Muhammad by Deepak Chopra Page B

he argued. ‘But if we die, there will be no one left to bring the Kaaba back.’
    â€œThat lone voice was your grandfather, Abdul Muttalib. The invaders had scoured the hills to steal our animals, and he had lost the most, more than a hundred camels. If Muttalib could keep his head in the face of such a crime, he was the man to send to the enemy camp as ambassador. Muttalib went and bowed before Abrahah, although obeisance stuck in his throat like a mouthful of thorns. To him he said, ‘Sire, withdraw from our home. We cannot fight you, but our idols are not under our control. I cannot vouch for what they might do. Accept tribute from us instead.’ Muttalib offered money and fruit from the best orchards to be paid in perpetuity. Abrahah sneered at tribute, which he saw as a sign of weakness.”
    â€œLike a true Arab,” Muhammad interrupted.
    â€œNo, that’s the cruelest part. He was an Abyssinian, a foreigner. Yemen had fallen to their king. In those days the demon Christ seduced Abyssinia, and his hand was guiding everything.”
    â€œFrom what I’ve heard, Christ doesn’t inspire war,” said Muhammad mildly.
    I grew irritated. Why did he refuse to see?
    â€œChrist inspires whatever makes him more powerful. He’s no different from any other god,” I said glancing at the wine jug. I resisted temptation, as persuasion deserts a loose tongue.
    â€œMuttalib returned to Mecca with the bad news. He counseled calm. He repeated Abrahah’s promise not to harm the populace, but panic spread without check like a contagion. Whole streets were abandoned overnight and became preyto wandering ghosts and thieves. The tribal elders held no sway. They fled faster than anyone. Now came the decisive moment.”
    I paused so that Muhammad would be slightly uneasy, uncertain what I was really about. He knows my reputation for canniness and power brokering. Nothing I do or say is casual.
    I let anticipation hang in the air. Then I said, “On the night before the invader reached our gates, I spied on your grandfather.”
    â€œWhy?” Muhammad was obviously caught off guard.
    â€œBecause the Kaaba meant more to his clan than to anyone else. Without the idols, what would happen to the sale of their precious water and the money it brought? Muttalib had done his best to get his family to safety. The only one he couldn’t persuade was Aminah, and her peril gave him added incentive. I followed him from his courtyard to the doors of the Kaaba. He seized the handles with both hands and began to wail. He wailed to every god he could think of. He invoked the one God, Allah, but he didn’t exclude even the most insignificant idol made of cracked plaster. When he was finished, he composed himself. From the shadows I couldn’t hear what he muttered to himself, but we were both Arabs. He left the rest to fate.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Can you believe that his prayers were answered?
    â€œThat very day a sickness fell over Abrahah’s army. Soldiers broke out in sores that oozed poison. Some say a swarm of biting insects swooped down on their camp, but I saw with my own eyes. Within hours the troops began falling to the ground. A day later they were dying in piles. I sneaked beyond the city walls and spied on them. Therewere no insects. An invisible curse felled them. The war elephants with brass balls on their tusks stood around listlessly, unable to move. Like a man caught in a nightmare, Abrahah realized that the predator had become the prey. The tribes would sniff out this calamity and descend to devour him. He turned tail and ordered an immediate retreat. Suddenly the demon army and its monsters vanished like a mirage.”
    â€œI have listened,” said Muhammad, “but there is a tale within the tale. Why is this about me?”
    â€œBe patient. Your grandfather, Muttalib, was overjoyed, and his prestige soared. Drunken celebrations clogged