(Original Urdu marsiya by [tbd]; translation by Syeda Raza)

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The caravan from Karbala is on its way home

With those few left in the Prophet’s household

The orphans of the Prince who in Karbala sleeps

The exploited, the oppressed, the prisoners come home

 

The city of Medina is filled with followers of Ali

Assembled by the Prophet’s tomb, waiting to receive

 

Ever since she heard of the arrival of the Imam

Excited, ecstatic, Soghra couldn’t calm down

In thanks to God, she sometimes bowed her head

“I’m saved, I’ll live” she sometimes cried out

 

“The Prince returns to His home, what a wonderful day

Lets hurry to receive Him, come hurry, I pray”

 

Hearing this Ummul Baneen happily rose

And both of them headed to the Prophet’s tomb

“Here they come, here they come” the people cried

“We see the Imam’s banner, they will be here soon”

 

“With the banner of Bani Hashim, Ali’s son arrives

Abbas holds the standard high up in the sky”

 

But then from among the crowd, someone cried out

“Oh people, things do not seem right, calm down

I see no joyous faces, they come beating their chests

From their looks it is certain Shabbeer hasn’t come home”

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“They walk slowly in procession, desolate and in despair

Their heads are bowed, as though hiding their tears”

 

When Ummul Baneen heard this, in panic she rose

Lifting her hands to the heavens she prayed to God

“Have mercy” she prayed and peered into the crowd

In the approaching caravan, she saw Abbas’ horse

 

She couldn’t approach the horse, the crowd was so dense

A water-carrier and the banner was tied to its reins

 

Walking ahead of the horse, Basheer tearfully proclaimed

“Medina is ruined my friends, we’ve lost the Prince

The Son of Zahra was beheaded with His kith and kin

Innocent of any fault, yet brutally slain”

 

“Here’s the mantel of the Prince whose body lay on the ground

The cloak of the Imam, buried without a shroud”

 

At this news, an uproar rose from the crowd

In grief people beat at their chests and cried

They clung to the horse carrying the Imam’s Son

And in palanquins the ladies sobbed at the sight

 

When this procession reached the Prophet’s tomb

The air shook with the cries, the weeping, the moans

 

The Young Prince slowly dismounted from His mount

Leaning on a stick for support, He looked around

Then proceeded slowly to the Prophet’s grave

And the ladies alighted, as the crowd looked in shock

 

“We return Oh Prophet, after much pain” they wept

“Our home is ruined, Your dear Husayn is dead”

 

Thus they walked to where the Prophet lay

In distress Abid collapsed by the Prophet’s grave

Raising His hands to the heavens, He cried out in grief

“Oh Holy Father, we return without Your Husayn”

 

“I come today as an orphan, a fatherless soul

My Father sleeps in the desert, which is now His home”

 

“Your followers wreaked havoc on us my Lord

They slaughtered your kin, Your household destroyed

Your beloved Son’s head they raised on a spear

We had to bury Your Grandson without a shroud”

 

“They burned down Your home, they imprisoned us all

They tied us in chains, and dragged us along”

 

Then Zaynab approached the Prophet’s tomb

In one hand she held her Brother’s cloak

In the other, His blood-soaked mantle she clutched

Untimely aged by her grief, Zaynab sobbed

 

“Oh Grandfather, Yazid destroyed us” she cried

“Console me, I’ve lost my Brother, my pride”

 

“Leaving Husayn behind, we return to our homes

Ali’s son sleeps in Karbala, far away from Your tomb

The desert now is the home of Fatimah’s child

The one You loved dearly, like Your very own”

 

“Your Grandson received a strange burial indeed

In two different places, His body and head buried”

 

“After Husayn, I was dragged through cities and towns

Presented before Yazid, in ropes I was bound

I spent many months in captivation in a dark cell

That I survived this ordeal, is a surprise my Lord”

 

“My arms are still swollen, the bruises still fresh

You can still see on my arms the marks of the ropes”

 

Zaynab then laid her Brother’s cloak on the grave

The Prophet’s soul turned restless, gloom darkened the day

The Prophet’s tomb shuddered at Zaynab’s words

At her recitation, the heavens and earth quaked

 

The sound of the Prophet’s cries filled the air

People beat at their chests, overwhelmed by despair

 

At that moment, an uproar went through the crowd

The throng gave way, as Fatimah Soghra approached

Bewildered, in shock, stunned, utterly distressed

Overwhelmed by the news, her eyes searched the crowd

 

“Who killed the Prince? Who brings this news?” she cried

“Pray tell me oh people, how did the Imam die?”

 

When the widows heard Soghra’s cries of distress

A newer grief overtook them, they beat their chests

Cries of “Oh Imam” arose from the crowd

Amidst the widows, Soghra collapsed by the grave

 

“I see ruin in your faces, speak to me” she cried

What did you do with my Father?  What happened my dad”

 

“Why didn’t Hyder’s son return with you?

Where is the Noble Prince?  Why didn’t He come with you?

Our Master, our Lord, what happened to Him?

Where is the leader of your caravan? Give me His news”

 

“What place has He chosen as His new home?

Where is that blessed place?  Where is my Father’s tomb?”

 

“I don’t see Ali Akber, what happened to him?

Where is Ali Asgher, I don’t see him in this din

Where are Aon and Mohammed, my dear aunt’s sons?

Where is Qasim?  Where is Abbas? Help me find them”

 

“I am close to death, I cannot bear this sight

Where is my sister Sukayna, is she alright?”

 

No longer able to bear the pain in Soghra’s cries

Banu hugged Soghra and cried out “Dear child

Your Father is dead, Zahra’s home is destroyed

Every male, with the exception of Abid was killed”

 

“A catastrophe we suffered, unspeakable is our pain

Neither sons, nor husbands, nor brothers remain”

 

“An arrow ripped Akber’s chest, he is dead my dear

Asgher’s throat was severed by Hurmula’s spear

The Prince was beheaded on burning sands

In a single afternoon, we lost all our near and dear”

 

“As prisoners, we were paraded through the streets of Shaam

Sukayna died in prison, she couldn’t come home alas”

 

 

 

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