Ali Akbar bin Husain
Qasim bin Hasan
Aun bin Abdullah
Muhammad bin Abdullah
‘The days of our youth are the days of our glory’. What hopes and feelings surge in young hearts during this time of life! How every nerve and sinew quivers with the joy of living! But there are some youths to whom the cup of life is dealt in another measure. There are some budding flowers that are destined to be swept away by the hot desert winds before they have the opportunity to bloom. Such was the destiny of Husain’s three nephews who were gathered outside the tents on the eve of that eventful day of Muharram.
Qasim, Aun and Muhammad were gathered to discuss the part they would play on the following day in defense of their uncle. There was grim determination writ large on their young faces. They were watching the progress of the moon as it was marching slowly through that cloudless sky, anxiously waiting for the morrow to unfold its event. Each one of them had the desire to go first into the battlefield to shed his blood. Even the few words they exchanged amongst themselves pertained to their anxiety lest their uncle Hussain might hold them back. They were discussing among themselves how to secure the permission of the Imam to march off into the battlefield.
Their talks were interrupted by someone coming and informing Qasim that his mother Umme Farwa wanted him to see her. He hurried to the tent. As soon as he entered it, his mother put her arms round him and said: “Qasim my son, do you know why I called you? I want to remind you about your duty towards your uncle, Hussain. I want to tell you something about the unparalleled love and affection Hasan your father had for Hussain. The two of them were so much devoted to each other that they were always thinking and acting in unison. The slightest pain suffered by one was instantaneously felt by the other as if they were twins from the same embryo. With the unique love your father had for Hussain, I can well imagine how he, if alive, would have felt today! He would have been the first to sacrifice his life for his beloved younger brother.”
She stopped for a few seconds and then, in a soft tone, as if reminiscing, added: “I am sure he wanted you to deputise for him on this day. My child, when he passed away, you were too young to understand life. On his death-bed his last words to me were: “Umme Farwa, I entrust you and my children to God and Hussain. When Qasim grows up, you tell him that my dying desire was that he should stand by Hussain through thick and thin. I can see the clouds of treachery gathering against Hussain. A day may come when he may need the unflinching devotion and sacrifice of his near and dear ones. Though I will not live to see that day, as my last wish I want you to prepare Qasim for it from his childhood.” Her voice choked with emotion, as she continued: “My Qasim, since that day your father breathed his last, Hussain has looked after you as his own son. Nay, he has treated you on all occasions better than his own sons. You know how he has fulfilled your every wish so that you may not miss the love and affection of your father. Now it is your turn to show that you can repay, to some extent, your debt of gratitude by laying down your life for him before any of his sons, brothers and kinsmen. Now is your chance to reciprocate his love and affection, by demonstrating to the enemies that you are a scion of the House of Ali and can wield the sword in defense of truth.”
Qasim listened to his mother with his head bowed in respect. He felt very much relieved by what his mother had said to him because he had felt very apprehensive as to how she would react when he approached her for her permission to go for the fight. He knew how his mother was attached to him after his father’s death. He was well aware how restless she used to become, if she would not see him even for a few hours. He had thought that the very idea of her son marching out into the battlefield would make her demented. He felt as if his mother had taken a load off his head. He affectionately hugged her and said “My dearest mother, I know not how I can thank you for what you have said to me just now. My filial affection for my uncle Hussain is known to you. From my childhood I have not known what a father’s love means but know this for certain that even my father, if alive, would not have been so kind, so considerate, so affectionate to me as my uncle Hussain has been to me. He has not allowed me to feel even for a moment that I am an orphan. Thanks to him, in our house my every wish has been a command. How is it possible for me, the son of Hasan, to be oblivious of my obligations to him? For me death would be far better than life without him and my dear uncle Abbas, and my cousins Ali Akbar. Muhammad and others.”
Umme Farwa felt elated at the brave reply of her brave son. A painful thought passed her mind, the thought that this dear child who was so devoted to her and in whom she had reposed all her hopes, would perish on the fields of Karbala. With great efforts she controlled herself.
On the departure of Qasim, Aun and Muhammad waited for some time for him to return. Then both of them returned to their tent to console their mother, Zainab, whose grief and sorrow defied description. As they entered the tent they saw her sitting on the ground with a candle in her hand looking intently at Ali Akbar, their cousin, whom she had brought up as her own son and for whom her love and affection was without a parallel. When she saw both of them entering the tent, she beckoned to them to come and sit near Ali Akbar. Both of them did so according to her bidding. She turned towards them and said in a low tone: “My children, do you know what tomorrow has in store for us? It will be a day of trial; it will be a day when the blood of our family will flow like water; it will be a day on which all the vendetta nurtured by the enemies of the Prophet’s house for all these years will be spilled out. I want both of you, my beloved sons, to defend your uncle Hussain and his children at the cost of your lives.” After a pause she added: “When I was leaving Mecca, your father Abdullah asked me to take both of you with me so that, if an occasion arose you, Aun, could be the deputy of your father in seeking martyrdom, and you, Muhammad, could be my offering in the cause of Islam.”
Hearing their mother talk in this vein touched both of them to the quick. How could they tell their mother Zainab that they were fully prepared for the doom that awaited them; that they were both coveting martyrdom in defense of the cause of Islam and its inviolable principles for which Hussain stood up so boldly and firmly in the face of odds! Aun was the first to speak. His voice was quivering with emotion when he said: “Mother, we both feel so elated to know that we have your permission to fight in defense of our uncle and his family. God willing, we both will show the army of Amr Saad that we are the grandsons of Jaafar-e-Tayyar whose prowess in battle had become legendary. We shall offer such fight tomorrow that, whenever you will remember us and mourn for us, your grief will be mingled with pride that we lived up to the reputation of our family.”
Hardly had Aun concluded when Muhammad, the younger one, burst out saying, “My loving mother, do not think that we need any exhortation to fight valiantly tomorrow. I am itching to go out in defense of my uncle. From my childhood I have been . hearing about the valor of my maternal grandfather Ali, and paternal grandfather Jaafar-e-Tayyar. It is not for nothing that we both of us have learnt the art of single combat from our uncle Abbas. You may rest assured that, so long as we breathe, we shall not let the least harm come to our uncle Hussain or to any of his children.”
With this reply of the brave youngsters Zainab felt reassured. It was not that she, for a moment, doubted their devotion or sense of duty. It was not that she considered it necessary to instill any courage in them, for she knew that both of them were brave and noble sons of a brave and noble father. Her love for her brave sons was surging within her. She was feeling as if her heart was getting squeezed when she was conjuring up the vision of these youths dying as martyrs.
Ali Akbar who was listening quietly to the talk between the mother and the two sons, looked at the face of the mother and then at the son’s. With a faint smile playing on his lips he said: “We of the Prophet’s family will go out to meet death as is our wont. In what order it will be, it is for God to determine.” When he said this, perhaps he had the conviction that Hussain would never allow his nephews to die so long as he, Ali Akbar, was there. How rightly he had surmised, the events of Ashura would show!
Like all passing things, that night also passed away to become a chapter of history. The day dawned and with it began the gory events which make mankind, who have the vestiges of humanity, tremble with rage and grief. As Ali Akbar had surmised that night, when the turn of members of the family came, Hussain came over to him and, with his hand on his heart, said to him: “My son, go forward to fulfill your appointed task.” Much as Zainab and Umme Farwa protested that, so long as their sons lived, they could not think of Ali Akbar laying down his life, much as Abbas pleaded to let him be the first among the Hashimites to die fighting, Hussain insisted that he would send Ali Akbar as his own representative to be the first among his kinsmen. Ali Akbar went to the battlefield never to return from it.
Zainab was disconsolate on Ali Akbar’s death. Now Aun and Muhammad were hovering round Hussain with entreaties to let them go.
Qasim was no less vehement in his supplication for the Imam’s permission to die on the battlefield. To Qasim’s repeated requests his uncle’s reply was: “My dear child, how can I permit you to go when I know for certain that death awaits those who venture out. Your father, my beloved Hasan, had entrusted you to my care on his death-bed. My heart trembles at the very thought of sending you into the jaws of death.”
This reply of Hussain broke Qasim’s heart. He thought that his uncle would not under any circumstances allow him to share the fate of the other martyrs. With tears in his eyes he stood there, not knowing what to do to secure Husain’s permission.
At that moment Zainab came over to her brother. With folded hands she said to Hussain, “My dearest brother, in my whole life I have never asked you for a favor. Now, for the first time, I am requesting you to grant me one wish; let my sons follow in the footsteps of Ali Akbar.”
Hussain looked at Zainab and then at her sons. With his head bent, he replied; “Zainab; my dearest sister, I find it impossible to deny your first and last request, though my granting it makes my heart sink within me.” Turning to Aun and Muhammad he said: “My dear children, go forward and fulfill your heart’s desire to die like heroes. I shall soon be joining you on your journey to eternity.”
At this reply the two young heroes felt delighted in the midst of unbounded sorrows. They fell at their mother’s feet and asked her for her blessings. Zainab’s grief at the parting with these beloved children found its way through her tears which were now pouring from her eyes in torrents. She felt an urge to clasp her young sons to her bosom before they marched out on their last journey; but for fear that such display of emotion might unnerve them, she held back. She could not say anything to them in farewell. With suppressed sobs she whispered to them: “My beloved ones, may God be with you and may He grant you quick relief from the agonies that you are to endure. It is Zainab’s lot to endure ignominies with no brothers, no nephews, no sons to console her. My last request to you is to fight bravely and to die bravely so that, in the midst of my unbearable sufferings in captivity, I may at least have one remembrance to console me: your bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.”
She mutely watched her sons mounting their horses assisted by Husain. Her lips were moving in silent prayers; her eyes were following the horses as they galloped out into the arena. When they both got out of sight, with a sigh she sat on the sand near her tent as if lost in a reverie.
When Qasim saw that Aun and Muhammad had been granted permission to march out on the entreaties of their mother, he rushed to his mother’s tent. Almost sobbing with disappointment, he told Umme Farwa that Aun and Muhammad had secured the Imam’s permission on the intercession of their mother but he had nobody to plead on his behalf with his uncle. In utter despondency he said; “If I am not destined to be a martyr on this day, life has no charm left for me. Am I destined to be a captive and led through the streets to a prison cell?”
Seeing Qasim so bitter and dejected Umme Farwa burst into tears of grief. Controlling herself she began to think what to do to get Husain’s permission for him. Her first reaction was to go over to the Imam and to implore him as his brother’s widow and seek permission for Qasim. However, in a flash she remembered her husband’s words to her shortly before his death. He had told her that for Qasim a time may come when he would find himself in the trough of despair and despondency and feel dejected and depressed beyond description. He had told her that, when this happened, she should deliver to him an envelope wherein he had kept a letter specially for this occasion. This she had carefully preserved and kept with her as her most cherished thing in a box. Fortunately for her, she had brought the box with her. She hastened to fetch the letter and handing over the envelope to Qasim she said: “Qasim, your present plight brought back to me your father’s words that a day like this would come for you and when this happened, I should deliver the letter to you.” With rekindled hops and expectation Qasim took the envelope from his mother’s hand and opened it. In it he found two letters, one addressed to himself and the other addressed to Hussain.
He anxiously opened the letter meant for him and read it aloud for his mother’s benefit. Hasan had written in it: “My child, when this letter reaches you, I will be no more. When you read it, you will find yourself torn with a conflict between your desire to do your duty and fulfill your obligations and demonstrate your love and esteem for your uncle, and his love and affection for you compelling him to hold you back. My Qasim, I have provided for this event by arming you with a letter for my dearest brother Hussain. You may deliver the letter to Hussain so that he may grant you your heart’s desire. There is much that I could say for this occasion but when you read this, you will find that time separating us is not long. So hurry along, my child, as I am waiting for you with open arms to welcome you.”
When he had completed reading the letter, Qasim felt choked with emotion. His mother also stood speechless with feelings surging in her heart. Both were thinking in unison how loving and thoughtful it was of Hasan to provide a solution for their dilemma. Qasim reverentially bowed over he letter and kissed it. The tears rolling from his eyes fell on the writing but, instead of smearing the lettering, they lent glitter to it.
Umme Farwa was the first to get out of the reverie. She broke the silence and said: “My dearest Qasim, now that your father has come to your rescue even in death, take his letter to your uncle Hussain. I have no doubt that now he will not be able to refuse you his permission for laying down you life.”
Qasim could now hardly contain himself. He rushed towards the tent of Imam Hussain with the letter in his hands. He found Hussain standing outside Zainab’s tent looking intently towards the battlefield. Abbas was by his side and Zainab was standing near the door holding up the curtain and looking at the faces of Husain and Abbas Qasim knew that they were all watching the combats of Aun and Muhammad. How could he disturb his uncle at such a time? He stood quietly by the side of Husain and Abbas and gazed in the direction of the army pitted against his two young cousins. He could see from clouds of dust rising in the far distance that one of them had gone ahead of the other. Not so far away he could see the younger one, Muhammad, battling against a number of enemy soldiers clustered round him.
Hardly a few minutes had passed in watching the battle, when they saw Aun falling from his horse and giving a cry to his uncle to come to him and carry his body. Husain, who had already borne the afflictions of his companions’ death and the loss of his dearest son, Ali Akbar, seemed to wince as if he had received a stab in his chest. He turned to Zainab to see her reaction on hearing her son’s last cry. Abbas and Qasim rushed to her side to hold her. As if this blow was not enough, Muhammad also fell from his horse mortally wounded and similarly shouted to Husain to come to him. Abbas and Qasim knew that for Husain to reach his dying nephews, one after the other, was too trying even for a person of his mettle who had right through the morning performed this task himself. Abbas wanted to accompany Husain and assist him in bringing the dead brothers to the camp, leaving Qasim to attend to Zainab who had collapsed with grief and sorrow on hearing the parting cry of Muhammad. But Husain beckoned to him to remain with Zainab. Qasim tried to follow him but Husain asked him also to remain near Zainab and console her.
Husain first reached the place where Muhammad was lying mortally wounded. He bent over his body to find that, on account of loss of blood, his young life was ebbing fast. The child was gasping heavily. His throat was so parched that even with great efforts he was not able to speak clearly. Husain put his ear near Muhammad’s mouth. In a faint, faltering voice the young lad said: ”My last salutations to you, uncle. Tell my mother that I have lived up to her expectations and am dying bravely as she and my father wanted me. Give my last salaams to her and console her as much as you can.” The efforts made by the child in saying these words appeared to exhaust him. He added after a few seconds: “I heard the cry of Aun before I fell. Now that I am beyond any help, uncle please go over to him and see if you can do something for him before it is too late.” Hardly he had said these words, when his life became extinct. Husain was beside himself with grief. But he could not remain there long as he had to go over to Aun. He rushed in the direction where Aun had fallen. On reaching his body he found that he had breathed his last. He picked up his lifeless body and pressed it to his heart.
With a heavy tread, with tears flowing in torrents, the aged uncle began his march towards the camp with the body of his nephew in his arms. Abbas came rushing from the camp towards him and said, ” Let me carry Aun’s body to the morgue and you take Muhammad’s body. My master, Abbas is still alive to share your burden and grief.” Quietly Husain handed over Aun’s corpse to Abbas and went over to pick up Muhammad’s body. The two brothers, one old and one young, were each carrying the body of a young nephew. The sight was such as to evoke sorrow and grief in the hearts of the most hard-hearted persons.
On reaching their camp Husain and Abbas laid the bodies of Aun and Muhammad on the ground. Zainab who was waiting for them came over and fell on the two bodies of her sons. “My sons, my sons,” she cried, “What mother is there to send her beloved ones to meet death as I have sent mine?” Her face was bathed in tears. With sobs she was saying: “My darlings, you have gone from this world with your thirst unquenched. Your grandfather Ali will be there to quench your thirst in heaven. My beloved sons, for Zainab there is still a long, weary, unending future to face without you two to lighten the burden with your brave talk.” Overpowered by her grief and emotions she fell unconscious on the dead bodies.
Husain, Abbas, Qasim and the ladies who were all standing and crying by her side, gently picked up Zainab and took her to her tent. They all knew that in such a great tragedy as had befallen her, all words of consolation would only be in vain.
As was the practice of Yazid’s army, they started beating the drums on the slaughter of the two nephews of Husain, to herald their victory. When the beating of drums stopped, they raised the usual cry challenging the young defenders of Husain to come out into the field to face death. Now Qasim came over to Husain, who was standing near Zainab’s prostrate form with his head bent. Qasim could not muster sufficient strength to say what he had come to convey to the Imam. He quietly handed over the letter of his father for Husain which he had found in the envelope given to him by his mother. Husain glanced at the hand-writing on the letter and at once recognized it as his late lamented brother’s. With surprise he opened the letter and as he eagerly read it, he could not control himself and burst into a cry of grief. In the letter it was written: “My beloved Husain, when this letter will be read by you, you will be surrounded by sorrows on all sides, with dead bodies of your near and dear ones strewn round you. I will not be there to lay down my life for you, Husain, but I am leaving behind my Qasim to be my deputy on this day. Husain, I beseech you not to reject my offering. In the name of love that you bear for me, I implore you to let Qasim go forth and die in your defense. Dearest brother, in spirit I am with you, watching your heroic sacrifices and sharing your woes and affliction.”
Hasan’s letter brought back to Husain the memories of his dear brother to whom he was devoted and he wept copiously recollecting his love and affection. What unique love Hasan had for him that, though dead, he had left his deputy in Qasim for this day!
With effort Husain controlled himself turned to Qasim saying: “Dear child, your father’s wishes, which I regard as commands for me, leave me no other alternative. March on, Qasim, as your father wished you to do. If it is so ordained that I may bear the wound of your martyrdom, I shall bow to the Will of God.”
Qasim bowed reverentially and hurried to his mother Umme Farwa who was sitting dazed with grief on receiving the sad new of Aun’s and Muhammad’s martyrdom. As Qasim entered her tent, she raised her head and looked at him expectantly. She could see from the look of satisfaction he had on his face that he had received Husain’s permission for which he had been begging so long. An exchange of looks between the mother and son confirmed to Umme Farwa that she was right. Slowly she rose and said to Qasim: “My beloved son, all these years I have been waiting for the day when you would become a bridegroom, and dressed as a groom, come to receive my blessings. It seems that fate has decreed otherwise. Qasim, I have preserved the dress your father wore on the day of his marriage with me. I had hoped that, on your wedding day, I would ask you to wear it. Now that you are going to the land of no return, my wish is that you put on that dress so that my desire to see you dressed as a groom may be fulfilled.” After a pause she continued in a reflective tone: “It is the custom for grooms to apply henna on their hands- Though I have none with me, I know that you will not need it. Your hands will be dyed with your own blood.” With these words she kissed her son’s cheeks and embraced him. It was a long embrace, the embrace of a mother who knew that she was seeing her young darling for the last time in this world. Holding him tightly in her arms she was looking longingly at his face, as if she wanted to let his image sink into her mind’s eye for ever. All partings are sad but where the parting is for ever, and in such circumstances, what words can describe it?
The mother and son tore themselves from each other lest their surging love and attachment might make their parting impossible. Umme Farwa brought out the wedding garments of Hasan for Qasim to wear. Dressed in these clothes Qasim was looking the very image of Hasan. The son, followed by the mother, went over to Zainab’s tent to bid her good-bye. Zainab had not completely recovered from her swoon: In her dazed mind she thought for a moment that Hasan had descended from heaven to defend his brother. It was just a flitting thought which passed away like lightning. She realized that it was Qasim who had come to pay his last respects She looked at him and then at this mother who was following him. She understood with what efforts Umme Farwa was controlling her feelings. Much as her own heart was bursting with grief at this parting with her beloved brother’s son, she knew that it was essential for her to control herself for the sake of Umme Farwa. With one hand on her head and the other on her heart, she came forward to bid adieu to Qasim. With hot tears rolling down her cheeks she kissed Qasim on his forehead saying: “Qasim, my dear child, your aged aunt had hoped that you, my dear ones, would carry my funeral bier. But it is written in Zainab’s fate that she should see the young lives of her dearest ones extinguished before her. It has fallen to my lot to see you all dead before me and to carry your memories for the rest of my dreary, unending days. March on my child with the name of God . ”
Qasim came to Husain and reverentially kissed his hands. Seeing Qasim so vividly resembling Hasan, his dear, departed brother, Husain wept bitterly. He kissed Qasim on his cheeks and held the horse for him to mount. Abbas came forward to do this service but Husain would not let him do so. “This is the last occasion for me to give a send-off to my Qasim and let me do this for him.” He turned to Qasim and said: “Qasim, I shall not be long in joining you.”
Reaching the battle arena, Qasim addressed the enemy with an eloquence which reminded many of the sermons of his grandfather Ali. With gaping mouths they were transfixed to the ground at his words of admonition on the betrayal of the Imam. Amr Ibne Saad ordered his men to challenge him to single combat, fearing that this youth’s eloquence might rouse the vestiges of goodness in some of his men. Qasim fought battles with several of them and threw them from their horses as if he were a seasoned warrior and not a youth of 14, with three day’s thirst and hunger. Such was his skill with the sword and horsemanship that Husain, who was watching his nephew’s fight from a hillock near his camp, burst into spontaneous acclamation. Now no warrior from the enemy ranks was coming forward to meet the challenge of this brave son of Hasan. He was now repeatedly challenging the soldiers of Amr Saad to come forward and match their skill and swords manship against him in single combat. Amr Saad, seeing that none of his warriors was prepared for this, ordered his soldiers to attack Qasim together. It was now a fight between one and thousands, if such a thing can at all be called a fight. How long could Qasim ward off the attacks of swords, spears, daggers and arrows coming at him from all directions? He was wounded from head to foot. When he saw that he could no longer remain in the saddle, he gave a cry offering his last salutation to his uncle Husain.
Husain, who was watching from a distance the dastardly attack of the multitude of soldiers on his helpless Qasim, heard this cry full of agony and pain. He felt as if he had himself received all the wounds inflicted on Qasim. He unsheathed his sword and, like an enraged lion, he rushed towards the battle-field. With sword in one hand he galloped his horse cutting through the enemy hordes. Such was the fury of his charge that the enemy were reminded of the charges of Ali, his father, in the battle of Siffin, when the dexterous Lion of God had singly scattered the enemy, running through them like a knife through butter, and killing hundreds with he powerful sweeps of his sword, while the remainder of the arrant towards ran helter-skelter to save their contemptible lives. The stampede of Yazid’s soldiers was such that the body of Qasim was trampled under the feet of hundreds of minions who were a disgrace of their calling. When the battlefield was cleared of the cowards and Husain reached the body of Qasim, he found that it was torn to pieces. What feelings this gruesome sight evoked in Husain’s heart can better be imagined than described. Husain stumbled down from his horse and fell to the ground exclaiming: “My God, what have these cowards done to my Qasim?” For some time he wept with such agony that his body convulsed. After a while he took off his robe and started picking up pieces of Qasim’s body. One by one he put them all in his robe and, lifting the bundle, put it on his aged shoulders and mounted the horse. As he did so, he muttered: “My Qasim, your mother had sent you out dressed as a groom. Now you are returning to your mother with your body cut to pieces.” As he was riding back towards his camp, Husain was disconsolately exclaiming: “My God, has there been an instance where an uncle had to carry his own nephew’s body in such a state?”
On reaching the camp Husain put down the body on the ground. He called Abbas and asked him to bring Umme Farwa and his sisters Zainab and Kulsum to the morgue. He besought Fizza, his mother’s devoted maid, to console Umme Farwa and Zainab, for he knew that the condition of Qasim’s body might give them such a shock as would kill them.
Qasim’s mother came with Zainab on one side and Umme Kulsum on the other. Fizza went over to the ladies and said: “I beseech you, in the name of my lady Fatima, to muster all the strength and courage you can to see Qasim’s mortal remains. They may be torn and cut to pleces but remember his soul is now with my lady and Hasan, who must have welcomed him with open arms.” Saying this, she opened the robe and unfolded the body. Zainab held her aching heart, Kulsum held her reeling head and Umme Farwa fell with a shriek and fainted.
What pen can narrate the grief of a mother who has lost her only son? What words can describe the agony of a mother’s loving heart on seeing her son in such a state? The land of Karbala was echoing the cries of the ladies and the wailing of the children on Qasim’s death. Can any one attempt to depict Husain’s plight- at that time? Resting his head on Abbas’s shoulders, Husain was saying: “My God, my God, if my enemies wanted to kill me, they could do so; but what have my dear ones done that they slay them so mercilessly?”
Husain stood there for some time as if in a trance. He was brought back to the reality of the situation by Abbas who softly said to him “My master, now let me go, as others have done. I am now the commander of soldiers who are no more.” Husain for a moment did not reply. Then he equally softly said: “Verily we come from God and unto Him we shall return.”