karbala calling

This is Karbala, the same Karbala where some fourteen hundred years ago Hussein fought the last battle of Islam against Yazid. Yazid, hated by Shias and Sunnis alike. It’s the same Karbala where seventy-two companions of Hussein laid their lives down for an ideology, a faith that the last messenger of Allah gave to humanity. It’s the same Karbala where Ali’s son Hussein fought valiantly. He was the last man standing, facing Yazid’s army. He had lost his sons, his nephews, his half brother and friends in the battle. Now it was his turn. He knew he was going to die… they were not going to spare his life; and for what? His friends were gone. The male members of his family were gone. There was no turning back.

His sword in his hands the lion charged , ran straight into the lines of the enemy;
you killed my six months old Asghar?
you killed my Akbar- my eighteen years old Akbar? You did’t see how much he resembled his grandfather, the messenger of Allah? you killed him. And my brother too? A brother like Abbas! He was just getting some water for his niece and you cut both his shoulders? You killed him? Here take this, and this, and this one is for my nephews. You think you will get away with your injustice, your blood thirsty impure hearts? Here, I will show you … you cannot. You killed my brother Hasan’s son and I let you go? NO. (MAQTAL)

And now it’s the same Karbala where Sunnis and Shias are killing each other, not realizing that Yazid is still alive. Right there in the heart of their world he is alive and breathing fire.

You think Al Sadr and Maliki are good people? They might have been so if they had not created a wider and deeper schism between Shias and Sunnis. If they are trying to resolve existing problems then they have selected a bad mode. If they are settling some old feud, even then it is bad timing. Divided they will never get what they want. Divided they are weak and easily trampled upon. And once fallen, it is hard to gain strength and stand up on your own feet.

I see death and destruction where once, long ago, there were rows of nice and clean houses, pink houses with green awnings and heavy iron gates. Rosy cheeked little children playing in front of the houses. Old men sitting in the souq, talking and discussing world politics or playing chessboard games, drinking Qahwa and exuding peace and tranquility. Young couples walking the blooming gardens, and lush green fields growing the sweetest corn. … rows of date palm trees bearing fruit in abundance. Now there is carnage and rot and no one to take care of this wounded country.

Karbala, where once a battle between ‘haq’ and ‘batil’- right and wrong was fought is quietly watching and listening and waiting. “Hal-min Nasir…” is there any one who would help?

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