I held my breath as the camel caravan moved closer, the sound of stamped feet vibrating through my worn sandals. I was only fifteen, and though my name doesn’t appear in any book, I was one of the few chosen to go with the army that day. I had never seen so many men in one place — strong, eager warriors with sharpened blades and firm devotion. But I wasn’t as sure as they were. My heart pounded, not from fear of the enemy — but because I didn't know if we were truly ready to face them in the right way.
That morning, before we set out, we gathered near the Prophet’s ﷺ home in Madinah — the city that had become the center of truth after the Muslims moved there. As we stood waiting, voices hushed and eyes alert, a message came from our noble Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. He never joined battle unless necessary, always seeking peace first. But when conflict came, he taught us how to face it with honor. That day, a companion read aloud the Prophet’s ﷺ guidance before we marched.
“Do not betray. Do not be excessive. Do not kill a child. Do not kill an old man. Do not kill a woman...” the list continued.
I remember shuffling under the sun, surprised. We were headed toward people who had attacked us before, who had driven us out from Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands. And yet we weren't allowed to harm civilians or destroy trees or places of worship. To hurt anyone who didn’t fight us — it would be disobedience. Some of the older men looked proud and firm, nodding as if they already knew. But I had not heard this before.
I turned toward Malik, a soldier who had fought many battles by then. “Why would we show them mercy when they would show us none?" I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the road ahead as he said, “Because we answer to Allah, not to them. The Prophet ﷺ is teaching us the way of real victory — through justice, not anger.”
By the time we reached the edge of the valley, I understood better. Every rule given to us wasn’t just about the battle. It was about who we were becoming. This was not a war of revenge. It was a test of obedience, a display of the mercy that Islam carried even into the hardest moments. When I saw a companion dismount from his horse to help a frightened woman cross the field unharmed, I knew — we were no ordinary army.
The order came not long after: return to Madinah. The conflict had been settled without a fight. Some were disappointed. They had wanted the thrill of victory. But I smiled quietly.
I had already seen our victory — in our restraint.
Inspired by hadiths on military ethics reported in Sunan al-Tirmidhi (#1588) and Abu Dawood (#2613), where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ gave instructions on warfare, justice, and mercy.
I held my breath as the camel caravan moved closer, the sound of stamped feet vibrating through my worn sandals. I was only fifteen, and though my name doesn’t appear in any book, I was one of the few chosen to go with the army that day. I had never seen so many men in one place — strong, eager warriors with sharpened blades and firm devotion. But I wasn’t as sure as they were. My heart pounded, not from fear of the enemy — but because I didn't know if we were truly ready to face them in the right way.
That morning, before we set out, we gathered near the Prophet’s ﷺ home in Madinah — the city that had become the center of truth after the Muslims moved there. As we stood waiting, voices hushed and eyes alert, a message came from our noble Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. He never joined battle unless necessary, always seeking peace first. But when conflict came, he taught us how to face it with honor. That day, a companion read aloud the Prophet’s ﷺ guidance before we marched.
“Do not betray. Do not be excessive. Do not kill a child. Do not kill an old man. Do not kill a woman...” the list continued.
I remember shuffling under the sun, surprised. We were headed toward people who had attacked us before, who had driven us out from Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands. And yet we weren't allowed to harm civilians or destroy trees or places of worship. To hurt anyone who didn’t fight us — it would be disobedience. Some of the older men looked proud and firm, nodding as if they already knew. But I had not heard this before.
I turned toward Malik, a soldier who had fought many battles by then. “Why would we show them mercy when they would show us none?" I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the road ahead as he said, “Because we answer to Allah, not to them. The Prophet ﷺ is teaching us the way of real victory — through justice, not anger.”
By the time we reached the edge of the valley, I understood better. Every rule given to us wasn’t just about the battle. It was about who we were becoming. This was not a war of revenge. It was a test of obedience, a display of the mercy that Islam carried even into the hardest moments. When I saw a companion dismount from his horse to help a frightened woman cross the field unharmed, I knew — we were no ordinary army.
The order came not long after: return to Madinah. The conflict had been settled without a fight. Some were disappointed. They had wanted the thrill of victory. But I smiled quietly.
I had already seen our victory — in our restraint.
Inspired by hadiths on military ethics reported in Sunan al-Tirmidhi (#1588) and Abu Dawood (#2613), where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ gave instructions on warfare, justice, and mercy.
