It was the last hajj — the farewell pilgrimage. I was a boy then, not more than thirteen, and I had traveled from our village just north of Yathrib — you may know it as Medina, the city of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. My grandfather brought me with him. He was old, his back bent from years of prayer and farming, but he said he needed to see the Prophet ﷺ once more before he returned to Allah.
You won’t find my name in any surah or hadith. I was just one of the many who stood beneath the burning sun of Arafat, pressing into the crowd, straining to hear the Sermon. Everyone stood in silence as the Prophet ﷺ — may peace and blessings be upon him — spoke with strength, yet sorrow. There was something final in the air.
Later, when we arrived in Mina, word spread through the camp like wind moving through dry grass: the last verses of the Qur’an — the holy book revealed by Allah — had been sent down. I still remember the way my grandfather’s hands trembled when he heard it.
“This day,” they recited, “I have perfected for you your religion, completed My favor upon you, and have chosen for you Islam as your religion.” (Surah Al-Ma'idah, 5:3)
Some cried. Others whispered takbir — “Allahu Akbar,” meaning “Allah is the Greatest.” But I didn’t understand why everyone was so moved. The verse sounded beautiful, full of light and peace — but also like a farewell.
That night, I walked with my grandfather beyond the tents of Mina, where the stars spread across the sky like scattered pearls. I asked him, “Why did you cry when you heard that verse?”
His eyes were soft with tears. “Because it means the mission is complete,” he said. “And our beloved Prophet Muhammad ﷺ may soon leave us.”
I didn’t want to believe it. I was just starting to learn. Just beginning to understand what Islam meant — that there is only One God, and that He sent us a final Messenger to guide all people.
Weeks later, when the Prophet ﷺ passed away, all of Medina wept. I remember seeing grown men cry as if they were orphans. It was then that I realized how much we had loved him, not only for bringing the Qur’an from Allah, but for treating the weak with care, honoring the elderly, and helping the poor.
One hadith I heard many times came from Abu Dawood’s collection: “He is not one of us who does not respect our elders, show mercy to our young, and know the rights of our scholars.” I saw that the Prophet ﷺ had lived this hadith, even before those words were told to us.
Now, many years have passed. My beard is white like my grandfather’s once was. But that verse — the last to be sent down — lives in my heart. It reminds me that our guidance is complete. And though the Prophet ﷺ is no longer with us, his legacy — truth, mercy, and respect — is written in the Qur’an he left behind.
Story Note: This story is inspired by the final verses revealed in Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:3) and the hadith on respect for elders (Abu Dawood 4943).
It was the last hajj — the farewell pilgrimage. I was a boy then, not more than thirteen, and I had traveled from our village just north of Yathrib — you may know it as Medina, the city of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. My grandfather brought me with him. He was old, his back bent from years of prayer and farming, but he said he needed to see the Prophet ﷺ once more before he returned to Allah.
You won’t find my name in any surah or hadith. I was just one of the many who stood beneath the burning sun of Arafat, pressing into the crowd, straining to hear the Sermon. Everyone stood in silence as the Prophet ﷺ — may peace and blessings be upon him — spoke with strength, yet sorrow. There was something final in the air.
Later, when we arrived in Mina, word spread through the camp like wind moving through dry grass: the last verses of the Qur’an — the holy book revealed by Allah — had been sent down. I still remember the way my grandfather’s hands trembled when he heard it.
“This day,” they recited, “I have perfected for you your religion, completed My favor upon you, and have chosen for you Islam as your religion.” (Surah Al-Ma'idah, 5:3)
Some cried. Others whispered takbir — “Allahu Akbar,” meaning “Allah is the Greatest.” But I didn’t understand why everyone was so moved. The verse sounded beautiful, full of light and peace — but also like a farewell.
That night, I walked with my grandfather beyond the tents of Mina, where the stars spread across the sky like scattered pearls. I asked him, “Why did you cry when you heard that verse?”
His eyes were soft with tears. “Because it means the mission is complete,” he said. “And our beloved Prophet Muhammad ﷺ may soon leave us.”
I didn’t want to believe it. I was just starting to learn. Just beginning to understand what Islam meant — that there is only One God, and that He sent us a final Messenger to guide all people.
Weeks later, when the Prophet ﷺ passed away, all of Medina wept. I remember seeing grown men cry as if they were orphans. It was then that I realized how much we had loved him, not only for bringing the Qur’an from Allah, but for treating the weak with care, honoring the elderly, and helping the poor.
One hadith I heard many times came from Abu Dawood’s collection: “He is not one of us who does not respect our elders, show mercy to our young, and know the rights of our scholars.” I saw that the Prophet ﷺ had lived this hadith, even before those words were told to us.
Now, many years have passed. My beard is white like my grandfather’s once was. But that verse — the last to be sent down — lives in my heart. It reminds me that our guidance is complete. And though the Prophet ﷺ is no longer with us, his legacy — truth, mercy, and respect — is written in the Qur’an he left behind.
Story Note: This story is inspired by the final verses revealed in Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:3) and the hadith on respect for elders (Abu Dawood 4943).
