Yet it is also an altogether human scene. Everyone so
concerned, everyone crowded around, trying to protect
Muhammad from the importuning of others, to ease life
for a mortally ill man. They were all, it seemed, doing
their best. But as their voices rose in debate over the pros
and cons of calling for pen and paper, the terrible
sensitivity to noise overtook Muhammad again. Every
angry note, every high-pitched syllable seemed to drill
through his brain like an instrument of torture until he
could take it no more. “Leave me,” he said ɹnally. “Let
there be no quarreling in my presence.”
He was so weak by then that the words came out in a
mere murmur. Only Omar managed to hear him, but
that was enough. Using his commanding presence to full
advantage, he laid down the law. “The Messenger of God
is overcome by pain,” he said. “We have the Quran, the
Book of God, and that is sufficient for us.”
It would not be suɽcient, though. It could have been
and perhaps should have been—Omar’s words are still
used today as the model of perfect faith—but it was not.
The Quran would be supplemented by the practice of
Muhammad, his example in everything from the greatest
events to the smallest details of everyday life, as related
by those closest to him. The sunna, it would be called—
the traditional Arabian word for the custom or tradition
of one’s forefathers—and this was the word from which
the Sunnis would eventually take their name, though the
Shia would follow nearly all the same traditions.