Muhammad was now five years old. Halima and her husband Haris returned our Master to Mecca for good. However, this was also challenging.

As they had departed a little late in the morning, by the time they arrived in Mecca the dark of the night had long set in. Despite this, the streets of Mecca were pretty crowded… As they tried to make their way through the crowd, at one point, Halima noticed that our Master was not by her side. 

“Where did he disappear to this time!?” Halima anxiously thought to herself, as she and Haris paced through the streets looking for him. They went in and out of all the streets, through the crowd and all the quiet lanes, but alas, he was nowhere to be found! The child in their trust was lost! Just as they were going to deliver him safe and sound how and why had this happened?

“Halima, I think we should go and tell Abdulmuttalib so we can all look for him together, it may be easier for us to find him them…”

They hurriedly ran to Abdulmuttalib and told him what had happened. Together with a few of Abdulmuttalibs men they went out on a search and checked everywhere checked again and again. But no, he was nowhere to be found! They spent hours looking for him but there was no sign of him at all! 

Finally, Abdulmuttalib went to the Kaaba, kneeled in front of its door and started to pray in utter desperation …

“O Allah! It was You who inspired me to name him Muhammad! It was You who gave him to us! I beg you, do not deprive us of him! I beg you, please give him back to us…!”

Meanwhile Waraq bin Nawfal and a few others from Quraish were looking for our Master up in the mountains. While searching beneath literally every stick and stone, suddenly a child appeared.

Waraq curiously asked, “Who are you child? What are you doing here at this time?”

“I am Muhammad, the son of Abdullah, the son of Abdulmuttalib…”

He was found! The lost treasure was found! Overjoyed, they immediately brought him to the Kaaba, where Abdulmuttalib was still devotedly in prayer…

“O Abdulmuttalib! O Abdulmuttalib! We found your grandson!”

Abdulmuttalib stood up in joy and relish…

“Thank you, my Rabb! Indeed, you answer the prayers of all who turn to you with sincerity!”

Then he ran to them and asked, “Who are you child?”

“I am Muhammad, the son of Abdullah, the son of Abdulmuttalib!”

He pressed his grandson against his chest and cuddled him with utmost love and excitement…

“And I am your grandfather my dear! I am your grandfather my love, the light of my eyes!”

Both Abdulmuttalib and our Master were crying while gratefully hugging each other…

A year later, when our Master was 6 years old, Amina made a suggestion to her father-in-law, Abdulmuttalib, “Father, Muhammad is shown so much love and care by his beloved grandfather and paternal uncles, for which I am so grateful. However, I would also like for him to meet his maternal uncles so that they too may love him and care for him as he deserves. If you allow me, I would like to take him to Yasrib so that he may meet his uncles there…”

Abdulmuttalib agreed with Amina and said, “You’re right Amina, go in good health and come back in good health…” 

Two days later Amina left for Yasrib, together with Muhammad and his nanny, Ummy Ayman. 

Amina’s cousin Najjar and his sons resided in Yasrib. They were the sons of her uncles. As soon as they arrived in Yasrib, Amina stopped at a place called Dar’ul Nal-ga and went to her cousin’s house. The significance of this house was that Muhammad’s father Abdullah was buried here.

Amina turned to her son and said, “My dear son, the grave of your father is here. Your father had the most beautiful character and disposition. Your grandfather loved him dearly, which is why he loves you so much. One day, your father had travelled to Damascus with a caravan for business… On his way back he stopped by Yasrib to stay with your uncles for a few days. Unfortunately, he suddenly became very sick and within a few days we lost him… That’s why he is buried here…”

Our Master had felt a deep sense of sadness for the first time… For it was then that he understood what it meant to not have a father. The sorrow of orphanage had shown itself. His eyes welled up and two big drops rolled down his cheeks… He gently sniffed his nose then cuddled his mother, pressing his face against her loving chest…  

Who could have known why Abdullah’s death and burial occurred in Yasrib? Who could have known that years later his son would migrate to Yasrib as the RASUL of ALLAH, change its name to Medina, where he would frequently visit his father, and that finally one day both father and son would rest in the same city…?