Kamran Pasha - Mother Of the Believers

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.

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.