The smell of stew filled the air that day—spiced lentils simmering over the fire. My mother was dividing the food into bowls, whispering old prayers under her breath. I remember asking her, “Who are we feeding, Mama? Is there a guest?”
She smiled gently. “Yes,” she said. “But these guests were once enemies.”
I squatted beside her, my elbows on my knees, trying to understand. We had just survived the Battle of Badr—a battle where the Muslims, though fewer in number, had won against the Quraysh army. The men we were feeding had been sent to harm us.
You won’t find my name in any surah or hadith, but I was there, a young boy in Madinah, learning what mercy really meant.
After the battle, many of the Quraysh soldiers were taken prisoner and brought to the city. Some of us children watched from behind doorways as our fathers and uncles brought them in. The prisoners were tired, dirty, and ashamed. I remember one man limping from a cut on his leg. Another gripped his stomach with hunger.
To my surprise, no one shouted at them. No one hit them. In fact, the opposite happened.
Our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—peace be upon him—taught us that these prisoners were human beings, and they must be treated with kindness. I heard the older men say that he had instructed the companions to feed the prisoners well, even if that meant giving them the better part of the meal.
So my mother gave away the soft bread. She kept the dry dates for us.
That evening, as I brought a bowl to one of the prisoners, I watched him look at the food as if he didn’t deserve it. His hands trembled when he took it.
“You’re giving this to me?” he asked, his voice rough like sand.
I nodded.
He stared at me for a while, and then at the sky. Then he whispered something I couldn't hear.
Later that week, I heard that some of the prisoners had accepted Islam. Not because they were forced. No—because they were shown mercy.
Our scholars tell us that the companions would give the prisoners better food than they had for themselves. Some say they would loosen the ropes of the prisoners at night, worried they might be in pain when trying to sleep.
That memory never left me. War was real. Swords had clashed. People had died. But it was what came after that showed me what Islam really stood for—compassion, justice, and guidance from Allah.
That day, I learned courage wasn’t just for the battlefield. It took courage to show mercy to someone who once raised a sword against you. And in doing so, the Muslims planted not just fear in their enemies' hearts—but hope.
Hope that even in war, Allah’s mercy could shine.
Story Note: This story is inspired by authentic hadith from Sahih Bukhari (3045) and Sahih Muslim (1731), which describe the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ instructions that prisoners of war be treated with kindness, including feeding them better than oneself.
The smell of stew filled the air that day—spiced lentils simmering over the fire. My mother was dividing the food into bowls, whispering old prayers under her breath. I remember asking her, “Who are we feeding, Mama? Is there a guest?”
She smiled gently. “Yes,” she said. “But these guests were once enemies.”
I squatted beside her, my elbows on my knees, trying to understand. We had just survived the Battle of Badr—a battle where the Muslims, though fewer in number, had won against the Quraysh army. The men we were feeding had been sent to harm us.
You won’t find my name in any surah or hadith, but I was there, a young boy in Madinah, learning what mercy really meant.
After the battle, many of the Quraysh soldiers were taken prisoner and brought to the city. Some of us children watched from behind doorways as our fathers and uncles brought them in. The prisoners were tired, dirty, and ashamed. I remember one man limping from a cut on his leg. Another gripped his stomach with hunger.
To my surprise, no one shouted at them. No one hit them. In fact, the opposite happened.
Our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—peace be upon him—taught us that these prisoners were human beings, and they must be treated with kindness. I heard the older men say that he had instructed the companions to feed the prisoners well, even if that meant giving them the better part of the meal.
So my mother gave away the soft bread. She kept the dry dates for us.
That evening, as I brought a bowl to one of the prisoners, I watched him look at the food as if he didn’t deserve it. His hands trembled when he took it.
“You’re giving this to me?” he asked, his voice rough like sand.
I nodded.
He stared at me for a while, and then at the sky. Then he whispered something I couldn't hear.
Later that week, I heard that some of the prisoners had accepted Islam. Not because they were forced. No—because they were shown mercy.
Our scholars tell us that the companions would give the prisoners better food than they had for themselves. Some say they would loosen the ropes of the prisoners at night, worried they might be in pain when trying to sleep.
That memory never left me. War was real. Swords had clashed. People had died. But it was what came after that showed me what Islam really stood for—compassion, justice, and guidance from Allah.
That day, I learned courage wasn’t just for the battlefield. It took courage to show mercy to someone who once raised a sword against you. And in doing so, the Muslims planted not just fear in their enemies' hearts—but hope.
Hope that even in war, Allah’s mercy could shine.
Story Note: This story is inspired by authentic hadith from Sahih Bukhari (3045) and Sahih Muslim (1731), which describe the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ instructions that prisoners of war be treated with kindness, including feeding them better than oneself.
