sky as she brought the beautiful Hey boy, back to Harith. Overflowing with milk. The couple embraced with the baby Muhammad between them. Their ride back to their settlement was completely opposite to the children. Brought them to Mecca. Her son Abdullah Their mule, previously slow and sluggish, was now as energetic as the They were able to do it. Filled with immense pride, did everything.

Though the camp was ravaged by the even into the earth where Haliman had its tent. Rockford Mir The next few months were some of the of Lima's life. Never had they gone so long without the bitter intermission of hunger interrupting their life. Their crops grew as though by a river bed. Both her son and What a blessing! At all. He is a black Halima suddenly noticed her daughter, Sheima, out in the noon sun with Moscow. Shea! Shea! This is my horse and that one can be your horse.

He could faint for me. Worry not much. Everywhere Muhammad goes, a cloud falls. Shielded the children. محمد

A wet nurse usually only kept a child for two years before he or she was weaned. But at age four, Muhammad was still under the care of his milk mother, Halimah. After two years, Halima had made the trip back to Mecca, dragging Her feet all the while. She could barely let go of the boy. After some convincing, she petitioned Amina to let her keep Muhammad for another two years. The excuse she used was the plague that had recently sucked the life out of many children in Mecca.

But the real reason was she could not part with him. And so Muhammad was transferred back from his blood mother to his milk mother. I found another one. Okay, I wanted to catch it. You caught the last one, Abdullah. Let it be Muhammad's turn. Four-year-old Muhammad was usually content to watch his adoptive siblings play. but the beautiful breeze pushed him to run around the fields.

Oh! Are those two men flying? The three children stood in shocked silence. Two men, draped in pure, glowing white garments, were walking towards them. But they seemed to descend from the sky as though. though walking down invisible steps from the heavens. They are flying. I'm here. Yeah. They made no sound. Mohammed looked right down. The first one to speak. Muhammad had never seen. Muhammad, we should really hold him.

In an instant, the first figure was on Muhammad. He was forced onto his back against the dirt. The man was much more powerful than him, and yet Muhammad resisted as hard as he could. He did not cry or scream. He is resisting. Weigh him against the tail of his nation. Mohammed felt his shoulders squeeze. He is more. Weigh him against 100. We had to get murdered. He's still more. Let him be then. For if you were to weigh him against his entire nation, he would still be.

More. Muhammad continued to struggle. He was turned over onto his stomach. He felt his shirt tucked down, revealing his bare back. There it is. It is clear for all to see. Then you know what we must do. Muhammad was still struggling, his adoptive siblings were crying hysterically, and he was

onto his back. The first man pinned his arms down as the second approached. His pure white garments were all Muhammad could see now. He extended one finger and touched Muhammad at the hollow of his neck. He drew a line down his chest. His shirt was sliced with razor precision and a thin red line appeared on his skin. Muhammad was being

Cut open. Sheyma and Abdullah couldn't take it anymore. They ran back to the settlement to get their parents. Muhammad felt numb, his chest was cold, and though it was not painful, he still felt the splitting of Steady now. Careful, Gibril. Then, in one fluid motion, he split his chest open. whistle away, then dip the beating heart into the golden bowl of snow.

If we keep to the coastline, we could be there much sooner, Abicapsha. It remains an arduous journey for so many children. Mother! Mother!

Abdullah, what is wrong? What happened? What happened to Mohammed? They killed him! Halima ran. Her shoes flew off her feet. She nearly knocked into their mule, but she could not stop running. Her heart was beating a thousand times a second, her husband trailing dust behind her until she found Mohammed! The boy was sitting on the ground, nothing. Bye-bye. Come from the right. She saw a fresh scar drawn with unnatural precision down his torso.

So as I have said, the boy is well aware of the life of the desert, and I feel he is in want of his mother. Right. And yet Muhammad never asked to return to Mecca until now. I suppose. I suppose he grew homesick over time. Lady Amina, this woman is hiding the truth. She has done something to our beloved Muhammad. No, no! I swear by the sacred house, I have not. Thank you, Baraka. Why don't you take Muhammad?

Mohammed to the Zemzenwall. He needs some water after his journey. Come with me, young Muhammad. Lady Amina was not an intimidating woman on any occasion, but the look she gave Halima would have caused even a wolf to scamper. حليما You took in my son when nobody else would. You raised him as your own, loved him, cared for him? If something has happened to him? I know you love him enough to tell his own mother. Halima bit her lip before bursting into tears. I beg thy pardon, my lady.

I beg thy forgiveness. I am ignorant of what transpired. I tried asking the boy, but his tail be most extraordinary. I meant no harm to him. My love for him doth match that for mine own kin. After several minutes of sobbing, Halimah finally got through the story, how Muhammad claimed that two men descended from the sky, split his chest open, and washed his heart in ice and snow before stitching him back together.

We were fearful, my lady. That some devil had possessed him. We knew not what to do. Amina smiled. I wouldn't worry, Halima. I think by now you and your family know that Muhammad is a very special child. She told Halima about the miraculous pregnancy and birth, the dreams she had had. My son is destined for great things, Hanima. And I thank you for being a loving mother for him these past years. But I think it is time for him to stay with me.

You are dismissed. Will will I see him once more? He is like a son to my heart. I think you will. One day news of him will reach your tribe, but until then, you are always welcome here in Mecca. Two years later, a six year old Muhammad trekked through the wilderness. Next to him was the slave, Baraka. She carried a load on her back. An exhausted Amina. Come on, my lady. We must hurry if we want to reach the caravan. I'm going as fast as I can.

Amina had taken Muhammad and Baraka on the next caravan to Yathrib. She wanted to visit his relatives there. Muhammad had spent a month there with children his age. He played with them, learned to fly kites, and even swam in the oasis pools there. All in all, it was a good trip, marred by one somber moment. When Amina finally visited her husband's grave. Slow down, young Muhammad. Your mother cannot keep up with you. It's alright. Baraka, he is enjoying himself. Amina.

Not been well ever since she stood at Abdullah's grave. Though it had affected her emotionally at first, it seemed to have turned into a physical ailment after some time. Those men, they never wait for women or children, they just mount their camel and my lady. Amina collapsed, her breath heavy and raspy. Muhammad and Baraka ran to her side. Amina! Amina, can you hear me? Muhammad, help me move her. My lady, please drink.

It's it's no use. You must drink Amina. You must regain your strength. How will we catch up to the caravan? There's no catching up to the caravan. Now they are a day ahead of us on camel. I will build camp here. We will wait for other travelers. We can hunt for food or or Baraka. My child. It's no use. Anyone passing by will most likely mean us harm. Muhammad must be safe. Muhammad kneeled by his mother's side. He was crying softly. Amina squeezed his little hand. We'll be his mother.

No! Amina, do not say such words. Listen to me. Law has decreed. Al Motaleb, his grandfather. Even at his Yeah. He curled up next to Abina, holding her as tight as Bistro. They buried her as best they could. cold night. Indifferent desert.

Where they were going to But it felt important to Come with me, Powerwood. I will take you back to the Khadijah said to Uman. But Uman did not seem to be listening. She sat on her favourite cushion by the window, lost in thought. Uman. Um Amen Still, the old Abyssinian lady did not look at Khadijah. She decided to use her real name instead of her kunya. Bonaka Um Ayman was snapped out of her trance. Oh Lady Imin I mean Lady Khadijah, I did not hear you. Are you all right? Yes, I am fine.

I was telling you about the Rasun. He's done it. He told everyone in Mecca about Islam. Yes. The messenger always obeys Allah's commands. Khadijah regarded Uman delicately. You know, when I first married the Rasul, he told me that there was someone very special to him that was going to live with us. He said, She is the last remnant of my family. My mother after my mother.

He was talking about you, Um Ayman. The lady who was once a slave named Baraka turned her gaze entirely towards Khadijah. Now that Islam is known in public, the Rasul is going to need the support of everyone he loves. Can I count on you, Umon? I will always be there, for my son Muhammad. You're listening to the sound of Ciro, brought to you.