When I was twelve, I worked in my uncle’s market stall in Madyan — the town where people measured with crooked scales and hid coins beneath their palm. They would say it was “just business,” but even as a child, I knew it was wrong.
The streets of Madyan were always busy. Men shouted prices, women bargained, and donkeys pulled carts piled with fruits and cloth. But beneath the noise, there was something darker — people cheated each other like it was a sport.
One afternoon, as the sun burned the stone roads beneath my feet, a man stood near the well and spoke loudly. His name was Shuaib — a Prophet of Allah sent to guide us. I had heard of him before, but never stood close enough to hear his words clearly. So I slipped between the crowd and stopped beside an old cloth-seller.
Shuaib’s voice was calm, firm. “O my people,” he said, “give full measure and weight, and do not deprive people of their due. Do not spread corruption in the land.”
A man nearby scoffed. “Are you telling us how to do business now?”
Shuaib did not get upset. He just looked at all of us and said something that stayed with me: “What remains from Allah is better for you, if only you believed.”
Some in the crowd laughed. Others whispered insults. But something in me stirred. I looked down at my hands. That morning, my uncle had taught me how to press the scales just slightly to make it look like we gave full weight. I thought it was normal. Everyone did it.
But Shuaib’s words rang in my ears for days. We believed in Allah — or so I thought — but we still cheated. How could that be right? Why did we fear losing money more than we feared Allah’s punishment?
Day after day, Shuaib kept speaking. He reminded us of how Allah had destroyed the people before us who were wrongdoers. He warned us kindly, again and again.
Then one day, things changed. A group of leaders mocked him, harder this time. “We will stone you if you don’t stop,” they threatened, and others nodded in agreement.
But Shuaib stood tall. “I have clear proof from my Lord,” he said, “and I only want reform as much as I am able.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking — why did we hate him so much? All he asked us to do was be honest, fair, and thankful to the One who created us.
Not long after, Allah’s punishment came. A great earthquake shook the town. The land heaved, and by morning, everything was destroyed — all except Shuaib and the few who believed him.
I had fled the town the night before, unable to bear the guilt of what we were doing. I didn’t know then if I believed fully, but I know now: Allah is always just, and He gives many chances before the end.
That was the day I decided never again to cheat another soul.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Hud (11:84–95) and classical tafsir accounts of Prophet Shuaib and the people of Madyan.
When I was twelve, I worked in my uncle’s market stall in Madyan — the town where people measured with crooked scales and hid coins beneath their palm. They would say it was “just business,” but even as a child, I knew it was wrong.
The streets of Madyan were always busy. Men shouted prices, women bargained, and donkeys pulled carts piled with fruits and cloth. But beneath the noise, there was something darker — people cheated each other like it was a sport.
One afternoon, as the sun burned the stone roads beneath my feet, a man stood near the well and spoke loudly. His name was Shuaib — a Prophet of Allah sent to guide us. I had heard of him before, but never stood close enough to hear his words clearly. So I slipped between the crowd and stopped beside an old cloth-seller.
Shuaib’s voice was calm, firm. “O my people,” he said, “give full measure and weight, and do not deprive people of their due. Do not spread corruption in the land.”
A man nearby scoffed. “Are you telling us how to do business now?”
Shuaib did not get upset. He just looked at all of us and said something that stayed with me: “What remains from Allah is better for you, if only you believed.”
Some in the crowd laughed. Others whispered insults. But something in me stirred. I looked down at my hands. That morning, my uncle had taught me how to press the scales just slightly to make it look like we gave full weight. I thought it was normal. Everyone did it.
But Shuaib’s words rang in my ears for days. We believed in Allah — or so I thought — but we still cheated. How could that be right? Why did we fear losing money more than we feared Allah’s punishment?
Day after day, Shuaib kept speaking. He reminded us of how Allah had destroyed the people before us who were wrongdoers. He warned us kindly, again and again.
Then one day, things changed. A group of leaders mocked him, harder this time. “We will stone you if you don’t stop,” they threatened, and others nodded in agreement.
But Shuaib stood tall. “I have clear proof from my Lord,” he said, “and I only want reform as much as I am able.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking — why did we hate him so much? All he asked us to do was be honest, fair, and thankful to the One who created us.
Not long after, Allah’s punishment came. A great earthquake shook the town. The land heaved, and by morning, everything was destroyed — all except Shuaib and the few who believed him.
I had fled the town the night before, unable to bear the guilt of what we were doing. I didn’t know then if I believed fully, but I know now: Allah is always just, and He gives many chances before the end.
That was the day I decided never again to cheat another soul.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Hud (11:84–95) and classical tafsir accounts of Prophet Shuaib and the people of Madyan.
