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### Zaynab (peace be upon her): Sacrifices and Stances
People have often spoken of heroism and heroes—both women and men—known for their boldness, courage, and ability to confront warriors on the battlefield. In these battles, women stood beside men, performing their full roles with the same spirit and determination that defined the heroes who engaged in combat. Without a doubt, the Ahl al-Bayt (the Household of the Prophet) are at the forefront of the heroes of history, and Zaynab, daughter of Ali and Fatimah, stands at the pinnacle after her father and brothers, as attested by her history, which is filled with every form of purity, virtue, boldness, and patience in the face of adversity.
It is not strange for that gigantic soul, in which three lights converged—the light of Muhammad, Ali, and Fatimah, and from which her personality was formed—to embody in her stances the characteristics of Prophethood, the Imamate, and her mother al-Zahra, who was distinguished by her virtue over the women of the worlds.
The tongue is incapable, and language, despite its vast vocabulary, falls short of describing her or expressing the feelings human beings hold toward this great woman and supreme role model—the daughter of Ali and al-Zahra, whose peer was rare among Arab and Muslim women, save for her mother, the *Batool* (the Virgin), the Lady of the Women, who smiled at death when the Trustworthy Messenger brought her news of it in the final hours of his life, saying to her, “You are the first of my household to join me.”
Delving into the life of the heroine of Karbala—her childhood, youth, motherhood, how she grew up under the care of her mother al-Zahra and her father the Successor, and in the house of a noble husband from among the noble descendants of Abu Talib, and how she became the mother of a family she nourished with the teachings of Islam and the morals of her mother and father—would require length that often bores the reader. At the same time, speaking of her heroism, which remains a subject for generations, and which was manifested in her journey with her brother, leaving her home to hasten her steps behind him on his path to martyrdom, teaching men and women how to die in the kingdom of executioners—all this places before the reader a noble image of that good tree and its stages of growth until it reached this level of maturity and ability to stand firm in the face of events that no human being could endure.
Regardless, after this chapter, we pause to provide a sufficient idea of that “good tree” and how it grew and perfected its development until it reached its prime, shouldered the burdens of the great responsibility, and performed its full role when that great tragedy befell the Alawids and the Talibids—men and women—upon the soil of Karbala. We see how she was able to bear that shock and perform her complete role with wisdom and beautiful patience—a role that represents the highest degrees of heroism and the richest in values and supreme ideals.
She stood in that situation like an immovable mountain, leaving on the soil of Karbala the marks of her journey and her stances amidst those victims—a history that remains a topic for generations and a noble example for everyone who rises against injustice and tyranny, and for every woman who encounters misfortunes and hardships during her journey in this life.
The wailing of women, the screaming of children, and the noise of the entire region with crying and lamentation were enough to shatter the strongest nerves, silence the most eloquent tongues and orators, and overwhelm the greatest of men, even if they were not related to those victims by lineage or cause. So, what of the one who saw what befell her family, her children, her brothers, her nephews, and her cousins, and felt the weight and gravity of the responsibility? Yet, the daughter of Ali—that immovable mountain that was firmer than the firmly rooted mountains in adversity—embodied the stances of her father in every situation where the feet of heroes would tremble. She remained awake on the night of the tenth of Muharram, moving between the tents of her brothers and their companions, transitioning from tent to tent as they prepared to meet thirty thousand fighters gathered to battle her brother, his children, and his supporters. She saw her brother al-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 companions do, for the heavy burden is not lifted except by its own kin.”
On her way to the tents of the companions, she heard Habib ibn Muzahir instructing them to advance to the battle so that they would not see a Hashimite stained with his own blood. She heard the companions reply: “You will find us as you wish and expect, O son of Muzahir.” She then set off toward the tent of her brother al-Husayn (peace be upon him), smiling, overwhelmed with joy that radiated from her face—a trace of the gleam and clarity of his spirit. She went to her brother al-Husayn to tell him what she had seen and heard from his brothers and the companions. She had only taken a few steps when she saw him approaching. She smiled at him, and he welcomed her, saying: “Since we left Medina, I have not seen you smiling or laughing; what have you seen?” She recounted to him what she had heard from the Hashimites and their supporters. The *Aqeela* (the noble lady) remained awake that night, moving from tent to tent among the women, children, and her sisters. When the forenoon arrived, and most of her brother’s companions—as well as those with him from his children, brothers, and cousins—had fallen on the soil of al-Taf, and al-Husayn returned for the final farewell with Zaynab at his side, as if stunned, he said to her: “Gently, my sister! Do not tear your garment for me, do not scratch your face, and do not let the enemies gloat over us.” He entrusted the women and children to her, and she said to him: “Be at ease and set your mind at rest, for you will find me as you like, God willing.”
When he fell from his horse, prostrate, she rushed to his side and cried out, seeking help from her grandfather and her father. A scream was about to burst from her blazing heart when she saw his head separated from his body, and the swords and arrows having ravaged his body and heart. She saw her brothers, her children, and her cousins around him like sacrificial offerings, with a caravan of women and children alongside her, and before her were the ranks of the enemy filling the desert of Karbala. In those decisive moments, she raised her hands toward the heavens, letting out from her mouth a scent from the overflow of Prophethood and eternity, whispering to her Lord and supplicating to Him: “O Allah, accept from us this offering.”
Thus, the *Aqeela* had to carry out her brother’s will, stand firm in the face of those horrors, and bear a heart like her father’s in the midst of his battles. She stood like an immovable mountain in the face of those who stood with Yazid ibn Maysun and his executioners, who were intent on violating sacred boundaries and sanctities, and who had sold their consciences to those tyrannical criminals for the cheapest of prices.
The camel driver made his way from Karbala to Kufa, with the captives on the saddles of camels, led by the heads of seventy companions and twenty descendants of Abu Talib, among them the head of al-Husayn, Master of the Youth of Paradise. As soon as the procession of captives and heads appeared and its vanguard reached the entrances of Kufa, the streets, overlooking points, and rooftops became crowded with people. News of al-Husayn’s death had not yet spread throughout all the Kufans. A woman peered from the roof of her house and saw women who looked almost naked, were it not for the rags of clothing they used to cover themselves. The woman thought they were captives from Rome or Daylam, and she wanted to confirm her suspicion, for she had often seen processions of Roman and Turkish captives passing through Kufa, yet she had never seen such sorrow and anguish as she saw in this procession. Never before had she seen captives in such processions with young children tied with ropes to the camel saddles as she saw in this one. The woman leaned down toward one of the captives and said: “From which captives are you?” She replied, while pain tore at her heart: “We are the captives of the Household of Muhammad, the Messenger of God.”
No sooner had the woman heard her words than she ran out, wailing and lamenting, and almost fell from her roof due to the shock. She turned to the women on the rooftops and said: “They are the women of the Ahl al-Bayt!” Then, cries arose from every side until Kufa shook with its people, and its surroundings were wrapped in successive screams as if they were storms. The women gathered around the procession, throwing rice and veils upon them so that the daughters of Ali and Fatimah could cover themselves from the eyes of the people. The streets were choked with women and men crying and mourning. The daughter of Ali and Fatimah turned her penetrating gaze toward them and said: “O people of Kufa! O people of treachery, deceit, and craftiness! Do you weep? May your tears never dry, and may your wailing never cease. You are like the woman who unraveled her yarn after it was strong, breaking it into pieces. Is there among you anything but arrogance, the flattery of slave-girls, and the plotting of enemies? Woe unto you for what you have sent ahead for yourselves; God’s wrath is upon you, and you shall abide in torment forever. So weep much and laugh little; you have borne its shame and disgrace after you killed the descendant of the Seal of Prophethood, the Mine of the Message, and the Master of the Youth of Paradise.”
The procession moved on, bypassing those crowds of men and women toward the Palace of the Governorate to enter the court of the son of Marjana. She sat disguised and bowed, surrounded by the procession of women in that vile assembly. He looked at her with the smile of a triumphant, gloating victor and asked who this disguised woman was. She did not answer him, out of contempt and disdain for his status. He repeated the question a second and a third time, and some of her handmaidens answered him: “This is Zaynab, daughter of Ali.” He then launched into words that betrayed his wickedness, hatred, and baseness, saying: “Praise be to God who has disgraced you and proven your lies false.” She replied to him, unafraid of his authority or his tyranny: “Praise be to God who honored us with His Prophet and purified us from impurity. Only the corrupt is disgraced, and only the wicked lies—and that is someone other than us. May your mother mourn you, O son of Marjana.”
He said to her, overcome by hatred and anger: “How did you see what God did to your brother and your household?” She said: “I saw nothing but beauty. They are a people upon whom God decreed death, so they emerged to their resting places. God will gather you and them, and you will dispute before Him. You will see to whom the victory belongs. May your mother mourn you, O son of Marjana.”
His hatred and arrogance urged him to take a cane that was beside him to strike her with it. However, Amr ibn Hurayth, one of his henchmen, saw that the faces had changed toward the son of Marjana and realized that an act of this kind would enflame emotions—especially since souls had become charged with hatred and loathing, ready to explode at any moment due to what had happened to al-Husayn, his children, and his companions. He stood between the son of Marjana and what he intended, so he threw the cane from his hand and returned to addressing her in the language of a gloating, hateful person, saying: “God has healed my heart of your tyrant al-Husayn and the rebellious sinners of your household.” She wept at that and said: “By my life, you have killed my elder, severed my branch, and uprooted my origin. If your healing lies in that, then you have been healed.”
*(Inspired by “From the Inspiration of the Husseini Revolution” / Hashim Ma’ruf al-Hasani, pp. 65-68)*
