“I felt bad. Mohammad was a man loved by all slaves. He alone had fought and stood against Mecca’s leaders and freed several slaves. His words on equality and brotherhood of all mankind made us slaves happy and delighted more than anyone else. Mohammad was the savior of the oppressed and an enemy of the oppressive and now I was about to witness his murder. When I reached Ka’ba, Mohammad and a few of his followers were standing in a row heading towards Jerusalem, for prayer. Abu Lahab, the man I now hated more than ever, was leaning on the wall of Ka’ba. In a distance, a number of Quraish leaders were sitting around the Zamzam Well. They appeared to talk and pretended to know nothing; yet they had their eyes on Mohammad and Abu Lahab. An idea crossed my mind which made me tremble all over. I could go to Mohammad and tell him what’s going to happen. Then Mohammad would be rescued, but then my death was inevitable. My master and Abu Lahab would kill me in the most cruel and tragic way for committing such a great sin. Then even Mohammad couldn’t stop them. I had to choose one; either Mohammad’s rescue or my own death. A strange sense of panic filled my entire being….”

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