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"With
the water bag filled he ('a) had jumped into the saddle with one
thought uppermost in his mind – to get the water to the
anxiously waiting children as soon as possible.
Seeing
him galloping towards the camp of Husain ('a), the enemy had turned.
Somebody had shouted from the enemy ranks that if Husain ('a) and his
people got water, it would be difficult to fight them on the
battlefield.
The
Valour Of Abbas ('a)
Though
it was an uneven fight, he ('a) fought them with valour which was so
characteristic of his father’s ('a). Though he ('a) was thirsty and
hungry, he ('a) charged on them and scattered them. The mercenaries of
Yazid were running like lambs in a fold when charged by a lion.
Seeing that a frontal assault on a man so brave was not possible
they had resorted to a barrage of arrows.
When
arrows were coming from all sides, Abbas ('a) had only one thought in
his mind - how to protect the water-bag than his life. Seeing that Abbas
('a) was preoccupied with this thought, one treacherous foe, hiding
behind a sand dune, had rushed out and dealt a blow on his right
hand and cut it off. In a flash Abbas ('a) had transferred his sword to
his ('a) left hand and the standard he ('a) was bearing he ('a) had hugged to his
('a) chest.
The
Lion of Ali ('a)
Now
that the lion of Ali ('a) was crippled, the foes had found courage to
surround him ('a). A blow from an enemy’s sword severed his ('a)
left arm.
The odds were now mounting against him ('a). He ('a) held the bag with his
('a) teeth and protected the flag with his ('a) chest pressed on the
horse’s back. Now the paramount thought in his ('a) mind was to reach
the camp somehow or the other. A silent prayer had escaped his
lips:
“Merciful Allah, spare me long enough to fulfil my
mission."
But that was not to be. An arrow had pierced the water-bag and
water had started gushing out of it. Was it water that was flowing
out of that bag or the hopes of Abbas ('a)? All his ('a) efforts had been in
vain. After all Sakina’s ('a) thirst would remain unsatisfied and all
her ('a) hopes would be frustrated. The enemies who had made bold to
surround him, now seeing his ('a) helpless condition, were now
gathering thick round him ('a). One of them came near him ('a) and struck a
mortal blow with an iron mace. He ('a) reeled over and fell from the
horse.
He
('a) tossed on the burning sand with excruciating pain. He ('a) felt that
life was fast ebbing out but his ('a) wish to see his master had
remained unfulfilled. With one last effort, with all the strength
that was left in him ('a), he shouted:
“O
my master, do come to me before I die.”
As
if in answer to his prayers he felt some footsteps near him. Yes,
his instinct told him that it was his ('a) lord ('a). His ('a) one eye had been
blinded by an arrow and the other filled with blood and so he ('a)
could not see. But he ('a) felt his master ('a) kneeling down beside
him ('a),
lifting his ('a) head and taking it into his ('a) lap.”
Ref:
Zakir’s “Tears and Tributes”, pg 51-52
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