The Prophet's Ladder Read Free Page B

social media accounts. His eyes strained and he shut his laptop, hands rubbing his face. His father had not yet returned home . The man had probably finished his devotions and had stopped at a friend’s house or the cafe; he was rarely at home with his wife, preferring to ignore the truth rather than face her impending passing. Ali sighed and retired to his sleeping mat; he wished things had gone differently at Amina’s house tonight.  Would Hassan permit their marriage if he saw what he had written?
    He fretted for an hour, unable to fall asleep. Finally, in order to sooth his frayed nerves he reminded himself of a favorite verse from the Quran: “ O you who have believed, seek help through patience and prayer. Indeed, Allah is with the patient.”
    He repeated the line to himself until he drifted off. His father hadn’t come home.
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    670 CE, North Africa
 
    The army’s march across the untamed wilderness had slowed to a crawl, its vanguard having chosen a copse of palm trees, a break in the vast range of brittle thicket, wherein the animals might graze and the men find shelter for the evening. To the south of the encampment there was a dry riverbed, the banks to either side were steep, with the bed itself consisting of a multitude of pebbles and smooth rocks.  Dusk in the desert was brutally cold and the men lit dung fires to warm themselves, their tents and banners flapping as the wind picked up. They were five thousand strong, cavalrymen and retainers, bowmen and spearmen, scribes and cooks, and the camp quickly swelled to an impressive city of cloth and rope. The army was far from any known trade route; this was the true country, which Allah had sent his faithful to traverse. Westward, ever westward, he led them. Emissaries of the Umayyads: the true believers.
    General Uqba ibn Nafi sat and watched as his men roasted game caught in the wilds: hare pierced by arrows, wild birds snared with nets, other creatures of the desert. The men did not waste any water to cook, as the region they now traversed was barren and dry; any water they possessed was kept in sealed skins and reserved for drinking.
    One man, a cavalryman of a low station, barely above the infantry in esteem, was leading his horse to a large boulder that served as a windbreak. Uqba started as the horse seemed to stumble, almost falling and crushing the dismounted rider. The beast recovered, and Uqba strode over to assist the man, who knelt to inspect the ground beneath his mount’s legs. Suddenly the rider leapt back and shouted with amazement.
    “Merciful Allah, what is this?” The cavalryman lifted from the sand beneath him the object his horse had stumbled over; it was a cup of radiant gold, seemingly glowing in the dim light of dusk. Uqba and his men stared in amazement. Who had left such a priceless treasure in the middle of the desert?
    The General approached the man who held the cup at arms length, and asked kindly if he might inspect it. The soldier bowed with deep respect and handed Uqba the artifact. Upon the rim of the vessel was inscribed one sentence in his own native language: “ drink that you might persevere.” The general with sudden insight recognized the cup; it had belonged to the Caliph Muawiyah, a relation to the Prophet himself, peace be upon him. He had heard complaint of this cup, a treasure beyond compare, having gone missing some years before in Mecca.
    Uqba suddenly felt his feet grow wet, and he looked down to see that, strangely, a good amount of water was flowing out of the ground beneath him. Shocked and bewildered, the general and his men leapt away from the torrent that quickly began to fill the depression they’d stood in. The water flowed unceasingly, and many soldiers cheered with pleasure, for they and the animals both could slake their thirsts in full tonight.
    Uqba bent over and sipped from the growing pool. The water was refreshing and clean, not brackish or muddied in the slightest! He knew he’d not