We listened with rapt attention, and many wept, as he described the glories of Paradise, the rivers of milk and honey, and wine that did not befuddle the senses. Of perfect trees that provided eternal shade and fruits whose scent was enough to quell the hunger of mankind for eternity. And there were youths like sparkling pearls that served the residents of Paradise with any food or drink that they desired, and houris, beautiful virgins whose touch made men forget all the earthly pleasure they had ever known.

At the mention of these delightful creatures, I saw many of the women’s faces fall. The thought of their men traipsing about in the afterlife with such perfect beauties did not seem like much of a paradise for them. But the Messenger kindly told us that all believing women who entered Paradise would become houris themselves and that there would be no jealousy or loneliness in eternity. Men and women would enjoy one another’s company and the ecstasies of one another’s bodies in a way that would make the coupling of this world seem like brief and fleeting pleasure, like a tickle from a feather.

The Night Journey had given the Prophet renewed hope and faith. Now that he had seen the wonders of the spiritual realm, the daily struggle of life on Earth held little fear. But most important for the community, God had sent the Messenger back from heaven with a new set of rules for our daily lives.

First and foremost, the ritual prayers and prostrations that we had performed haphazardly over the past ten years were now to be organized and made a daily practice. Five times a day-before sunrise, in the early and late afternoon, after sunset, and in the darkness of night-the Muslims would be required to bow before God in formal worship. And perhaps most startling, God had commanded us to face the holy city of Jerusalem when we prayed. We were accustomed to facing the Kaaba, even though the Messenger had never specifically commanded it, but now we were being told to turn to the north, to a city most of us had never seen and knew of only through myth and legend. But the Messenger was clear. Jerusalem was the home of the Prophets, and he was the last in their line. So we grudgingly obeyed.

He listed for us further commandments that he had been given in heaven. We would be required to fast for thirty days during Ramadan, which was the sacred month in which the Revelation had begun ten years before. That meant no food, water, or sexual relations from first light until sunset. I saw the look of general dismay at word that even intercourse would be banned during the fast, and the Prophet smiled gently, reminding us that sexual relations were a blessing from God, just like food and water, and restraining our lust would purify our souls and allow us to couple with deeper meaning and intensity when the fast was over.

And finally, we would be required to pay zakat, or alms, to the poor. Before this day, we had been encouraged but not commanded to share our wealth with the less fortunate. But now one-fortieth of every believer’s wealth officially belonged to God and the community and must be given freely to feed and clothe the needy. I stole a glance at Ramla to see how this proud woman, reared in the wealthiest home in Mecca, would react to being forced to give up a portion of her riches every year, but she was all pleasant smiles and graciousness, which only angered me more.

These were the Pillars of Islam, the Messenger announced, commanded by God from His Throne. Along with the testimony of faith, that there is no god but God and Muhammad is His Messenger, they would serve as the formal tests of a Muslim’s basic commitment to his or her faith.

The Messenger paused and then added that there was one final Pillar, which was obligatory only for those who had the necessary wealth to undergo the journey and were healthy enough to perform its requirements: the Pillar of Pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca, which every Muslim who was capable should perform once in his or her life.

We all looked at one another, confused.

Finally, Umar spoke up.

“But, Messenger of God, we all live in Mecca,” he said with his usual bluntness. “The Holy Kaaba is down the street. Why would we need to travel to perform the Pilgrimage when we do so every year with ease?”

I saw a strange look of sadness cross the Messenger’s face.

“It may not be so easy in the years to come, my friend.” And with that he rose, and we knew that the audience was over.

As the excited crowd cleared the hall, I saw the Messenger smile at Ramla and speak to her in low tones. A gesture of intimacy. My stomach twisted painfully.

And then, to my surprise the Prophet looked at me across the room and his eyes sparkled. And then he waved to my father to come to his side.

Abu Bakr nodded to my sister, Asma, and me.

“Go home. I will join you soon, insha-Allah.”

I did as I was told and stepped outside, before I realized that Asma was no longer at my side. I looked up to see her standing beside the gate to the Messenger’s house, speaking with his cousin Zubayr. The handsome young man leaned in and whispered something in her ear and she laughed, her cheeks flushing.

I smiled to see them together and walked home alone.

21

That night, after Asma returned home late to a harsh scolding by Umm Ruman for her unseemly flirtations, I sat in a corner of the living room, playing with my favorite dolls, ugly little things made from rags and robe fiber, which I had named Akil and Akila.

I acted out the wedding between these two figures, a favorite game, but in my mind’s eye, instead of my dolls, I saw my beloved sister finally wedding the boy she had secretly loved for years. Your father, Zubayr, was considered a great catch by the girls of the city, and I had never really believed that Asma had a chance with him. But the Messenger said that God holds the hearts of men between His two fingers, and turns them any way He wishes. It was evident that God had turned Zubayr’s heart to your mother at last.

I heard the door open and saw Abu Bakr return. I rose to greet him, but he looked at me with intense eyes.

“Go to your room, little one.”

There was something in his tone that frightened me, and I stood rooted on the spot.

“But, Father-”

“Go,” he said forcefully. “I need to speak to your mother.”

Somehow I knew that whatever had upset him had to do with me. I scoured my memory for all the naughty things I had done recently and I wondered which of them had finally gotten me in trouble.

Pondering my childish sins, I turned and went to my room and closed the door. But instead of playing with my dolls on my bed, I leaned up against the door to listen. I heard muffled voices and I strained to make sense of them. Finally I decided to risk it and I opened the door a crack, just enough to hear my parents’ words with some clarity. I grimaced as the acacia wood creaked against the marble floor and I wondered whether they had heard and knew I was eavesdropping.

“What’s wrong?” My mother’s voice was hushed but brimming with concern.

“Nothing is wrong,” my father said. “I…just need a moment.”

I heard my mother pour him a glass of water. After a moment, he spoke, and his words were filled with both fear and wonder.

“The Prophet had a dream,” he said softly.

“I know. He told us all about the Night Journey,” my mother responded.

“No. This was many nights ago,” Abu Bakr said. “It was only after his vision during the Night Journey that he decided it was time to share it with me.”

My father had always been respected as an interpreter of dreams, even in the days before the Revelation. He was like the prophet Joseph, a man who had been gifted with such a keen understanding of the human heart that he could easily read the symbols locked inside the hidden imaginings of the mind.