I had never given much thought to what it meant to be patient—until I watched him.
You won’t find my name in any surah. I was just a shopkeeper’s son from a town that had never seen many prophets. Life was filled with long, hot market days, the calls of sellers, and the quiet worries of my father. But something changed the day Dhul-Kifl arrived in our town. Some say he was not only a prophet but a man chosen for his patience and justice. His name, Dhul-Kifl, means "the one with responsibility."
He didn’t come with an army, nor did he raise his voice. He came alone, asking only for one thing: a chance to guide people with fairness and remind them to worship only Allah — the One true God.
At first, people shrugged him off. Then they began to mock him.
Every day, he sat at the city gates offering to listen to anyone's problems. Some came sincerely. Most came just to waste his time or test his patience. I remember a man once screamed in Dhul-Kifl’s face, accusing him of injustice. Dhul-Kifl sat there calmly, not replying with anger. When the man finally left, red-faced and unsatisfied, I asked him, “Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
He looked at me with eyes full of peace. “If I must shout to prove I’m right, then I haven’t really won. Allah knows the truth.”
That moment stayed in my heart.
Weeks passed, and each night I’d return home with stories about him. My father didn’t believe in him at first. “A man who doesn’t sleep at night and judges people’s arguments all day? He’ll break down,” he’d mutter.
I thought my father might be right—until I tried to follow Dhul-Kifl one evening.
I saw him go into his home, and I waited. Hours passed. Then, just before dawn, I crept to his window. And there he was—still awake, praying to Allah. He had no guards, no servants. Just tears and whispered prayers.
The Qur’an says, “And remember Isma’il, and Idris, and Dhul-Kifl. All were of the steadfast. And We admitted them into Our mercy. Indeed, they were of the righteous.” (Surah Al-Anbiya 21:85–86)
I began to understand: Dhul-Kifl wasn’t strong because he never got tired. He was strong because he never gave up. He never allowed anger to rule him. He stood for what was right even when it hurt, even when no one listened.
Years later, after he left our town—some say Allah called him to another place—I found myself remembering his quiet strength whenever I faced a trial. I tried to copy him: hold my tongue when insulted, seek justice when others wanted revenge, and pray in the last part of the night.
I never told him, but he rescued me—not from an enemy, but from the impatience in my own heart.
That’s what prophets do. They guide not just with words, but with who they are.
Story Note: Inspired by the mention of Dhul-Kifl in Surah Al-Anbiya 21:85–86 and classical Islamic commentary (tafsir) that describes his righteous character and steadfast patience.
I had never given much thought to what it meant to be patient—until I watched him.
You won’t find my name in any surah. I was just a shopkeeper’s son from a town that had never seen many prophets. Life was filled with long, hot market days, the calls of sellers, and the quiet worries of my father. But something changed the day Dhul-Kifl arrived in our town. Some say he was not only a prophet but a man chosen for his patience and justice. His name, Dhul-Kifl, means "the one with responsibility."
He didn’t come with an army, nor did he raise his voice. He came alone, asking only for one thing: a chance to guide people with fairness and remind them to worship only Allah — the One true God.
At first, people shrugged him off. Then they began to mock him.
Every day, he sat at the city gates offering to listen to anyone's problems. Some came sincerely. Most came just to waste his time or test his patience. I remember a man once screamed in Dhul-Kifl’s face, accusing him of injustice. Dhul-Kifl sat there calmly, not replying with anger. When the man finally left, red-faced and unsatisfied, I asked him, “Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
He looked at me with eyes full of peace. “If I must shout to prove I’m right, then I haven’t really won. Allah knows the truth.”
That moment stayed in my heart.
Weeks passed, and each night I’d return home with stories about him. My father didn’t believe in him at first. “A man who doesn’t sleep at night and judges people’s arguments all day? He’ll break down,” he’d mutter.
I thought my father might be right—until I tried to follow Dhul-Kifl one evening.
I saw him go into his home, and I waited. Hours passed. Then, just before dawn, I crept to his window. And there he was—still awake, praying to Allah. He had no guards, no servants. Just tears and whispered prayers.
The Qur’an says, “And remember Isma’il, and Idris, and Dhul-Kifl. All were of the steadfast. And We admitted them into Our mercy. Indeed, they were of the righteous.” (Surah Al-Anbiya 21:85–86)
I began to understand: Dhul-Kifl wasn’t strong because he never got tired. He was strong because he never gave up. He never allowed anger to rule him. He stood for what was right even when it hurt, even when no one listened.
Years later, after he left our town—some say Allah called him to another place—I found myself remembering his quiet strength whenever I faced a trial. I tried to copy him: hold my tongue when insulted, seek justice when others wanted revenge, and pray in the last part of the night.
I never told him, but he rescued me—not from an enemy, but from the impatience in my own heart.
That’s what prophets do. They guide not just with words, but with who they are.
Story Note: Inspired by the mention of Dhul-Kifl in Surah Al-Anbiya 21:85–86 and classical Islamic commentary (tafsir) that describes his righteous character and steadfast patience.
