August 22, 2004

Hazrat Abbas’s mausoleum is a soul-searching sight not only for the Muslims, but also for people adhering to other religions

NAHRE al Qa’mah is a historical place where the battle of Karbala was fought on Oct 10, 680 AD. The great warrior, Hazrat Abbas fell off his black steed, along the banks of al Qa’mah in the forenoon when he was fighting his way to the camps of the Ahl’ Bait with a leather bag filled with water. The place where Hazrat Abbas was martyred is adjacent to the water course. He was buried here on Sunday, Oct 12, 680 AD by the Beni Asad tribesmen that reached Karbala after the tragedy had occurred. And ever since, the place where he died and was lowered into the hallowed earth for his eternal rest has become a point of reverence for pilgrims belonging to all religions.

Prayers to Allah for the fulfilment of desires and wishes have been recited through ages at the place where the lone, fearless hero, Hazrat Abbas yielded his brave, courageous and faithful soul. “Oh Abbas, my back is broken,” wept Imam Hussain, while imploring his dying brother.

ANSWERED PRAYERS: Hazrat Abbas is buried besides the al Qa’mah, separately, from the other martyrs and not in the hinterland of Karbala, in the confines of the cemetery of Nainawa where repose Imam Hussain, his sons, Ali Akber, Ali Asghar, nephew Qasim, Imam Hussain’s seven other brothers and the companions that fell with him on the fateful Ashura of Oct 10, 680. No one leaves the grave of the great Hazrat Abbas without his begging bowl over-flowing. Believers are never let down by the Alumdar (flag-bearer) of Imam Hussain, the boss of all momins.

My personal memories of the magnificent mausoleum of Hazrat Abbas are quite vivid. I went there for my first ziarat or salaam in the last week of December 1948. I was then 12 years old. The occasion was the Arbaien, or the auspicious fortieth that is observed 40 days after the tragedy on the twentieth day of Safar, the second month of the lunar Islamic calendar.

My father had decided to take my mother and five of their children (brothers Nissar, Farouk, two sisters Munira, Mumtaz and myself), on a pilgrimage to Karbala. My father wanted to express his gratitude to his patron saint Alumdar Hazrat Abbas in Karbala. We flew to Basra from Bombay (now Mumbai). At the airport my father’s younger sister Shah Sultana tied an imam zamin to the arms of each of us. Fastening an imam zamin is a custom popular among the Muslims of Bombay. It is believed that once the imam zamin is tied, the eighth Imam Ali Moosa ar Reza of Mashed takes care of the pilgrims when they are travelling.

My father’s friend living in Iraq, Abdul Hussain Jethabhai Gokul and his daughter Hamida received us at the Basra airport.

OH KARBALA: The good, kind man, Abdul Hussain was our guide during the Arbaien in Karbala. We resided for a week in the city at the guest house of Khoja Mutawali. Seth Mahomed Ali Habib had given my father a letter of introduction in Bombay to the Khoja Mutawali. Not yet in my teens, my mind was receptive. Abdul Hussain asked my mother at the residence of Khoja Mutawali whether we would like to perform the ziarat of the shrine of Imam Hussain or convey our salaams to Hazrat Abbas. “We wish to convey our salutations to Hazrat Abbas first,” my mother replied to Abdul Hussain. So our guide led all of us through the narrow alleys and lanes of old Karbala to the mausoleum of Hazrat Abbas. We walked in heavy winter clothes from the Khoja Mutawali’s small villa to the shrine through the congested Ali Akber bazaar. Coming from the temperate climate of Bombay, we found December in Karbala very, very cold.

Karbala is a small, typical Arab town. In the centre is the souk (bazaar) located between the two beautiful edifices of Hazrat Abbas and Imam Hussain. Shops in souk are on the ground floor and the upper stories are usually occupied by the pilgrims staying there for a longer period of time. Men and women of the days of yore, a lot of people believe, spent their last days between the shadows of the two mausoleums. Their earnest wish was to die in Karbala, near the graves of the venerated Imam Hussain and his loyal brother Abbas. Similar was and is still is the desire of the retired expatriates from the subcontinent in Karbala: they want to rest their bones in Karbala so that on the Day of Judgment, it would be easier for them to enter paradise. Processions of mourners from cities and villages in Iraq, Iran, Syria and Lebanon throng to souk. Performing matam while reciting marsias in Arabic or Persion is also associated with the pilgrimage. Hundreds of men beat their chests in spite of the bitter, cold winter to mourn the death of Imam Hussain and his followers in Karbala.

So, when we witnessed such consuming passion, we were profoundly moved. My father, in particular, was deeply touched as tears were streaming down from his eyes, despite the fact that he hardly knew Arabic. He kept on repeating, “Karbala mein to rona hi rona hai. Karbala mein rona ke liya t’o atta hai.” (We have come to Karbala to weep for Hussain, Abbas and their unfortunate family). Here one is reminded of Lord Edward Gibbon when he said: “In a distant age and climate, the moving scene of the death of Hussain will awaken the sympathy of the coldest reader.”

Once again during the Arbaien in December 1948, the world wept at Karbala. Women in their traditional black chador with small children, segregated from the men, followed the matam procession as they moved, in measured, slow strides, between the ornate shrines of Imam Hussain and his devoted brother Abbas. With Abdul Hussain leading us, we made our way towards the shrine of Hazrat Abbas. While we walked, Abdul Hussain narrated the tragedy of Hazrat Abbas to his receptive audience from Bombay. I had my ears glued to the graphic description of the battle besides the al Qa’mah, as detailed by Abdul Hussain bhai. We used to fondly call him bhai.

He said that Hazrat Abbas was the solitary warrior among the very brave companions of Imam Hussain who had overwhelmed the Ohmayyad army at the barricades and fought his way to the Nahre al Qa’mah. Others from the camps of Imam Hussain had attempted to reach al Qa’mah but they were fighting against heavy odds. Yazidi mercenaries had cut down the companions of Imam Hussain before they could achieve their objective to fight their way on swift, galloping horses to the flooding canal. Abdul Hussain bhai narrated that Hazrat Abbas had filled the water bag from al Qa’mah, but he could not return to the camp. He did not survive to keep the promise of providing water to his four-year-old niece Bibi Sakina. Terribly wounded, Hazrat Abbas passed away in the lap of his brother Hussain. The blood of Abbas mingled with the water from the pierced leather bag. As per his wish, Hazrat Abbas was buried besides al Qa’mah. Imam Hussain, his sons, nephews, companions, family members repose in the burial ground of Nainawa, but Hazrat Abbas rests in his own mausoleum that was constructed next to al Qa’mah.

THE MAUSOLEUM: Bearing in mind that Imam Hussain and Hazrat Abbas lived very humbly, devoting themselves to humane causes, the tomb of Hazrat Abbas surpasses anything that I have ever seen in my life.

I have travelled all over the world. There are a few parts of the world that I have not visited. I have also seen the seven wonders of the world. But the tomb of Hazrat Abbas in Karbala surpasses anything that I have witnessed. All the emperors and kings of the world put together could not have a tomb as magnificent as that of Hazrat Abbas. It was designed by Persian and Central Asian architects of the Safavid monarch Shah Ismail the magnificent in 1499, when southern Mesopotamia was a province of the proud Saffavid dynasty of Iran. The brilliant splash of colours on the exterior and interior of the shrine makes the other wonders of the world look quite less impressive in comparison. The mausoleum is simply breathtaking.

The central pear-shaped dome is an ornately decorated structure. On its sides are two tall minarets.

And so my, father, mother, brothers, sisters and I followed Abdul Hussain bhai from the entrance to the courtyard that leads to the inner shrine, where we took off our shoes. We entered the holy place which was made of crystals and appeared to be a mosaic of small mirrors. Priceless Iranian carpets were rolled out and glittering chandeliers were hanging from the roof. The grave of Hazrat Abbas is covered with pure gold and surrounded by a trellis of silver. And my mother made us go down on our knees when we were 50ft away from the tomb. All of us went on our bent knees up to the trellis of the determined and faithful warrior. And on our knees before the tomb my mother implored, prayed, wept, before Hazrat Abbas to protect her fold.

I can still recall resting my head on the square silver opening or the window that looks into the grave of Hazrat Abbas. It was a magnificent sight. Something that still fills my heart with reverence and religious zeal.

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