Muhammad by Deepak Chopra

a big stick and accidentally hit a hornet’s nest. He upset the balance, and over such a stupid thing. They warned him with a nick, but then some others came out on his side, and they were mumbling about Christians and Jews too, saying that they’re all the true sons of Abraham.”
    â€œWhy not go and ask Abraham himself?” I say, growing bored with the tale.
    Muhammad gives a small, crooked smile. “If only we could.” He explains that Abraham is the grandfather of grandfathers, and no one knows how long ago he lived orwho his true sons are, except that part of keeping power for the Quraysh meant that they laid claim to him. He says that if they aren’t the sons of Abraham, they’re just another tribe of puffed-up bullies.
    â€œAre you taking sides?” I ask Muhammad. And he drops a saying: “A lizard doesn’t hop from one branch until he’s sure of the next one.” Arabs live by old sayings. I shouldn’t criticize. Muhammad is being prudent. He’s known for that. He’s earned more money by refusing the third cup of wine than by shrewdness.
    â€œThis won’t go away,” says Muhammad, getting up and leaving me the last piece of bread. “Zamzam ran underground out of sight for a long time. No one knew it was there until my grandfather had a vision. God has been running underground too. He hasn’t broken through yet, but the ground is moist, and everyone can see it.”
    â€œYou can’t drink moist dirt,” I point out. Muhammad smiles and leaves.

6
KHATTAB, THE ELDER
    Y ears ago Christ’s army marched on Mecca to destroy us, and almost succeeded. Memories are short. People talk about the trouble being stirred up now. This is nothing compared to the madness back then. I pulled Muhammad into my house to make him listen. His influence is growing in the tribe. He understands trade, and I trade in power. If Mecca collapses, the Arabs will be powerless. We are devouring ourselves.
    â€œOnce you hear me out, you can alert the others,” I began. “You are young, but your counsel means something.”
    â€œAm I here for a history lesson?” Muhammad asked with a serious smile.
    â€œIt’s a lesson about danger,” I said. “Last time the danger came from without. This time it festers within, like a disease. I feel the plague spreading. Trust me, I’ve seen the worst.”
    Muhammad bowed and took a seat. “Tell me.”
    I cast my mind back. “News spread of an attacker marching across the desert. Bedouin boys tending sheep in the mountains were the first to spot the enemy. They ran to town crying that huge monsters were in league with thousands of soldiers. Mecca had no defenses. Our men couldn’t form a proper army. The desert has protected us for so long, they had forgotten what war was like. This devil Christ must have been protecting his soldiers to bring them across a hundred miles of sand without dying of thirst. Panic broke out. Everyone became a nomad overnight. The clans ran into the desert to escape the invaders. People said hysterical things: Christ’s followers ate human flesh; the Jews had sold them secret plans to the city. Doors were marked with signs in blood in the dead of night.”
    â€œIt must have been horrible,” said Muhammad. He was listening, but you never knew what he was thinking, not that one.
    â€œHorrible? You’ve never stared starvation in the face, you and your generation. The bazaar was stripped clean as if by a swarm of locusts. A few sellers tried gouging. They offered a pomegranate in trade for a pearl. Instead, men held knives to their throats and stole the pomegranate. They deserved it too.”
    Muhammad nodded. He never faltered in the respect department. However, the real question remained. Would Muhammad stand with us, the guardians?
    I take some wine at noon for my blood, and it can go to my head. I found myself shouting at him.