Namak-e-Khwan-e-Takallum Hai, Fasahat Meri

Stanza 1

My eloquence is the salt of the feast of speech;
Tongues fall silent as they hear my rhetoric again and again;
Colours fade before it, so vivid is my writing;
My nature is that river whose roar is everywhere.
My life has passed in roaming this very wilderness;
This is the fifth generation in the praise of Shabbir.

Stanza 2

If I give a single drop expanse, I would make it an ocean;
I would raise a tempest in the surging sea of eloquence;
I would make the moon a sun, and turn specks of dust into stars;
The mute I would make a master of the art of speech.
Colourless wailing gives a headache; let them not lament without art:
Let the nightingales learn the lesson of the garden from me.

Stanza 3

What eulogists there are among the elders of this singer of praise!
No eulogist could be loftier than the great forefather;
The eulogist's father is a eulogist, his grandfather a eulogist;
The honoured uncle, a peerless eulogist among the singers of praise.
Whoever was born by the grace of God was born virtuous;
The name kept growing as one came after another.

Stanza 4

The nature of each is measured, each graceful stature well-proportioned;
Like the cypress, they have been well-formed from head to foot since eternity.
Their prose is never without rhyme, their exalted verse is in perfect metre;
Nowhere can a faltering pause enter, let alone a line out of metre.
Let whoever is discerning weigh it in the scales of reason:
every word that leaves their lips is weighed and measured.

Stanza 5

When was there anyone else in the world as sweet of speech as Khaleeq?
Let one take his name only when the tongue has been washed with Kausar and Tasneem.
The nightingale of the garden of Zahra and Ali, a lover of the Lord,
for which he became the one whom all followed in the writing of elegy.
If there is brilliance in a mind, that brilliance is a sense of measure;
whoever is outside this circle is an outsider.

Stanza 6

My brothers, fine in thought, sweet in tone and pure in character,
whose breasts are filled to overflowing with the pearls of knowledge:
such eloquence, such rhetoric, such fluency, such mastery!
If one does not call it a miracle, then it is lawful magic.
Whichever of them you see, in his own place he is matchless;
this is the favour of the Master, it is the mercy of God.

Stanza 7

Why should it not be so? I am the hereditary servant of the Master.
I am a drop from the ocean of the mercy of the Worshipped One.
I am that sea in which there are countless pearls and corals.
I am one who sings the praise of the son of the revered Zahra.
Should I describe my gift, or the qualities of my being?
Why should I not myself take pride in my own rank?

Stanza 8

I am a beginner; grant me honour, O Lord.
Grant me the longing to sing the praise of Shabbir, O Lord.
Grant me such speech that stone turns to wax, O Lord.
Grant my verse the power to move to tears, O Lord.
Let me follow no one but my grandfather and my forefathers;
Let no word be obscure, none tangled, and let there be no convoluted phrasing.

Stanza 9

Let it be such an album that if people of discernment look at it,
On every page they see shadow in one place and light in another.
Let the cry go up: "This is the stroke of a brush made from a houri's tress!"
From every colour let the craft of the Maker be clearly manifest.
Any beholder who grasps these rare examples
Would take the paintings of the Arzhang for hollow lines.

Stanza 10

If with the pen of thought I draw the colours of some gathering,
Moths would come flocking to fall upon the painted candle;
Mani would be plainly struck with wonder, and Behzad astounded;
If I show the battle line, blood would be seen raining down.
Let the battle be such that every heart leaps at once,
And the lightning of the swords flashes in their eyes at once.

Stanza 11

Let it be the everyday idiom of the well-born, with the same fluency;
Let the whole speech and tone be theirs, with the same gravity;
Let the artistry be such as the listeners grasp quickly,
That is, wherever the occasion calls for something, let the wording be just that.
Let the words be taut and the theme lofty too;
Let the marsiya never be empty of words of sorrow.

Stanza 12

Crookedness is a flaw, yet it is beauty in an eyebrow;
Darkness is bad, yet it is good in tresses;
Collyrium becomes only the bewitching narcissus eye;
A black mole is an adornment for a rose-like face.
He knows this who has eloquence in his speech:
Every word has its occasion, and every subtle point its place.

Stanza 13

The colour of the feast is one thing, the field of battle is another,
This garden is one thing, the garden of wounds is another;
If understanding is complete, every letter has its own heading;
The means of reciting briefly and moving to tears is something else again.
Let there be grandeur, let there be sufferings, let there be praise as well;
Let hearts be delighted too, let there be tender weeping, and acclaim as well.

Stanza 14

I tell the story of the morning of martyrdom,
I tell of grief and sorrow and affliction,
I tell of the worship of those parched with thirst,
I tell of the obedience of those who gave their lives,
Each companion such that none could equal them;
There will never be such servants again, nor such a master.

Stanza 15

When the true dawn appeared upon the sky,
The birds began to sing in remembrance of God;
Like the sun, the Master came forth from the tent;
All at once light spread on every side across the desert.
In all six directions the Truth was made manifest by the Master's face;
What is there to say of the dawn? The face of the moon turned pale.

Stanza 16

Those cool, cool breezes, that wilderness, that dawn!
Moment by moment the trees swayed as if in ecstasy.
The dew had scattered pearls upon the emerald carpet.
The eye was enraptured by the swaying greenery.
Whenever the morning breeze came swaying from the plain,
The sound of buds bursting open came clearly.

Stanza 17

Those songs of the nightingales, that fragrance of the roses;
Those curling tresses of the hyacinth ensnared the heart.
On the box trees the turtledoves cried, "Ya Hu, Ya Hu!"
On the cypress the dove's call was this: "Ku, ku, ku!"
It was the hour of glorification; they professed their love,
And all were offering praise and glory to the One they worshipped.

Stanza 18

The Imam of both worlds came to the prayer-mat of devotion.
On that side the drum was beaten; here the call to prayer rose in the camp.
Such worshippers, whose speech was Hadith and Quran;
Such men of prayer, who were the soul of the pure body of faith;
Such ascetics that they stood distinguished among the righteous;
Such devout worshippers that they bowed in prostration amid swords.

Stanza 19

Their prayers would shake the Supreme Throne;
The angels were moved to ecstasy on hearing their voices.
Those turbans of theirs, those tunics, those cloaks!
The houris, with a hundred longings, took their troubles upon themselves.
As their lips kept moving in remembrance of the Creator,
The buds of Paradise kept blossoming for joy.

Stanza 20

What youths of fine manners they were, glory be to Allah!
What loyal companions they were, glory be to Allah!
Rank-breakers, champions and valiant fighters they were, glory be to Allah!
Ascetic, devout and righteous they were, glory be to Allah!
They were parted from wives and children, they left their homes,
But they did not let go of the hem of Ahmad's grandson.

Stanza 21

Allah, Allah! What a wondrous army, what wondrous warriors they were!
Wondrous, peerless horsemen they were, and wondrous their Arab steeds!
They were worthy of praise and deserving of exaltation;
Though they were very few, they were ready to lay down their lives.
Such was their thirst that their lives kept rising to their lips,
Such was their patience that they did not pass their tongues over their lips.

Stanza 22

One was the equal of the revered Salman in self-denial,
One an Abuzar in the wealth of poverty and contentment,
One the peer of Ammar in truthfulness of speech,
One the Hamza of his age, one a Malik al-Ashtar.
Those who are devoted to Muhammad will be just such as these;
There will never again be such fighting in God's way, nor will such men be born.

Stanza 23

Though they remained in affliction, in turmoil, in ruin,
Their heads were cut off, but their feet stayed on the path of God.
So honoured did they all stand in the royal army
As a two-edged sword stands in a soldier's hand.
No one ever found them complaining in this affliction;
The Cupbearer of Kausar granted them honour.

Stanza 24

That humility, that entreaty, that standing and that sitting,
That lowliness, those prayers, that bowing and that prostration,
The remembrance of God in their hearts, and blessings on their parched lips,
And this prayer to the Almighty Creator: "O loving Lord,
Let us be plundered so that neither kin nor children remain,
But may the house of Ahmad's grandson still flourish."

Stanza 25

Such pathos and tenderness in their voices that steel would turn to wax;
In their prostrations, a wondrous intimate communion with the One they worshipped;
Their heads were on the prayer-mats, their prayer at the exalted Throne;
Lion-hearted, the chosen of the age, peerless and distinguished;
Their faces so radiant that the moon would be put to shame;
Never again was there such an Imam, nor such worshippers.

Stanza 26

When those of noble conduct had fulfilled the obligatory prayer,
They girded their waists and with the utmost eagerness put on their weapons;
The King, dignified as the Throne, appeared in splendour upon his horse;
Abbas at once unfurled the standard of the army;
The fragrance of highest Paradise began to come into the desert;
The breeze of its pennant began to reach the Throne.

Stanza 27

That rippling of the green pennant, that gleam of its hand-emblem,
For shame the sun of the sky would hide in the clouds;
Rising again and again in the heavens, the angels cried, "Blessings be!"
All were astonished at that scene; the spectacle reached up to the sky;
Call it lowliness, whatever height the huma had seen;
Never again did earth and heaven see such a scene.

Stanza 28

When the standard of Zahra's beloved advances like this,
who then could stand firm on the field of battle?
Why should a serpent not writhe across the enemy's breast
at the standard whose pennant, rippling, rises to the heavens?
To drive away evil had come the standard of the best of mankind;
it had come as the Sura of Help (an-Nasr), for conquest and triumph.

Stanza 29

That standard-bearer who was the son of the Lion of God,
pearl of the sea of loyalty, luminary of the faith, pearl of Najaf;
the pride of Hamza, in whom the honour of Jafar was manifest.
How can I call him the moon? The moon bears the flaw of its dark spots.
Who ever attained the rank and grandeur that was his?
He was made for the standard, and the standard for him.

Stanza 30

The cypress would be put to shame, such was his height, such his stature;
he was the image of the Lion of God, such was his face;
lions trembled at his war-cries, such was his might;
he reached the river and did not drink the water, such was his resolve.
As long as there was life in him, he remained obedient to his brother;
he was the standard-bearer, yet he carried water for the children.

Stanza 31

That water-bearer did what is called loyalty;
we call him the lover of the King of the martyrs.
If that one is called the qibla, this one is called the guide to the qibla;
the brave call him the sword of God.
It is the tale of the love between the chief and the standard-bearer:
if he is the lamp on the path of faith, this one is the moth.

Stanza 32

On one side, a rare youth like moon-faced Akbar,
partly still in childhood, partly at the coming of the days of youth;
such radiance on his face that the moon would be ashamed,
such eyes that the dark-eyed narcissus stayed abashed.
Whoever saw the light of his face amid those locks
saw the Beloved of God on the night of the Ascension.

Stanza 33

How wonderful the beauty of the face of the Yusuf of Hasan's Kanaan,
the comfort of the soul of Husain, son of Ali, the life of Hasan;
Ali's strength in his body, Hasan's generosity in his nature,
his whole being Hasan's character, Hasan's beauty, Hasan's grandeur.
So delicate was he that his garment weighed heavy on his body;
how fine that lovely garment looked on him in his childhood!

Stanza 34

Allah, Allah! The majesty of the grandsons of the Lion of God!
On their moon-like faces curled the locks of their hair;
short swords rested on their shoulders, like the crescent moon.
Though they were children, they took Rustam for no more than Zaal.
When they spurred their horses out from the ranks and wheeled back,
the positions of the army of the unbelievers gave way.

Stanza 35

Their sleeves rolled up, ready for battle,
in every feature the very image of the Lion of God, the very bearing;
their faces were flushed red, for such is the colour of lions;
the fervour to overturn the ranks, the eagerness for battle.
Let arrows strike their bodies, let the bloodthirsty spear strike:
their one longing was that the sword should soon be wielded.

Stanza 36

All at once the drum was beaten in the army; the clouds thundered;
the mountains trembled, the earth shook, the wilderness echoed;
the bosses of the shields began to gleam, and the blades of the swords;
those who were to die began to see the face of death.
The heralds over there began to raise the spirits of their army;
in the army of Islam the cry rang out: "Ya Haidar!"

Stanza 37

Among the men of the field the shout went up: "Come out, you brave ones!
Ply your lances, wheel your steeds, come out!
The river is in our hands; now surround the thirsty, come out!
Warriors, advance from the ranks! Lions, come out from the throng!
Rustams, prove your worth in battle, for this is the day to prove it;
We face the children of Haidar-e-Karrar!"

Stanza 38

Among the Sayyids the cry was: "O King of men, help us!
Kaaba of the faith, help us! Qibla of belief, help us!
Strength of the arm of the glorious Prophet, help us!
This is the moment for support; O pride of Sulaiman, help us!
It is the third day of hunger, and our strength is failing, Maula!
We ask for the strength to stand firm, Maula!

Stanza 39

In our thirst may we bring no word of complaint to our tongues;
In our hunger may we take spearheads upon our chests again and again;
May our hearts not writhe if at the moment of death we find no water;
May we stand by your son, and die;
May our bodies lie on the field of slaughter beside the body of the grieving King,
And our heads be on spears beside the head of the revered Shabbir."

Stanza 40

Suddenly the ranks of the unbelievers advanced and came face to face,
As a dark cloud comes swaying over the stars all at once;
A pitch-dark night came to hide the bright day,
A shower of arrows came toward the thirsty ones.
Smiling, the King of the martyrs looked at his brother's face;
The companions looked with longing at their master.

Stanza 41

Abbas submitted, "The valiant warriors are burning with zeal;
All of them are taking arrows, holding their swords poised.
The tyrants have no regard for their guests;
If it seems fitting, grant leave to your devoted ones
To wipe out the black-faced ones, for they keep advancing;
Because we are silent, they come charging right up to our faces."

Stanza 42

This tumult went on from morning until the hour of noon;
Body fell upon body, and the field of slaughter was filled.
The sons of the Lion of God departed from the world with honour;
All the entrenchments were overturned, all the ranks trampled.
Seldom in any war are such battles fought, with so many slain;
Whoever fought, all thought that it was Ali fighting.

Stanza 43

Allah, how Qasim, Akbar and Abbas fought in God's way!
At every blow the cry went up: "Now the world is ruined!"
In one place there was an outcry for mercy, in another a wailing for help.
Before the world they gave valour in war its full due.
Though they are no longer in this world, the Throne of heaven is their abode;
to this day their name lives on in the created world.

Stanza 44

By midday the wind of autumn had plundered that garden;
leaf after leaf was laid waste, and plant after plant.
Father was parted from son, and brother from brother;
the back of the son of Zahra was bowed, his arm was broken.
Then there were no more helpers, no more of those who staked their lives, no more of those devoted ones;
at the hour of the noon prayer Husain, son of Ali, was alone.

Stanza 45

All the brave ones who had come with him from their homeland
lay sleeping before him on the sand, struck by spearheads,
withered with thirst in the sun like fresh flowers.
They died, yet the poor forsaken ones were not given even a shroud.
The sun beat down; this was the day the heavens had shown;
there was no sheet over any body, nor any shade.

Stanza 46

A strange grief and sorrow had come over the master of the army;
his face was pale, and his eyes were red from weeping blood.
At one moment it was grief for his brother, at another the thought of his son;
at another, the dread that the bodies might somewhere be trampled.
At times he moved forward to battle, at times he stopped short;
at times he stood upright, and at times he bent low.

Stanza 47

The heartless ones came forward and shouted, "Now you come out,
and show us the brilliance of the sword of the Emperor of Najaf.
Those who are struck by spear-points are doomed; they do not live.
Once we cut your head from your body, we will be free.
We have a promise from the son of Saad of a reward,
and the order is to burn down the most sacred tent."

Stanza 48

The King said, "I myself accept martyrdom;
I have no lust for fighting, and no pride in valour.
I did not wish to wage war on them, but now I am compelled.
Very well, go and fight, for they torment us though we have no crime or fault.
The army of hellfire has come to slaughter;
may my turn to give my head come soon."

Stanza 49

No sooner had the order come than the lions set their Arab steeds racing;
Like a royal falcon went one warrior after another.
What fighting, what blows, what valour unto death!
Whatever hand reached out to strike was sent flying.
Heads and bodies were seen rolling on the battlefield;
In a single charge the army's feet were rooted to the spot.

Stanza 50

Whomever they rushed at in anger, a falcon had fallen on its prey;
Here a bow fell, cut through; there an archer fell.
When one fell from his horse to the dust, it was a man of distinction who fell;
Whoever fell among the sowers of discord never rose again.
Hands and faces were cut, heads flew off, lives gave out;
The positions were trampled, the ranks were broken.

Stanza 51

After those who were not kin, the kinsmen resolved on battle;
Bowing his head, the grandson of the Prophet (s) heaved a cold sigh.
Now a pang rose in his breast, now pain in his heart;
His moonlike face turned now red, now pale.
One was rose-faced, another tall as a straight cypress;
Those he had raised in his lap were now parting from him.

Stanza 52

One was a youth of flowing locks, another a child of many prayers,
one a brother's son, another raised by a sister;
if one had a face like the moon, his tresses were its halo;
one was very small in stature, another tall in height.
Which of those young men was not fair of face and graceful in bearing?
How many there were on whose cheeks the first down had not yet begun!

Stanza 53

Those children's hands, and those little swords,
whose edges would turn steel to wax!
The lion they challenge finds his courage turn to water;
lightning is flashing: whom will they strike with the spear?
With what cheerfulness these brave ones advance upon thousands!
Is it children who come, or enraged lions?

Stanza 54

The King said, "Cut off my head; I am here before you.
I am not unable to fight, nor unable to die.
I have no army left now; I am without helper or supporter.
The city and the desert are yours; I am a traveller.
Plunder, burn, lay waste: so be it.
O you who recite the creed! This is the house of your own Prophet.

Stanza 55

Several ladies of the Sayyid house are in the tent, ladies who keep seclusion,
whose rank in the world is high above everyone.
Now they have no heir over their heads, and no guardian.
Give them, if any tent remains empty,
one in which these daughters of the Prophet would not be left unveiled,
a corner where they may all sit together and weep.

Stanza 56

The answer the enemies gave on hearing these words,
if I were to write it, would turn the heart of a stone to water.
His heart trembled; no strength at all remained to hold back.
The King of heavenly majesty could only gaze up at the sky.
Tears empty the heart that is filled to overflowing;
he came to the door of the tent to weep.

Stanza 57

Pausing, he called out, "O Zainab (a) and Umm Kulsoom,
the wronged Husain has come once more to take leave of you.
This whole ill-omened army has come, bent on killing me.
Yes, wake her if the innocent Sakina has fainted.
One who passes from the world is never found again;
tell Abid that his father is going to his death."

Stanza 58

Hearing this call, the women of the household ran from the tent in distress;
At the King's voice they all ran, helpless and powerless;
Their veils fell from their heads, and they ran bareheaded;
The children ran weeping alongside their mothers.
Weeping, Sakina cried out, "Noble King, come!
I have been looking for you for so long; Father, come!"

Stanza 59

"Come, my dear father, may I be sacrificed for you;
See, without you my tears flow down to my throat;
What is this today, that you have forgotten your tenderness towards me?
Spread out your arms and say, 'Come, my darling daughter!'
Why do you hide your face? Do not be ashamed;
Now I will not even ask for water; just come to me."

Stanza 60

Watching from behind the curtain, the grieving Zainab (a) said,
"Son of Zahra, may I be sacrificed for your suffering and your forlorn state;
Come, let me wipe the dust from your face with my shawl."
The King said, "Sister, all my companions and friends have died;
The one you raised, we have come back from weeping over him;
We have lost one as dear to us as our own heart, Ali Akbar (a)."

Stanza 61

To whom can I show my face? I am ashamed before everyone, Zainab.
Your brother has no time to come into the house, Zainab;
it is Sakina's love that has drawn me here, Zainab.
Your brother is going; let me see her face, Zainab.
Do not uncover your head, do not beat your face, do not cry out;
forget me, and now remember Allah.

Stanza 62

God is pleased with patience, my sister who shares my grief;
whatever is hard becomes easy, sister.
It is our mother's way that you must follow, sister.
Again I tell you, take care of Sakina, sister.
She was raised with tenderness; after me, let no sorrow fall on her.
Take the earrings from her ears, so that no cruelty is done to her.

Stanza 63

After my greetings, give Abid this message of mine:
"You were unconscious; the Imam came as far as the door and turned back.
When you are caught in captivity, do not lose heart, you whose body is like a flower;
pass through the journey to Kufa and Syria with patience and submission.
The boat is in midstream; reckon with the roar of the surging waves!
The boatman is going; now the household is in your hands!"

Stanza 64

Saying this, he turned the reins toward the army of Syria;
a cry of grief arose in the tent of the Prophet's women.
When the Imam came into the battlefield, making his horse fly,
the army's hearts shook with awe, and their limbs trembled.
Those who were masters of the art of language bowed their heads;
the eloquent lost their senses at his recital of the battle-verses.

Stanza 65

This was his cry: "I am the grandson of Muhammad;
know me! For I am one who knows the Creator.
I am not afraid of being wounded, nor of dying;
this is the third day in the heat that I have been thirsty.
What is ease, and what is it they call rest?
Yet I make no complaint of it; this is what they call patience.

Stanza 66

I am the beloved of him who is the cupbearer of the pool of Kausar;
I am the son of him who is the conqueror of the gate of Khaibar;
I am the son of him who won the campaign of Badr;
I am the darling of him to whom the Prophet gave his daughter.
He became master of the throne; he received the sword, he received the crown;
on the shoulder of Ahmad he attained the rank of the Ascension.

Stanza 67

I am far from my homeland; for Allah's sake, do not torment a traveller.
Why do you kill me? What sin is mine?
Now I have no helper with me, no army and no troops.
It is your duty to look with mercy upon the helpless.
You will gain no reward, nor will you find gold.
Remember this! Once you have cut off my head, you will regret it."

Stanza 68

This unbroken speech had not yet ended
when arrows began to fly at the son of the Proof of Allah.
Kissing the hilt of his sword, Shabbir called out:
"Beware! The sword of Ali is flashing!
The son of the conqueror of Siffin and Hunain is coming;
form your ranks and stop him if you can: Husain is coming!"

Stanza 69

Now the two-pointed sword was drawn; calamity fell upon the army.
Now the pillar of the Throne shook; Doomsday had come.
Victory came to salute him, and Triumph to pay its respects;
Majesty came proudly to carry his saddle-cloth.
"Let me kiss his feet," said Glory, as it came in this eager rush;
and Fortune came in his train with folded hands.

Stanza 70

When he sat upright, the steed changed its temper,
Both its eyes bulged out, so that the authors of evil took fright;
Its muzzle pressed against its chest, it made its tail a fly-whisk,
Like a peacock it flew, now this way, now that way.
Moment by moment the breeze of dawn circled around it;
It moved swaying, as though a fairy were moving.

Stanza 71

A cloud of shields arose, and the two-edged sword flashed;
Lightning hides itself, but this, once it flashed, flashed without pause.
Now it streaked downward, now it flashed overhead,
Now within the throng, now outside it it flashed.
Wherever that serpent went, it was seen to strike;
A rain of heads was seen pouring down in the enemy's ranks.

Stanza 72

Its edge was such, as when a stream flows on,
Its curve was such a curve, like the bank of a river;
Its gleam was such, like the glance of the beautiful,
Its light was such, as when a star breaks and falls.
The flashing of lightning was seen in the sword's radiance;
Such keenness and curve were never seen in the new moon.

Stanza 73

At a single sign, one man lay cut evenly in two, another in four;
no foot soldier escaped unharmed, and no horseman.
Was it lightning falling, or the sword sweeping across the ranks?
The marks of "God's wrath upon them" were plain to see.
Death went on laying waste to every band,
and fire, encircling them, carried them off into Hell.

Stanza 74

Swords were notched like saws, shields flew into fragments,
the spearmen in their fear forgot all their guards,
whatever hands reached forward were cut off on the spot.
The sword said, "All of these are well known to me;
in vain have they formed rank upon rank and poised their spears,
my fingernail has untied many such knots.

Stanza 75

"Whenever I review the army of tyranny,
I make Death swear to show no mercy;
with my two tongues I always do the work of the pen;
only when the faces of the army are all cut down do I take breath.
Wherever I pass, they become travellers to oblivion;
ranks are cut apart, and faces are laid out as offerings."

Stanza 76

That cutting stroke, that gleam of it, that polish of it,
No sword ever attained its sharpness;
It sent flying the arm of one, the wrist of another;
Whoever's throat it met, his death had come.
Like death, no one ever saw it coming;
It flashed upon the head, and was seen leaving through the waist.

Stanza 77

Now it fell upon shields, and now upon swords,
Now it came upon the foot soldiers, now upon the horsemen,
Now it set its mouth upon quivers, now upon arrow-notches,
Now, cutting off heads, it reached the archers.
Having fallen, it rose from this band and was in that throng;
Now it was in the river, now on the land, now in the mountains.

Stanza 78

Now it cut a face, now a shoulder, now a whole body,
Now it plunged into a heart, and now it cut off a head,
Now it cut a helmet, now a breastplate, now a coat of mail,
Lengthwise it cut rider and mount evenly through.
The clamour of the sword's stroke rang from Qaf to Qaf;
It drank the blood of thousands, yet its mouth stayed clean.

Stanza 79

It did not stop at the helmet, nor did it rest upon the head,
Not for a moment on any sword, nor did it rest upon a shield,
Not on the brow, not on the throat, not on the heart did it rest;
Cutting through the saddle, it came to rest on the horse's back.
The soul fled in panic from the body of the enemy of the faith;
Sinking an arm's length deep, the sword came out of the earth.

Stanza 80

When the enemy's rank came beneath the sword, it was cut down;
All at once came the season of parting of head from neck.
The battle went so badly that nothing could be done;
What came was no sword, it was a flying serpent.
The cry went up: "Flee, this is no time to stand your ground;
Once its poison takes hold, it will never subside."

Stanza 81

That flashing of it, that raining down of heads on every side;
From the edge of the sword a doomsday had broken out on the riverbank.
In its water it was like fire, with the nature of burning all away,
And its edge grew keener as it drank the blood of the foes.
Now it cut through a coat of mail, now through a broad chest;
Each time it struck, it cut more than the stroke before.

Stanza 82

All alone, the King of the faith fought a hundred thousand horsemen;
without a shield he fought the ranks of the spearmen;
like the Lion of God, he fought those whose way was oppression.
One man cannot fight two, yet he fought thousands.
If one is to prevail, he alone can prevail over thousands
who is the heart and soul of Ali ibn Abi Talib.

Stanza 83

On the third day of hunger, this battle, these charges, this combat!
Thirst, such thirst that the ruby lips had turned wholly sapphire-blue;
sun, such sun that the fresh saplings had withered;
hot wind, such hot wind that its heat was melting the mountains.
The pebbles held the glow and blaze of burning embers;
overhead there was either the sun, or the shade of swords.

Stanza 84

Like a lion he was now in the forest, now in the lowland by the river;
never once in the battle did he hold the shield before his face;
Haidar's sword never fell short in the cleanness of its strokes;
never was there a flaw in parting head from body.
Not even with a flicker of his brow was it ever seen
that he looked a second time at one he had struck once.

Stanza 85

An eye such that it held the majesty of lions;
A steed such that it held all the swiftness of lightning;
A sword such that the face of death showed plainly in it;
A hand such that it held the strength of the Hand of God.
What pitiless one has the heart to parry that blow?
Such strength, in which lay the power of Fatima's lion.

Stanza 86

Ask the King of the faith what thirst inflicts in battle;
Ask the hateful army about the fight of one man alone;
Ask the earth about the calamitous quaking of the desert;
Ask the Trusted Spirit about the stroke of the two-edged sword.
The father alone against that army, the son against this host:
Did such a tumult rise at Karbala, or at Khaibar?

Stanza 87

May I be a sacrifice for the Lion of God, an offering for the exalted King!
The same charges, the same strength, the same sword.
Haidar conquered the fortress of Khaibar in battle;
He too broke the army's lines many times.
And why not? Husain was the grandson of Ahmad, the Messenger;
The only difference was that Husain had been thirsty for two days.

Stanza 88

On every side the army cried out, "Mercy, Master!
We have seen the skill of your hands, Master!
Spare us! We have been well punished for this war, Master!
You do good even to the wicked, Master!
We fold our hands and throw down our swords;
forgive the faults of an unworthy community."

Stanza 89

Then came the voice of the unseen caller: "O you whose station is the Throne,
such combat on the third day of hunger is no work for a mortal;
O beloved of Muhammad, Imam, son of an Imam,
on the Preserved Tablet your name is written as 'the Patient'.
Now there is no command to fight the accursed ones;
yes! this is the time to fulfil the promise."

Stanza 90

"Today all eight paradises are being made ready anew;
the palms are green, and in Paradise the streams are flowing;
since nightfall all the houris have been crowned with jewels;
in the Friend's house, the Friend is playing host.
The Messenger to jinn and mankind is coming to receive him;
all the way to the Throne the cry is this: Husain is coming!"

Stanza 91

On hearing this voice the King of jinn and men held back;
Staying his sword, he said, "This head is ready.
It would be Eid for me if the authors of evil slaughtered me soon.
Where is Shimr, the most cruel? Let him come with his dagger drawn.
The lover is he who stays ready to be sacrificed;
My only victory is that He remains pleased."

Stanza 92

Saying this, the Master put the two-edged sword back in its sheath,
And raising his hand, he signalled to the horse: "Halt."
The swift-footed steed stood still, bowing its head.
From all four sides the arrows of cruelty flew at the traveller.
The spears stood around him as a fresh rose stands among thorns;
The Prophet's grandson was surrounded by the swords of tyranny.

Stanza 93

First the archers riddled his chest with arrows;
The founders of cruelty drove spears into his side;
Swords fell upon his head, his forehead was wounded;
The radiant face of the Hazrat was drenched in blood.
His whole body was shattered; his coat of mail was in shreds;
The folds of his turban, cut through and through, kept coming undone.

Stanza 94

Those who stood guard at the riverbank struck at him with spears;
Which way could he turn? Where among the swords could the helpless one stand?
A thousand and some hundred deep wounds were on his body;
The hearts of those who watched turned to water.
That whole Quran of his face was drowned in blood;
Every part of Shabbir's body had become a separate section of it.

Stanza 95

The reins had slipped from his hands, and his feet from the stirrups;
Fainting, at times he sat upright on the horse, at times he bent over;
From his sides streams of blood gushed without pause;
The helpless one had no one to help him; alas, the cruelty!
Under the blows of the swords there was no respite even to draw breath;
They were striving to bring down the Kaaba.

Stanza 96

From the desert came the cry of Zahra: "Alas, Husain!
My helpless one, my powerless one, my grief-stricken Husain!"
From the doorway Zainab cried out: "Husain, my mother's son!
Who will save you from the swords and bring you back, Husain?
Fatima is weeping, holding her sides with her hands;
If you command it, your sister will run and hold your arm."

Stanza 97

"Alas, my lord, your body, and the lances of cruelty!
To whom shall I cry out? Those who have died do not live.
Such cruelty upon one whom Zahra raised through sorrows!
Who will turn the calamity of swords away from your head?
Who will hear the cry of those left with nothing?
Here there is not even a single settlement of Muslims."

Stanza 98

When no strength was left to stay upon the horse,
he fell upon the dust, that star of the Throne of God.
When, after a while, Ali's beloved stirred from his swoon,
Sinan ibn Anas struck a spear into his chest.
There, the point of the spear came out through his back;
here, his sister came out bareheaded from the threshold of the tent.

Stanza 99

When the enemy of the faith pulled the spear from his chest and drew back,
His Holiness bowed and laid his forehead on the dust in prostration.
Sharpening his dagger, the accursed Shimr came forward;
the heavens shook, the ground of the killing-field trembled.
What can I say of how he laid the blade upon the throat?
He set his foot upon the Quran, and the dagger upon the throat.

Stanza 100

Covering her face with her hands, the daughter of Ali cried out,
"You are being slaughtered before my eyes, alas, alas, brother!"
It was the first stroke, and the sound of the takbir rose;
Ali's daughter fainted and fell to the dust.
She had just opened her eyes when she saw the tumult of Judgement Day;
She raised her head and saw the King's head upon a spearpoint.

Stanza 101

Weeping, she cried, "Alas, alas, my wronged Husain!
In the army of the enemies there is clamour over your killing, Husain;
My eyes can make out nothing, Husain;
Alas, I am left deprived of the sight of you, Husain.
Turn and look: I have fallen into affliction, brother;
Bareheaded, I stand amid the mob of enemies, brother."

Stanza 102

Enough, Anees, write no further of the laments of grieving Zainab.
Even after he was slain, Husain's body lay in the sun;
Even in his grave Ahmad, the Chosen One, found no peace;
The home was burned, and the family of the Messenger of men and jinn was taken captive.
How many homes were ruined by the King's death!
They were plundered so that the Sayyids never flourished again.