20 April 628 AD, 10 Dhul Hijjah 6 AH

Ghawth ibn Luhay yanked the reins of his camel forward, clicking his tongue, as the congestion through the choke point in the mountain that led into Makkah eased.

By his side, his cousin Abu Mazen followed suit, leading his own camel laden with goods through the narrow entrance. An entire caravan of dozens of kinsmen hauling camels along would follow close behind.

They were the tribesmen of the Banu Khuza'a. Ghawth puffed his chest with pride at the thought of it. As individuals, they were vulnerable. But as one, united by the bonds of flesh, blood and oath, none would dare encroach upon his people.

They passed through the jammed streets of the living quarters of Makkah first. This is where his ancestors had once dwelled, Ghawth thought to himself dourly.

The Banu Khuza'a were an ancient tribe and could trace their lineage back centuries from the time they were still of Yemen. Through strength of arms, courage, deep piety and their honesty and trustworthy behavior, they rose to become the hegemons of Arabia, occupying the city of Makkah.

But all that had been stripped of them many years ago when the tribe of Quraysh descended upon them and robbed them of all they held dear. It was long before Ghawth had been born, yet he felt a pang of nostalgia for days long past where the Khuza'a were a force to be reckoned with.

Now, they were reduced to disparate clans dispensed in the ravines and valleys near Makkah, divided and individualistic. Meanwhile, the Quraysh enjoyed their status as the foremost tribe of Arabia, the guardians of the great Ka'aba, the wealthiest and most powerful among the Arabs. The status they had conquered from Khuza'a.

Ghawth studied with envy the neat streets, tidied sheds painted with half a dozen colors and adorned with endless creative patterns. There were more houses perched atop the towering black peaks of the mountain in the shadow of which the city was built.

The Khuza'a caravan walked down the hill that led from the relative calm of the Quraysh living quarters to the bustling marketplace. There were cultivated palm trees lining the gentle descent of the hill in orderly columns, dotted with sculptures and idols. Between each column was the path itself, jam-packed with hundreds of other trade caravans hailing from dozens of different Arab tribes.

Ghawth was no stranger to such sights. Though he lived in the calm and tranquility of a valley with his clan not a day's ride from Makkah, he only visited the city to engage in mercantile operations in Makkah's sought-after marketplace. The city was a hub for merchants, religious men or any Arab that wished to abandon any tribal disputes at the entrance of the city in order to perform 'umrah, trade or engage in any number of activities.

There were strict restrictions enforced by the Quraysh upon visitors, mainly to maintain the peace. The Arabs were a notoriously proud people with long memories; they pursued blood feuds and tribal disputes for centuries on end, sparked by the most petty of reasons. Makkah, however, was a safe haven, a place where such petty differences were put aside.

The pathway was bristling with whickering mounts lined in processions similar to that of Ghawth's cousins. Men clicking their tongues or otherwise yelling incoherently, the words lost in the raucous.

But the crowdedness in the pathway was nothing compared to the din of the marketplace itself. The market was always an area bustling with action, but in this particular time of the year, there was barely any room to breathe, let alone space for the camels.

It was the month of Dhul Hijjah; the period between the eighth and thirteenth days of the month that were most holy to the Arabs. It was the time for the hajj, the age-old pilgrimage done in favor to the gods, performed during this time window. The event attracted Arabs from all over the peninsula regardless of their backgrounds or tribal affiliation.

As a result, it was also the peak season for trade, a time of great promise and potential reward for merchants seeking to make a name for themselves like Ghawth ibn Luhay and his kinsmen.

They tethered their camels to wooden posts a distance away from the buzz of the marketplace, heralded by a knee-length fence of wood interrupted only by a spacious gap that acted as the entrance to the market.

The slaves of the Banu Khuza'a tribesmen began unloading the camels with meticulous care, doing so without command; they were well aware of their duties. They would carry the bundles of linen, cloth, wool, the barrels of beer and crates imbued with a variety of crops to their reserved stall in the market beyond.

The Banu Khuza'a were a people that took pride in their mercantile talents. Ghawth boasted of the art of sword and shield, as well as the skill of bartering. They were traits passed down from generation to generation, possessed first by revered forefathers. Ghawth was the latest in a long line to have inherited them.

He knew how to be a warrior and a merchant, for it was what he had devoted his life to for all these years; it was what he had been taught since childhood.

But he knew not how to be a father.

Ghawth frowned at the thought. His wife, his first wife, was heavy with his first child. Ghawth hoped for her a swift labor and an easy pregnancy, but above all, he wished to be a decent father for his unborn child.

But he had no idea where to begin.

"I will join shortly," Ghawth ibn Luhay informed his cousin Abu Mazen. "Perhaps...perhaps I will teach Mazen a thing or two about...about the Ka'aba,"

Perhaps he'll teach me a thing or two about being a father.

The young boy was ten, perhaps eleven. Ghawth took his hand in his own, smiling uneasily. To give his child the life it deserved, he ought to begin working on himself. They began walking away from the marketplace.

The Ka'aba was only a short distance away. If one thought it was impossible to top the packed crowds of Makkah's market, they needed only set foot in the holy sanctuary of the Ka'aba during hajj season.

Though Ghawth had seen the Ka'aba on many an occasion, it never failed to take his breath away. It steadied the anxiety in his heart and stayed his fears of becoming the father of a newborn.

The Ka'aba was a stout building carved in the shape of a large cube. It was covered in its entirety with a cloth draping of stark white. Ghawth knew that beneath the white curtain, it was built of solid oak.

There were many such sanctuaries dotting the landscape of Arabia. Large shrines sacred to the Arab faith in the shape of a looming cube. Yet, none were as captivating in their simplicity as this one, none as venerated as this. The other Ka'abas were mainly worshipped by local tribes. This one, however, was revered by all. It was built on an open plain, in the shadow of two hills – al Safa and al-Marwa.

"This is the Ka'aba," he informed Mazen nervously, attempting to be as friendly as possible. "This is the greatest of all holy sanctuaries. It was built by Ibrahim eons ago. We were custodians of the Ka'aba once. Long ago."

Mazen furrowed his brow and looked up at Ghawth with confusion.

"Ibrahim?" he inquired innocently.

Oh, Ghawth thought. This will need more work than I thought.

"Uhh...Ibrahim was a great man...a wise man. Both Arab and Jew can trace lineage back to him. Arab through Isma'il, and Jew through Ishaq."

On the cloth draping, pieces of animal skins were hung; Ghawth was not a learned man, and so he did not boast of the ability to read or write, but he was aware of what the skins' contents were. They were the most exquisite poems of the Arabs. They were elegant in their prose, alluring in their masterful command of the Arabic tongue.

Ghawth was a simple man. He knew that. He did not have the sharpest mind or the quickest wit. But he knew how to appreciate fine poetry.

Ringing the Ka'aba in all directions were hundreds of statues, carved in stone and wood, alabaster and palm dates. These were the idols of his gods, watchful and vigilant in all corners of the courtyard, looming above their own private altars.

The altars of the major gods were packed with disorderly lines of worshippers, seeking to offer a lamb or morsels of food and fodder to garner the favor of the gods. There was also the odd priest; a man draped in a dark gown, timid and meek. They could prophesy the future or shower blessings upon worshippers.

Ghawth resolved that he would later return with an offering to al-'Uzza, the goddess of protection and love, in order to ease labor for his wife. Perhaps he would seek out one of those priests to see what the future had in store.

However, the bulk of the action was focused around the Ka'aba itself, where the pilgrims were performing the hajj. They were circumambulating the Ka'aba, letting out hoots and whistles, putting their hands together in a chorus of claps. There were women among them adding to the raucous with their ululating – a high-pitched sound spurred by the rapid movements of their tongues, or through the use of tambourines.

The smell of incense and roasted flesh hung heavy in the air from altar and brazier alike, as sacrifices were set alight, sending thick smoke curling lazily upward.

"Take your...." Ghawth motioned with his finger, struggling to find the words. "Your clothes off."

Mazen raised an eyebrow. Ghawth pointed at the pilgrims circumambulating the Ka'aba. They were all naked.

Ghawth began stripping. A man must lay bare his body and his flaws in the presence of the gods. He must be as he was born, as the gods created him, in this most sacred of sites.

He handed his cloth garments and sandals to a nearby armed guard and strode inside.

"This is his shrine," Ghawth pointed at the stone raised on a pedestal. It had two holes engraved on it. "Uhh...Ibrahim's I mean. Those holes are his feet. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Mazen hesitated before answering. Ghawth felt his heart sink.

Perhaps I'm not so well suited to becoming a father.

Finally, the boy shrugged.

"You're so much more clever than Father," Mazen beamed up at Ghawth. "All he does is shout at me. I wish you were my father."

Mazen's eyes brimmed with tears and he moved to drape his arms around Ghawth.

"Uhh...sorry, perhaps another time," Ghawth eased him gently away. He waved a hand at his nude body and shrugged.

Mazen giggled and ran forward.

Ghawth smiled, running after his kinsman. They joined in with the great masses of people chanting the praises of the gods, or otherwise howling and whistling. He curled his nose at the pungent stench of the other pilgrims' foul sweat. But his eyes were fixed on Mazen.

Or maybe this could work after all.