The Jewel Of Medina (55 page)

“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.

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]