The River of a Queen: How Ayn Zubaydah Quenched the Thirst of Makkah

Long before the rise of Islam, the city of Makkah was born of a miracle centered on water. In a barren, sun-scorched valley hemmed in by rugged mountains, the infant Isma’il cried with thirst, and at the strike of his heel—or by the grace of an angel’s wing—the Well of Zamzam gushed forth. This sacred spring became the city’s lifeblood, the nucleus around which the powerful tribe of Quraysh built their dominion. For centuries, Zamzam sustained the caravans that crisscrossed the Arabian Peninsula and the pilgrims who came to the Kaaba, the ancient house of worship built by Abraham and his son Isma’il. But the blessing of Zamzam was also Makkah’s greatest vulnerability. It was a single source in a city whose spiritual significance would soon draw the entire world to its doorstep.

With the dawn of Islam, the call of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, echoed from the hills of Makkah and spread across the globe. The annual Hajj pilgrimage, once a regional affair, transformed into a monumental gathering of souls from every corner of the known world. As the number of pilgrims swelled from thousands to tens of thousands, the city’s meager water resources were strained to the breaking point. The journey to Makkah, and especially the rites of Hajj performed on the arid plains of Arafat, Muzdalifah, and Mina, became an ordeal of extreme hardship. Pilgrims, already exhausted from their long travels, faced the constant threat of dehydration under a merciless sun. Water became a commodity more precious than gold, controlled by water-sellers, the saqqa’un, who sold goatskins of brackish water at exorbitant prices. Many of the poor and weak perished from thirst, their spiritual journey ending in tragedy.

The Quran reminds humanity that from water, God created all life: “And We made from water every living thing.” (Surah Al-Anbiya, 21:30). To give water is, therefore, to give life, an act of profound charity. It was this deep spiritual understanding, coupled with a firsthand witness to suffering, that would inspire one of the greatest acts of philanthropy and civil engineering in Islamic history.

A Queen’s Vow

In the early 9th century, during the golden age of the Abbasid Caliphate, a royal caravan made its way from the opulent city of Baghdad to the sacred city of Makkah. At its heart was a woman of immense piety, intellect, and influence: Zubaydah bint Ja’far. She was not merely the wife of the legendary Caliph Harun al-Rashid; she was a princess in her own right, the granddaughter of the Caliph al-Mansur, the founder of Baghdad. Raised in the center of a flourishing civilization, she was renowned for her patronage of arts, poetry, and scholarship, but it was her deep faith that defined her character.

Upon arriving in Makkah to perform the Hajj, Zubaydah was confronted with a reality far removed from the lush banks of the Tigris. She saw pilgrims fainting from heat, children crying for a single drop of water, and the poor bartering their last possessions for a sip from a murky well. Her heart ached at the sight. The spiritual joy of the pilgrimage was overshadowed by a desperate struggle for survival. It was on the Plain of Arafat, the pinnacle of the Hajj where pilgrims stand before God in supplication, that her resolve solidified. She saw the desperation in the eyes of the faithful and knew that this suffering could not be the will of the Most Merciful.

Summoning the most brilliant engineers and architects in her retinue, she declared her intention. She would bring a river to Makkah. Her advisors were aghast. They explained the monumental challenge: the nearest reliable sources of water were springs in the mountains of Wadi Nu’man and Wadi Hunayn, over thirty kilometers to the east, separated from Makkah by unforgiving terrain of solid granite and shifting sands. The cost would be astronomical, the labor immense, the very feasibility in doubt. But Zubaydah’s faith was as unyielding as the mountains themselves. She famously uttered her historic vow: “By Allah, I will do it, even if every strike of a pickaxe costs a dinar of gold.”

Her vision was not just for a well or a cistern, but for a continuous, flowing source of fresh water—an artificial river that would make the precious resource free and abundant for every pilgrim, rich or poor, for all time to come. This was the ultimate expression of sadaqah jariyah, a continuous charity whose rewards from God flow even after one’s death. As the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said, “The best charity is to give water to drink.” Zubaydah was determined to build the best of charities for the guests of God.

Carving a River Through Stone

The project, which would come to be known as Ayn Zubaydah (Zubaydah’s Spring), was an engineering marvel that pushed the boundaries of medieval science. The task began not with digging, but with meticulous surveying. Engineers fanned out across the Hejaz mountains, mapping the topography with remarkable precision. The goal was to create a channel with a slight, continuous downward gradient, allowing water to flow effortlessly from its source to its destination purely by the force of gravity.

An army of laborers was assembled. They began their work at the source, tapping into the springs of the lush Wadi Nu’man. The channel they carved was a testament to their ingenuity and adaptability.

• In flat, open areas, they built covered, stone-lined surface canals to protect the water from the sun and reduce evaporation.
• When faced with hills and small mountains of solid rock, they did not go around them; they went through them, painstakingly chiseling underground tunnels, or qanats, that kept the water cool and pure.
• To traverse wide valleys and depressions, they constructed magnificent arched aqueducts, raising the channel high above the ground to maintain its gentle slope.

The work was grueling. The granite of the Arabian shield, some of the hardest rock in the world, resisted their tools. But fueled by Zubaydah’s unwavering commitment and a seemingly limitless treasury, the workers persevered. It is said that the total cost of the project reached 1.7 million gold dinars, a sum so vast it could have funded entire military campaigns. When an administrator wrote to Zubaydah complaining about the immense expenditure, her response was simple and decisive. She took the audit reports, tore them up without reading them, and declared, “We have left the accounting for the Day of Judgment.”

Along the entire length of the aqueduct, manholes, known as kharazat, were built at regular intervals. These vertical shafts provided ventilation and, crucially, allowed workers to descend into the channels for inspection and maintenance, ensuring the waterway’s longevity. After years of relentless toil, the final section of the channel was completed. The waters that began their journey in the eastern mountains now flowed silently and steadily toward the Holy City.

A Current of Mercy

The day the water of Ayn Zubaydah first reached the Plain of Arafat was a moment of profound joy and relief. What was once a dusty, arid expanse where pilgrims suffered immensely was now blessed with a life-giving stream. The project did not stop there. The main channel was extended to serve all the key sites of the Hajj. Reservoirs, holding tanks, and fountains were built in Mina and Muzdalifah, and finally, the water was brought into Makkah itself, terminating at a grand reservoir near the mountain of Abu Qubays, overlooking the Grand Mosque.

The impact was immediate and revolutionary. The Hajj was transformed from a perilous physical trial into a journey of focused spiritual devotion. Pilgrims could now perform their ablutions, drink freely, and tend to their animals without fear or cost. The monopoly of the price-gouging water-sellers was broken forever. Ayn Zubaydah leveled the Hajj experience, ensuring that the poorest pilgrim had the same access to God’s bounty of water as the wealthiest prince. It was a physical manifestation of the Islamic ideal of equality before God, where all believers stand together, regardless of their worldly status.

For over a thousand years, Ayn Zubaydah served as the primary water source for Makkah and its millions of pilgrims. It was a masterpiece of sustainable engineering, a gift that kept on giving for generations. Over the centuries, it fell into disrepair and was restored by successive rulers—from the Mamluks to the Ottoman Sultans—who all recognized its indispensable value and sought the blessing of maintaining the queen’s charity. Each restoration was a testament to the perfection of its original design and the enduring power of Zubaydah’s vision.

Today, modern desalination plants and municipal water systems have superseded the ancient aqueduct. Yet, the legacy of Ayn Zubaydah endures. Its ruins can still be seen snaking through the landscape outside Makkah—the silent, weathered stones of its channels and the broken arches of its aqueducts standing as monuments to an extraordinary act of faith. They are a physical reminder of a pious queen who saw suffering and chose not to look away. Her story challenges the simplistic narratives of women in history, presenting a powerful example of female leadership, compassion, and agency driven by faith.

The flowing water of Ayn Zubaydah was more than just a hydraulic achievement; it was a current of mercy that washed over the heart of the Islamic world. It stands as an eternal testament to how one person’s conviction, powered by faith and empathy, can carve a river of hope through a desert of despair, quenching the thirst of millions and leaving a legacy that flows, like a righteous deed, through the annals of time.