“I am no djinn,” I managed to croak out. “Please…help me.”

27

I had awakened from one nightmare and found myself in another. Within hours of my miraculous return to Medina, the daggers of envy were bared against me. The Messenger had dispatched search parties when he learned that I was missing from my howdah. But when the people of Medina saw me returning in the company of Safwan, salacious talk of my time alone with the attractive soldier began to spread like a brushfire. Nervous whispers fanned into open word in the marketplace that I had arranged to fall behind the caravan so that I could tryst with my young lover. Even though I was secluded again inside my tiny apartment, the rumors were so prevalent that they quickly reached my shocked ears.

The Messenger of God reacted swiftly, calling the believers to a jamaat at the Masjid where he openly declared his rejection of such gossip, which was apparently being fomented by Abdallah ibn Ubayy and his disgruntled cohorts among the Khazraj. The gathering had become heated as members of the rival tribe Aws openly accused Ibn Ubayy of slandering the Mother of the Believers, and there had been a tense moment when it appeared that the ancient hatred between the clans had been rekindled and could lead to open warfare. Sensing the dangerous mood of the crowd, the Messenger had called for calm and forgiveness and then quickly dispersed the gathering. And yet the reopened wounds between the tribes did not heal so easily, nor did the accusation against me die with the Prophet’s defense.

And as the evil tongues continued to spill their poison, even my husband’s trusting heart was no longer immune to the lies. He stopped visiting me on our appointed days and I realized with horror that the seeds of nagging doubt were beginning to germinate in his mind.

And so it was that I sat weeping in my tiny home, the mud walls that I had despised as a prison now my only protection from the crowds that gathered daily in the courtyard to mock my honor. My mother sat beside me, holding my hand and brushing my hair as she had when I was a little girl a lifetime before. I was grateful for her soothing presence and yet troubled by her inability to look into my eyes. The thought that she, too, might quietly doubt my integrity was more painful than I could bear.

The door opened and I looked up to see my father enter. He appeared to have aged a dozen years in the past few days, and his graying hair was now almost completely white.

I wanted to get up, to run into his arms, but there was a terrible cloud over his face. And then I realized with dread that he was looking at me less in sympathy than in anger, as if I were somehow to blame for this calumny, and I felt the sting of new tears in my eyes.

“What has happened?” he said softly, looking at my mother rather than me. But I spoke up quickly, refusing to let others talk of my situation as if I were not present.

“The Messenger bade me stay with you until he decides what to do,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking under grief.

My mother patted my hand and stared up at the ceiling.

“Do not fear. This will all pass soon,” she said, her voice sounding distant, as if she were talking aloud to herself rather than to me. And then she looked over at my father, who was still avoiding my eyes. “You are a beautiful woman and the wife of a powerful man. Those who speak against you are filled with envy.”

Her words were meant to comfort, but I could hear the hint of doubt in her voice and could see her looking at Abu Bakr as if for reassurance. But he simply stared at his feet without responding.

“But what am I to do?” I cried out in agony, begging for them to set aside their hesitation, to save their daughter from this cauldron of sorrow. “What if the Messenger divorces me? Or I am put on trial for adultery? The punishment is death!”

The horror of my words seemed to break through the ice between us and I saw the first hint of compassion on my father’s tired face.

“Do not fear, my daughter,” he said, finally moving from the doorway to sit by my side. “He is the Prophet of God. If you are innocent-”

All the color drained from my face and then came flooding back in a rush of anger that made my skin burn.

“If I am innocent?”

“I only meant…”

I rose to my feet and moved away from him.

“I know what you meant! You don’t believe me!”

My father tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away as if he were a leper.

“I didn’t say that,” he said meekly, trying to undo the damage of his careless words. But it was too late.

“You don’t have to!” I raged at him. “I see it in your eyes!”

My mother tried to intervene. She took a deep breath and then finally looked at me directly.

“Aisha, you are a young girl who has been through so much,” she said softly, and I could see that she was struggling with the words. “You are such a vivacious child with a love for life, and you have been burdened with more responsibility than any girl should bear at your age.” She hesitated and then said the words that would tear my heart in two. “I know the veil has left you feeling lonely and trapped. It’s perfectly understandable to seek an escape, even for one night…”

I felt my heart miss a beat, and for a second the world spun around me. I was drowning and there was no one to save me. Not even my mother, who was intent on pushing my head farther into the rancid waters of shame and scandal.

And then I heard myself speaking, but it was not me. A voice unlike any that had emerged from my throat echoed in that room. It was deep and harsh, like a man’s, resounding with power and terror.

“Get out!”

Umm Ruman’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and her eyes bulged from her lined but still elegant face.

“Don’t talk to me that way! I am your mother!” There was more fear than anger in her voice, as if she did not recognize this strange djinn that had taken possession of her precious daughter.

And yet the voice I could not control would not be silenced.

“No! I am yours!” I could hear it say. “I am the Mother of the Believers! I am the Chosen One, brought by Gabriel himself to the Messenger of God! You must obey me as you would obey my husband! Now get out!”

Tears welled in my mother’s luminous eyes and yet I felt no sorrow for her. I felt nothing but outrage and righteous indignation.

My mother looked as if she were about to retort. I saw her hand trembling as if it took every last thread of willpower to refrain from slapping me across the face.

And then my father rose and touched her on the shoulder, shaking his head. My mother’s fury collapsed like a dam and the flood of grief that was inside her was released. She wept violently, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking with such violence that I thought her delicate bones would shatter.

I gazed down on her grief and turned my back, preferring the sight of the dull brick wall to that of my own flesh and blood who had betrayed me. I heard the rustle of cotton robes as Abu Bakr rose and helped my crying mother to her feet. Their footsteps echoed coldly on the stone floor and then I heard the door slam behind them.

I was alone now. More alone than I had ever been. Even though sunlight streamed in through the tiny cracks in the sheepskin covers over my window, I could feel a curtain of darkness falling over my life. A blackness so thick that even the shadows of the grave seemed to burn like torches of hope.

And then, with nothing else left to do, I fell to my knees and prayed.

And then, in that lonely silence where the only sound was the sullen tremor of my heart, I heard a voice inside my mind. It was gentle and soft, like the whisper of a spring breeze, and it recited the words of the holy Qur’an.

God is the Protector of those who have faith. From the depths of darkness, He will lead them forth into light…