What use is wealth if it isn’t pure? Let us begin with a story before getting to the heart of the matter. One day, someone hears that a car is for sale and goes to the market, where a man—whose appearance might make you pity him—waits patiently. For our purposes, picture that person as you. According to what you’ve been told, the car is valued at 500,000. You find the car so appealing that you’re practically overjoyed.
The deal is about to begin. The seller starts off by quoting a price of 500,000 rupees. You reply, “If I can get it for 300,000, I might be interested.” No time is wasted—the man is immediately ready to agree. Without giving him any chance to hesitate or rethink his words, you promptly count out 300,000 rupees, hand it over, and drive off without even pausing for a cup of tea.
Now, my dear friend, what thoughts are racing through your mind? Are you reveling in the thrill of a great bargain, thinking you’ve just proven yourself a genius in the art of the deal? Or is there a small, nagging doubt whispering, “Should I have inspected the car more carefully? Why did he agree so easily—did I just buy a glorified cart on wheels?” Perhaps even another thought crosses your mind: “That poor fellow really needed the money; maybe I ought to go back and pay a little extra.” But really, who among us—out of a hundred thousand—would ever turn around after sealing a deal, let alone pay more? If anyone did, that would be the person who embodies true financial integrity.
This was only a story. Now to the matter at hand. There once was a man who sent his servant to the market to purchase a horse. The servant, skilled at bargaining, managed to secure a fine horse for 100 dirhams and returned with both the animal and its owner. When the master saw the horse, he immediately sensed something was amiss. “This horse is of excellent breed,” he remarked, “and 100 dirhams is far too little for one of this quality.” He then turned to the seller and asked, “Would you sell this horse for 400 dirhams?” The seller, taken aback yet agreeable, replied, “Well… if you insist, sure.”
Not satisfied, the master continued, “No, 500 dirhams would be a fairer price.” The seller, now bewildered, hesitantly agreed, “Uh… okay, I suppose.” But the master pressed on: “This horse is even better than I initially thought—600 dirhams?” The seller, now sweating, agreed with a reluctant, “Alright, 600 then.” The master then proposed, “Perhaps 700 would be more appropriate. Will you sell it for 700?” The seller mumbled, “Oh, sell it? …” Finally, the master pressed, “At the very least, can you accept 800?” and the seller consented, “Very well, 800 it is.”
In the end, recognizing that even after such spirited negotiation his servant had secured the horse for far too little compared to today’s market, the master hiked the price until it reached 1,000 dirhams. This is not a mere fable—it is an event recorded in history. It recounts the experience of Jarir ibn Abdullah al-Bajali, a distinguished companion of the Prophet who embraced Islam just 40 days before the Prophet’s passing. May Allah be pleased with him. A leader of his tribe, Jarir was honored by the Prophet himself; when he entered, the Prophet commanded that all present pay him due respect and even smiled upon seeing him. Jarir, noted for both his noble bearing and his gentle nature, is remembered through the accounts of Abu al-Khasim Athwabrani.
Do not mistake this episode as a case of overzealous bargaining. In the early days of Islam, there was a deep commitment to honor one’s word to the Prophet and to uphold obligations to fellow believers. Even when no one else was watching, each person was expected to reject any profit that came at the expense of integrity. Such was the example that shaped one’s character and financial ethics.
And the lessons do not end there. These kinds of tales abound among Muslims everywhere in the world. There is a tale of a respected scholar in South India whose practice was to purchase fish by a fixed measure. One day, upon returning home with his catch and counting them with his partner, he discovered one extra fish in his basket. Not content to treat this as a stroke of luck, he walked back to the market without delay and told the fishmonger, “You have given me one extra fish by mistake—I want to pay for it.” The seller replied with a smile, “No, I gave that extra fish on purpose, as a little gift!” Only then did the scholar’s troubled heart find peace, and he returned home knowing that every coin had been earned honorably.
There is another account from the same vernacular Islam, where another scholar named Palott Moosakutty Haji started a modest tea shop. Soon, he noticed that his banana fritters came in various sizes—one large, one small, one wide, one elongated—but they were all sold at the same price. While most entrepreneurs might have shrugged it off as trivial, Moosakutty Haji was deeply disturbed by the unfairness. Unable to reconcile the imbalance, he decided to close his shop altogether. Even though he had not amassed great wealth, he firmly believed that no profit should be marred by unjust dealings.
All these stories share a common thread. In today’s world, we see many who engage in financial transactions without a second thought for fairness, yet the true worth of any gain is determined by its purity. There is an old saying: if you build something significant on stolen foundations, it is no achievement at all. Our earnings may be tainted, and even if we compensate by performing good deeds or providing opportunities for spiritual growth, the end result remains unfulfilling. Above all, the most important act in life is to reach out in prayer, for the food we eat, the drink we consume, the clothes we wear, and even the shelter we reside in must come from honest means—otherwise, our prayers will be rendered void. What greater misfortune could there be in this life?
There is even a narration about a man who, despite his outward appearance of piety, was fundamentally flawed—his food was forbidden, his drink was forbidden, his garments were forbidden, and his very being was steeped in what was wrong. He would raise his hands repeatedly in prayer, but how could he ever expect an answer? The pressing question remains: if I call out to the heavens, will my earnings and every business transaction be pure enough to merit a response?
