Husain brought back the corpses of his nation;
No martyr's head was severed by the foe.
May no man suffer such dire tribulation!
He cried: 'Alas! Where do their spirits go?
The weight of mountains has been thrust on me.
Such fine array men's eyes will no more see.'
'Mid dead and dying stood the lone Imam.
The Prophet's cloak was soaked in crimson gore.
L)ejected, anxious, thirsty, in alarm,
He heard their victory drums; the enemies' roar
Proclaiming slaughtered martyrs broke his heart;
It pierced his spirit like a poisoned dart.
Only he who grieves can understand.
The garden of life's toil now wasted lay.
No rest from lamentations cruel hand
The lamps were out that once burnt bright as day.
Scattered limbs exposed to seering heat;
On Ali Akbar's corpse there was no sheet.
The King of the Age moved slowly to the tent;
He could not bring his thirsty lips to speak.
Lifting the flap, he cried: 'My heart is rent!
My sister, it is Asghar that I seek.
Now bring him from his cradle to the door.
I long to see his moon-like face once more.'
Muhammad's women ran to him unveiled,
And Zainab brought the baby in her arms.
He took the child, by pangs of love assailed,
And kissed him, overcome by infant charms.
The knife of grief cut through Husain's sad breast;
His holy knee afforded Asghar rest.
He cradled Asghar in his warm embrace.
Outside in ambush lurked black Kahil's son,
Who fired a three-pronged arrow from his place;
It's target was the neck of the little one.
The baby writhed in pain; the Leader cried;
The tiny child was slaughtered by his side.
The baby died, and in the earth about
A little grave w as fashioned by the sword.
The child was buried, and Husain cried out:
'Oh Holy Ground, he mindful of thy ward!
This love of Ali, keep him in thy care,
Ali's pledge and Fatima's treasure rare!'
He spoke and donned his shining arms once more;
His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was red.
Clothed in the Prophet's cloak, now went on w war,
With Hamza's shield alone to fight he sped;
With Zulfiqar, that sword of might and fame;
Muhammad's armour graced his noble frame.
Was it Rust clothed in armour or his steed?
The fiery, faithful horse was swift and fleet.
A bridle, gold and silver, was its lead;
Elixir was the dust raised by its feet.
The blood of Duldul far pulsed through its veins;
Submissive when the Master took its reins.
The days of summer heat defy description.
My tongue burns like a candle if I try.
God save us from the blast of its inception!
The field was red, and yellow burnt the sky.
Cold water was the wish of this poor band,
As flaming winds poured fire upon the sand.
The vehemence of the sun, its cruel glare!
The face of day was burnt and black as night
The Alqama dried up; its banks were bare;
Its bubbles burst and from the heat took flight.
The spring of life was dry; its work was done.
The Euphrates steamed and boiled beneath the sun.
Four-footed creatures sheltered in the lake;
With fish the salamander made its home;
The deer were languid, cheetas would not wake;
The molten rocks became a waxen foam.
The red flew from the rose, green from the glade;
In wells the water dropped in search of shade.
There was no tree that still bore flowers or fruits;
The date-palms were on fire like the chenar.
No smiling rose drew moisture from its roots;
Thorns grew on branches burnt as black as tar.
No limb could stir, no beating heart would race;
All nature bore a pale, consumptive face.
The beasts cowered in the places that were wet;
Birds hid themselves within the forest trails.
The pupils of the eye were bathed in sweat,
And would not peep outside their eyelash-veils.
If one glance came to stand upon the street,
A thousand blisters formed upon its feet.
The lions would not emerge from their wild dens;
Dust hung, around the hazy sun's wide girth.
Gazelles all sought the refuge of the fens.
The firmament caught fever from the earth.
>From pain of heat it uttered mournful sound.
Seeds roasted if they fell upon the ground.
The whirlpool on the water spun with flame;
>From burning bubbles sparks of fire would leap;
The tongues of waves were dry; no solace came
To crocodiles which languished in the deep
The rivers blazed as if on Judgement's Day,
And roasted fish upon their billows lay.
The mirror of the sky was scorched with heat,
And lightning dashed for shelter in the cloud.
Hot-tempered men could scarce stand on their
For morning's camphor cried the sun aloud.
The dome of elemental fire burnt red,
And clouds to even colder regions sped.
In that great heat the King of Nations stood;
The standard's shade, the Prophet's arms no more.
His sighs were flames, his tongue was hard as wood,
His lips were grey, his hack was bent and sore.
Three days deprived of water, now he stuttered;
His tongue tripped over every word he uttered.
The enemy riders let their horses drink;
They led their camels to the watering-places;
The birds refreshed themselves upon the brink,
And water-boys rushed moisture on their faces.
A pious act to care for bird and beast!
Husain, so thirsty, looked upon their feast.
A golden parasol for Ibn Said!
His servants fanned him as he sat; and now
The ground was splashed with water by his guard.
But for Husain no shade to cool his brow.
The blazing sun beat down upon his back;
His blessed countenance was burnt and black.
The son of Said called: 'Lord of Heaven, think!
Give me allegiance, for I mean no harm.
A cooling draught shall I give thee to drink.'
Husain replied: 'Ah wretch, respect Islam!
The son of Ali takes no gift from thee.
>From thy hand water is but dust to me.
For if I asked, then Abraham would come
And fill my cup from the fount of Salsabil;
Woulds't thou give me to drink, oh filthy scum?
With avaricious tyrants would I deal?
Thy very shadow causes flowers pain.
If thou art cut, no blood pours from thy vein.
And if I called, Jamshed would give his cup;
The Prophet would tell Gabriel to bring
A draught from Kausar's spring for me to sup;
On earth the angels would my victory sing.
At my command the world would cease to be.
Iraq and Syria sink beneath the sea.'
He spoke and gazed on Zulfiqar's bright blade.
The son of Sa'd fell back, alarmed and shy.
>From enemy ranks an arrow-charge was made;
The sound of war drums sped across the sky.
The horsemen massed; their spears were poised for war-
Black flags adorned the black-faced army's roar.
The clamour of the drums, the trumpets' cry!
The angels' ears were deafened by the din.
And from its senses all the earth did fly,
As armoured soldiers with their spears moved in.
With shields upon their heads came this vile band,
Like rain-clouds swooping on the desert sand.
Intoning martial verses, Ali's scion
Advanced with Gabriel's hand upon his shoulder.
Onward he advanced�a male lion�,
With sleeves rolled up; each step he took grew holder
The bride of battle was in splendour wreathed;
Husain's intrepid sword was now unsheathed.
The flaming sword was wrenched out of its cover,
As moonbeams fly, as perfume leaves the rose,
As a comely maiden taken from her lover,
As breath departs the breast, as red blood flows.
When thunder roared and all the air did swell,
Laila swooned and from her litter fell.
Husain swooped like an eagle from on high,
As lions in the jungle pounce on deer.
The heavens flashed; the clouds began to cry;
His horse rushed down like water swift and sheer.
The sharp sword cut the foe with thunderous crash;
They fell like mountains 'neath the lightning's flash.
The sparks flew from the sword that cut and thrust,
Heads were severed in the wind that blew.
It beat upon the armour, raising dust.
The wings of Gabriel stretched out and flew.
Those wings were like a charm that all men saved,
For on them Ali's name stood out engraved.
The foe on whom the sword fell split in two;
The blade came down again to make him four.
The path it took was the one Death pointed to;
However hard its task, it craved for more.
No rider in his saddle could be found;
The armour's chains lay scattered on the ground.
Its strike beheaded that tumultuous horde;
Assembled ranks were shattered by its flight;
Each body's castle fell beneath the sword,
And houses crumbled 'neath its torrent's might.
Whoever struck the scimitar fell dead;
Its lustrous sharpness made the streams run red.
Ah God, the river and the sheet of flame!
Fire on water, water set ablaze!
The sword sped onwards, whispering God's name;
Its current woke the still pools from their daze.
It quivered and the evil spate was snared.
With Zulfiqar's keen sharpness nought compared.
The centre, flanks and wings, both left and right
Of the murderous army by Husain were crushed.
The earth v. as spinning as the sword took flight.
>From lifeless bodies all the spirit gushed.
Their souls left like those guests that part in haste;
The market closed; the city was laid waste.
The horsemen bore the sword's almighty speed;
It cut them through and split their horses' girth.
It thirsted after blood and did its deed.
And bloody corpses choked the heavens and earth.
No need it had for grindstone or for flint;
>From land to sky all space shone with its glint.
This sword of autumn spoiled the garden's bloom.
Torn from its scabbard now it craved no home.
Faithful has for faithlessness no room.
Do those exalted with the lowest roam?
Straightness in its curve, and sharp its tongue;
The power to cut upon its breath was hung.
It struck the breast, the heart was bathed in blood;
The fingernails of Death plunged in the flesh.
The cry 'God save us!' poured out in a flood.
It cut down honour, then it struck afresh.
Ten steadfast men could not brook its attack;
Its flaming fire turned all their faces black.
Ranks collapsed on ranks where'er it struck,
Now this way, that way, dashing through the air.
'Where has it gone?' 'Which warrior did it pluck?'
The cries came: 'It is here!' 'No, it is there!'
The archers could not find the way to go.
If heads were severed, bodies did not know.
Those by the water washed their hands of life,
And hands of headless riders lost the reins.
A hand was struck; a heart was plunged in strife.
No hands were left to grab their horses reins.
They fain would hide their faces in their hands;
But, shamed, their feet took off across the sands.
Ah, how they feared the Lion of Creation!
The stream of the Euphrates turned to bile.
Their cruel hearts were racked with consternation;
They could not run, nor could they stay awhile.
'Run!', came the cry, 'before it is too late.'
The river of God's wrath was in full spate.
Although the watery fish were armour-clad,
They hid themselves in fear, mouths open wide.
In whirlpools spun the shields; the waves were mad; .
The crocodiles sought corners dark to hide.
The river would escape the sword's white heat.
But bubbles formed like blisters on its feet.
Divine destruction was the sword's swift blow.
'God help us!', came the cry. 'What can we do?'
Through helmets, then through breastplates it would go,
Then on through saddles, slicing steeds in two.
And when the sword into the ground was thrust,
The Earth cried: 'Save me, Ali, Lord of Dust!'
The bowmen, pressing hard, died in the fray.
Their arms hung loose; their bow strings still were taut.
The horn was cut, their arrows flew away;
One step onto the field and they were nought.
The bird of vain imagining took flight;
The notches on their arrows gaped in fright.
All those who were in archery renowned
Could find no place of refuge but the grave.
And those whose target-shot was always sound
Groped blindly for the life they could not save.
Those archers of perdition, sore misled,
Mistook the arrow's notches for its head.
The lines fell upon lines, and flanks on flanks;
Riders fell on riders, steed on steed.
For five that fled, ten fell among the ranks,
And heralds were despatched with awesome speed.
The army broke and tyranny was dashed.
So rare to see a foe so cruelly lashed.
The Lion of Karbala was now enraged.
To Karbala for refuge wolves had fled.
What war in Karbala the sword had waged!
At Karbala fell many a severed head.
The villages became abodes of ghosts.
Mounds of corpses towered above the hosts.
The Warrior King struck panic in his foe,
And turmoil broke beneath the ancient sky.
The bowstrings looked for refuge in the how;
For help the bow to arrow-heads made cry.
The ruthless sword drove on, and everywhere
The enemy sought a respite from its glare.
>From twanging bowstrings arrows sped like rain;
Hurtling from the Syrian cloud they poured.
The piebald horses, chestnut steeds in pain
Whinnied as the sweltering hot winds roared.
The hatred of the desert was. on fire;
Husain alone withstood its clamorous ire.
Water-carriers came and called their wares:
'The market-place is brisk!' 'Come cool your hearts!-
The wicked, mindful only of their cares,
Rushed to the water-boys like poisoned darts.
A blazing fire consumed the world of pain.
All drank their fill except the Lord, Husain.
Such thirst assailed him 'neath those burning skies;
He masked his face and cried in desperation.
The sun's sharp glare assaulted his poor eyes,
But still he leapt and fought with exultation.
Rare beads of sweat poured down his holy face;
Pure pearls cascaded on the battle-place.
But those who slaked their thirst just slunk away.
The sword of Ali led the fight alone.
It flashed upon the scalp in full array.
Stopped by neither shields nor iron nor stone.
The blade of the Creator knew no thirst;
In front of it the helmets' blisters burst.
The enemies were confused, and could not tell
An arrow from a bow, such was their plight.
The archers seeking refuge fled to Hell;
Their quivers shuddered as they took to flight.
No sooner had they tried to grip their bow,
Their heads were off; their bodies were laid low.
The horses jostled riders when they saw
The sword flash by; in fear they jumped and leapt.
Not one in thousands stood this battle raw;
Among the ranks there was no order kept.
>From every side the shout of 'Scatter!' 'Flee!'
Swords turned their faces from the misery.
>From the stamping of the horses sand flew up;
The firmament filled like an hour-glass.
The dark-blue sky became a dusty cup,
And blackness spread o'er valley, hill and pass.
The glow that lights the world was lost from sight;
The afternoon at once had turned to night.
The prowess of the Lord against his foes!
With sunlight on his swarthy face he strode.
His dry cracked lips were petals of the rose;
Like Ali borne by Zuljanah he reode.
Came clamour from the battle, fierce and harsh:
'Run off!. An angry lion stalks the marsh.'
'Husain! Make haste to save us!', came the cry.
'Husain contests the banks; the swamp he takes.
Husain fights with the wrath of God on High.
The world is his; in him God's spirit wakes!
Husain saved Noah from the dreadful flood.
May we be saved by Ali Akbar's blood!'
The name of Ali Akbar reached his ears;
His heart was pierced; he pulled his horse's rein.
And as he stopped, his eyes were filled with tears;
He addressed the spot where his dead son had lain:
'Life of my soul! They call you from afar.
The battle ends; I lay down Zulfiqar.'
Ibn Said cried out and slapped his knee:
'Ah shame! His victory becomes defeat!
Behold! the hero! Such brave men as he
Should never lead themselves to base retreat.'
Then one of Ibn Sa'ds strong men cried out:
'This prize is mine! I'll put Husain to rout!'
He was gigantic, ugly, fat and dark,
And larazen-bodied with a waist of iron;
Of Death his quivered arrows bore the mark;
His shield had smashed the teeth of many a lion.
His heart was evil and his soul corrupt;
At his every step a mountain would erupt.
Another giant like him in form and height,
With brushy, beetling brows and dark-blue eyes.
Stood by his side, depraved and full of spite.
In battle he slew foes of wond'rous size.
One boasted of his club and one his sword.
They girded up their loins to slay the Lord.
To paint this awesome fight I need resolve;
To gain my enemies' praise the power of speech;
A sword-sharp tongue its hardness to dissolve;
A pen of steel its forcefulness to teach.
To draw the battle-ranks amassed for war
The inkpot needs the flash of Zulfiqar.
The anguished soldiers stood, their faces white;
The bravest of them trembled, for they feared
Husain might bring his sword into the fight.
Could Marhab stand his ground if Ali dared?
Could Antar keep his head in such a fray?
Who has defeat or victory today?
A voice from Heaven cried out: 'In Allah's name!
Oh Lord! Oh Darling of the Arab race!'
The King was mounted, mindful of his fame;
His sword rose up and showed its gleaming face.
The shameless giant pressed onwards like a flood,
But Zulfiqar was thirsty for his blood.
In battle stalwart soldiers staked their lives,
And evil frowned upon the earth beneath;
Their thunderous shields, their lightning-flashing knives
Were drawn against the horse that gnashed its teeth.
It beat its hooves; those cowards sought retreat.
The earth-supporting cow shook on its feet.
The selfish giant came brandishing his spear
Against Husain, lout little served his might.
At once the sword was raised into the air;
The tyrant's arrows from its strike took flight.
They might have hit a rock; their heads were dashed:
The string that fired them broke; the bow was smashed.
The tyrant raised his club in fresh attack;
The Scion of the Dusty One saw red.
He beat his hands in wrath; the giant fell back,
As lightning struck upon his angry head.
Defeat for evil! Victory for the just!
His head now severed fell upon the dust.
Confused and scared he tried to run away,
And groping took his sword in his left hand.
But Death's cold hand will always find its prey.
And Zulfiqar sliced through him on the sand.
A miracle the way the sharp sword flew!
The rider and his horse were cut in two.
The second giant approached; the King called out:
'Hast thou not seen the power of Zulfiqar?'
The wretch came on, regardless, with a shout.
But Death already called him from afar.
Summoned by the voice that knows no laws,
Another victim for the lion's jaws.
The King of Faith towards his rival turned,
As if a hungry lion had joined the fray.
With nonchalance the enemy's sword was spurned.
The sky was split; the heavens spun away.
The giant sank in the saddle without a sound;
His mighty horse was pressed into the ground.
The peaks of Qaf sped from the fairies' sight;
The Jinn were lost; the lions strayed from home;
The denizens of the deep dashed to the light;
The hawk and partridge fled where pythons roam.
The mountains huddled, hiding, from the roar,
And eagles fell from eeries where they soar.
A voice came from the sky: 'All hail, Shabbir!'
This sword was made for him. Shabbir, all hail!
All hail! To him was battles honour dear.
Nursed at his mother's breast, how can he fail?
God gave him mastery o'er all creation.
For he alone could fight to save his nation.
But now enough! No more, Husain! No more!
'Tis time to rest. The horse pants from the heat.
The time for prayer draws nigh. The battle's roar
Is over now for thee. No more! Retreat!
No one can fight thus, thirsty in the throng.
Attend to thy dear kin, and soothe their wrong.'
Sheathing his sword, the King; cried: 'I obey!'!'
The Day of Judgement came upon the world.
The enemy stood like animals at bay.
Their arrows fixed, their standard's flag unfurled.
Husain stood helpless. See and you will know
Your helpless Lord alone before his foe!
Ten thousand arrows dashed upon his chest;
A hundred at one time sought out their prey.
The spears transfixed his side and pierced his breast;
Ten stuck for every four he pulled away.
The Shadow of the Lord was filled with spines,
Like needles in the backs of porcupines.
>From all directions arrows poured like rain;
Assassins rushed with spears and daggers bared.
Such pain befell Husain. Such pain! Such pain!
The one who on the Prophet's lap was reared.
No one to pluck the arrows from his chest.
No one to lift him to his place of rest.
Midst thousands, one afflicted stood, alas!
The noble son of Fatima, alas!
Shabbir was struck by tyrants' spears, alas!
And arrows pierced his holy skin, alas.
That ragged, angry army, honour's bane,
Poured out its bristling quivers on Husain.
Those who had fled from battle now returned;
One took a stone and aimed it at his head.
The blow struck home; his fevered forehead burned;;
Then to his throat a three-pronged arrow sped.
He touched his forehead, clasped his throat and sighed.
The arrow flew out from the other side.
This arrow had three heads, so it is told;
It pierced the Lord, not stopping in its track.
His breathing stopped; his eyes wide open rolled;
He tried to pull the shaft out from his back.
His final breath emerged�an angry flood�;
The palm placed on his wound was filled with blood.
A'var Salami, an enemy of the King,
A foe of true Islam, now played his part.
He split his forehead with a mighty swing;
Sinan, the son of Uns, speared through his heart.
Another plunged his stomach with a hook.
The grave of the Prophet's Refuge sighed and shook.
Husain falls from his mount�calamity!
His holy foot falls from the horse's girth.
His side is gaping open�misery!
He swoons; his turban drops upon the earth.
The Quran has fallen headlong from its stand.
The Ka'aba's walls have crumbled into sand.
Far from the wastes came Fatima's pure voice:
'Muhammad! See our family despoiled!
Now who will save our friendship and rejoice?
Against what tyranny our Leader toiled!
Full nineteen-hundred wounds were on him thrust;
Ah Zainab! Come! Husain writhes in the dust.'
Now Zainab moved the curtain of the tent
And came with unveiled face and heaving breast.
Her limbs were trembling and her back was bent.
She cried: 'Ah Karbala, where is thy guest?
From- thirst I suffer; guide me with thine eyes,
And bring me to his corpse, to where it lies.
The whole world is in darkness at my feet.
For Allah's sake, stay with me at my side.
Where lies our Sayyid writhing in the heat?
Ah mother, lead me to the place he died!'
Her sighs consumed her blazing heart with flame.
A voice was heard: 'Who moans and calls my name?'
Who called: 'Oh sister! Do not come this way!
The time for thy departure is at hand.
For Allah's sake, go home! Lost is our day.
May Ali save the ship of this poor band.
Let not Husain be left in this cruel waste.
To drape his corpse let Fatima make haste.'
Her head uncovered, Ali's daughter walked
To the place where Ali's darling son was slain.
She ran, though by the evil enemy balked,
And reached the spot, clutching her breast in pain.
Ignoring every danger, she drew near,
And saw her brother's head stuck on a spear.
Then Zainab, overcome with sorrow, cried:
'Ah Sayyid! Let me bless thy blood-soaked face.
My brother's throat was slit. See how he died!
Dids't thou forget thy sister's healing grace?
Our house is robbed; the promise was not kept.'
His moving lips took God's name as she wept.
'Thy sister greets thee, brother. Answer me!
Hear the cry of Haidar's daughter's strife.
With thy dry tongue give answer! Hear my plea!
Should Zainab cling to this accursed life?
For Death alone can end this separation.
No one is left to give me consolation.
My brother, can I bring thee back once more?
What can I do? Where can I tell my woes?
To whom can I recount the pain I bore?
Our city is now ruled by evil foes.
The world has been destroyed beyond belief.
How can I live within this house of grief?
Why did this wretched waif not die before?
Come tell me how the dagger ripped thy breast?'
A voice cried: 'Do not ask the pains I bore!
For all that came to pass was for the best.
Now from all tribulations I am free,
But ah! the wound to be apart from thee!
For even now the foe is bent on plunder.
Give nought but thanks to God for thy dear life.
When tyrants come to set our home asunder,
Take care of poor Sakina in her strife.
Protect my daughter in thy warm embrace;
Let no one look in anger on her face.'
Enough, Anis! Your very limbs are quaking.
This monument you built with glory rings.
Such verses written while your hands were shaking
Will fire the world and please the hearts of kings.
Their harvest is this gathering of mourning
The spring-like pleasure of the autumn's dawning.
No comments:
Post a Comment