When skies wept blood

Hussain. Fifty-four, curly-headed, light-skinned, medium-height Hussain. History tells us he had a face and smile like his grandfather. It washed away your worries. It's the year 680, and Hussain stands alone on the plains of a deserted land far away from his home. His refusal to pledge allegiance to a tyrannical ruler brought him here. He has just lost his loved ones, one by one. First his most faithful companions. Loyal friends who stayed by his side knowing full well the end in sight. Then his family. He used a piece of cloth to gather pieces of Qasim, his teenaged nephew, trampled under the enemy's horses' hooves. He held on to the speared chest of his eighteen-year-old Akbar and asked to listen to his beautiful voice one last time. He wept over his brave brother Abbas- watched as the flag he carried with courage fell with his cut hands. He held his six-month-old baby in his arms, tiny neck pierced with an arrow.

Now Hussain stands alone, throat dry, heart torn. In the distance, he can hear whimpers of the women and children. He can make out the voices of Sakina, his daughter; Zainab, his sister; Rabab, his wife. He knows they are thirsty, heart-broken and will soon be in the hands of the most merciless of people. So far he has sacrificed some of the closest to his heart for the sake of goodness, and soon he will sacrifice himself too. But before he gives his own life, he has one last message to leave. Hussain cups his hands around his mouth, and calls out in a loud, clear voice:

Is there anyone who will come to assist us? Is there anyone who will respond to our call? 

He repeats this four times- facing all directions. Who is this call for?

It is for us. A call to be carried forward over the generations. A call to fight against injustice in every time and space. In all its forms.

The Tragedy of Karbala is not simply an unfortunate event in history. It is the most important revolution. It is the only entirely self-less sacrifice by ultimate love against ultimate hatred. It is the only event that has been remembered from the beginning of time, and will continue to be remembered to the end. It is the only event in history that the sky turned red for, stones bled, and the snakes and the fishes in the sea mourned.

Today, millions around the world will be mourning Hussain. Remembering his story, re-telling it in poems and eulogies and plays, re-enforcing his message, keeping it alive for yet another year. Some will choose ways to mourn that you will not like. Hitting themselves with chains or swords to feel Hussain's pain. Whether this is appropriate or not is besides the point today. To ignore the brutal killing of Hussain and his followers, the meaning of his sacrifice, and to instead focus on criticising the way he is remembered in some places is distasteful. To try to reduce Hussain's sacrifice to mundane discussions is disrespectful.

As long as there are hearts in this world that continue to be moved by the fate of his loving self at the hand of his hateful oppressors, goodness has prevailed and Hussain and his message live on forever.