8.2 KiB
Chapter 7: The Faithful Khadijah — Comforting Her Trembling Husband
O my brother.
Have you ever seen a man who has just been touched by the hand of heaven? Not a gentle touch like morning dew, but a mighty touch like lightning striking a treetop. His body is whole; no wound on the skin, no blood flowing. But his soul shakes as if he has just borne the weight of a mountain. His eyes are wide open, but what he sees is no longer the stone walls of the house or the familiar face of his wife. He is still between two worlds: the world he normally treads with his soles, and the world that has just surged into his breast from a cave among the clouds. Such was Muhammad ibn Abdullah, shallallahu ‘alaihi wa sallam, when he arrived at his house on that dark night. And such was how Khadijah bint Khuwaylid found him: not as a husband returning from trading camels, but as a human being whom heaven had just chosen to bear a great secret.
He entered the house. Khadijah, waiting — perhaps arranging pillows, perhaps blowing on a kitchen fire nearly dead — heard a step that was not an ordinary step. The door opened, and what entered was a figure she did not recognise: not his face, of course, that face was still Muhammad, but the light in his eyes was no longer the light of an ordinary man. His body shivered. His lips trembled. His voice came out with difficulty, like a man who has run for days in the desert without water, though the distance from the Cave of Hira to his house was no more than a few stone-throws. He spoke with gasping breath, as narrated by Ummul Mukminin Aisyah radhiyallahu ‘anha in the book Shahih al-Bukhari, in words that reach us through a chain of sacred narrators: “Zammiluni, zammiluni” — Wrap me up, wrap me up. So Khadijah rushed. She took the blanket at hand, or perhaps a thick cloth used on cold nights, and covered her husband. She sat beside him, not with questions that wound, not with suspicion, but with the voice of a mother who sees her child fall from a tree. “O Abu al-Qasim, what has befallen you?”
Muhammad told his story. Perhaps not all, for his tongue was still stiff. Perhaps only a scrap: I saw an angel, I was commanded to read, I felt constricted. But Khadijah listened with eyes that did not blink. She did not interrupt. She did not say, “Ah, that was only a dream from hunger.” No. Her heart, which had lived with this man for fifteen years, knew that her husband had never lied about even the smallest matter, let alone something this great. Muhammad was al-Amin (the Trustworthy). Muhammad was ash-Shadiq (the Truthful) in every word he spoke. If he said he saw an angel, then indeed he saw an angel. And if he trembled, that trembling was not fear of a devil, but tremor after seeing what no human breast can hold.
Then Khadijah spoke. O my brother, write these words in your heart, for they are the first to come from the mouth of a woman who became the first Muslim on earth, as narrated by Aisyah radhiyallahu ‘anha in Shahih al-Bukhari: “Khabbiki wala ‘adhi, wa wallahi la yukhzikallahu abadan. Fa innaka latashillu al-ma‘rudh, wa tat‘udu al-hadits, wa taqdi al-baidha, wa takshifu al-dayn, wa ta‘udu al-haidz, wa ta‘inu ala nawa’ib al-haqq.” — Rejoice and do not grieve. By Allah, Allah will never disgrace you, ever. You repay kindness, you keep your word, you bear the burden of hardship, you forgive those who wrong you, you honour guests, and you help those struck by calamity.
O my brother, listen to the wisdom behind those words. Khadijah did not say, “I believe because I love you.” No. She named proofs of character. She said, “Allah will never disgrace you, for you are a good man.” This is the highest argument. She did not defend her husband with a wife’s blind emotion. She defended him with living testimony she had witnessed for fifteen years. Muhammad never disappointed those who did good to him. Muhammad never broke a promise, even a promise to a child waiting for a toy. Muhammad never let anyone suffer without helping, never let a guest leave without food, never hurt anyone. So how could Allah the Most Just mock the most just man on earth? No. What Muhammad saw in the cave just now was surely from Allah. Surely.
Here we see, O my brother, the difference between shallow love and love that knows God. Shallow love says, “I believe in you because I am blinded by your beauty.” Khadijah’s love said, “I believe in you because I see Allah in your character.” Allah says: And of His signs is that He created for you from yourselves mates, that you might find rest in them; and He placed between you affection and mercy. (Surah Ar-Rum: 21). Affection and mercy are not only for a soft pillow on a cold night. Affection is the mirror that shows the true face. Khadijah was the first mirror to reflect Muhammad’s light back to him. When she saw her husband tremble, she did not see a madman. She saw a prophet whose name she did not yet know, but whose heart she already knew.
But Khadijah, O my brother, was not a woman who relied only on feeling. She was daughter of Khuwaylid, sister of Hala, sister-in-law of Waraqah. She knew that in her family there was an old man who had read the Taurat and Injil, who had awaited this news since returning from Syam. If there was anyone in Mecca who could distinguish between heavenly light and the gleam of devils, that man was Waraqah bin Naufal. So once Muhammad’s breath calmed a little, once the wrap was lifted and the sweat on his forehead wiped, Khadijah said gently but firmly, as a wife who brings her husband not to a sorcerer or fortune-teller, but to knowledge: “Let us go to Waraqah. He can read what you experienced. He can explain.”
Muhammad agreed. Perhaps he too felt that his heart, newly filled with revelation, still needed a human hand to steady it. So the two of them walked through the quiet night. Khadijah held her husband’s hand — not because she feared losing him, but because she wanted to give him strength. They passed through dark stone lanes while the sky above them began to shift from deep black to dark blue on the eastern horizon. The wild dogs that usually barked at passers-by perhaps stayed silent that night. As if they too felt that something great was passing. Khadijah’s step did not falter. She was a woman accustomed to managing trade caravans alone, who had once walked from Mecca to Syam without a husband. Tonight she was no camel merchant. She was a guide of hearts. She brought the bearer of revelation to one who could read the signs.
Suddenly, before Waraqah’s modest house, they stopped. Khadijah knocked at the door, or perhaps did not need to knock, for lamplight from within already glowed through the cracks in the wood. Waraqah was still awake. He sat reading his book, as always, awaiting a dawn he did not know when it would come. When the door opened, those old eyes saw Khadijah and Muhammad. He saw the pale face of his nephew by marriage. He saw Muhammad’s eyes still carrying heaven’s burden. And in Waraqah’s dimming heart, something beat hard. Like a man who has read a map for so long, and suddenly sees the land he awaited appear before his eyes.
O my brother, take from Khadijah several seeds of wisdom you must not miss. First: believe in one whose character is known to heaven. Do not believe in someone merely because his tongue is sweet, but see whether he keeps his word, whether he helps the afflicted, whether he forgives the one at fault. Second: when the one you love is struck by something great, do not comfort him with lies. Comfort him with truth. Khadijah said, “Allah will never disgrace you,” not “Ah, you will feel better soon.” She said so because she knew who Muhammad was before Allah. Third: a clean heart must be paired with wise action. Khadijah did not say, “Let us simply wait.” No. She brought Muhammad to knowledge. She understood that revelation from heaven needs interpretation from books that had descended before. And fourth: true affection is not only crying together, but walking together toward truth.
Khadijah had calmed her husband. Now let us enter Waraqah’s house. Let us sit on his worn mat, near the flickering lamp, and listen to what will come from the mouth of an old man who has awaited this night all his life.
Wallahu a‘lam.