Time: Noon, Friday, the 13th of Rajab. (The 30th Year of the Elephant).
Place: The Courtyard of the Kaaba, Mecca.
POV: Fatima, daughter of Asad.
The sun stood at the very heart of the sky, vertical and unforgiving, sparing neither the bare heads of men nor the deaf, silent stones.
I am Fatima, daughter of Asad. I walked with agonizing slowness around the Ancient House. Every step I took sent a wave of pain crashing through my lower back, rippling deep into my womb. The weight I carried was no ordinary burden; it pressed downward with a fierce authority, as if refusing to wait a single moment longer.
I paused at the Yemeni Corner.
My trembling hand sought support against the rough, sun-scorched stone of the wall. The heat of the rock seared my palm, yet I paid it no mind. Sweat poured from my brow, mingling with the fine dust suspended in the stagnant air.
I looked around. The courtyard was barren, save for a few men of Quraish sitting in the shadows of the Council House far off, their voices reaching me only as unintelligible murmurs. No one noticed me. No one felt the fire consuming my insides.
I lifted my head toward the heavens. The sky was not blue, but a blinding white from the intensity of the glare.
I whispered, my voice dry, barely escaping my throat:
"O Lord... I am a believer in You, and in what has come from You of Messengers and Books... I testify to the words of my grandfather, Abraham the Friend, and that he built Your Ancient House..."
I paused to catch my breath. The pain intensified, as if my very bones were parting.
"So, by the right of the one who built this House... and by the right of the Newborn within me... make this birth easy for me."
I closed my eyes, waiting for the spasm to pass.
But...
Instead of pain, I felt something else.
A subtle vibration coursed beneath my palm resting on the wall.
I opened my eyes suddenly.
The wall... The solid wall before me was solid no more.
I saw the fine cracks in the stone widening. It was not a thunderous crash, but a deep, muffled sound—like the tearing of thick, ancient silk. The stones of the Yemeni Corner began to drift apart, slowly and steadily, as if a massive, invisible hand were sweeping them aside.
I stumbled back a step, stunned. Had the sun struck my mind? Was I delirious from the labor?
No... The chasm was real.
A gap, the exact size of my body, had appeared in the deaf wall of the Kaaba. And from within it... darkness did not flow out. Instead, a cool breeze escaped, carrying a scent... a fragrance I had never known in Mecca. It smelled of musk blended with an ancient, pure sanctity.
Something inside me, a voiceless command, urged me forward. Fear evaporated. The pain vanished.
I stepped with my right foot into the cleft.
My left followed.
And the moment my entire body was inside, I heard the stone behind me move once more.
I turned quickly.
The cleft was healing. The stones returned to their embrace, fusing together as if they had never been sundered.
The sunlight vanished. Mecca vanished.
I was now alone... sealed within the stone sanctuary.
And yet, behold the wonder.
The place was not dark.
A soft luminescence radiated from the corners, a gentle light that did not sting the eye. The floor was paved with fine, smooth pebbles. The air here was temperate, kind, as if I stood in a lush garden, not a sealed stone chamber.
I sat upon the earth. A profound tranquility flowed through my veins.
I placed my hand on my stomach. The movement had stilled.
The time had come.
I felt none of the usual agony of birth that the women of the tribe speak of. It was as the falling of a leaf from a tree. A calm, seamless descent.
I looked down.
There he was, between my hands.
A child... yet he bore no resemblance to the newborns of men.
His skin was pure, unblemished by blood or impurity. His eyes were closed, his features still with the silence of mountains.
He did not cry. Children scream when they enter the world, yet he did not.
I reached out to wipe his head, but he bent his small knees and placed his forehead upon the ground in an instinctual motion.
He prostrated!
I held my breath. An infant in prostration?
After a moment, he lifted his head, his small hands moving in the air as if brushing aside a veil I could not see.
Hunger struck me suddenly. I looked beside me, and behold, a vessel I had not seen before, filled with fresh, tender dates and water. From whence did it come? I knew not. In this place, I had ceased to ask the questions of logic.
Time passed. I know not how many hours, or how many days.
I did nothing but gaze at him. Whether he slept or lay awake in solemn silence.
I pondered his name. "My father... Asad?" No... it did not seem fitting.
"Haydara?" Yes, he is as strong as a lion, but I felt another name hanging in the air, waiting to be spoken.
Suddenly, the sanctuary trembled once more.
I looked toward the corner from which I had entered.
The stones were moving. The cleft was opening again.
The sharp, piercing light of the sun broke the sanctity of our solitude. The noise and clamor of the world outside invaded our holy silence.
I rose, lifting my newborn and wrapping him in a cloth I carried.
I stepped toward the opening.
It was time to emerge, to face Quraish. I knew not what I would say to them, nor how I would explain the impossible.
But I looked down at the face of my sleeping child in my arms, and I felt a strange, overwhelming power.
As long as he is with me... the words of the world matter not.
I stepped out.
And the wall healed itself behind me for the final time.