It was the first time I saw him walking through our vineyards — dusty, bruised, and limping. I was only thirteen, helping my father pick grapes in Ta’if, a city high in the hills near Mecca. We grew fruit and worshipped idols, like our fathers had done for generations. But when I saw the man, I knew something was different. Something powerful. Something painful.
You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I stood there the day the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ came to our city.
He had walked for days from Mecca, hoping our leaders might welcome his message. I had heard about him: the man who said Allah was One, and that the Qur’an — the holy book revealed to him — was from the Lord of the worlds. Some laughed at him. Others hated him. But he never lied.
When he arrived, he went to the chiefs of our city. I wasn’t there to hear what he said, but word traveled fast — he asked them to believe in one God and leave their idols behind. That alone was enough to make people furious. Ta’if was proud. We thought our gods, our wealth, and our vines made us strong.
The next day, the crowds grew cruel. I still remember the sound of stones bouncing off his skin. Children were told to chase him through the streets. I tried to stay close to Father, but I kept sneaking glances at the man we were hurting. His sandals filled with blood. He didn’t yell. He didn’t strike back.
He just kept walking, even when his steps faltered.
Later, an old Christian gardener named Addas found him resting under a tree just beyond the city. Some say Addas offered him grapes, and the Prophet ﷺ said “Bismillah” — in the Name of Allah — before eating. Addas stared at him in shock. “The people here don’t speak like that,” he whispered. Then they spoke of Nabi Yunus — the prophet Jonah — who had come from Addas’s land. I don’t know all they said, but I know Addas knelt and kissed the Prophet’s feet.
I watched all this from behind the bushes. I should have felt proud — we’d made an outsider bleed. But my heart felt tight.
Later, I heard something from a servant in Mecca that shook me to my core. They said an angel had come and offered to crush Ta’if between two mountains for rejecting the Prophet. But the Prophet ﷺ refused.
He said, “No. I hope that their children will one day worship Allah alone.”
I cried that night.
How could someone show mercy after such cruelty?
Years have passed. I don’t live in Ta’if anymore. But I carry the memory of that bruised figure under the tree, and the prayer he made for the very people who harmed him. That day, I didn’t accept his message. But now, I pray that I can become one of those children he spoke of — someone who walks toward Allah, because the Prophet ﷺ never gave up on hearts like mine.
Story Note: Based on the authentic reports from the Seerah (Prophetic biography), including narrations found in works such as Ibn Ishaq’s “Sirat Rasul Allah” and Ibn Kathir’s “Al-Bidayah wan-Nihayah” describing the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ painful visit to Ta’if and his refusal to curse its people.
It was the first time I saw him walking through our vineyards — dusty, bruised, and limping. I was only thirteen, helping my father pick grapes in Ta’if, a city high in the hills near Mecca. We grew fruit and worshipped idols, like our fathers had done for generations. But when I saw the man, I knew something was different. Something powerful. Something painful.
You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I stood there the day the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ came to our city.
He had walked for days from Mecca, hoping our leaders might welcome his message. I had heard about him: the man who said Allah was One, and that the Qur’an — the holy book revealed to him — was from the Lord of the worlds. Some laughed at him. Others hated him. But he never lied.
When he arrived, he went to the chiefs of our city. I wasn’t there to hear what he said, but word traveled fast — he asked them to believe in one God and leave their idols behind. That alone was enough to make people furious. Ta’if was proud. We thought our gods, our wealth, and our vines made us strong.
The next day, the crowds grew cruel. I still remember the sound of stones bouncing off his skin. Children were told to chase him through the streets. I tried to stay close to Father, but I kept sneaking glances at the man we were hurting. His sandals filled with blood. He didn’t yell. He didn’t strike back.
He just kept walking, even when his steps faltered.
Later, an old Christian gardener named Addas found him resting under a tree just beyond the city. Some say Addas offered him grapes, and the Prophet ﷺ said “Bismillah” — in the Name of Allah — before eating. Addas stared at him in shock. “The people here don’t speak like that,” he whispered. Then they spoke of Nabi Yunus — the prophet Jonah — who had come from Addas’s land. I don’t know all they said, but I know Addas knelt and kissed the Prophet’s feet.
I watched all this from behind the bushes. I should have felt proud — we’d made an outsider bleed. But my heart felt tight.
Later, I heard something from a servant in Mecca that shook me to my core. They said an angel had come and offered to crush Ta’if between two mountains for rejecting the Prophet. But the Prophet ﷺ refused.
He said, “No. I hope that their children will one day worship Allah alone.”
I cried that night.
How could someone show mercy after such cruelty?
Years have passed. I don’t live in Ta’if anymore. But I carry the memory of that bruised figure under the tree, and the prayer he made for the very people who harmed him. That day, I didn’t accept his message. But now, I pray that I can become one of those children he spoke of — someone who walks toward Allah, because the Prophet ﷺ never gave up on hearts like mine.
Story Note: Based on the authentic reports from the Seerah (Prophetic biography), including narrations found in works such as Ibn Ishaq’s “Sirat Rasul Allah” and Ibn Kathir’s “Al-Bidayah wan-Nihayah” describing the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ painful visit to Ta’if and his refusal to curse its people.
