The Jewel Of Medina Read online

  “I remember those feuds all too well,” an Aws shaykh said, pointing a finger at the Khazraj men opposite him. “You killed two of my sons.”

  “They deserved to die!” the Khazraj man snarled. “They killed my brother and raped his wife.”

  “Your brother built a house on our property and claimed it as his own.” One of the shaykh’s remaining sons shook his fist at the Khazraj man. “And when we sent our slaves to inform him he was in the wrong, he stole them, too!”

  Soon the entire room was in an uproar. Shouts and accusations bounced off the walls. Swords clashed, daggers drew blood, men kicked those who lay wounded at their feet. Amid the turmoil the men of the umma stood and watched with somber eyes. At last my father ascended the stairs and commanded an end to the fighting.

  “Clearly, this is what you face again if you try to take Medina back from us,” he said. “Yaa Aws and Khazraj, I invite you to continue the alliance with our umma and our God. We are stronger now than we have ever been, but only with you beside us.”

  “Abu Bakr speaks the truth,” the Aws shaykh called. “I would support one of the Prophet’s men before I would ever follow a Khazraj.”

  “And I would follow a man of the umma into Hell itself before an Aws would lead me anywhere,” his enemy spat.

  A few moments later nearly every man in the room was roaring his support for my father, and both Umar and Abu Ubaydah were beaming and shouting his name. I slipped away from the scene, wishing I could run back to tell Muhammad. He would be so pleased! My father loved Muhammad even more than he loved himself. He would govern the umma exactly as Muhammad would have done.

  Grief wrung hot tears from my eyes. How could I live without Muhammad? I glanced up at the shining moon, as bright as Muhammad’s face, and felt my tears subside. I knew he watched over me from his seat in Paradise. He’d seen the night’s events unfold. Perhaps he’d played a part by sowing dissension among the ansari. Yet I longed to sit by his side in the dark and discuss the meeting, and perhaps feel his presence with me one last time.

  But when I arrived at my hut, the door was open. I paused outside and listened, as I had before, to the voices of al-Abbas and Ali, now mingled with clanking, scraping, and thudding sounds.

  “This floor is as hard as stone,” Ali said. “I still think we should bury him in the cemetery with his son.”

  “And let Abu Bakr perform the ceremony?” Al-Abbas grunted. “That would seal him once and for all as the Prophet’s successor.”

  “If the people want Abu Bakr, perhaps they should have him,” Ali said.

  “The people want full stomachs,” al-Abbas said. “Beyond that, they know little of their desires. If Abu Bakr positions himself as their leader—if he says the prayer over the Prophet’s body—no one will dare to challenge his authority. You are Muhammad’s rightful heir. You are the only hope for our clan. You must resist this attempt to steal your inheritance.”

  Through the narrow opening I eyed al-Ma’thur, my sword, wishing I could somehow will it to fly to my fingers. Without a weapon I didn’t dare try to stop this burial. Al-Abbas, I feared, wouldn’t hesitate to kill me and throw me into the grave, also.

  I cast about for a solution. My father was a world away, reveling in his election. I could awaken my sister-wives, but Ali and al-Abbas would finish the burial while I was gone—and I would miss hearing their plans. I’d need to be able to tell abi everything.

  Each thud of the pick felt like a punch in my chest. I leaned against the doorway and listened to their digging, heard them grunt as they lifted Muhammad’s body off the bed.

  “By al-Lah, he is heavier now without his spirit,” al-Abbas said. Muhammad was very light-spirited, I could have told them. But I stood silent, pressing my hands to my heart as if to hold it together.

  Another grunt, a thud: Muhammad was in his grave. I imagined his body falling into the hole, and I clung to the door lest the weight of my grief pull me down, also.

  “May al-Lah bless you, my beloved cousin,” Ali choked. “And may you forgive me for this hasty burial, not at all befitting a Prophet.”

  “But necessary,” al-Abbas added. “Surely he knows that. Besides,” he said in a heartier voice, “now his jealous child-bride can sleep with him every night, as she has always wanted.”

  In a few moments I heard the tamping of earth. Muhammad was covered. I sobbed to imagine him lying in the cold ground, hidden from the moon.

  “A job well done,” al-Abbas said. “Do not forget your sword.”

  “What sword?” Ali said. “I brought no sword with me.”

  “That jeweled sword in the corner. Is it not yours? Muhammad bequeathed his weapons to you, did he not?”

  My pulse sped, urging me to action. I threw open the door and lunged for the sword. In an instant I’d grasped the handle and yanked it from its case. “The sword is mine,” I said. “If either of you wants to take it from me, I invite you to try.”

  Al-Abbas smiled as if I were the most delightful sight he’d ever seen.

  “A woman warrior!” he said. “Yaa Ali, you never told me. Forgive me, A’isha. I thought Muhammad’s sword had been left here by mistake.”

  “Someone has made a mistake here tonight, but it wasn’t Muhammad.” I kicked the freshly turned dirt with my toe.

  “It was the Prophet’s wish to be buried in the spot where he died,” al-Abbas said smoothly.

  “Get out of my apartment, you lying thieves.” I waved the tip of my sword before al-Abbas’ nose. “Unless you wish to be buried here, also.”

  When they’d slithered out—al-Abbas wishing me peace me as if he’d just paid a social call, Ali hanging his head and scowling—I stood before the window and stared at the place where my husband lay. Sobs wracked my body, and tears gushed from my eyes like floodwaters rushing through a wadi, dripping off my face to moisten Muhammad’s grave. His sword dangled heavy in my hand. With an arm that shook, I lifted it to replace it in its sheath, and a flash of light caught my eye. I moved the blade this way and that, viewing the moon’s reflection in Muhammad’s sword.

  And then, as I’d hoped, I felt my husband’s presence fill my heart, drying my tears like a warm wind, infusing me with courage.

  My sword will serve you well in the jihad to come. Now I knew what Muhammad had meant by an “inner struggle.” On the very day of his death, jihad had already begun. And I? I would be there with my sword, free at last to fight, to choose my destiny—to honor my name.

  “A’isha.” The name means “life.” May it be so now, and forevermore.

  Afterword

  Dreams do come true. Mine did. On May 21, 2007, I realized my dream of forty years by signing a contract with Ballantine, an imprint of Random House, one of the world’s largest publishers, for the publication of my first novel, The Jewel of Medina, and its sequel.

  A year later, on the eve of Jewel’s launch, that dream came crashing down when a Random House executive called to say that the company had decided to “indefinitely postpone” publication of my books. The reason: fear of terrorist attack by radical Muslims.

  I was crushed—and confused. Random House had not received any terrorist threats, yet the company suddenly wanted to distance itself from my books and my name. It was an abrupt turnaround from a company that had professed love for The Jewel of Medina and excitement about its sequel.

  The Ballantine team’s words of enthusiasm had not been hollow. They had already placed my novel on the fast-track to best-sellerdom, producing beautiful advance copies with exquisite covers, selling foreign rights to several countries, landing deals with Book-of-the-Month Club and the Quality Paperback Book Club, and arranging an eight-city U.S. tour for me. And the publicity had only just begun!

  Little did I know how much publicity Random House’s decision NOT to publish the novel would generate. Eager to bring my books into the world while they are relevant—while they can contribute to an ongoing, worldwide discussion about Islam—I terminated my publishing
contract, confident that my books would soon find another home. A few weeks later, former Wall Street Journal correspondent Asra Nomani, a Muslim-American who had read a galley of Jewel and enjoyed it, wrote about the publishing giant’s decision in an opinion piece with the headline, “You Still Can’t Write About Muhammad.”

  Two days later, the story was all over the Internet, on the radio and television, and in newspapers around the world. Bloggers and interviewers wanted to know: How could this happen in the United States, a staunch protector of free speech? Debates grew heated over the definition of censorship, and whether Random House had censored my novels. (While researching these questions, I decided that the publisher had engaged in “self-censorship,” silencing itself out of fear.) But the real question people seemed to be asking was this: “What about my freedom of speech? Will I be silenced next?”

  At the same time, other issues emerged. Moderate Muslims such as Ms. Nomani, author Irshad Manji, and journalist Shahed Amanullah spoke out in support of Jewel’s publication, arguing that extremists (or, in this case, fear of them) should not be allowed to set the agenda for all Muslims. Others challenged the propriety of fictionalizing sacred figures such as the Prophet Muhammad and Jesus Christ. And then there were questions about historical fiction, and what is, and isn’t, allowed. How far can an author’s imagination reasonably take her away from the historical record?

  The buzz lasted several weeks, making for a frantic time for me. In the dozens of interviews I conducted, I always returned to the topic I was most interested in discussing: my books. I talked about my respect for Islam; about what a gentle, wise, and compassionate leader Muhammad really was; Muhammad’s respect for women, especially his wives; and women’s crucial roles in the formation of the early Islamic community. I was eager to discuss these issues, but I became frustrated, too. A one-way conversation is not a dialogue; it’s a monologue. And, as much as I love to talk, I grew tired of hearing my own voice.

  But how could anyone else contribute when no one had read the book?

  At last, now that The Jewel of Medina is in print, that discussion can begin. I hope this book will inspire you to learn more about the remarkable A’isha bint Abi Bakr as well as Islam and its Prophet. I also hope you will read the sequel once it is available. The sequel alternates between the viewpoints of Ali and a more mature, wise, circumspect A’isha. The Jewel of Medina is a book about women’s empowerment and the origins of Islam; its sequel is a novel of reconciliation and peace, which the world needs right now.

  In this explosive political climate, many people are afraid to express viewpoints that they think might be perceived as inflammatory. This fear stifles lively discourse, which can help people from different cultures and backgrounds understand each other better. Shahed Amanullah, Editor-in-Chief of the online newsmagazine altmuslim.com, said “ … the best response to free speech is simply more speech in return. Anyone should have the right to publish whatever he or she wants about Islam or Muslims—even if their views are offensive—without fear of censorship or retribution… . In an ideal world, both parties would open their minds enough to understand the other point of view.” Discussion, debate, and, most important, listening, can help us reach that much-needed mutual understanding—the first, crucial step toward peace. Beginning with this book, that task now lies in the hands, minds, and hearts of you, the readers. I am excited to see how you will carry it forward!

  Sherry Jones

  [email protected]

  Glossary of Arabic Terms

  abi: “my father”

  afwan: “Excuse me”; pardon

  ahlan: “Welcome”; a greeting

  Ahlan wa sahlan: “Welcome and as family”

  al-Lah: God

  Al-Lahu akbar: “God is great”

  al-Ma’thur: “The Legacy”; the name of Muhammad’s sword

  al-zaniya: adulteress

  ansari: “Helpers”; the Medina tribes who followed Muhammad

  Assalaamu aleikum: “Peace be with you”; a greeting

  barid: a unit of distance, about 20 miles

  bint: “daughter of”

  dinar: a gold coin, unit of currency

  dirham: a silver coin, unit of currency

  djann: plural of djinni

  djinni: a mythical spirit inhabiting the Earth, with supernatural powers

  durra: “parrot”; the name for the harim’s second wife

  fahisha: whore

  habib: beloved

  habibati: my (female) beloved

  habibi: my (male) beloved

  hajja: a woman who has made the pilgrimage to Medina

  hammam: public baths

  harim: the inner sanctum where the women of the household reside

  hatun: “Great Lady”; the first-wife of the harim

  hijab: the curtain or veil

  Hijaz: the Arabian western coast, bordering the Red Sea, including Mecca and Medina

  hijra: the emigration to Medina

  houri: a virtuous woman in Paradise with large, luminous eyes

  hawdaj: a curtained seat atop a camel

  ibn: son of

  islam: submission (to al-Lah)

  jahiliyya: the time of ignorance before islam

  Ka’ba: cube; the name for the sacred shrine in Mecca

  kahin: pre-Islamic mystics

  khatmi: an herbal remedy made from the mallow plant

  khuzama: a sweet desert plant

  kohl: a black substance used to line the eyes

  Labaykh al-Lahumah labaykh: “We answer your call, our al-Lah”

  latheeth: delicious

  ma’ salaama: “with peace”; a farewell

  majlis: sitting room

  marhaba: a greeting

  miswak: a tree with an astringent quality whose sticks are used to clean the teeth

  qur’an: recitations; specifically, Muhammad’s recitations from al-Lah

  raki’a (pl. raka’at): bows in the ritual of Muslim prayer

  sahab: friend

  samoom: a violent windstorm that darkens the sky with sand

  samneh: clarified butter

  shaykh: an old man

  suq: market

  tanbur: a musical instrument, the precursor to the lyre

  tharid: a dish of meat and bread, reputed to be Muhammad’s favorite

  umma: the Muslim community of Believers; also, mother-land

  ummi: “my mother”

  wa aleikum assalaam: “and with you be peace”; a return greeting

  wadi: a (usually dry) riverbed

  wars: a yellow dye made from a Yemeni plant resembling sesame

  yaa: loose trans. “hey”; a word used before a person’s name to address him/her

  zauba’ah: “devils”; or pillars of sand formed in a samoom

  Muhammad’s wives and concubines, in order

  KHADIJA (KA-DEE-ZSA)

  SAWDAH (SAUW-DAH)

  A’ISHA (AH-EESHA)

  HAFSA (HAF-SAH)

  ZAINAB (ZAY-NAB) BINT KHUZAINAH (KU-ZAY-NAH)

  UMM SALAMA (OOM SA-LA-MA)

  ZAYNAB BINT JAHSH

  JUWAIRRYAH (JU-WAY-RI-YAH)

  RAIHANA (RAY-HA-NAH)

  SAFFIYA (SAF-FEE-YAH)

  RAMLAH (RAM-LAH)

  MARYAM (MAHR-YAM)

  MAYMUNAH (MAY-MOO-NAH)

  Works Consulted for “The Jewel of Medina”

  Abbott, Nabia. Aishah, The Beloved of Mohammad. Chicago: The University of Chicago, 1942.

  Arberry, A.J. Aspects of Islamic Civilization As Depicted in the Original Texts. New York: A.S. Barnes and Co., Inc., 1964.

  Armstrong, Karen. Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet. New York: Harper Collins, 1992.

  Bodley, R.V.C. The Messenger: The Life of Mohammad. New York: Doubleday & Co., 1946.

  Brooks, Geraldine. Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women. New York: Anchor Books, Doubleday, 1995.

  Bulandshehri, Maulana Muhammad Ashiq Elahi. The Wives of the Prophet Mu
hammad. New Delhi: Islamic Books Service, 2002.

  Burton, Richard F. The Book of The Thousand Nights and One Night (foot-notes). New York: The Heritage Press, 1934.

  Croutier, Alev Lytle. Harem: The World Behind the Veil. New York: Abbeville Press, 1989.

  Cuddihy, Kathy. An A to Z of Places and Things Saudi. London: Stacey International, 2001.

  Elkhadem, Saad. Old Arabic Sayings Similes & Metaphors. Fredericton, N.B., Canada: York Pres Ltd., 1991.

  Gibb, H.A.R. (trans.). The Travels of Ibn Battuta, Vol. 1, 1325–1354. London: Cambridge University Press, 1958.

  Goodwin, Jan. Price of Honor: Muslim Women Lift the Veil of Silence on the Islamic World. New York: Plume, 1995.