(Original Urdu Marsiya by Mir Anees; translation by Syeda Raza)

​

​

No greater wealth than your children in this world

No greater peace than their peace in this world

Just as no better flavor than a freshly picked fruit

Or the fragrance of a rose with dew in its swirls

 

Soothing your troubled heart, they make you whole

They are your comfort, they calm your troubled soul

 

Ask a master of the loss of a household destroyed

Ask the members of the household who can only cry

Ask a parent of the ruin the death of a child brings

Ask Husayn of Akber’s parting, the answer is in his sighs

 

May a parent never so suffer, nor a child thus part

In the tears of a mourning parent, is the blood of a bleeding heart

 

When the dastardly arrows pierced Akber’s heart

His breathing became labored and almost stopped

He thought of Husayn, as he fell from his horse

And he cried out “Oh father from you now I part”

 

“Pray come to this wounded soldier, so alone, so bruised

Come help your Ali Abkar, whom you’re about to lose”

 

Hearing His son’s cries, Husayn’s heart sank, He ran

His legs gave way, He dropped often to the sand

With every breath He felt He could breathe no more

“Oh Asadullah” He cried, clutched His heart in pain

 

With shock His face ashen, the desert dust in His hair

Trembling He rose again, blinded with pain, He stared

 

He shouted “Oh Ali Akber, which way do I come?

Do I search in the sand dunes under the blazing sun?

My heart palpitates, do I ask for the enemy’s help?

I will come to you, I’ll find you, to me you cannot come”

 

“Your loss has robbed your parents of every wish to live

Me you were supposed to bury, the job to me you give”

 

“Akber, call out my name, ask me once more to come

Call your desolate father, call me, my precious son

Call for your isolated, your heart broken father now

Call your anxious father so that I may come”

 

“Whatever God wills must happen, let it be, let it be

So I must be beheaded, so what, let it be”

 

Stumbling and falling, Husayn found His injured son

Lodged in Akber’s heart was an arrow, damage done

He felt as though the arrow had pierced His own heart

He held His head, clutched His chest, Oh Akber, so young

 

He heard Akber’s labored breath, his toil to hide the pain

The son dying before his eyes, the Father watched in vain

 

Lips dry, ashen faced, hair matted with dust

In his eyes a distant look, his body bruised and cut

Shoulders and neck wounded with arrows and swords

Blood smeared on his face, on his cheeks tears of hurt

 

His lips whispering, “My master hasn’t come yet

My father isn’t here and I’m so close to my death”

 

“Oh listen my fluttering heart, beat until he gets here

Stay Oh parting life, the Lord of Gin and Men is near

Linger Oh departing soul, the Imam must come

Await Him Oh Death, do you hear?”

 

“It is my wish to see Him once and then I may die

In His laps, in His arms, once more I wish to lie”

 

“I am here Ali Akber,” said Husayn, “I have come”

“Get up my beloved, my dearest, my lovely son

You’re waiting for me, your eyes searching the battlefield

Your forlorn father is hear, your wait for me is done”

 

“Say something Akber, open your eyes, look at me

I’ll hold you in my arms, my miserable face can you see?”

 

“You moan in pain Akber, in your neck an arrow is stuck

Does it hurt to move? Should I let your rest on the dust?

My world has come crashing down on me today

I’ve raised you in my lap, do I watch you die thus?”

 

“Your liver comes gushing out of your wounded chest

Through the open wounds I see your broken ribs no less”

 

“Oh Ali Akber, Ali Akber, say something, talk to me

Open your eyes Ali Akber, so my face you can see

If you’re leaving, say goodbye, do not so quietly go

You must die and I live Oh Akber, how can it be?”

 

“Even tired grooms do not sleep soundly as you do

I weep for you in pain, and yet you do not move”

 

In his unconscious state Akber heard Husayn’s cries

The obedient son opened his arms, midst his sighs

Husayn held Ali Akber to His chest and wept in pain

Showed the thirsty son, His own tongue, parched and dry

 

And said “Oh dearest Akber, not a drop I could find

I couldn’t get any water, Oh dearest son of mine”

 

Tears flowed from Akber’s bloodied eyes

He looked at Husayn heard his father’s cries

And whispered “Mother Zahra has come for me”

He took his last breath, shuddered and sighed

 

Eyes open toward Husayn, Ali Akber passed away

Resting in his father’s arms, nothing more did he say

 

Historians say that the moment Akber died

Zaynab left the camp, “Oh my Ali Akber” she cried

Her chaddar now forgotten, so intense was her grief

The ladies followed her, wailing, teary-eyed

 

The desert air echoed with their grief-stricken cries

“Oh Ali Akber Ali Akber” the ladies in unison cried

 

“Take me to Akber, show me where he lies

Have mercy on me, guide me, hear my painful cries

My Brother sits alone with His wounded, youthful son

Behind a cloud hides my moon, show me” Zaynab cried

 

“In grief I am now blinded, where must I go?

I’m searching for my son, look at my tears flow”

 

Hearing Zaynab’s cries Husayn ran to her side

Covering her with His cloak, her face He tried to hide

And said “My Zaynab, why did you leave the camp?

Oh daughter of Ali, dead is my joy and pride”

 

“Bruised with spears, he lies on the desert floor

What do you wish to see Oh Sister? Akber is no more”

 

 

X -------------- X -------------- X

​

​