My Last Name Is A Responsibility!
Contemplating each step as I entered Imam Bargah for the first time in my entire life. Perplexed, hopeful, anxious, scared, reluctant, …. I have to rack my brain to find a proper adjective to describe exactly how I felt at that time. Then again, some moments, emotions are so precious, pure, and private that you don’t want words to touch them lest they be tainted. It was one of such moments. I don’t even know what I was hoping to find in there because after all it’s just another mosque - a place of worship. Maybe it was another one of my desperate attempts to find the answers to questions that keep me up at night? or some solace? or the very human desire to belong somewhere? to have a connection with a higher, spiritual being — a savior who’ll put me out of my misery somehow? Maybe all of it! But it changed something in me, same as it happens in movies where some minute thing happens, and it just clicks with the hero. His whole life flashes before his eyes and he decides that this is where it begins — the great turning point, after that everything will be okay — the missing part of the enigma. The ultimate truth he’s been chasing forever, this is it. It’s like one of those places that envelops your heart in peace, and you just know that this is a sign from above.
I sat there for what felt like an eternity, watching people come and go, cry, and pray with hope and pain in their eyes. I didn’t know when I started sobbing uncontrollably or why I did that, but it felt like the right thing to do. I felt like I was wee child again, sleeping in my mother’s lap after crying my heart out over some toy I broke — imagine the peace, the quiet serenity of it all.
More than a decade ago, Abu wrote a blog explaining the origins of his name and how he’s not a Shia as is usually presumed. What I am doing right now is essentially the opposite of what he intended to clarify. I’ve been hearing the question of whether I’m Shia or not, long before I even knew what it means to be a Shia, or what it takes to be one of them. Some people would stare in disbelief when I used to tell them that I’m not and others would be visibly disappointed. As a child, I could never grasp the rationale behind such diverse emotions regarding another person’s faith. But I think I get it now.
Last year, I decided to read about Imam Hussain, his journey that started from Makkah and ended at Karbala. From 8th Zilhajj, I would read what happened each day on the coinciding date, to Imam (A.S) and his companions. The painful details of how Muslims nay pilgrims left him alone when he needed them, the trials he faced during the journey and ultimately the unspeakable atrocities committed against the Family of Prophet PBUH. And if you think about it, it doesn’t make any sense that let alone the evil and vicious men, the faithful and devout Muslims were reckless in assisting the Imam (A.S) but what follows would be even more shocking and brutal. Anyone with a heart would tremble at just the thought of it all, the insurmountable loss, the never-ending grief. And it didn’t end on 10th Muharram, those who were left behind to lament had an even harder responsibility. I spent all of Muharram and Safar reading this, day by day and that’s when I realized that you don’t have to be Shia to acknowledge their plight, to mourn the unimaginable loss, you just have to be a human who feels and thinks and rationalize things for himself. That was my first and true introduction to Hussain ibne Ali (A.S), the man behind my last name, the true manifestation of peace, love, and light.
Those people who chose not to accompany Imam Hussain (A.S) had probably seen Prophet PBUH with their own eyes and witnessed the propagation of Islam in real time but they still chose the least rewarding side. And this made me think about us, ordinary men, and women, who just inherited the religion, what about us? The people who are neither oppressors, nor the oppressed, far removed from the painful history, which side would we have chosen when being indifferent is not an option? What I would have done in that time? Which side I would have chosen? Would I have accompanied the Imam (A.S)? And this thought scared me, filled my heart with so much fear but it also made a lot of things clear for me. It was a long, painstaking process but I’m glad I reached there all on my own. Now all I want to accomplish in this lifetime is to live up to my name, to really understand the true spirit of being a Hussaini.
Questioning your faith is never easy, the thing you’ve been taught to believe all your life. It’s like losing an integral part of your being but on the other end, there’s the solace of truth, a sense of belonging that every human craves and a place where all your personal griefs and losses become invisible and all that matters is that immense, sacred love you have for Moula Ali and the entire Ahl e Bait (A.S).