The Ever-flowing Spring: The Garden and Well of Usman bin Affan

Before the call to prayer ever echoed through its valleys, before it was known as Al-Madinah Al-Munawwarah—the Luminous City—it was Yathrib. A patchwork of green in a sea of ochre sand, Yathrib was an oasis sustained by the fickle mercy of underground springs. Life here, carved out of the harshness of the Arabian Peninsula, was measured in drops of water. The air was thick with the scent of date palms and the quiet hum of tribal life, a fragile existence governed by the alliances and rivalries of its peoples, primarily the Arab tribes of Aws and Khazraj and the Jewish tribes of Banu Qaynuqa, Banu Nadir, and Banu Qurayza. In this arid world, control over a well was not merely a source of wealth; it was control over life itself.

Among the wells that dotted this oasis, one was particularly renowned for its sweet, plentiful water: Bi’r Rumah, the Well of Rumah. Its owner, a man named Rumah al-Ghifari, understood its value all too well. He treated the water not as a shared blessing of the earth but as a commodity, selling it by the skinful to a populace that had little choice but to pay. The poor, the traveler, and the destitute often looked upon its cool depths with a longing they could not afford to quench.

A Community Forged in Faith and Scarcity

This was the world into which a new chapter of history arrived with the Hijra in 622 CE. The Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, and his followers, the Muhajirun, fled persecution in Mecca to seek refuge in Yathrib. They arrived not as conquerors, but as emigrants, leaving behind their homes, wealth, and status. In Yathrib, they were welcomed by the Ansar, the “Helpers” from the Aws and Khazraj tribes who had embraced Islam and pledged their protection. This momentous event forged a new community, the Ummah, bound not by blood but by faith. Yet, this nascent community faced immediate and pressing challenges.

The Muhajirun were accustomed to Mecca’s arid climate and its Zamzam well, but they found the water of Medina difficult to palate and, more importantly, hard to access. The city’s new, burgeoning population placed an immense strain on its most precious resource. The lines for water grew longer, the prices higher, and the hardship of the poorest members of the community became a palpable concern for their leader. The commercialization of the Well of Rumah, once a simple fact of tribal economics, now stood as a significant obstacle to the well-being of this new, divinely-inspired society built on principles of compassion, justice, and mutual support.

It was in this context that the Prophet Muhammad, seeing the distress of his people, stood in the mosque he had just built and made an announcement that would echo through eternity. He turned to his companions, his voice carrying both a challenge and a divine promise: “Whoever buys the Well of Rumah and dedicates it for the Muslims, for him will be a better spring in Paradise.” The words settled upon the gathering, a profound invitation to transform worldly wealth into an eternal reward. It was a call not just for charity, but for a strategic investment in the foundation of the community and in one’s own hereafter. In a society where wealth was often a means of tribal power and personal prestige, this was a radical reimagining of its purpose.

The Wisdom of Dhul-Nurayn

Among those who heard this call was a man known for his deep modesty, his unshakeable faith, and his considerable wealth. He was Usman ibn Affan, a close companion of the Prophet, respected for his gentle nature and sharp intellect. He had earned the unique title Dhul-Nurayn, “The Possessor of Two Lights,” for he had been married to two of the Prophet’s daughters, Ruqayyah and, after her passing, Umm Kulthum. Usman understood that this was more than a transaction; it was an opportunity to solve a community crisis and to answer a divine call.

He approached Rumah al-Ghifari, but the owner, aware of the well’s increasing value, was unwilling to sell his lucrative asset. Here, Usman’s wisdom and business acumen came to the fore. Instead of pressing for an immediate sale, he made a different proposal: he offered to buy half the well. An agreement was struck. Usman would have exclusive rights to the well’s water one day, and Rumah would have the rights on the next. It was a curious arrangement, but Rumah, confident in his monopoly, agreed, taking a handsome sum for a share of his property while retaining his business.

On Usman’s designated day, a crier went out into the streets of Medina, announcing that the water from the Well of Rumah was free for all. The people—Muslims and non-Muslims alike—came in droves. They drank their fill and collected enough water to last them for two days, covering both Usman’s day and the following one. On Rumah’s day, the well lay quiet. No one came to buy what they had already received for free the day before. His business collapsed overnight. Realizing his position was untenable, he returned to Usman and offered to sell the remaining half. Usman purchased it, and the entire Well of Rumah now belonged to the man who intended to give it away forever.

Usman bin Affan immediately went to the Prophet Muhammad and formally endowed the well as a waqf—a perpetual charitable endowment in the name of Allah. It was to be a public utility, its water free for the rich and poor, the resident and the traveler, for all people and for all time. In this single, brilliant act, Usman had not only quenched the physical thirst of a city but had also laid a foundational stone for Islamic social finance. He demonstrated how faith, combined with practical wisdom, could create sustainable institutions that serve humanity long after the donor has passed from this world. His act was a living embodiment of the Quranic principle: “The example of those who spend their wealth in the way of Allah is like a seed of grain which grows seven spikes; in each spike is a hundred grains. And Allah multiplies [His reward] for whom He wills. And Allah is all-Encompassing and Knowing.” (Quran 2:261)

A Legacy Watered by Faith: The Enduring Waqf

The story of the well did not end there. It became the heart of a flourishing garden. Around the life-giving waters of Bi’r Usman, as it came to be known, date palms were planted. The oasis grew lush and fertile, becoming a source of sustenance for the city. The endowment was no longer just about water; it was now a productive agricultural asset. The dates harvested from these palms were distributed among the poor and needy, and the profits from any surplus were used for the upkeep of the well and the mosque, and to support the vulnerable members of the community.

This was the genius of the waqf. It was not a one-time donation but a self-sustaining charitable enterprise, a form of sadaqah jariyah, or ongoing charity, that continues to generate rewards for the donor long after their death. As the Prophet Muhammad famously said, “When a person dies, all their deeds end except three: a continuing charity, beneficial knowledge, and a righteous child who prays for them.” Usman’s well was the epitome of this teaching.

Through the centuries, as dynasties rose and fell, the garden and well of Usman endured. It survived the expansion of the Rashidun Caliphate, the opulence of the Umayyads, the scholarship of the Abbasids, and the stewardship of the Ottomans. Each successive administration recognized the sanctity and importance of this waqf, ensuring its preservation. The rustle of its palm fronds became a constant in Medina’s ever-changing landscape, a quiet testament to an act of faith performed over a millennium ago.

Today, the legacy is not just a historical memory; it is a tangible, functioning reality. In modern Medina, amidst the hum of traffic and the gleam of new buildings, the garden of Usman bin Affan still thrives. It is a sprawling, serene expanse of over 1,500 date palm trees, meticulously cared for under the supervision of the Saudi Ministry of Agriculture. The original well, though no longer the primary source of water, is still present on the site, a stone-lined portal to the past.

What is perhaps most astonishing is how the waqf is managed in the 21st century. The proceeds from the date harvests and other investments associated with the endowment are deposited into a dedicated bank account. The name on that account, recognized by the Saudi banking system, is Usman bin Affan. From this account, funds are used to help the poor and finance community projects, just as he intended. A portion of the profits was even used to help fund the construction of a modern hotel near the Prophet’s Mosque, the proceeds of which also flow back into the waqf, ensuring its growth and continuity for generations to come.

To stand at the edge of this garden today is to witness a miracle of faith and finance. It is to see a 1,400-year-old act of charity still bearing fruit, still quenching thirst, still providing for the needy. It is a reminder that the greatest legacies are not built of stone or steel, but of selfless acts that ripple through time. The Well of Usman is more than just a historical site; it is an ever-flowing spring of generosity, a garden whose roots are nourished by faith, and a timeless lesson that the truest wealth is what one gives away.