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Ali
Akbar, the Hashmite Prince
The whole town of Medina
was humming with activity. People from all parts of the town were looking into
the street of the Hashimites where a caravan was getting ready for a journey.
The elders of the town were talking to each I other in hushed tones, recalling
the words of the Prophet, that a day will dawn when his beloved grandson Husain
(a.s) would leave Medina with his sons, brothers, nephews and kinsmen never to
return. There was sadness on the faces of all, young and old. The elderly people
were aghast at the thought of Husain going away for ever. They were accustomed
to turning to him in all their needs. The youths of Medina were saddened by the
thought of Abbas and Ali Akbar and Qasim going away for good. Their anxious
inquiries could only elicit this much information, that Husain with his kinsmen
and children, was going for Hajj and from there to an unknown destination.
Thoughts of parting were tormenting not only the male population of Medina but
also the womenfolk of the town. They too were accustomed to the munificence of
the ladies of the Prophet's house. Who was there amongst them who had not
received help and counsel from the daughters of Fatima? Who would be left now to
whom they could turn in their hour of need, when Zainab and Kulsum, Umme Rubab
and Umme Laila had left Medina? Had not times out of number their children
received gifts and favours from Sakina and Rukayya?
As was their wont, the people of Medina, men and women, young and old, had gone
to the tomb of the Prophet to pray and seek solace to pray to God with the
invocations of His Prophet that they might be spared the ordeal of separation
from Husain and his family. There at the tomb of the Prophet they witnessed a
heart-rending scene. They saw Husain and Zain prostrate with grief and sorrow,
bidding farewell to the Prophet. They saw both of them visiting the grave of
Fatima and lamenting over the separation, as if they were parting for ever.
It was rumoured that Husain was leaving Medina to arrange the marriage of his
son Ali Akbar with some Princess, some lady of a noble stocks I it in some
distant land. Could this rumour be correct? They all knew that there was not a
young lad of marriage able age in Arabia who could be said to be fit to hold a
candle before him. His handsome looks were matched by his handsome deeds. His
nobility of character, his sense of duty, his generosity, his chivalry, his
geniality, his love of justice and fairplay had endeared him to every soul. It
was a well-known fact amongst the Arabs throughout Hejaz that Ali Akbar was
bearing a remarkable resemblance to the Holy Prophet. In looks, in voice, in
mannerism, in gait and in every way, he resembled the Prophet. The resemblance
was so marked that people from far and wide were coming to see him, to be
reminded of the Prophet whom they were missing so much. Those who had not had
the good fortune to see the Prophet were told by their elders that Ali Akbar was
the very image of Muhammad, may Peace of Allah be on Him. There could,
therefore, be no room for doubt that the noblest families of Arabia would
consider it a signal honour if this scion of the Prophet's family were to ask
for their daughter in marriage. But then, if Husain and his family were leaving
Medina for Ali Akbar's marriage, they would not be secretive about it. The
Prophet's grandson would in that case have given out the good tidings to the
public. There was not a living being in that town whose heart would not have
been filled with joy to hear about the betrothal of Ali Akbar. And if marriage
of Ali Akbar was the purpose, surely Husain would not choose this season when
outside the oasis of Medina, the scorching heat of summer was baking the desert
sands!
After long discussions, by a consensus of opinion, it was decided to approach
Husain in a delegation and to dissuade him from undertaking the journey. Some of
the venerable companions of the Prophet undertook to apprise Husain of their
forebodings and their recollection of his grandfather's prophecy that, if Husain
migrated from Medina with his family, he would not return.
The caravan was almost ready to depart. The horses were neighing with impatience
and champing their bits in the oppressive heat of the day. Husain was standing
near his horse intently watching the arrangements being made by Abbas and Ali
Akbar. He was reflectively following their movements as they were helping each
lady and each child to mount the camels, as they were lending a helping hand to
the ladies with tender care and affection; as the ladies were graciously and
profusely thanking them for the excellent arrangements they had made for their
comfort and for protecting them from the unbearable heat by holding their own
gowns over their heads as a canopy. This sight had some inexplicable effect on
Husain, for his eyes were glittering with tears. The solicitude displayed by his
brother and son for the ladies and children should have filled him with
happiness; but instead, the effect on him was just the opposite. Was he
beholding the shadows of some coming events?
At this moment came the representatives of the people of Medina. With one voice
they entreated Husain to abandon the idea of undertaking this journey. Their
leader, with supplication in his faltering voice, besought Husain to tell them
why he had decided to leave them and the Prophet's tomb for which he had so much
attachment.
O Son of the Prophet, if we have displeased you in any
way, please forgive us.
At this display of love and affection Husain was moved to tears. Suppressing his
sobs he replied:
My dear brethren, believe me that my heart is bleeding
at this parting, parting from you and from the graves of
my beloved grandfather, my dearest mother and my brother,
whom I held dearer than my life. Had it not been for the
call of duty, I assure you I would have abandoned the idea
of leaving Medina. It grieves me most that I cannot for
once grant you your wishes when you all love me so dearly.
But Almighty Allah has so willed it and in His divine
dispensation ordained that I should undertake this journey.
I know what hardships await me; but the Prophet has groomed
me from my childhood to face them.
Seeing that the hand of destiny was snatching away Husain from them, they
conferred amongst themselves and suggested that, if his decision to go from
Medina was final, he should take with him all the able-bodied persons of the
town so that they could protect him and his people. They reminded him of the
treachery that was pervading the atmosphere in the adjoining regions. Husain,
obviously moved by their sincere consideration for his safety, thanked them
profusely. But he told them that, in accordance with the wishes of the Prophet,
he had to fulfill the mission of his fife only with those who were destined to
be associated with him in the task confronting him.
When they received this reply to their entreaties, from Husain, the
representative of the Medinites requested Husain to grant them one wish to leave
Ali Akbar behind him in Medina.
O Husain," they said, "we cannot bear the thought of
parting with your son Ali Akbar, He is the very image
of the Prophet. Whenever we feel overcome by the remembrance of
Muhammad, we go to Ali Akbar to have a look at him and take comfort
. We shall look after him better than
we look after our own sons. We promise that we shall treat
his every wish as a command. In fair weather and foul we
shall stand by him. Even if we die, we shall command our
children as our dying wish to attend to all his comforts and
needs. His exemplary life has been an object lesson for our
sons who are devoted to him as if he were their brother.
These pleading, which had a ring of sincerity and earnestness, rendered Husain
quite speechless for a time. How could he tell them what was in store for Ali
Akbar who they loved and adored so much? When his sad reflections had subsided,
he replied to them in a tone tinged with pathos,
Alas, I only wish I could entrust my Ali Akbar to your
care! In my mission he has to play a role, the importance
of which time alone will tell. I cannot accede to your
request for reasons which I cannot reveal to you; but rest
assured that I shall always remember your kindness to me.
I shall carry with me vivid memories of this parting and
remember you in my prayers.
When the heavens were glowing with the last rays of day, the caravan left on its
long-drawn journey to the unknown destination. Soon darkness descended upon
Medina as if symbolic of the darkness and gloom which the departure of Husain
had cast on the town, associated with a myriad memories of his childhood.
Meandering through the desert, the caravan had reached its destination, a
destination which Allah had willed for it. The march of Husain and his kinsmen
in this world had ended; but it was just the beginning of their march toward
their real goal. With the dawn of the 10th day of the month of Muharram the
events, for which the Prophet and Ali and Fatima had prepared Husain, started
unfolding themselves. What a day it was and what fateful events it encompassed!
One by one the faithful followers went out to fight for the cause of Islam which
forces of evil were attempting to stifle, and in the process faced death. In
their glorious deaths they demonstrated what steadfastness and unflin- ching
faith, what courage of conviction can achieve and attain against all odds. With
his devoted supporters now sleeping the sweet slumber of death from which
nothing could awaken them, the turn of Husain's sons and brothers and nephews
came. In spite of Husain's best efforts to send his son Ali Akbar to the
battlefield before all his devoted friends and faithful followers, they would
not even let him mention it. The thought of Ali Akbar, Husain's beloved son,
laying down his iffy in battle, when they were still alive, was too much for
them. It would be blasphemous for them even to entertain such an idea!
Ali Akbar went over to his father to ask his permission to go out into that gory
arena from which no person from his camp had returned. Husain looked at his
face; it would be more correct to say that for a couple of minutes his stare was
fixed on that face which he loved so much; which reminded him every time of his
grandfather whom he resembled every inch. He tried to say something but his
voice failed him. With considerable effort he whispered with downcast eyes:
Akbar, I wish you had become a father; then you would have
known what I am experiencing at this moment. My son, how can
a father ask his son to go, when he knows that the parting
would be for ever! But Akbar, the call of duty makes me
helpless in this matter. Go to your mother, and to your aunt
Zainab who has brought you up from childhood and loved you and cared
for you more than for her own sons, and seek their
permission.
Ali Akbar entered the tent of his aunt Zainab. He found her and his mother Umme
Laila gazing vacantly towards the battlefield and listening intently to the
battle-cries of the enemy hordes. Their instinct made them aware that, now that
all the devoted followers of Husain had laid down their dear lives defending him
and them, the turn of his sons, and brothers and nephews had come. It was now
only a question of time. It was only a question who would go first from amongst
them.
The light footsteps of Ali Akbar roused both of them from their reverie. Both of
them fixed their gaze on him without uttering a word. Zainab broke the silence
with an exclamation:
Oh God, can it be true that Akbar has come to bid me and
his mother the last farewell Akbar do not say that you are
ready for the last journey. So long as my sons Aun and Muhammad are there,
it is impossible for me to let you go.
Akbar knew what love and affection his aunt Zainab had for him. He was conscious
of the pangs of sorrow she was experiencing at that moment. Her affection for
him transcended everything except her love for Husain. He looked at her face,
and at his mother's who was rendered speechless by her surging feelings of
anguish. He knew not how to tell them that he had prepared himself for the
journey to Heaven that lay ahead. He summoned to his aid his most coaxing
manners that had always made his mother and Zainab accede to his requests and
said:
My aunt, for all my father's kinsmen the inevitable hour
has come. I implore you, by the love you bear for your brother,
to let me go so that it may not be said that he spared me
till all his brothers and nephews were killed. Abbas, my uncle,
is Commander of our army. The others are all younger than me.
When death is a certainty, let me die first so that I can quench my thirst
at the heavenly spring of Kausar at the hands of my grandfather.
The earnestness of Akbar's tone convinced Zainab and his mother that he was
determined to go. It seemed to be his last wish to lay down his life before all
his kinsmen. Since on no other occasion they had denied him his wishes, it
seemed so difficult to say no to his last desire. With a gasp Zainab could only
say,
Akbar, my child, if the call of death has come to you, go.
His mother could only say:
May God be with you, my son. With you I am losing all I had
and cared for in this world. Your father has told me what
destiny has in store for me. After you, for me pleasure and
pain will have no difference.
With these words she fell unconscious in Ali Akbar's arms.
The battle-cry from the enemy's ranks was becoming louder and louder. Ali Akbar
knew that he had to go out quickly lest the enemy, seeing that their challenges
for combat were remaining unanswered, got emboldened to make a concerted attack
on his father's camp. Even such a thought was unbearable for him. So long as he
was alive, how could he permit the onslaught of Yazid's forces on his camp where
helpless women and defenseless children were lying huddled together? He gently
put his mother in his aunt Zainab's arms saying:
Zainab, my aunt, I am leaving my mother to your care. I
know, from your childhood, your mother Bibi Fatima has
prepared you for the soul-stirring events of today and
what is to come hereafter. My mother will not be able to
bear the blows and calamities that are to befall her,
unless you lend her your courage. I implore you by the
infinite love you bear for me to show the fortitude that
you are capable of, so that your patience may sustain my
mother when she sees my dead body brought into the camp's
morgue. I entrust her to your care because there will be
none to solace her and look after her in the years of dismay
and despondency that lie ahead of her.
Ali Akbar embraced his loving aunt Zainab with tender love and affection for the
last time. she exclaimed:
Akbar, go. My child, I entrust you to God, To ease your last
moments I promise you that, so long as I live, I shall after
Umme Laila with the affection of a mother.
With a heavy heart Ali Akbar returned to his father. There was no need for him
to say that he had bid farewell to his mother and aunt Zainab, for the sorrow
depicted on his face spoke volumes to Husain. Silently he rose and put the
Prophet's turban on Akbar's head, tied the scabbard on his waist and imprinted a
kiss on his forehead. In a failing, faltering voice he muttered:
Go Akbar, God is there to help you.
Treading heavily Akbar came out of the tent with Husain following closely behind
him. He was about to mount his horse when he felt somebody tugging at his robe.
He could hardly see, because his eyes were almost blinded with tears. He heard
the voice of his young aster Sakina supplicating him not to leave her.
O my brother," she was saying, "do no go to the battleground
from which nobody has returned alive since this mornings."
Softly Akbar lifted her, gently and affectionately kissed her on her face and
put her down. His grief was too deep for words. Husain understood the depth of
Akbar's feelings and picked up Sakina to console her.
The scene of Ali Akbar's march towards the battlefield was such as would defy
description. The cries of ladies and children of Husain's camp were rising above
the din of battle-cries and beating of enemy drums. It was appearing as if a
dead body of an only son, dead in the prime of youth, was being taken out of a
house for the last rites.
Ali Akbar was now facing the enemy hordes. He was addressing the forces of Amr
Ibne Saad with an eloquence which he had inherited from his Grandfather and the
Prophet. He was telling them that Husain, his father, had done them no harm and
had devoted his life to the cause of Islam. He was explaining to them that by
shedding the blood of Husain and his kinsmen. They would be incurring the wrath
of God and displeasure of the Prophet who had loved Husain more than any other
person. He was exhorting them not to smear their hands with the blood of a
person so holy, so God-fearing and so righteous. His words cast a spell on the
army of the opponents. The older ones from amongst them were blinking their eyes
in amazement and wondering whether the Prophet had descended from the Heavens to
warn them against the shedding of Husain's blood. What a resemblance there was
with the Prophet, in face, features and even mannerism! Even the voice was of
Muhammad! But on second thoughts, they realized that this was Ali Akbar, the 18
year old son of Husain, about whose close resemblance with the Prophet people
were talking so much.
Seeing the effect which Ali Akbar's address had produced on his soldiers, Amr
Saad exhorted them to challenge him to single combat. A few of them, coveting
the honour and rewards they would get if they overpowered and killed this brave
son of Husain, emaciated by three days of hunger and thirst, came forward to
challenge him. One by one he met them in battle, gave them a taste of his skill
and prowess in fighting and flung them from their horseback to meet the doom
they so much deserved. Now it was his turn to challenge the warriors of Yazid to
come forward. Seeing that in spite of his handicaps, he was capable of
displaying valour and battle craft for which his grandfather Ali had acquired
name and fame and which had struck terror into the hearts of enemies of Islam
none dared to come forward.
Ali Akbar had received several gaping wounds in the course of his victorious
single combats. He was fast losing blood and the effect of his thirst was
getting accentuated with every second that was passing. He realized that the
treacherous enemies would attack him en masse. He had left his mother in a dazed
condition. An irresistible urge to see his dear ones for the last time seized
him and he turned his horse towards his camp.
He found his father standing at the doorstep of the tent and his mother and aunt
standing inside the tent. Husain had been watching the battles of this thirsty
youth and the two ladies were watching his face: they knew that if any calamity
befell Ali Akbar, Husain's expression would indicate it. Whilst watching
Husain's face, they were both praying offering silent prayers:
O Allah, Who brought back Ismail to Hajra; O Allah,
Who granted the prayers of the mother Musa and restored her son to her;
O Allah, Who reunited Yakoob with his son Yusuf in response to the aged
father's supplications, grant us our one wish to see Ali Akbar for once.
Was it the effect of these prayers that brought back Ali Akbar to the camp?
Ali Akbar was now facing his aged father and his loving mother and Zainab. With
an exclamation of joy and relief they clung to him. Husain lovingly embraced his
son saying:
Bravo, my son. The gallantry you how displayed today
reminded me of the battles of my revered father, Ali.
The only difference was that, during his fights, my
father Ali had not to battle against hunger and thirst
as you had to.
Ali Akbar with his head bent replied:
Father, thirst is killing me because my wounds have added
to its effect. It is usual to ask for rewards from parents
for celebrating victories in single combats and I would
have asked for a cup of refreshing water from you. But alas!
I know that you have not even a drop of water with which
you can quench the thirst of the young children. Father,
knowing this, I shall not embarrass you by asking for water.
I have come only to see you and my dear ones for the
last time.
Ali Akbar met each and every one of his family. The second parting was sad as
the first one, perhaps sadder. Without being told, every one realised that this
was the last time they were beholding Akbar. Fizza, the faithful maid of Fatima
and Zainab, was as disconsolate with grief as Zainab and Umme Laila. Husain
followed Ali Akbar out of the tent. As he rode away, Husain walked behind him
with a brisk pace for some distance, as a man follows his sacrificial lamb in
Mina. When Akbar disappeared from his sight, he turned heavenwards and, with his
hands raised, he prayed:
O Allah, Thou art my Witness that on this day I have sent
away for sacrifice one whom I loved and cherished most, to
defend the cause of righteousness and truth.
He sat on the ground as if trying to listen expectantly to some call from the
battlefield.
It was not very long before he received a wailing call, a call from Ali Akbar, a
call of anguish and pain:
Father, Akbar has fallen with a mortal wound in his chest.
Father, come to me for I have not long to live. If you
cannot reach me, I convey my last salutations to you and
my dear ones.
Though Husain was anticipating such a call, what a ghastly effect it had on him!
He rose from the ground and fell; he rose again and fell again. With one hand on
his heart he struggled to his feet. Torrential tears were flooding his eyes. He
rushed in the direction from which the cry had come. It seemed as Husain's
strength had ebbed away on hearing that fateful cry of his dearest son, for he
was falling at every few steps. He was sobbing:
Akbar, give me another shout so that I can follow its
direction. Akbar, my sight is gone with the shock I have
received and there is nobody to guide me to where you lie.
Abbas came rushing to the aid of his master. Holding his hand he led him on to
the place from where Akbar's dying cry had come.
Now Husain was stumbling his way onwards resting his hands on Abbas' shoulders.
The distance seemed interminable but at last Husain and Abbas reached the place
where Akbar was lying in a pool of his own blood. Ah, that tragic sight! May no
father have occasion to see his young on in such a conditions. With one hand on
his chest covering a deep wound from which blood was gushing out, with his face
writhing with pain, Akbar was lying on the ground prostrate and unconscious.
With the agony he was enduring on account of the wound and the thirst that he
was Offering, he was digging his feet into the sand. With a cry of anguish
Husain fell on the body of Akbar.
My son, tell me where you are hurt; tell me who has wounded
you in the chest. Why don't you say something? My Akbar, I
have come in response to your call. Say one word to me, Akbar.
Seeing that Akbar was lying there without any response to his entreaties, Husain
turned to Abbas and said:
Abbas, why don't you tell Akbar to say something to me. My
dutiful son, who used to get up on seeing me, is lying on
the ground pressed by the hand of death.
Husain once again flung himself on the body of Akbar. His breathing was now
heavier, a gurgling sound was coming from his throat. It seemed that his young
life was engaged in an uneven struggle with death. Husain put his head on
Akbar's chest. He lifted it and put his own cheeks against Akbar's and wailed
Akbar, for once open your eyes and smile, as you were always
smiling to gladden my heart.
Though Akbar did not open his eyes, a faint smile appeared on his lips as if he
had listened to his father's request. With the sweet smile still playing on his
lips, he heaved a gasp and with that his soul departed. The cheeks of the father
were still touching the cheeks of the son, in death as so many time in life.
On seeing his son, his beloved son, breathe his last in his own hands, Husain's
condition became such as no words can describe. For quite some time he remained
there weeping as only an aged father who has lost a son, in his prime of youth,
in such tragic circumstances, can weep. Abbas sat there by his side shedding
tears. What words of consolation could he offer when the tragedy was of such a
magnitude? All words of solace and comfort would sound hollow and be in vain
when a father, an aged father, gives vent to his pent up emotions. After a time,
Abbas reverentially touched Husain on his shoulders and reminded him that, since
he had rushed out of the camp, Zainab and the other ladies of his house were
waiting for him, tormented by anxiety, demented by the thoughts of the tragedy
that had befallen them. Only mention of this was enough for Husain. He knew
that, as the head of the family, it was his duty to rally by the side of the
grief-stricken mother, his grief-stricken sister Zainab, and the children for
whom this bereavement was the greatest calamity.
Husain slowly rose from the ground and tried to pick up the dead body of Akbar
but he himself fell on the ground. Abbas, seeing this, bent over him and said:
My master, Abbas is still alive by your side. How can I leave
you carry the body of Akbar and remain a silent spectator. Let
me carry his body to the camp. "
No Abbas, replied Husain, let me do this as a last token of
my love. To hold him by my heart, even in his death, gives
me some comfort, the only comfort that is now left to me.
Saying this, he made all the efforts that he was capable of and, assisted by
Abbas, he lifted the body of Akbar. Clasping it close to his bosom, he started
the long walk to his camp. How he reached is difficult to say. It would not be
too much to imagine that his grandfather Muhammad, his father Ali, his brother
Hasan and perhaps his mother Fatima had descended from heaven to help him in
this task.
Husain reached the camp and laid down Akbar's body on the ground. He called Umme
Laila and Zainab and Kulsum, Sakina and Rokayya, Fizza and the other ladies of
the house to see the face of Akbar for the last time. The loving mother came,
the loving aunts came, the children came, and surrounded the body of Ali Akbar.
They looked at Akbar's face and then at Husain's. They knew that their weeping
would add to Husain's grief which was already brimful. Ali Akbar's mother went
up to her husband, and with stifled sobs and bent head, she said to him:
My master, I am proud of Akbar for dying such a noble death.
He has laid down his life in the noblest cause and this thought
will sustain me through the rest of my life. I implore you to
pray for me, to pray for ail of us, that Almighty Allah may
grant us patience and solace.
Saying this she turned to the dead body of her son lying on the ground and put
her face on his. Zainab and Kulsum, Sakina and Rokayya had all flung themselves
on Akbar's body. The tears that were flowing from their eyes were sufficient to
wash away the clotted blood from the wounds of Akbar.
Husain sat for a few minutes near the dead body of his son; the son whom he had
lost in such tragic circumstances; the son who had died craving for a drop of
water to quench his thirst. He felt dazed with grief. He was awakened from his
stupor by Qasim, the son of his brother, who had come to seek his permission to
go to the battlefield. He rose from the ground, wiped the tears from his aged
eyes and muttered
Verily from God we come, and unto Him is our return.
Updated
Saturday, March 12, 2005
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