The earth was cracked beneath my feet, and every step I took kicked up dust. I was no elder or leader—just a boy from Medina who helped in the market, hauling sacks of grain that had grown too few. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there the day everything changed.
We hadn’t seen rain in weeks. The sky above Medina—our city where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ lived and taught—stayed dry and pale. The wells were low, the animals thin. People whispered fearfully, their voices growing quieter every day. The crops were failing. Children cried in the night, not from hunger, but from the worry on their parents’ faces.
I remember my mother one afternoon, looking out toward the desert sand and saying, “Nothing falls without Allah’s command.” I had heard that many times—but I still wondered. Why wasn’t rain coming?
Then word spread: the Prophet ﷺ had called for everyone to gather outside the city. He would lead Salat al-Istisqa—a prayer for rain. I had never seen it before. I tied my sandals and ran to catch up with the others.
That morning felt strange. The sun beat down as usual, but thousands walked silently, from all parts of Medina. Men and women, young and old—we all went beyond the city’s edge. The Prophet ﷺ led us into an open plain. There, he stood, turned his cloak inside out—right side flipped to the outside—and raised his hands high to the sky. I had never seen him pray like that, so deeply, so urgently.
He raised his voice: “O Allah! Give us rain! O Allah! Give us rain! O Allah! Give us rain!”
The words hung in the air. I held my breath. A few others joined his supplication. I looked up—empty skies. I looked down—more dust. Then...wind.
It started as a breeze brushing through our clothes. Then, clouds. Far-off, slow-moving shadows crawled toward us. I blinked, unsure at first. Someone gasped. A murmur spread. The clouds darkened. And then—rain.
Thick, falling drops. First just a few, then steady. Then heavy. Rain filled our cupped hands, splashed on our faces. Some cried. Others laughed. I stood still as it soaked through my clothes and into my skin. That day, I realized something I had only heard before: that Allah is close, that He listens, and that prayer is never wasted.
On the walk home through muddy streets, I heard a man say, “It wasn’t the clouds. It was our need—and His mercy.” I didn’t speak, but I held those words tightly in my heart.
Now, whenever I see the rain fall—years later—I remember that prayer and that mercy. Because sometimes, Allah waits for His servant to ask with a heart truly open. And when we do, the sky itself may soften.
—
Story Note: Inspired by authentic hadith accounts of Salat al-Istisqa (Bukhari 1013, Muslim 894), where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ prayed publicly for rain and Allah answered with mercy.
The earth was cracked beneath my feet, and every step I took kicked up dust. I was no elder or leader—just a boy from Medina who helped in the market, hauling sacks of grain that had grown too few. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there the day everything changed.
We hadn’t seen rain in weeks. The sky above Medina—our city where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ lived and taught—stayed dry and pale. The wells were low, the animals thin. People whispered fearfully, their voices growing quieter every day. The crops were failing. Children cried in the night, not from hunger, but from the worry on their parents’ faces.
I remember my mother one afternoon, looking out toward the desert sand and saying, “Nothing falls without Allah’s command.” I had heard that many times—but I still wondered. Why wasn’t rain coming?
Then word spread: the Prophet ﷺ had called for everyone to gather outside the city. He would lead Salat al-Istisqa—a prayer for rain. I had never seen it before. I tied my sandals and ran to catch up with the others.
That morning felt strange. The sun beat down as usual, but thousands walked silently, from all parts of Medina. Men and women, young and old—we all went beyond the city’s edge. The Prophet ﷺ led us into an open plain. There, he stood, turned his cloak inside out—right side flipped to the outside—and raised his hands high to the sky. I had never seen him pray like that, so deeply, so urgently.
He raised his voice: “O Allah! Give us rain! O Allah! Give us rain! O Allah! Give us rain!”
The words hung in the air. I held my breath. A few others joined his supplication. I looked up—empty skies. I looked down—more dust. Then...wind.
It started as a breeze brushing through our clothes. Then, clouds. Far-off, slow-moving shadows crawled toward us. I blinked, unsure at first. Someone gasped. A murmur spread. The clouds darkened. And then—rain.
Thick, falling drops. First just a few, then steady. Then heavy. Rain filled our cupped hands, splashed on our faces. Some cried. Others laughed. I stood still as it soaked through my clothes and into my skin. That day, I realized something I had only heard before: that Allah is close, that He listens, and that prayer is never wasted.
On the walk home through muddy streets, I heard a man say, “It wasn’t the clouds. It was our need—and His mercy.” I didn’t speak, but I held those words tightly in my heart.
Now, whenever I see the rain fall—years later—I remember that prayer and that mercy. Because sometimes, Allah waits for His servant to ask with a heart truly open. And when we do, the sky itself may soften.
—
Story Note: Inspired by authentic hadith accounts of Salat al-Istisqa (Bukhari 1013, Muslim 894), where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ prayed publicly for rain and Allah answered with mercy.
