No God But God: The Origins, Evolution and Future of Islam by Aslan Reza

Author:Aslan, Reza [Aslan, Reza]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781407009285
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2008-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

7. In the Footsteps of Martyrs

FROM SHI‘ISM TO KHOMEINISM

EARLY IN THE morning on the tenth day of the Islamic month of Muharram, in the sixty-first year of the Hijra (October 10, 680 C.E.), Husayn ibn Ali, grandson of the Prophet Muhammad and the de facto head of the Shi‘atu Ali, steps out of his tent one last time to gaze across the vast, withered plane of Karbala at the massive Syrian army encircling his camp. These are the soldiers of the Umayyad Caliph, Yazid I, dispatched from Damascus weeks ago with orders to intercept Husayn and his party before they can reach the city of Kufa, where a brewing rebellion awaits his arrival.

For ten days the Syrian forces have besieged Husayn at Karbala. At first, they tried to storm the camp in a stampede of cavalry. But having anticipated the assault, Husayn had pitched his tents near a chain of hills, protecting his rear. He then dug a semicircular trench around three sides of his camp, filled the trench with wood, and ignited it. Gathering his men in the center of this crescent of fire, Husayn ordered them to kneel in a tight formation with their lances pointing out, so that when the enemy horses neared, they would be forced by the flames to squeeze into the entrance of the trap.

This simple strategy allowed Husayn’s tiny force to repel the thirty thousand soldiers of the Caliph for six long days. But on the seventh day, the Syrian army changed tactics. Rather than trying to storm the camp again, they shifted their lines to blockade the banks of the Euphrates, cutting off Husayn’s supply of water.

Now the time for fighting is over. Sitting high atop their armored horses, the Caliph’s soldiers make no move toward Husayn. Their swords are sheathed, their bows slung over their shoulders.

It has been three days since the canals stopped flowing into Husayn’s camp; those few who haven’t already lost their lives in battle are now slowly, painfully dying of thirst. The ground is littered with bodies, including those of Husayn’s eighteen-year-old son, Ali Akbar, and his fourteen-year-old nephew, Qasim—the son of his elder brother, Hasan. Of the seventy-two companions who were to march with Husayn from Medina to Kufa in order to raise an army against Yazid, only the women and a few children remain, along with one other man: Husayn’s sole surviving son, Ali, though he lies near death inside the women’s tent. All the others are buried where they fell, their bodies wrapped in shrouds, their heads pointing toward Mecca. The wind stirs their shallow graves, carrying the stench of rot across the flat plain.

Alone, exhausted, and seriously wounded, Husayn collapses at the entrance to his tent: An arrowhead is lodged deep in his arm, his cheek pierced by a dart. He is parched and dizzy from loss of blood. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he lowers his head and tries to ignore the wails of the women in the adjoining tent: they

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