The man--of middle height, slim but with broad shoulders and wide chest --walked with steps quick and elastic, yet firm, towards the henna-colored mountain. His dark, slightly curled hair flowed in a dense mass down almost to his shoulders. His long arched eyebrows dominated his fully -bearded face. He walked quit undisturbed by camel dwellers gathering their folks. The dust raised by the herds caught the last rays of the setting sun, turned into gold and scattered in the night air.

From the peak, the man looked down on Mecca. A city of the bottom of an abyss. The moonlight could hardly do anything for a people so deep in darkness. He turned his face, thereby turning his whole body away from the city, looked towards the desert, and gazed at mountains lined up on behind the other. The man remained at the summit for several hours, then he moved down to a cave, a place of retreat, some fifty yards from the peak. There he laid himself down to rest.

He was in a state of meditation and prayer when a vivid light shone into his eyes. He opened his eyes in fright and heard a commanding voice: "Muhammad!"

Sweat broke out all his body. Trembling, he answered: "Who is it?"

"Read!" said the voice.

"I am not of those who read."

Someone took hold of Muhammad, hugged him vehemently and then released him "Read!"

"I am not of those who read."

Once again Muhammad was hugged till he was exhausted. "Read!"

"I am not of those who read."

He was hugged for the third time. "Read!"

"What shall I read?"

"Read in the name of your Lords who creates, creates man from a clot. Read your Lord is most Generous, (it is He) who teaches by means of the pen, teaches man what he does not know."