Prophet touched Ali’s neck and commanded the tribal chiefs to hearken to Ali and obey him.”
Talha was speechless for a moment. Abu Bakr saw his consternation and smiled.
“The chieftains had the same reaction,” he said. “There was a silence in the room, like the quiet that falls upon the earth before the wrath of heaven is unleashed. And then they began to laugh and mock the Prophet, who had ordered them to obey a boy whose voice had only recently hardened, whose cheeks were still without a beard. I looked across the room to see Ali’s father, the Prophet’s uncle Abu Talib, bow his gray head in shame, as the lords heaped abuse on his son and nephew. And then they all turned and stormed out of the hall, leaving us alone and in silence.”
Talha shook his head in dismay. He ran his hand through his dark curls as if trying to pull off the cobweb of despair that had suddenly fallen on him.
“So now they know. And they will try to destroy us.”
Abu Bakr nodded.
Talha looked across the small room that served as his only shelter in the barren valley of Mecca. He had only the table his cousin had given him and a small leather cot across from the open fireplace. That was the extent of his worldly goods. And he was considered richer than many of the believers. How were they going to stand up to the might of Mecca, whose lords lived like kings, whose coffers were filled with gold, whose clansmen were armed with the finest swords and spears?
“So what do we do now?”
Abu Bakr gazed out the small window of the stone cottage. Outside, the stars sparkled and danced across the firmament. A heavenly flame flew past his vision, followed by another.
“A new day is upon us,” Abu Bakr said thoughtfully. “The secret has been revealed, and the world will now conspire against the believers,” he said softly.
And then he reached over and touched Talha on the shoulder. “Like you, my heart was heavy tonight. But as I moved to leave the empty hall, the Messenger took me aside and comforted me. He said these words that had been revealed by Gabriel:
“In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
By the flight of Time
Man is indeed in loss
Except for those who believe
And do good
And persevere with truth
And persevere with patience.”
Talha felt the words flow through his heart, like a stream bringing life to the dead earth. These words, which rhymed with majestic poetry and perfect meter in Arabic, had been spoken by God Himself tonight. Tears suddenly welled in his eyes. The God of Abraham, who had chosen to speak to man one last time. And in His inexplicable plan, He had chosen to speak through them, a barbaric, uneducated, and primitive people. A nation forgotten by history and mocked by the grand civilizations that surrounded them. They were the worst of the sons of Adam. And yet He had chosen them.
Talha followed his elder kinsman’s gaze at the stars outside. They had circled the earth for countless millennia. Had seen empires rise and fall, had seen mighty kings and warriors crumble into dust, their names forgotten, the songs of their deeds lost in the mists of time. And yet the stars remained firm, sparkling in the heavens, as a sign of that which would never die, that which would never be lost to time.
Talha understood. Though the entire world might work against them, God’s plan would triumph. It was not for them to know the how or the when. Their task was to begin writing the tale, even though its final chapter was hidden from them.
Abu Bakr leaned closer to him and spoke softly, conspiratorially. “Do not sleep tonight, but stay awake and bow in worship.”
Talha looked at him. “I will do as you say.”
Abu Bakr nodded. He looked directly into Talha’s eyes. “The Messenger said that there will be Signs tonight. The angels are writing the future of our faith even as we speak. The destinies of men and women will be inscribed in the Tablet of Heaven, and the writing will be
Jeffrey Cook, A.J. Downey