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Chapter 4: The Journey Seeking Truth — The Taurat and the Injil
O my brother.
At times the human heart is like a bird fenced in a cage of gold. Beautiful to behold, but to wings that would reach the clouds, gold is prison. Such was the heart of Waraqah bin Naufal within the great family of Quraysh. He was born into the clan Banu Asad, swaddled in the noble name of Qusayy, surrounded by the blood of Meccan nobility. Yet the older he grew, the more he felt suffocated. Hubal and the idols lined around the Ka‘bah were not gods he could worship in peace. He heard a whisper in his breast — the whisper of fitrah — saying, “This is not the path of Ibrahim. This is not the religion of Ismail.” But where was the true path? In Mecca, no one could answer. So Waraqah decided on something rarely done by a man of Quraysh: he left his birthplace, not to trade in camels or seek gold, but to seek God.
Allah Ta‘ala says: And those who strive for Us — We will surely guide them to Our ways. (Surah Al-‘Ankabut: 69). O my brother, this verse is not mere sound; it is a law of nature operating in every age. Whoever walks in earnest, Allah shall open the door. Waraqah walked. How long his journey lasted, how many barren valleys he crossed and burning sands he trod, the old accounts do not say, but they report that he reached the land of Syam (Syria) — then still under the Roman shadow, a land whose roads had once felt the feet of prophets. There were people who kept books. There were monks in mountain monasteries, and Yahudi in their towns who still read the Taurat with fluent tongues. Waraqah approached them not as a traveller, but as a hungry student. He wanted to learn. He wanted to know what was written in the books said to come from heaven.
Here lies a wonder little known, O my brother. An Arab of Quraysh, blind to letters by custom but gifted by fitrah, began to demand knowledge from the Ahlul Kitab (People of the Book). He learned Hebrew — a script unlike Arab writing, curling like a stream among hard stones. With a resolve that astonished his teachers, Waraqah studied the Taurat, the book sent down to Musa, peace be upon him, and the Injil, the good news brought by Isa, peace be upon him. He did not listen to readings passed mouth to mouth, as Arabs memorised poems. He read for himself from yellowed pages. So absorbed did he become that he wrote his Arabic in Hebrew characters — an oddity that made the people of Mecca gape when they later saw his script. “What is this?” they asked. “This is the writing of a man who went too far,” he answered in his heart. But Waraqah knew: going far was better than sitting still in ignorance.
Allah says in His noble Book: It is He who has sent among the unlettered a Messenger from themselves, who recites to them His verses, purifies them, and teaches them the Book and wisdom, though before they were in manifest error. (Surah Al-Jumu‘ah: 2). This verse descended later for our Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, but its spirit had already moved in the air before it came down. Waraqah was an unlettered man who had begun to see. He had found the Book. He had found wisdom. But he had not yet found the new bearer of the Book. And precisely because of that, he kept searching.
In the pages of the Taurat, Waraqah found stories that pierced his breast. He read of the creation of heaven and earth in words so majestic, of Musa who spoke directly with God, of a people who betrayed again and again yet God still sent prophet after prophet. Then he opened the Injil, and there he heard the voice of Isa, peace be upon him, gentle but full of power, bringing mercy and healing. But what made his heart pound hardest was not those old stories. It was the prophecy. Prophecy of one who would come after Isa. An Ahmad. A Parakletos — a Comforter, a Bringer of Solace — who would bear truth in its fullness. Waraqah read with eyes that filmed over. “Could it be?” he whispered to himself in the quiet nights. “Could the one prophesied be from my own people? From this dry Arab land?” He remembered that Ibrahim, peace be upon him, had prayed in the same valley: Our Lord, send among them a Messenger from themselves who will recite to them Your verses and teach them the Book and wisdom… (Surah Al-Baqarah: 129). Waraqah felt that Ibrahim’s prayer had not yet received its final answer. Heaven still waited.
O my brother, know that knowledge sought in honesty is never wasted. Some learn to grow rich, and their knowledge becomes poison. Some learn to become esteemed, and their knowledge becomes a leash to bind others. But there are also those who learn to seek God, and their knowledge becomes a lamp that never dies. Waraqah was no monk shutting himself in a monastery. Neither was he a priest preaching from a pulpit. He was a man of Quraysh who returned to Mecca with a full heart and stayed humble. He did not shout in the market, “I have found the truth!” He only sat in his house, near his noble wife Hala bint Khuwaylid, and kept reading. He waited. He watched his people run around idols, and his heart said, “Wait. Be patient. What you read in the book will surely come. For Allah never breaks His promise.”
Our Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said in Shahih Muslim: Indeed, Allah does not withdraw knowledge by extracting it from people’s breasts; rather, He withdraws knowledge by taking the scholars… O my brother, Waraqah at that time was a scholar surviving among a nation blind to letters. Not a scholar with many students, but a scholar with many books. He did not teach the masses, for who would learn? The people of Quraysh preferred listening to prize-winning poems rather than holy scripture. But Waraqah did not despair. He understood Allah’s word: Have the believers not considered that if Allah had willed, He would have guided all mankind? (Surah Ar-Ra‘d: 31). Allah guides according to His measure. Not every man blind to letters must become a writer. But one or two eyes must see, so that when light comes, someone can recognise it. Waraqah was one of those few eyes.
When night deepened in his modest house, his lamp sputtered, and the valley wind crept through the cracks of the wood, Waraqah sometimes closed his book and looked at the sky. The stars above Mecca were no different from the stars above Syam. The One God was no different either. But in Mecca, no one looked at stars with the eyes of the heart. They looked only to set the caravan’s course. Waraqah looked to set his soul’s course. He had read that the prophets of old were expelled, hurt, called mad by their people. He knew the road of truth was never straight like the trade road from Mecca to Yemen. The road of truth always wound, climbed the mountain, descended the valley, entered dark caves. And Waraqah, at the end of his years, had made himself ready. He said in his heart, or perhaps to Hala his wife: “If the one prophesied comes, and if he is expelled by his people as Musa was expelled, as Isa was pursued, then let me still be alive to stand behind him. Let me be the first to stretch out my hand.”
O my brother, this is the fruit of a journey seeking truth. Not merely knowledge added, but courage grown. Waraqah needed no army. He had no overflowing wealth to buy soldiers. He had only the book he had read many times over, and a heart purified by waiting. And when a man has truly found God in His book, he no longer fears the world’s scorn. He no longer fears being called strange, called Nasrani, called Yahudi, or called mad by a people blind to letters. For he has read that God’s word has always seemed mad to those who do not read. Allah says: And thus We did not send before you any warner in the cities, except that the affluent among them said, “Indeed, we found our fathers upon a religion, and indeed we follow their footsteps.” (Surah Az-Zukhruf: 23). Waraqah refused to follow. He chose to read. And that reader is the one who would recognise heaven’s voice when it finally descended in the Cave of Hira.
So let us, O my brother, learn from this old man’s resolve. Let us not be content with little knowledge. Let us not reckon ourselves sufficiently correct while the eyes of our hearts have never yet read the books that are the source of light. And let us not fear being called strange because we diligently seek God. For in the end, it is not the voice of the multitude that determines truth, but how far you are willing to walk to find Him.
Wallahu a‘lam.