The sun had not yet risen, but I was already awake, hiding behind a boulder near the edge of the valley. I was just a herder in the land of Thamud — a people once known for carving homes from the mountains. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I saw what happened to the she-camel that Allah sent us, and I can never forget it.
It began like this: our people didn’t want to listen to Salih — the prophet sent by Allah to guide us. We were proud and powerful, and we followed our idols carved from stone. But Salih, peace be upon him, warned us again and again. I still remember his voice echoing in the stone plaza, “Worship Allah alone! You were given life after your ancestors perished — do not follow them into destruction!”
Then one day, to prove he was a true prophet, Salih asked Allah for a miracle. In front of my own eyes, from a split in the mountain, came forth a she-camel — not a normal one, but one towering and radiant. The people gasped. I'd never seen an animal like her. Salih told us that the she-camel was a sign from Allah. She would drink from the well one day, and we would drink from it the next — but we were never to harm her. It was a test.
At first, the people were curious and careful. But soon, the leaders grew angry. “Why should this camel have rights over our water?” they said. “Why should we obey Salih?” I heard their whispers. I saw their plots.
I tried to stay away from it all. I was just a boy who herded goats. But one morning, I witnessed something that made my heart freeze — one of the men struck the she-camel with a weapon, and another completed the blow. The beautiful creature cried out and died. The earth seemed to hold its breath.
When Salih came and saw what they had done, his face was filled with sorrow. “Enjoy life for three more days,” he warned. “Then comes the promise of your Lord.” Even then, many laughed at him.
But not me. I ran back to my father that night shaking. “We have to go,” I told him. “We have to leave!” He did not argue. He had seen the signs too.
On the fourth morning, the sky turned black. The ground thundered beneath our feet. I turned to look one last time and saw our city — perfect stone homes, proud palaces — crushed into silence. The scream of destruction filled the air, and then... nothing.
I will never forget that sound. And I will never forget what Salih said: that Allah is the Most Merciful, but He is also Just.
Since that day, I’ve stopped fearing people, and started fearing Allah alone. His signs are clear. But only those with open hearts can see them.
And I pray mine will never close again.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-A'raf (7:73–79), the story of Prophet Salih and the people of Thamud.
The sun had not yet risen, but I was already awake, hiding behind a boulder near the edge of the valley. I was just a herder in the land of Thamud — a people once known for carving homes from the mountains. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I saw what happened to the she-camel that Allah sent us, and I can never forget it.
It began like this: our people didn’t want to listen to Salih — the prophet sent by Allah to guide us. We were proud and powerful, and we followed our idols carved from stone. But Salih, peace be upon him, warned us again and again. I still remember his voice echoing in the stone plaza, “Worship Allah alone! You were given life after your ancestors perished — do not follow them into destruction!”
Then one day, to prove he was a true prophet, Salih asked Allah for a miracle. In front of my own eyes, from a split in the mountain, came forth a she-camel — not a normal one, but one towering and radiant. The people gasped. I'd never seen an animal like her. Salih told us that the she-camel was a sign from Allah. She would drink from the well one day, and we would drink from it the next — but we were never to harm her. It was a test.
At first, the people were curious and careful. But soon, the leaders grew angry. “Why should this camel have rights over our water?” they said. “Why should we obey Salih?” I heard their whispers. I saw their plots.
I tried to stay away from it all. I was just a boy who herded goats. But one morning, I witnessed something that made my heart freeze — one of the men struck the she-camel with a weapon, and another completed the blow. The beautiful creature cried out and died. The earth seemed to hold its breath.
When Salih came and saw what they had done, his face was filled with sorrow. “Enjoy life for three more days,” he warned. “Then comes the promise of your Lord.” Even then, many laughed at him.
But not me. I ran back to my father that night shaking. “We have to go,” I told him. “We have to leave!” He did not argue. He had seen the signs too.
On the fourth morning, the sky turned black. The ground thundered beneath our feet. I turned to look one last time and saw our city — perfect stone homes, proud palaces — crushed into silence. The scream of destruction filled the air, and then... nothing.
I will never forget that sound. And I will never forget what Salih said: that Allah is the Most Merciful, but He is also Just.
Since that day, I’ve stopped fearing people, and started fearing Allah alone. His signs are clear. But only those with open hearts can see them.
And I pray mine will never close again.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-A'raf (7:73–79), the story of Prophet Salih and the people of Thamud.
