Woman's Heroism: Khawla Bint al-Azwar

It can be none but Khalid ibn al-Walid — this one who bursts upon the people like the face of the storm, or like the wrath of fate, swooping from the sky upon the host, so that the ranks of the Byzantines give way, rank after rank, while the storm wheels upon itself, grinding here and scattering there, its wings dyed with blood, and on the ground a gore in which the horses sink to the knee.

And the people, bewildered, ask one another: who is this masked horseman, in whose eyes is a flash of fire, in whose brow such pride, whose arm cleaves through the ranks, cut upon cut?...

Who among the horsemen of the Arabs but Khalid carries death and destruction, and carries in his sword these mad thunderbolts?...

And behold, Khalid himself comes out upon the people in the midst of this their bewilderment, in his eyes a question and on his brow an open wonder... Who is this, O Arabs? Who is this? Who is this? And the champions of the Arabs charge as one man behind the masked horseman, Ibn al-Walid at their head... And Ibn al-Walid watches the masked one on his steed, like a flame of fire falling upon necks and throats; and Khalid could not contain himself, but cried: “God bless you! Lift your veil for us, that we may know who you are.” But the horseman turned aside and did not address him; and the soldiers reproached him, saying: “Noble sir, your commander addresses you and you turn away from him!” And when the horseman saw Ibn al-Walid's great insistence upon knowing his name, he addressed him from beneath his veil in the tones of a woman and said: “I did not turn from you, O commander, except out of modesty before you, for I am one of the women of the curtained chambers.” He said to her: “And who are you?” She answered: “I am Khawla bint al-Azwar. I was with the daughters of the Arabs when the runner came to me with word that Dirar was a prisoner; so I mounted, and did what I did.” Said Khalid: “We shall charge all together, and we hope in God that we may reach your brother and set him free.”

And they charged, and Khawla charged before them, and the Byzantines said: If the whole host is like this horseman, we have no strength against them!

And the sun leaned toward its setting, and still she had found no trace of him. She wept and said: “O son of my mother, would that I knew in what wilderness they have cast you, or with what spearhead they have pierced you! O my brother, may your sister be your ransom; if only I could see you, I would deliver you from the hands of the enemies!”

And Khalid swore that no eyelid of his would close before he had made certain of Dirar's fate. And word came that Dirar was a prisoner on the road to Homs, guarded by a detachment of a hundred soldiers; so Khalid sent a force to rescue him, and Khawla was among them, and they succeeded in freeing Dirar and in destroying the hundred soldiers to the last man...

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Khawla bint al-Azwar, one of the daughters of the Arabs, brightened the face of women in her age: she was a horseman among the horsemen when the hour called to battle, and a voice crying out in the face of injustice... fearing no matter, however great... And see her, when the women of the Arabs were taken captive in one of the battles of Syria and she was among them, gathering the women and standing up among them to speak, kindling ardor and zeal in their breasts as she says: “O daughters of the Arabs, are you content that your children should be slaves to the people of the Byzantines? Where, then, is your courage and your prowess, of which the tribes of the Arabs and the assemblies of the settled folk tell? As for us — we would never have been captured had the enemy not fallen upon us unawares and driven us like sheep, unarmed. Take up, then, the tent poles and the pegs of the tent ropes, and let us charge with them upon these wretches...”

And Khawla threw a pole across her shoulder, saying: “Hold fast in a single ring, and let none of you abandon another; shatter the men's lances and break their swords.” And Khawla attacked, and the women attacked behind her, and they fought fiercely until the women were delivered out of the hands of the Byzantines!

This is a magnificent picture of an Arab woman, colored by heroism, poetry, and proud spirit. And in old Arab history there are many like her, in whom that history glories.

Woman has always and ever been a great workshop of heroes; and it is my belief that if we today have need of any great thing to drive our life toward heroism and sacrifice, then before all else we need this workshop that makes men great.