|
Hazrat Ali Akbar a.s , the Hashmite Prince
Asalamoalaka ya
Hazrat Ali Akbar a.s.
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 other in hushed tones, recalling the words of the Prophet,
that a day will dawn when his beloved grandson Husain (as) 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 Rokayya?
As was their want, 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.
At this display of love and affection
Husain was moved to tears. Suppressing his grief he replied:
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.
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,
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:
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:
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:
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,
His mother could only say:
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:
Ali Akbar
embraced his loving aunt Zainab with tender love and affection for the
last time. she exclaimed:
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:
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.
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:
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:
Ali Akbar with his
head bent replied:
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:
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:
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:
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.
Seeing that
Akbar was lying there without any response to his entreaties, Husain
turned to Abbas and said:
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
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:
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:
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
|
Hazrat Ali Akbar
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment