Welcome to Stories of The Seekers, a series exploring the incredible lives of our scholars and their sacrifices for the Deen!

 

If you’ve ever opened a Mushaf, if you’ve ever read the Quran in print, you’ve benefited from the genius of a Persian scholar named Ibn Muqlah. And yet most Muslims have never heard his name.

His story is one of brilliance and tragedy, of a man who revolutionized how we write Arabic and preserve the Quran, only to have his life end in unimaginable suffering. It’s a story worth knowing.

The Man Who Engineered Beauty

Ibn Muqlah Abu Ali—his full name was Muhammad ibn Ali ibn Hussain ibn Muqlah al-Shirazi—was born in Shiraz, Iran in 886 CE (272 AH). He came from a family of calligraphers and artists, learning the craft from his father, Ishaq ibn Ibrahim.

Here’s something remarkable: he wasn’t Arab. He was Persian. And yet he became the greatest calligrapher the Muslim world has ever known. Because the care for the Arabic language was never in history associated with race—it was associated with love and dedication to preserving Allah’s words.

Before Ibn Muqlah’s time, Arabic was written in what we call the Kufi style—very square, very angular. He changed everything. He shifted from squares to curves, creating a flowing, circular style that transformed Islamic calligraphy forever.

He invented two completely new scripts: Thuluth and Naskh. And Naskh is the script used in every Mushaf printed today. Every single one.

But Ibn Muqlah didn’t just invent beautiful handwriting. He engineered it.

There were 24 different styles of Arabic writing in his time. He consolidated them into six standardized forms. Then he did something unprecedented for the fourth century of Islam—he documented everything. He wrote down the exact measurements: how high each letter should rise, how low it should fall, the precise distance from the center of a letter to its beginning, where to start each stroke, what angle to cut the pen.

Every noon (ن) he wrote was identical to the next. Not a millimeter of difference. Just genius, رحمه الله تعالى.

He wrote about different types of ink and their impact on writing. He documented various papers and their qualities. He even wrote detailed instructions on how to sharpen the pen: the exact angle, the precise cut, so that anyone following his methodology could write perfectly.

They called him “Muhandis,” the engineer. Because he engineered the Arabic language.

The great scholar Yaqut al-Hamawi said of him: “He is unique, no one like him in the world. The way he writes, the way he makes signatures—nobody can challenge him, nobody can be compared to him.”

Art That Transcended Politics

During his career, Ibn Muqlah worked for the Abbasid caliphs. His handwriting was so extraordinary that when the caliph needed to write a treaty between the Muslims and the Romans, he chose Ibn Muqlah to pen it.

Now, when you write a treaty, you make two copies—one for each side. Because they didn’t have copy machines.

Ibn Muqlah’s calligraphy was so beautiful, so decorative, that the Romans took their copy and framed it. They hung it in Hagia Sophia—not as a political document, but as a piece of art. For generations, people came to see it. It remained there from the fourth century Hijri all the way until Muhammad al-Fatih ﷺ conquered Constantinople in 1453. That’s from the ninth century to the fifteenth century.

Six centuries. Generation after generation marveling at the beauty of his hand.

The Price of Proximity to Power

Ibn Muqlah’s professional life followed a dramatic trajectory. He started as a simple letter writer with his father, charging people for correspondence. He became known, worked in tax collection in Persia, then was called to Baghdad to work in Al-Diwan, the administrative department where all the caliph’s orders and important letters were written.

Because of his exceptional skill, he was paid six dinars every month. And he caught the eye of powerful people.

Under Caliph Al-Muqtadir Billah, Ibn Muqlah rose to become a minister, a wazir. Very high rank. He held this position for two years before the caliph became angry with him, seized all his wealth, and sent him back to Persia.

But caliphs always need poets and calligraphers, people who can write beautifully. When Al-Qahir became caliph in 320 AH, he heard about Ibn Muqlah and brought him back to Baghdad.

Then the rumors started.

People in the court spread word that Ibn Muqlah was plotting against the caliph with a rebel named Ali ibn Bulaiq. Think about it: the calligrapher knows everything the caliph writes. He has all the secrets, all the orders. He’s inside the palace.

When Ibn Muqlah heard soldiers were coming to arrest him, he ran.

The Fugitive

For nearly two years, this man who had lived in luxury with servants and wealth lived as a fugitive.

He was seen wearing women’s clothes to hide, to escape arrest. He was seen dressed as a Roman, pretending not to be Muslim, just another foreigner passing through the city. He wore beggar’s clothes. Every time they tried to catch him, he would appear in different disguises, moving from place to place, running and hiding.

This went on for almost two years until that caliph died.

The new caliph, Ar-Razi, said: “I know he’s not bad. Tell him he’s safe. Let him come.”

When Ibn Muqlah returned, Ar-Razi gave him more money than anyone else, more position than anyone else. He became number one in front of the caliph.

Obviously, this made many people jealous.

They conspired against him. They told the caliph: “You want to know if he’s clean or not? Send soldiers to bring him to you.”

Then they warned Ibn Muqlah: “You’re going to be arrested.”

So when he saw soldiers coming (remember, he used to be a fugitive), what did he do? He started running.

They captured him.

The caliph said: “Now I know you were right. He only runs because he’s guilty.”

The Unthinkable Punishment

In 324 AH, the caliph threw Ibn Muqlah in prison. He was tortured, lashed on his back.

Then the caliph did the unexpected.

In a moment of rage, he ordered Ibn Muqlah brought before him. He stretched out Ibn Muqlah’s right hand and cut it off.

“I’m going to make sure you never write for anyone again,” he said. “That’s what made you famous?”

He took the severed hand and threw it into the Tigris River.

The doctor who treated him in prison, Hassan ibn Thabit ibn Qura, later recounted: “I used to visit him in jail. He would ask me about his son, and I would tell him his son was doing okay. And he would cry and cry over his hand.

“He would say: ‘This hand that they cut off, I served three caliphs with it. I wrote all their books, all their letters. This hand that they threw in the river wrote the Quran twice. I wrote two full copies of the Quran with my hand.’ He would list all the things his hand had written. Then he would say: ‘In the end, they cut my hand and I look like a thief.'”

Because that’s the punishment for theft in Islamic law: the right hand is cut.

The caliph eventually felt regret. He released Ibn Muqlah from prison and said: “I will appoint you as minister again.”

“I don’t have a hand,” Ibn Muqlah replied.

“I will appoint you as my minister even without a hand.”

Resilience Beyond Measure

Ibn Muqlah began training himself to write with his left hand.

Within a year, they said his left-handed calligraphy became so beautiful, so distinguished. Not as perfect as his right hand, but still extraordinary.

He also tried another method: he would place a pen in what remained of his right arm and tie it with rope, then write like that.

But the same caliph, Ar-Razi, became angry with him again.

“You know what?” the caliph said. “I figured it out. It’s not your hand that’s the problem. It’s your tongue—you talk too much.”

He cut out Ibn Muqlah’s tongue.

Then he put him back in jail, and later released him to his house with a cruel decree: “If anyone helps him, serves him, they will go to jail and be treated the same. I will cut their tongue as well.”

No one was allowed to hire a servant for him. He couldn’t hire help to clean his house. Even his wife and son were forbidden from assisting him, or they would face the same punishment.

One narrator said: “I saw him going to draw water from a well. With his left hand, he would lower the bucket. Then to pull the rope up, he would pull with his hand, then bite the rope with his teeth, then pull again, then bite, then pull until the water came out. Then he would carry it all the way home.”

He became dirty. Nobody could wash him. Nobody could help him. He looked like a beggar.

Poetry of a Broken Man

In his suffering, Ibn Muqlah wrote heartbreaking poetry:

“I did all my best to protect my caliphs and leaders,
But they didn’t care about protecting me.
There is no joy in life after I lost my right hand.
Since my right hand was cut off,
I wish my life would be cut short as well.”

In another poem, he wrote: “I could not regret anything more than being close to these governors and governments. I wish that I never came close to them.”

He had enjoyed that life for a while, a short period of time. But they turned on him, and this is what happened.

Three Journeys, Three Burials

Ibn Muqlah رحمه الله تعالى died in this state of suffering.

He was buried in the house where he died. But it was a rental property, and the owner said: “No, I don’t want a grave in my house.” So they dug him up and buried him in his son’s house.

After his son passed away, they dug him up again and buried him in a cemetery. Some say the caliph ordered it.

It’s remarkable: Ibn Muqlah became wazir three times in his life for three different caliphs. He made three journeys during his lifetime. And he was buried three times.

He also wrote the Quran twice with his own hand—and copies of his work, or work copied from his Mushafs by his students, still exist today. If you search for Ibn Muqlah’s handwriting online, you can see examples. You can see the copy that was in Hagia Sophia during Muhammad al-Fatih’s time.

What We Owe Him

The way we write Arabic today, the way every printed Mushaf appears, the Naskh script that preserves Allah’s words in beauty and precision—this is Ibn Muqlah’s legacy.

He didn’t just create beautiful calligraphy. He created a system, a science, a methodology that would last for over a thousand years and counting.

His life teaches us several things:

Service to Allah outlasts worldly position. Ibn Muqlah served three caliphs who betrayed him, but his service to the Quran—those two copies he wrote by hand, the script he invented—continues to benefit the Ummah today.

Talent and dedication transcend ethnicity. A Persian man became the greatest Arabic calligrapher in history because he loved the language of the Quran.

Proximity to power is dangerous. In his own words, he wished he had never come close to rulers and governments. The glory was temporary; the suffering was real.

Resilience is possible even in unimaginable trials. A man without a right hand, without a tongue, forbidden from receiving help, still found ways to draw water and survive.

And perhaps most importantly: What you do for Allah lasts.

His wealth was seized. His position was stripped. His hand was cut off and thrown in a river. His tongue was taken. He was humiliated, tortured, and forgotten by those he served.

But the Mushaf he helped preserve? The script he invented? The science of calligraphy he systematized?

Still here. Still benefiting millions. Still serving the Book of Allah ﷻ.

That’s the life of Ibn Muqlah رحمه الله تعالى, a man we all owe, a man who deserves to be known.