The feet of Muhammad, Son of Abdullah, came to a halt at the threshold of the house. He cradled the small one in his arms as if he were carrying the very secret of all existence. It was not merely a physical grip around a frail body; it was a profound spiritual embrace in which the newborn seemed fused to the chest of the son of his uncle, drinking in serenity before he ever tasted milk. The air in The Mecca that day was heavy with stifling heat, yet behind the walls of the house of the Father of Talib, there was a cool breeze that seemed as if it did not belong to this parched, barren valley. Muhammad entered, and following him was the Father of Talib, walking with a stride heavy with pride and dignity, wiping the sweat from his brow with eyes shimmering with a brilliance the people of The Mecca had never seen in him before. Beside him, Fatima, Daughter of Asad, walked with the gait of royalty returning from a grand conquest, despite the exhaustion of labor still visible on her pale face; yet, in her eyes, there was a light that would not be extinguished.
In the spacious courtyard of the house, where the mud walls—constructed from the silt of The Mecca and its stones—reflected the heat of the sun filtering through the gaps of the slanted roof, the three brothers stood in absolute silence. They were watching this small procession that had entered the house to change its stillness forever. Talib, the eldest son, stood with firmness, clasping his hands behind his back, his eyes tracking the cautious movements of Muhammad; he realized with his dignity that this day was the defining boundary in the history of their family. As for Aqeel, he stood in another corner, analyzing the features of the infant with a sharp intellect, trying to find a logical explanation for the calmness of this newborn who had not uttered a single cry or clamor since they crossed the threshold, as if the newborn understood exactly where he was and who surrounded him. But Ja'far, the middle one and the closest in spirit to Muhammad, could not remain in his place; he advanced with slow steps, his heart pounding fiercely. Muhammad approached them with a calm smile and initiated them with a warm voice that filled the courtyard: "O sons of my uncle, draw near and greet your brother, for by The God, my eyes have never seen a newborn with a more radiant face or a purer origin."
Ja'far was the first to take a step forward, overcome by longing and curiosity. He looked at the face of the small one, and his eyes locked with the eyes of the infant, then he said in a tone filled with wonder: "O Muhammad, look at his eyes! They do not move in confusion like the other newborns we see, but rather as if they are searching for something, as if they perceive what we do not perceive." Muhammad laughed softly—a rare laugh from him—and gave Ja'far the edge of the white swaddle to touch, then said: "He is searching for the Light, Ja'far, and this small one shall know the Light before he knows anything else in this world. He is not like any other; he was born in the lap of Purity." As for Aqeel, who was watching with silence and caution, he approached and asked with the curiosity of the knowledgeable: "Does he remain this silent, O Son of Abdullah? We have not heard him cry or make noise since you crossed the threshold. Is this from the awe of what happened to my mother in the hollow of The Cube, or is it a nature that has dwelt in him since the beginning?" Muhammad replied while patting the shoulder of Aqeel with tenderness: "Rather, it is security, Aqeel. He who is born in the House of The Lord knows no fear in his heart, nor does turmoil find a way to his soul. Look at his grip; it does not cease to hold my clothes with strength, as if he is telling me in his silence that he will never leave me, and that I will not leave him." Talib, the eldest son, stepped forward with the marks of responsibility and dignity. He placed his hand gently on the head of the small one and said to Muhammad: "The news of you has filled The Mecca, Muhammad, and the people in the outskirts and their clubs are wondering about what happened. But what matters to us is this boy who will carry our name. Have you named him, O Father of Talib?" Muhammad looked at the Father of Talib, who was watching the scene with silent gratitude, then the Father of Talib said in a resounding voice: "His father has chosen for him a name that befits him and you... He is Ali, so that his status may be exalted in The Quraish and beyond, and so that he may be a heaven that shades the Sons of Hashim." Talib nodded in agreement: "Ali... a majestic name with the ring of sovereignty. We shall be a fortress and protection for him, and I shall teach him how to carry the banner of the Sons of Hashim when his forearm grows strong and he walks among the men of The Mecca." Muhammad smiled at him, and his smile carried a hidden matter that Talib did not perceive then, and he said in a mysterious tone: "Rather, he is the one who will teach us much, Talib. You will remember this saying of mine one day, when you see that this small one carries in his heart what the mountains do not bear."
Roles were distributed in the house with astonishing speed; while the brothers went to help their father in preparing the grand banquet, Muhammad insisted on staying in the inner room to care for Ali himself. It was not merely family care, but the building of a unique covenant. Outside the room, The Mecca was bustling with the banquet. The Father of Talib ordered his servants to slaughter ten of the fat camels, and the smell of roasting began to mix with the scent of incense that was scattered in the courtyard to welcome the guests. The massive pots were boiling over the raging wood fires, and the servants were running between the tables distributing the bread and meat to the poor and the rich alike. The Father of Talib sat at the head of his council, with The Abbas, Son of Abdul-Muttalib, beside him, watching the arrival of the notables of The Quraish. Hamza, Son of Abdul-Muttalib, was moving with his usual chivalry, supervising the honoring of the guests, his voice echoing with welcome. The notables of the tribes arrived; Utbah, Son of Rabiah, and Shaybah, Son of Rabiah, entered, looking with appreciation at the overflowing generosity of the Father of Talib. Utbah said as he sat on the silk cushions: "Congratulations to you, O Father of Talib, on this newborn. We have heard what no ear has heard before; a newborn in the hollow of The Cube! This is an honor for the Sons of Hashim that no honor matches." The Father of Talib replied with dignity: "It is the grace of The God, Utbah. He has come to us at a time when we needed one to renew the glory in this house."
But the conversations in The House of Assembly and in the clubs of The Quraish near The Cube were taking another path, away from the banquet's courtesies. Amr, Son of Hisham, was sitting surrounded by his men, with resentment appearing in the flash of his sharp eyes. He was striking the ground with his stick as he listened to the news of the banquet. Amr said with bitterness: "What is the matter with the Sons of Hashim? Is it not enough for them that they control the watering and the leadership, that they come out to us with the myth of a birth in The Cube? They want to make this boy a god whom the people worship before he is weaned." Umayyah, Son of Khalaf, replied while wiping the sweat from his fat forehead: "The matter is not in the boy alone, Amr. It is in the one who carries him. Muhammad, Son of Abdullah, does not leave him for a second. I saw them as they entered the house, as if Muhammad is the father and not the son of the uncle. The meeting of these two stirs doubt in my soul." Amr, Son of Hisham, shouted in anger: "Muhammad! Always Muhammad! This young man who turns away from our gods and goes to the mountains to be alone. And now, he takes this infant as an excuse to increase the dignity of his house. Listen to me, the Sons of Hashim are preparing for a great matter, and this boy, Ali, will not be a mere passerby in the history of The Mecca." The Walid, Son of Al-Mughirah, who was distinguished by a sober mind mixed with pride, intervened: "Calm yourselves. The boy is still in his cradle. But, it cannot be denied that the Father of Talib has regained a great status by this event. All of The Mecca is talking about the splitting of the wall, and this is what we cannot deny or erase from the memory of the people."
Inside the room, the world was completely different. Fatima, Daughter of Asad, was watching Muhammad as he embraced Ali, wiping his forehead with his index finger, and cooing to him with gentle words that no one else heard. The small one became completely still as soon as Muhammad touched his body, as if there were a secret language connecting them before the tongue spoke. Muhammad was careful to be the one to wash Ali. He poured water gently over his small body and wiped him with a pure white cloth. He performed the Tahnik; where he would take a morsel of his food, chew it until it became completely soft and mixed with his pure saliva, then place it in the mouth of the small one. The infant swallowed it eagerly, his eyes fixed on the face of Muhammad, as if he were drinking life and spirit before the food. On one of the afternoons, while Muhammad was playing with the small one, Ja'far entered the room and sat opposite them. Ja'far asked calmly: "O Muhammad, why do you single out Ali with all this care? I see you exerting such time and effort that the father does not exert for his son. Is there something in this boy that your vision told you or that you found in your reflection?" Muhammad looked at Ja'far deeply, then at Ali, and said in a voice as calm as the flow of water: "O Ja'far, this small one is the trust of The God on His earth, and he is my deposit which I shall guard. I see in his features traits that do not exist in others, and I hope that he will be the one who aids me in the truth when the people turn away from me. He is from me and I am from him." Ja'far did not understand the purpose of Muhammad completely then, but he felt the sanctity of the situation, so he stood and kissed the head of his small brother and left, leaving Muhammad in his spiritual solitude with Ali.
With the approach of the night of the third day, the noise calmed down completely in the house of the Father of Talib after the last of the guests had left. The Lady Khadija, Daughter of Khuwaylid, entered the room. She had brought with her soft clothes from the fabric of The Levant and rare perfume for the small one, in appreciation of this great occasion. She stood at the door watching her husband Muhammad as he leaned over the cradle, whispering words that could hardly be heard, and adjusting the infant's pillow with gentle touches. Khadija approached with steady steps and placed her kind hand on the shoulder of her husband, so Muhammad raised his head and turned to her with his smile that grants tranquility, and his eyes appeared to shine with a calm brilliance under the light of the pale oil lamp. Khadija said in a melodious voice full of affection: "O Father of Qasim, years have passed since our marriage, and I thought that I knew all the secrets of your great heart, but today I see in your eyes a love for this small one that I have not seen before... as if you have found your goal that you were searching for in the solitudes of the mountain and the stillness of the nights." Muhammad held her hand gently while still sitting beside the cradle, and replied in a low voice full of love: "O Khadija, you are my sanctuary and my help in this world, and you know that I have not found in The Mecca a heart that understands me and shares my concern as you have understood me. But this small one... he has a status in my heart for which I find no description in the language of humans. When I embrace him to my chest, I feel a serenity that floods my soul, as if I am preparing him for a great matter that these people, who sacrifice to idols and fill the earth with noise and falsehood, do not perceive."
Khadija tilted her head toward the cradle and gently wiped the small palm of Ali, which was spontaneously clutching the clothes of Muhammad, and said with a warm smile: "We have become one family today, Muhammad. The house of the son of your uncle is our house, and this small one is our son whom we did not bear from our loins, but he was born in our hearts. I see in his features much of your traits, as if The God has chosen him to be your shadow that does not leave you on your difficult path." Muhammad sighed deeply and looked at the horizon through the window of the small room that overlooks the silent mountains of The Mecca, and said: "O Khadija, the night of the Ignorance is long, and the people are stumbling in their darkness, oppressing the weak and worshiping the stone. But in this house grows a light that will dispel all this blindness. I feel a responsibility toward this boy that exceeds every other responsibility. I shall be his father, his brother, and his teacher, and I shall plant in him every truth that The God has granted me, and he shall be the witness and the supporter." Khadija placed her other hand over his hand and said with a truth that does not falter: "And I am with you, O Son of Abdullah, as I have always been. I shall nurture him with you as if I were his mother, and I shall be the support and the refuge for him. What binds you to this boy is not merely kinship, but it is a pure covenant that no one knows except those who have purified their heart as The God has purified your heart and the heart of this newborn in the hollow of His House." Muhammad stood and helped his wife Khadija to rise, then they cast a last look at the infant who was in a deep and peaceful sleep, as if the angels were guarding him. They went out of the room together with steady steps, leaving behind them a new dawn that began to write its first letters in the silence of the cradle. The Mecca was in its deep sleep, unaware that the scales of the earth had begun to change inside this humble house, day by day, and second by second, in the shadow of the silent covenant that was held in that night between Muhammad, Khadija, and Ali, for this chapter to be the actual beginning of the journey of light that will never be extinguished.