June 656 AD - Dhul Hijjah 35 AH
'Abdullah clutched the Book tighter, holding it closer to chest. He stepped away from his camel, and reveled in how two younger boys rushed to grab the reins and tend to the mount.
'Abdullah was aware of the respected image he was cultivating in the tightly knit community of Kufa, also known as al-Hirah. A new bastion of Islamic faith in 'Iraq. What he lacked in years, he more than made up for in piety and religious fervor. He found that, though his body was frail and prone to disease and scabs, the expression of his thoughts flowed freely from his mouth. The words just came naturally.
Over the past few months, he honed this ability of his. Mightier than the sword, more permanent in its etching than the quill. He learned more and more the art of oration, of swaying the crowd by tapping into their own concerns and beliefs, even if they did not match 'Abdullah's own. As long as those before him could be moved to perform the required objective, they would both earn what they desire at the end of the day.
And that's how they found themselves on the outskirts of the holy city itself.
Madinah. Seat of the Khalifa – Commander of the Believers.
'Abdullah took note of a crowd gathering before a small hut standing lone and isolated on the plains where they set up camp some miles east of the city. The area was barren, desolate. As though in exile. As though outcast.
"You would not believe the corruption in Damascus and Madinah alike, brothers," 'Abdullah heard the dismayed tone in an old man's voice. He pushed through the crowd, finding the center of attention being a hunched over greybeard, as slight of body as 'Abdullah himself. "The Ansar's own city, where the Prophet took shelter. Where prayers and peace be upon him, he is buried within the great mosque."
"Be calm, Abu Dharr," Malik al-Ashtar said. He was a massive man with a scar running down one eye to the other side of his jaw. "Speak to us of your misfortune in detail."
"The Khalifa has fallen into a pit of nepotism," old man Abu Dharr, recognized by 'Abdullah as one of the Prophet's most respected companions, elaborated. "Exploited by his kin of Umayya. When in Madinah, I saw the treasury depleted by 'Uthman himself to fill the pockets of his kinsmen. Overseen by that wicked man – that Marwan ibn al-Hakam. He went so far as to distribute the khums money among his own."
That earned a positively theatrical gasp off the crowd. Khums was a tax incurred off the Muslim populace. It was a fifth of one's own income paid to the Khalifa in order to be distributed to those in need – orphans and beggars and wandering travelers and the like.
The abuse of such a holy tax was one that set 'Abdullah's chest alight with rage.
"Then, I was sent to Damascus, the dominion of one Mu'awiyah ibn Abu Sufyan, after my admonition of the abuse in Madinah," Abu Dharr continued. "If only you could believe me, my brothers, in saying that what I witnessed in Syria was far more atrocious than that in the holy city. The governor Mu'awiyah lives no worse than the Caesar of the Romans in Constantinople. His palace – yes, he resides in a palace – is overflowing with more riches than what was found in the Persian Shah's homeland. Fortunes in silver and gold wasted on excess and luxury, to build lavishly and without a care for those without food or homes."
"Oyou who have believed, indeed many of the scholars and the monks devour the wealthof people unjustly and avert them from the way of Allah," 'Abdullahimmediately quoted the relevant words of God. The chapter of al-Tawbah."And those who hoard gold and silver and spend it not in the way of Allah -give them tidings of a painful punishment."Amoment of silence swept over the gathered crowd as they lowered their heads inreverence at the Qu'ranic passage.
"Truthful is the great Allah," was a popular sentence popping up all over.
It was what they wished to hear. 'Abdullah carried on.
"This is why we are here, my brothers in faith," he continued. "This is why we set forth from our homes in Kufa. While we labor in the name of Islam one day after the other, 'Uthman redirects the funds that ought to be delivered to us and ours to the pockets of those overflowing as is! Such avarice!"
A cheer of agreement washed over their little group. 'Abdullah hoped this timely story from the old man would quell any doubts some of them may be harboring over their expedition.
"Yes, my brother," Abu Dharr spoke directly to him this time. "This is precisely the verse I recited to those of the Umayyad clan. I voiced my concerns yet again to this Mu'awiyah in Damascus, who proved no more tolerant than his kin in the peninsula. I am but an unlearned, simple Bedouin. I only seek to serve Allah and follow his messenger's example. I only wished to serve the poor and the needy, as was commanded of me. As is the righteous path. That is what I told Mu'awiyah."
"Mu'awiyah did this to you?" Malik al-Ashtar growled.
Abu Dharr shook his head. "He wrote to his kin in Madinah, who summoned to the Khalifa's abode. I spoke of what I saw in Damascus in the palace of this Mu'awiyah. How those Muslims there cared for naught but earthly desires and excessive whims. They harbor not an ounce of modesty among them. 'Uthman asked me if I would begone. I sensed the hint in his words. And as I said, I am but a humble Bedouin who serves only the creator. As such, I would abide the Khalifa in all commands earthly lest I spark discord in the community, brothers."
"May Allah be with you in your struggle, Abu Dharr!" one called out.
"My abode is no struggle," Abu Dharr answered humbly. "I need no possessions nor do I want for company. For my true abode is in the Hereafter."
I've a mind to send someone else there just this moment.
***
"You must be the young man I've been hearing so much about," the man had an unsurprisingly gruff voice to him.
He towered over 'Abdullah and then some. Well-built with a jet-black beard and long hair.
Muhammad ibn Abu Bakr, he guessed. The son of the late Khalifa Abu Bakr. He was one of the Muslims stationed in al-Fustat, in Egypt. The same group 'Abdullah's own from Kufa had coordinated with to meet in Madinah. The man was also the brother of 'Aisha, one of the Prophet's wives.
"Wa 'alaykum al-salam," 'Abdullah replied coldly. And peace be upon you. As though chiding the older man for not beginning with the Islamic greeting.
Abu Bakr only chuckled, holding out a beefy hand to clasp 'Abdullah's bone-thin arm, completely engulfing it.
"I like you already," the man spoke with a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
'Abdullah turned to the throngs of believers concentrated outside of the two-story mansion that served as the abode for the third Khalifa of the Islamic Caliphate.
They had been camped outside of 'Uthman's home for some hours now, a large wall looming before them, adorned with a barred gate, the Khalifa's home yonder.
During the morning, the atmosphere was one of chaos and confusion. The crowd was one of a diverse background. Some of them were troops stationed in Egypt, others from Kufa and Basra – from 'Iraq – while others still from Madinah were emboldened by the large gathering.
As a result, cohesion was not their strong suit at the beginning. It was far too loud for 'Abdullah's liking; different sections of the protestors were straining to listen to one orator or the other.
But now, as the sun was setting, a semblance of order was washing over the dissidents gathered outside of the Khalifa's home as they set pieces of stone before them in order to prostrate when the time came – in preparation for prayer time.
At the end of the day, these men would only unify by what truly bound them together as one. The warmth of Islam. The grace of God.
'Abdullah took note of that in his mind. It was important to have a decent grasp of who it was exactly he was speaking to before he uttered a word. So as not to discredit himself.
The front of the crowd, those protestors directly facing the gate, bristled with movement. 'Abdullah noted the arrival of a new individual.
The man was portly and stout. He wore a green cloak over a coat of an identical shade. His close-cropped beard was flecked with white, his moustache shaved thin in the Islamic fashion. His head was bare of a turban, revealing a balding top with patches of dark hair adorning either side.
'Abdullah was startled to discover the man fit the description of 'Ali. None other than the son in law and close relative of the Prophet himself. The father of the Prophet's noble grandchildren. The veteran of a hundred battles in the name of Islam. A renowned jurist and seasoned advisor of Khalifas past.
That could only mean the two men by his side, the ones who had been standing vigilant by the gate with their hands on their hilts, could only be his sons. The grandsons of the Prophet – al-Hasan and al-Husayn.
The leaders of the youth of paradise, the Prophet referred to them.
'Abdullah stood in awe, studying the features of those that belonged to the noble house. The most honorable among them! He felt a tinge of envy for those old enough to have laid eyes upon the Prophet, prayers and peace be upon him.
All childish admiration immediately disintegrated once 'Ali opened his mouth.
"Muslims of Egypt," he boomed at the crowd. "You must have received word of your leaders' conference with the Commander of the Believers in the great mosque by now."
WHAT? 'Abdullah stirred, his grip on the Book knuckle-white with shock at this revelation.
To his horror, some murmured words of assent. They had spoken with the Khalifa...
A part of 'Abdullah was relieved that such an initiative was undertaken. The reassurance of the protestors was certainly a positive step in maintaining the unity of the ummah. Yet still...
All of 'Abdullah's speeches, all his efforts in coordinating this march – they had all been cast into doubt now. He wanted this Khalifa removed from power. How dare he? How dare he defy all reason and codify the word of God according to the script of his clan?
How dare he oppose 'Abdullah's will?
"The Khalifa has taken each of your concerns and has spoken in great length about them," 'Ali resumed his talk. "Some have been dismantled by him. Others will be addressed once you have returned to your homes. Allah be praised!"
'Abdullah's blood boiled as he stood there, helpless to shift the tide, as the congregation dismantled piecemeal before his eyes. This would break the momentum they had been garnering with the locals of Madinah. Those that joined would abandon them, packing up their belongings and taking leave as those of Egypt were doing now.
With their numbers thinning, the protestors from Kufa and Basra would be disheartened. The Umayyads would exploit that during the negotiations to achieve favorable terms.
'Abdullah studied old man 'Ali. Such an influential member of the Muslim community, serving as an intermediary between the Khalifa and the protestors. Working tirelessly to restore order and centralization. Yet, he was not of the Umayya clan as were so many of 'Uthman's supporters.
Curse the hearts of honorable men, 'Abdullah was ashamed to find himself thinking.
'Ali's genuine concern for the wellbeing of the state in the midst of power-hungry men deploying the dirtiest of tactics to achieve their own ends sent a wave of guilt washing through the final remnants of 'Abdullah that yet remained childish and naïve. That dwarfed enclave where authentic faith, unmarred and pure from politicking and deceit, called out to him in a rare moment of exposure, yearning for the days of ascetism past.
But as he saw the waves of protestors trickling past, 'Abdullah suppressed that lax, guileless voice within. Now was not the time to stand idle, backed up in the corner of a mosque, Book resting upon his lap.
Action was needed to reaffirm the control of God on the Muslim community. Even if it entailed deceit and honeyed words.
To cleanse the Caliphate of the corrupt.