The dust blew into my eyes that morning as I stepped out of the shop, rubbing my fingers together. Flour coated my hands; I was a baker in Madyan, the town where I had lived all my life. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there when the Prophet Shuayb — peace be upon him — warned us.
Shuayb was no ordinary man. He was a messenger sent by Allah, just as Musa (Moses) had been sent to Pharaoh. But unlike Egypt, our town was wealthy and full of traders. We had markets filled with spices, grains, and coins. But behind the noise of our busy streets was something broken — the way we cheated poor travelers with dishonest scales.
Even me. I kept a small weight under my stall. I’d press it down gently on the scale so that it looked like I was giving full bread, even when I wasn’t.
I told myself everyone did it.
Then came Shuayb. He looked us in the eyes and said, “O my people, worship Allah alone... Give full measure and weight, and do not deprive people of what is rightfully theirs.” (This message is from Surah Al-A’raf, 7:85 in the Qur’an.)
Some laughed at him. Others told him to mind his own business. But I saw something in his eyes — sadness, not anger. He wasn’t doing this for fame. He truly cared. I wanted to listen. But my friends didn’t. They said we’d lose money if we followed his rules.
One night, his words burned in my heart. I couldn’t sleep. What kind of man lies awake fearing for strangers? What kind of man speaks with such certainty that Allah sees us?
The next day I removed the false weight from my scale. But when I visited the market, people stared. My neighbor leaned in and said, “Are you following Shuayb now? You’ll be the next fool out of business.”
I hesitated.
A few days later, Shuayb warned us again. “I fear for you the punishment of a terrible day,” he said. People shouted him down. They mocked him in front of his own family.
Then... the quake came.
The ground shook with a sound I’d never heard. Homes split apart. Traders screamed. And just like that, it was over. Quiet. Then I saw them — lifeless bodies — as if they had never lived here at all.
Shuayb and those who followed him had already left. Only a handful of us stayed behind, trembling.
I dropped to the ground and wept. Not just from fear, but from shame. Shuayb had spoken the truth, and I had known it in my heart. But I was too afraid of losing customers.
Now, I fear only Allah.
From that day forward, I used honest scales. I kept Shuayb’s words close — not just in business, but in how I treated people. Fairly. Truthfully.
Because on the Day of Judgment, it won’t be bread I weigh.
It will be my deeds.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-A’raf 7:85–93 and the story of Prophet Shuayb (peace be upon him), who called his people to honesty, justice, and belief in one God.
The dust blew into my eyes that morning as I stepped out of the shop, rubbing my fingers together. Flour coated my hands; I was a baker in Madyan, the town where I had lived all my life. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there when the Prophet Shuayb — peace be upon him — warned us.
Shuayb was no ordinary man. He was a messenger sent by Allah, just as Musa (Moses) had been sent to Pharaoh. But unlike Egypt, our town was wealthy and full of traders. We had markets filled with spices, grains, and coins. But behind the noise of our busy streets was something broken — the way we cheated poor travelers with dishonest scales.
Even me. I kept a small weight under my stall. I’d press it down gently on the scale so that it looked like I was giving full bread, even when I wasn’t.
I told myself everyone did it.
Then came Shuayb. He looked us in the eyes and said, “O my people, worship Allah alone... Give full measure and weight, and do not deprive people of what is rightfully theirs.” (This message is from Surah Al-A’raf, 7:85 in the Qur’an.)
Some laughed at him. Others told him to mind his own business. But I saw something in his eyes — sadness, not anger. He wasn’t doing this for fame. He truly cared. I wanted to listen. But my friends didn’t. They said we’d lose money if we followed his rules.
One night, his words burned in my heart. I couldn’t sleep. What kind of man lies awake fearing for strangers? What kind of man speaks with such certainty that Allah sees us?
The next day I removed the false weight from my scale. But when I visited the market, people stared. My neighbor leaned in and said, “Are you following Shuayb now? You’ll be the next fool out of business.”
I hesitated.
A few days later, Shuayb warned us again. “I fear for you the punishment of a terrible day,” he said. People shouted him down. They mocked him in front of his own family.
Then... the quake came.
The ground shook with a sound I’d never heard. Homes split apart. Traders screamed. And just like that, it was over. Quiet. Then I saw them — lifeless bodies — as if they had never lived here at all.
Shuayb and those who followed him had already left. Only a handful of us stayed behind, trembling.
I dropped to the ground and wept. Not just from fear, but from shame. Shuayb had spoken the truth, and I had known it in my heart. But I was too afraid of losing customers.
Now, I fear only Allah.
From that day forward, I used honest scales. I kept Shuayb’s words close — not just in business, but in how I treated people. Fairly. Truthfully.
Because on the Day of Judgment, it won’t be bread I weigh.
It will be my deeds.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-A’raf 7:85–93 and the story of Prophet Shuayb (peace be upon him), who called his people to honesty, justice, and belief in one God.
