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### Zaynab (peace be upon her): Sacrifices and Stances
People have long spoken of heroism and heroes—both men and women known for their boldness, courage, and ability to confront warriors on the battlefield. In those battles, women often stood alongside men, performing their full role with the same spirit and determination as the heroes who waged them. Without a doubt, the Ahl al-Bayt (the family of the Prophet, peace be upon them) stand at the forefront of history’s heroes. Zaynab, daughter of Ali and Fatimah, holds a preeminent place among them, following her father and brothers, as her history—overflowing with every form of purity, virtue, courage, and patience in adversity—amply testifies.
It is no surprise that this monumental soul, in whom the three lights converged—the light of Muhammad, Ali, and Fatimah—would embody through her stances the characteristics of Prophethood and Imamate, reflecting her mother, Al-Zahra, who was distinguished by her merit above all women of the worlds.
Language, despite its vast vocabulary, fails and falls short in describing her, or in expressing the depth of human sentiment toward this great woman and magnificent role model—the daughter of Ali and Fatimah, whose peer is unmatched among the women of the Arabs and Muslims, save for her mother, the *Batool* (the Virgin), the Lady of all Women. She was the one who smiled at death when the faithful Messenger, in the final hours of his life, brought her the tidings of her impending passing, saying to her: “You are the first of my household to join me.”
Delving into the life of the heroine of Karbala—from her childhood and youth to her motherhood; how she grew up under the care of her mother, Al-Zahra, and her father, the Successor (Wasi); and how she lived in a noble household with a husband from among the descendants of Abu Talib—would require a length that might weary the reader. Yet, speaking of her heroism, which remains the talk of generations—manifested in her journey with her brother, leaving her home to follow him in his path to martyrdom to teach men and women how to die in the kingdom of tyrants—places before the reader a dignified image of that noble sapling and its growth until it reached such a level of maturity, capable of steadfastness and endurance in the face of events that no human could otherwise bear.
Regardless, perhaps after this chapter, we may pause to provide a sufficient glimpse of that noble sapling: how it grew and matured, eventually shouldering the greatest responsibility and fulfilling its complete role when the major tragedy struck the Alawites and the Talibids—men and women alike—upon the soil of Karbala. We shall see how she endured that shock and performed her role with wisdom and beautiful patience—a role representing the highest degrees of heroism and the richest values and ideals.
She stood firm in that situation like an immovable mountain, leaving upon the soil of Karbala the traces of her journey and her stances among those victims—stances that remain the discourse of generations and a noble example for every rebel against oppression and injustice, and for every woman who encounters calamities and hardships throughout the journey of this life.
The wailing of the women, the screams of the children, and the clamor of the entire region in mourning were enough to shatter the strongest nerves, silence the most eloquent speakers, and bring the greatest of men to their knees, even if they had no familial connection to those victims. How, then, was it for her, who saw what had befallen her own kin—her sons, brothers, nephews, and cousins—and felt the weight and gravity of the responsibility? Yet, the daughter of Ali—that towering, unshakable mountain, firmer than the mountains themselves in times of adversity—embodied her father’s resilience in every moment where the feet of heroes might falter.
She remained awake on the night of the tenth of Muharram, moving between the tents of her brothers and their companions. She moved from tent to tent as they prepared to face thirty thousand fighters gathered to battle her brother, his sons, and his supporters. She saw her brother, Abbas, sitting among his brothers and the descendants of Abu Talib, saying to them: “When morning comes, we must advance to the battle before the supporters (Ansar) do, for the heavy burden is only carried by its own people.”
On her way to the tents of the supporters, she heard Habib ibn Muzahir advising them to advance to the battlefield so that they would not see a Hashemite stained with his own blood. And she heard the supporters saying: “You will find us as you wish and expect, O son of Muzahir.” She then set off toward her brother Hussein’s tent, smiling, overwhelmed with joy, the traces of which appeared on her face as a reflection of its brilliance and serenity. She went to tell her brother Hussein what she had seen and heard from his brothers and the supporters. Only a few steps later, she saw him approaching. She smiled at him, and he welcomed her, saying: “Since we left Medina, I have not seen you smile or laugh. What have you seen?” She recounted to him what she had heard from the Hashemites and their supporters.
The *Aqila* (the wise lady) remained awake that night, moving from tent to tent, from booth to booth, among the women, children, and her sisters. When the forenoon arrived and most of her brother’s supporters, along with his sons, brothers, and cousins, had fallen upon the soil of Al-Taff, and Hussein returned for the final farewell, Zaynab was at his side, as if stunned. He said to her: “Gently, my sister. Do not tear your clothes for me, do not scratch your face, and do not let our enemies gloat over us.” He entrusted her with the women and children. She replied: “Be at peace and set your heart at rest, for you shall find me as you desire, God willing.”
When he fell from his horse, struck down, she rushed to his side and cried out, appealing to her grandfather and father. A scream was about to burst from her burning breast when she saw his head severed from his body, the swords and arrows having ravaged his body and heart. She saw her brothers, sons, and cousins around him like sacrificial offerings, with a caravan of women and children behind her, and the ranks of the enemy filling the desert of Karbala before her. In those decisive moments, she raised her hands toward the sky, and from her mouth came a breath of the overflow of Prophethood and eternity, whispering to her Lord and supplicating: “O God, accept from us this sacrifice.”
Thus, it was for the *Aqila* to carry out her brother’s will, to stand firm in the face of those horrors, to bear a heart like her father’s heart in the midst of his battles, and to stand like a towering mountain against those who sided with Yazid ibn Maysun and his executioners—those who indulged in violating sanctities and sacred things, and who sold their consciences to those criminal tyrants for the lowest of prices.
The leader of the caravan hurried along the road from Karbala to Kufa, with the captives upon the humps of camels, preceded by the heads of seventy of the supporters and twenty of the descendants of Abu Talib, among them the head of Hussein, the Master of the Youth of Paradise. No sooner had the procession of captives and heads appeared, and its vanguard neared the entrances of Kufa, than people crowded the streets, the overlooks, and the rooftops. The news of Hussein’s martyrdom had not yet spread among all the Kufans. A woman looked down from the roof of her house and saw women who appeared almost naked, save for the rags of clothing they used to cover themselves. She thought they were captives from Rome or Daylam. Wanting to confirm her suspicion—for she had often seen processions of Roman and Turkish captives passing through Kufa—she had never seen, on such a procession, the grief and anguish she saw here. Nor had she seen before, in those processions, captives with children tied with ropes upon the camels’ backs as she saw in this procession. The woman leaned down toward one of the captives and said to her: “From which captives are you?” The captive replied, as pain tore through her very soul: “We are the captives of the family of Muhammad, the Messenger of God.”
