Author: nadeemrezavi

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

فرات بہہ رہی تھی مگر ظلم کی حد تھی
قطرہ نہ ملا پیاس بجھانے کو حسینؑ کو

“The Euphrates flowed, yet tyranny knew no bounds;
Not a single drop was given to quench Husain’s thirst.”

. Firaq Gorakhpuri

Among the many episodes that constitute the tragedy of Karbala, two have exercised an unparalleled influence upon the historical memory of Ashura: the thirst suffered by Imam Husain, his family, and his companions, and the martyrdom of his infant son, Ali Asghar. These are not merely emotional episodes added by later generations to intensify mourning. Rather, they lie at the heart of the Karbala narrative itself. They reveal the extent of the suffering endured by the Prophet’s family and expose the moral degradation of those who stood against them. Indeed, if the thirst of Karbala and the martyrdom of Ali Asghar are removed from the narrative, much of what makes Karbala a unique and universal tragedy is fundamentally altered.

The confrontation at Karbala was never simply a military encounter. History is filled with battles, rebellions, and political struggles. Karbala acquired its enduring significance because it combined resistance to tyranny with the suffering of the innocent. The image of thirsty children crying beside a flowing river and the image of an infant struck by an arrow while in his father’s arms transformed the events of Muharram 61 AH into a moral drama that continues to resonate across centuries and cultures.

The historical sources agree that after Imam Husain and his small band of followers were encamped at Karbala, the forces of ʿUbayd Allah ibn Ziyad gradually tightened their control over access to the Euphrates. The river flowed close to the camp, yet access to its waters was denied. Abu Mikhnaf’s account, preserved by al-Tabari, together with later works such as al-Mufid’s al-Irshad, consistently indicate that the Umayyad forces sought to weaken Husain’s position through a blockade of water.

The significance of this blockade cannot be overstated. Water in the desert is not merely a commodity. It is life itself. To deny water to women and children was regarded even by many contemporaries as an act of extraordinary cruelty. As the days passed, thirst spread throughout the camp. The cries of the children became increasingly desperate. Their repeated plea, al-atash, al-atash – ‘thirst, thirst’ – echoed through the tents and entered the collective memory of generations of mourners.

The companions of Husain bore this suffering with remarkable fortitude. Their heroism consisted not merely in facing the enemy but in doing so while weakened by thirst and exhaustion. They fought with parched throats, knowing that relief was unlikely to come. Their struggle was therefore both physical and moral.

Among the most moving episodes associated with this suffering is that of Ali Akbar, the young son of Imam Husain. After fighting courageously, he is said to have returned to his father and complained of the severity of thirst. In the devotional literature of Ashura, this moment has been immortalised by the image of Ali Akbar observing the condition of Husain himself and remarking that his father’s tongue had become as dry as a thorn. Whether one accepts every detail of these later narrations or not, they reflect a historical memory deeply rooted in the experience of thirst.

The suffering of the camp reached its most dramatic expression in the mission undertaken by Abu al-Fadl al-Abbas. Abbas occupies a unique place in the memory of Karbala because he embodied loyalty, courage, and self-sacrifice. His greatest achievement was not the defeat of enemies but his determination to bring water to the thirsty children.

Responding to their cries, Abbas broke through the enemy lines and reached the Euphrates. Tradition remembers that although he himself was desperately thirsty, he refused to drink before the children of Husain had received water. Filling a water-skin, he began the journey back to the camp. Realising the importance of his mission, the enemy concentrated its attack upon him. His right arm was severed. He continued carrying the water-skin with his left hand. Then his left arm was cut off as well. The water-skin was pierced, and the precious water spilled onto the sands of Karbala. Moments later Abbas himself fell, mortally wounded.

The significance of this episode rests entirely upon the reality of thirst. Abbas’s sacrifice would be incomprehensible if water had been readily available within the camp. His martyrdom became a symbol of the desperate struggle to secure life-giving water for the vulnerable members of Husain’s household.

If Abbas represents the tragedy of thirst, Ali Asghar represents the tragedy of innocence.

The six-month-old child was incapable of understanding the conflict unfolding around him. According to the widely accepted account preserved in both historical and devotional traditions, Imam Husain brought the infant before the opposing army and appealed to their humanity. If they regarded Husain as their enemy, surely the child was blameless. Let him at least be given water.

The response was an arrow.

The infant was struck by a three pronged arrow (tīr e seh shoba) fired by Harmala ibn Kahil and died in the arms of his father. In the devotional memory of Shi’i Islam, the image is made even more poignant because the arrow is said to have pierced the child’s dry throat.

The symbolism is unmistakable. The thirsty infant was not given water. He was given death.

It is these twin realities – thirst and innocence violated – that give Karbala much of its moral force. They transform the conflict from a political confrontation into a universal indictment of tyranny and injustice.

For this reason, twentieth-century attempts to reinterpret these events generated considerable controversy. Among the most distinguished Shi’i scholars of South Asia was Allama Saiyid Ali Naqi Naqqan. Renowned for his scholarship and intellectual rigour, he frequently sought to distinguish between historical fact and devotional embellishment. Discussions attributed to him regarding the thirst of Karbala and the martyrdom of Ali Asghar became the subject of debate among later scholars.

Saiyid Ali Naqi, in his book Shahīd-e Insaniat, which he drafted in the early 1950s, wrote that water was available in the camp of Husain. Before going out for the ultimate battle, he performed wuzu (ablutions). Unfortunately, he did not cite any evidence or sources for this view.

One of the principal responses came from Saiyid Sibtul Hasan in his work Izhar-e Haqiqat (‘Manifestation of the Truth’), where he examined and criticised interpretations that, in his view, diminished the established understanding of the suffering endured at Karbala. His argument was rooted not only in historical reports but also in Islamic jurisprudence, ethics, and the testimony preserved through the Ahl al-Bayt.

According to Sibtul Hasan, the expression qaht-e ab (‘water deprivation’) did not require the absolute absence of every drop of water. Rather, it referred to a condition in which access to sufficient water for survival had been denied. The historical memory of Karbala, he argued, consistently portrays the camp as suffering from severe thirst caused by the blockade imposed by the Umayyad forces.

Drawing upon principles of Islamic law, Sibtul Hasan further argued that when human life is endangered by thirst, the preservation of life takes precedence over ritual purification. In such circumstances, tayammum replaces wuzu and ghusl. Therefore, any interpretation suggesting the availability of water for ritual purposes while children remained thirsty would raise serious ethical and legal difficulties.

In one of his articles published in a journal, Saiyid Ali Naqi made his second bizarre claim: that the massacre of the infant Ali Asghar was an ‘inadvertent accident’, a hādisa. The arrow of Harmala was meant for Husain, but unintentionally struck Ali Asghar.

With regard to Ali Asghar, Sibtul Hasan maintained that the traditional account of the infant’s martyrdom occupies a central place in the remembrance of Ashura because it illustrates the suffering of the most innocent victim of the conflict. The significance of the episode lies not merely in the death of a child but in the moral message conveyed by the event as preserved in Shi’i historical and devotional literature.

He also pointed to the recollections attributed to Imam Zain al-Abidin and Lady Zainab, whose speeches and lamentations repeatedly emphasise the thirst endured by the family of the Prophet. For Sibtul Hasan, these testimonies formed an essential part of the transmitted memory of Karbala and could not easily be set aside.

In the face of rising criticisms and condemnations, Naqqan ultimately verbally explained that he was actually citing another author.

The debate therefore extended beyond questions of historical detail. It concerned the interpretation of Karbala itself and the meaning attached to its most enduring symbols.

If the thirst of the camp is minimised, the sacrifice of Abbas loses much of its significance.

If the death of Ali Asghar is transformed into an accident, one of the most powerful symbols of innocence martyred by tyranny disappears.

If both are weakened, Karbala risks becoming little more than another political conflict in early Islamic history.

Yet Karbala has never been remembered as an ordinary battle.

It is remembered because thirsty children cried for water beside a flowing river.

It is remembered because Abbas gave his life attempting to bring them relief.

It is remembered because a father carried an infant before an army and asked not for power or victory, but simply for water.

And it is remembered because the answer to that plea was an arrow.

For fourteen centuries the cry of al-atash and the image of Ali Asghar have remained at the centre of Ashura’s historical memory. They remind humanity that the greatest tragedies are not measured merely by the deaths of heroes but by the suffering inflicted upon the innocent. It is for this reason that the thirst of Karbala and the martyrdom of Ali Asghar continue to define the moral and emotional landscape of Ashura, ensuring that Karbala remains not simply an event of the past but an enduring symbol of resistance to injustice and oppression.

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Selected References

Abu Mikhnaf, Maqtal al-Husain (preserved in al-Tabari).
Al-Mufid, Kitab al-Irshad.
Al-Tabari, Tarikh al-Rusul wa’l-Muluk.
Mahmoud M. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering in Islam (1978).
Peter J. Chelkowski (ed.), Ta’ziyeh: Ritual and Drama in Iran (1979).
Syed Akbar Hyder, Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory (2006).
Moojan Momen, An Introduction to Shi’i Islam (1985).
David Pinault, Horse of Karbala: Muslim Devotional Life in India (2001).
Vernon James Schubel, Religious Performance in Contemporary Islam (1993).
Saiyid Ali Naqi Naqqan, Mujahida-i Karbala.
Saiyid Ali Naqi Naqqan, Shahīd-e Insaniat.
Saiyid Sibtul Hasan, Izhar-e Haqiqat.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

Let us start with the second part of the series which I have started on Karbala. By now you must have understood that it is directed towards the uninitiated and those who have forgotten as to what Karbala stands for or contributed. Today I will deal with Karbala and our National Movement.

The influence of Imam Husain and the tragedy of Karbala upon the Indian freedom movement has often been acknowledged in popular memory, but less frequently examined through authenticated historical sources. In recent decades, numerous quotations have circulated on social media and in public speeches attributing statements to Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, and other national leaders regarding Imam Husain. While many of these sentiments are consistent with the views of those leaders, historians must distinguish between popular attributions and verifiable documentary evidence.

This essay therefore relies, as far as possible, on authenticated statements found in primary sources such as The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, the writings and speeches of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, contemporary nationalist newspapers, the speeches of the Ali brothers, the poetry of Sarojini Naidu, Muhammad Iqbal, and Hasrat Mohani, and the wider literary traditions of Urdu and Indian nationalist discourse. Where a quotation is widely circulated but cannot be firmly traced to a reliable source, it is either omitted or identified as an unverified attribution. Such caution is particularly important when writing about figures who have become subjects of national memory and public reverence.

The story of Karbala occupies a unique place in world history. In 680 CE, Imam Husain ibn Ali, the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, refused to recognise the authority of the Umayyad ruler Yazid, whom he regarded as morally and politically illegitimate. Accompanied by members of his family and a small group of followers, Husain journeyed towards Kufa but was intercepted on the plain of Karbala. There, after being denied access to water and surrounded by a vastly superior force, he and his companions were martyred.

The significance of Karbala lies not in military victory but in moral triumph. Husain’s refusal to submit to injustice transformed him into an enduring symbol of conscience, sacrifice, and resistance. Across centuries and continents, oppressed peoples have found inspiration in his example. In colonial India, where millions struggled against foreign domination, the memory of Karbala acquired particular resonance.

The Indian encounter with Karbala had deep historical roots. Muharram commemorations had become an integral part of South Asian culture. As scholars such as Athar Abbas Rizvi, Saiyid Sibtul Hasan, David Pinault, Vernon Schubel, Justin Jones, Syed Akbar Hyder, and others have demonstrated, Muharram in India often transcended sectarian and communal boundaries. Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and others participated in processions, sponsored tazias, and attended majalis. Karbala thus entered the shared cultural vocabulary of the subcontinent. Indeed, this very tradition of Muharram Tazia processions, with their powerful visual evocation of sacrifice and resistance, directly inspired the introduction of the Ganesh festival in Maharashtra by Bal Gangadhar Tilak and his associates. Gokhale and other nationalist leaders recognised that the public processions associated with Muharram provided an effective model for mobilising popular sentiment and fostering communal solidarity in the cause of national awakening.

Equally important was the contribution of Urdu literature. The marsiyas of Mir Anis and Mirza Dabeer transformed Karbala into a vivid moral drama. Their works emphasised courage, loyalty, sacrifice, and steadfastness in the face of overwhelming odds. Long before the emergence of organised nationalism, these poets had already familiarised generations of Indians with the ethical lessons of Karbala.

Among the most remarkable literary responses to Karbala by a non-Muslim Indian nationalist was Sarojini Naidu’s poem The Imam Bara of Lucknow, written in 1915. Witnessing a Muharram procession in Lucknow, Naidu was deeply moved by the spectacle of collective mourning and the enduring memory of Husain. She described the mourners emerging from the shadows of the Imambara into the sunlight:

“Out of the sombre shadows,
Over the sunlit grass,
Slow in a sad procession,
The shadowy pageants pass;
Mournful, majestic and solemn,
Stricken, pale and dumb,
Crowned in their peerless anguish,
The sacred martyrs come.”

The image is powerful. The mourners, dressed in black and moving beneath the blazing sun, appear transformed into the martyrs themselves. Their grief is profound, yet they remain majestic. Naidu’s description of Husain and his companions as “sacred martyrs” and their suffering as “peerless anguish” constitutes one of the finest tributes paid by a non-Muslim poet to Karbala. She further wrote:

“Hark, from the brooding silence
Breaks the wild cry of pain
Wrung from the heart of ages,
Ali! Hassan! Hussain!”

For Naidu, Karbala was not merely a historical tragedy. It was a wound carried by humanity itself. The cries of “Ali! Hassan! Hussain!” represented the sorrow of civilisations remembering the suffering of truth at the hands of oppression.

The poem reaches its philosophical climax when Naidu reflects upon the permanence of Husain’s message:

“Love! let the living sunlight
Kindle your splendid eyes
Ablaze with the steadfast triumph
Of the spirit that never dies.”

Here lies the essence of Karbala. Husain’s victory was not military but moral. Yazid possessed armies, wealth, and political authority. Yet it is Husain who remains the symbol of justice and courage, while the empire of his adversary survives only as a historical memory. Naidu recognised that Karbala represented the triumph of principle over power. Her final appeal was equally profound:

“So may hope of new ages
Comfort the mystic pain
That cries from the ancient silence,
Ali! Hassan! Hussain!”

She described Karbala as a “mystic pain”, not simply because a noble man had been killed, but because truth itself had suffered. Yet she also believed that future generations would continue Husain’s struggle and that one day justice would prevail over tyranny. In this respect, her interpretation closely anticipated the manner in which Indian nationalists would later draw inspiration from Karbala during the struggle against colonial rule.

Following the Revolt of 1857, the language of Karbala increasingly appeared in discussions of political oppression and resistance. The suffering experienced by Indians under colonial rule was often expressed through imagery drawn from Muharram traditions. The martyrdom of Husain became a metaphor through which many could understand their own historical condition.

The political significance of Karbala became particularly evident during the Khilafat and Non-Cooperation movements. Leaders such as Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar and Maulana Shaukat Ali repeatedly invoked Imam Husain as an example of resistance to illegitimate authority. Their speeches drew parallels between the struggle against colonial domination and Husain’s refusal to compromise with tyranny. Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s own political life reflected these ideals. His famous declaration, “I would prefer to die in a foreign land rather than return to a slave country,” expressed the same spirit of honour and defiance that many associated with Karbala. Although the statement does not mention Husain directly, the intellectual and emotional influence of Karbala upon Jauhar’s political thought is unmistakable.

Among the leaders of the freedom movement, Mahatma Gandhi occupies a special place in discussions of Karbala. Numerous quotations are popularly attributed to Gandhi, including the often repeated claim that he “learnt from Husain how to achieve victory while being oppressed.” Despite its popularity, historians have not been able to locate this statement in Gandhi’s authenticated writings. It should therefore be treated with caution.

What can be stated with certainty is that Gandhi held Imam Husain in profound regard. His collected writings contain several explicit references to Hasan and Husain. In one passage Gandhi observed:

“Imam Hasan and Hussein refused to acknowledge the authority of Yazid, for it would have been wrong to do so. For this reason, in order to preserve their honour, they became martyrs.”

Elsewhere he wrote:

“When called upon to surrender, they refused. They knew at the time that this would mean death for them. If they were to submit to injustice, they would disgrace their manhood and betray their religion.”

In another striking passage he remarked:

“The true Kshatriya does not kill but receives blows on himself. Imam Hussain and Hasan were Kshatriyas. Their oppressor was a tyrant.”

These authenticated statements reveal Gandhi’s effort to present Husain as a universal moral exemplar rather than as a figure confined to one religious tradition. By describing Hasan and Husain as ideal Kshatriyas, Gandhi translated the ethical message of Karbala into a language that could be appreciated by all Indians.

The parallels between Karbala and Gandhi’s doctrine of satyagraha are striking. Both emphasised moral courage over physical force, sacrifice over submission, and fidelity to truth over worldly success. Gandhi repeatedly argued that true victory belongs not to those who wield power but to those who remain faithful to their principles. This understanding closely mirrors the traditional interpretation of Husain’s martyrdom.

Maulana Abul Kalam Azad likewise drew inspiration from Karbala. Throughout his speeches and writings, Azad emphasised that Husain consciously chose the path of sacrifice in order to preserve truth and justice. For Azad, Karbala demonstrated that the survival of moral principles often depends upon individuals willing to place conscience above personal safety.

Jawaharlal Nehru, though writing from a secular nationalist perspective, also recognised the broader significance of Karbala. Nehru’s vision of India rested upon the idea of a shared civilisational heritage in which figures from different religious traditions belonged to the collective memory of the nation. In this framework, Imam Husain represented not merely an Islamic hero but a universal symbol of resistance against oppression.

The revolutionary poet Hasrat Mohani found in Karbala a model for uncompromising political action. One of the earliest advocates of complete independence, Mohani regarded resistance to injustice as a moral obligation. The spirit of Karbala permeated both his poetry and his politics.

The influence of Karbala upon Indian nationalism can also be seen in the works of Muhammad Iqbal. Although Iqbal’s political thought evolved over time, his poetry consistently celebrated Husain as a symbol of spiritual freedom and moral resistance. His famous verse:

Mūsā-o-Fir’aun, Shabbīr-o-Yazīd
Zindagī hai jang in mukhtalif tāqatōn ke darmiyān
(موسیٰ و فرعون، شبیر و یزید
زندگی ہے جنگ ان مختلف طاقتوں کے درمیان)

translated as “Musa and Pharaoh, Shabbir and Yazid; life is the struggle between these opposing forces,” transformed Karbala into a universal metaphor for the eternal conflict between justice and tyranny.

Likewise, his description of Husain as:

Imām-e ‘Āshiqān, Peshwā-ye Āzādgān
(امام عاشقان، پیشوائے آزادگان)

or “The leader of lovers and the guide of the free,” helped establish Husain as a symbol of liberty for modern generations.

One of the most remarkable features of Karbala’s role in the freedom movement was its ability to transcend communal boundaries. Muharram processions across India often attracted participation from multiple religious communities. Many Hindus regarded Husain as a martyr for justice. In numerous towns and villages, local traditions evolved in which Karbala became part of a shared cultural inheritance rather than the exclusive possession of any one community. The inspiration drawn from these processions by Gokhale and Tilak for the Ganesh festival stands as a testament to the creative appropriation of Karbala’s cultural forms for broader nationalist purposes.

This broader appeal explains why references to Karbala frequently appeared in nationalist speeches, newspapers, public meetings, and literary works. The imprisoned activist, the student facing repression, the peasant resisting exploitation, and the political leader confronting colonial authority could all identify with the example of Husain’s steadfastness in the face of overwhelming power.

The Indian freedom movement drew strength from many intellectual and moral traditions. The Bhagavad Gita, the teachings of the Buddha, the example of Guru Gobind Singh, the message of the Sufi saints, and the memory of Karbala all contributed to its ethical foundations. Among these influences, however, Karbala occupied a unique place because it offered a powerful example of resistance without compromise, sacrifice without expectation of reward, and courage without hope of worldly victory.

The enduring relevance of Imam Husain to the Indian freedom movement lay in the universal values that his life embodied. His stand at Karbala demonstrated that truth is not determined by numbers, that justice does not depend upon power, and that moral courage can outlive armies and empires. For generations of Indians struggling against colonial rule, this lesson provided inspiration and hope.

The British Empire eventually disappeared from the subcontinent. The memory of Husain did not. That fact alone illustrates the central message of Karbala. Power may triumph temporarily, but principles endure. It was this enduring lesson that inspired many of India’s freedom fighters and ensured that the name of Imam Husain remained a beacon of resistance, dignity, and justice in the long struggle for independence.

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Select Sources

Abul Kalam Azad, India Wins Freedom and collected speeches.

Athar Abbas Rizvi, A Socio-Intellectual History of the Isna Ashari Shi’is in India.

David Pinault, Horse of Karbala: Muslim Devotional Life in India.

Mahatma Gandhi, The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (relevant references to Imam Hasan and Imam Husain).

Sarojini Naidu, The Bird of Time (1912; later editions), especially “The Imam Bara of Lucknow.”

Saiyid Sibtul Hasan, Tarikh-e Azadari.

Syed Akbar Hyder, Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory.

Justin Jones, Shi’a Islam in Colonial India.

Vernon James Schubel, Religious Performance in Contemporary Islam: Shi’i Devotional Rituals in South Asia.

Selected speeches and writings of Mohammad Ali Jauhar, Shaukat Ali, and Hasrat Mohani.

Poetry of Mir Anis, Mirza Dabeer, and Muhammad Iqbal.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

“I see nothing but happiness in martyrdom, and life with oppressors as nothing but misery.”
— Imam Husain ibn Ali

Since the commencement of Muharram this year, we have reflected upon many dimensions of the tragedy of Karbala. We have written about the companions of Imam Husain, the women and children who shared his suffering, the role of Zainab in preserving the memory of Ashura, the universal brotherhood represented in his camp, the educational role of Muharram, and the enduring influence of Karbala on literature, culture, and political thought. In truth, the message of Imam Husain is embedded in all these themes. Each aspect of Karbala is but a window through which one glimpses a larger moral vision.

Before proceeding in the coming days to examine other dimensions of Muharram and the legacy of the Ahl al-Bayt, it is useful to pause and ask a fundamental question: What was the message and mission of Husain himself? Why does his name continue to move hearts and inspire consciences more than thirteen centuries after his martyrdom? Why is it that a small band of men, women, and children who perished on a remote desert plain continue to command the admiration of millions across the world?

The answer lies in the fact that Karbala was never merely a historical event. It was a moral revolution. It was a declaration that truth must be upheld even when defeat appears certain, that conscience must never be surrendered to power, and that human dignity is worth more than life itself. The struggle of Imam Husain was not for a throne, a kingdom, or worldly authority. It was a struggle to preserve the ethical and spiritual foundations of Islam and, in doing so, to provide a timeless example for all humanity.

To understand Husain’s mission, one must appreciate the circumstances in which he lived. He was the beloved grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, the son of Imam Ali and Fatima al-Zahra, and a member of the Prophet’s household, whose virtues were repeatedly extolled by the Prophet himself. Husain grew up witnessing Islam not merely as a system of rituals but as a moral order founded upon justice, compassion, accountability, and service to humanity.

When Mu’awiya died in 680 CE and his son Yazid assumed power, Husain was confronted with a momentous choice. Yazid demanded allegiance from the leading figures of the Muslim community. To many, this may have appeared a routine political matter. To Husain, however, it was a question of moral legitimacy. He believed that acquiescence would amount to endorsing a system that had reduced the caliphate from a moral trust into hereditary kingship. To remain silent would be to betray the values for which his grandfather and father had struggled. Husain therefore refused to submit. Yet his refusal was not motivated by political ambition. Had power been his objective, he could have reached an accommodation with the ruling regime and enjoyed wealth, comfort, and influence. Instead, he consciously chose a path that he knew would lead to suffering and death.

His own words explain his purpose: “I did not rise out of arrogance, pride, corruption, or oppression. I rose only to seek reform in the community of my grandfather. I desire to enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong.”

These words constitute the manifesto of Karbala. Husain did not rise to conquer territory. He rose to restore moral consciousness. He understood that religion without justice becomes hollow, and that faith divorced from ethical responsibility loses its meaning. His mission was therefore one of reform, accountability, and the awakening of conscience. This emphasis on conscience is perhaps the most enduring aspect of Husain’s message. Karbala teaches that every individual possesses the freedom and responsibility to distinguish right from wrong. Throughout the tragedy, the central issue was not tribal affiliation, political loyalty, or military strength. The real question was whether one would stand with truth or with power.

The companions of Husain embody this principle. Many of them were not related to him by blood. Some came from tribes that had no historical association with the Prophet’s family. Others had once been sympathetic to opposing political camps. Yet when confronted with the choice between justice and expediency, they chose justice. Among them was Zuhair ibn Qayn, who had initially avoided meeting Husain but ultimately became one of his most devoted supporters. There was Jawn (John), the elderly freed African companion who insisted on fighting alongside Husain despite being released from any obligation to do so. There were former slaves, tribal chiefs, young men in the prime of life, and elderly companions approaching the end of their days. Karbala brought together people of different backgrounds and social positions in a common commitment to truth.

This diversity reveals an important dimension of Husain’s mission. Karbala was not an Arab struggle, nor a family dispute within Quraysh. It was a universal movement. In the camp of Husain stood Arabs and non-Arabs, free men and former slaves, nobles and commoners. The movement represented humanity in miniature. Its message was addressed not to one tribe or one community but to all people. Equally significant was the role of the youth. Ali Akbar, Qasim ibn Hasan, Aun and Muhammad, and many other young participants demonstrated extraordinary courage. They remind us that moral greatness is not determined by age. Karbala teaches that the young are capable of profound ethical insight and immense sacrifice when guided by noble ideals.

The presence of children deepens this lesson. Sakina, Ruqayya, and the infant Ali Asghar stand among the most poignant figures of Karbala. Their suffering transformed the tragedy from a political conflict into a universal human drama. The image of an infant struck by an arrow while seeking water has moved generations because it exposes the cruelty of oppression in its starkest form. Yet the message of Husain is not confined to those who stood with him. Karbala also compels us to reflect upon those who failed him. Many people in Kufa knew that Husain represented justice. They had invited him to come. They had pledged their support. Yet when confronted with threats and intimidation, most abandoned him. This is one of the most uncomfortable but important lessons of Karbala. Tyranny survives not only because of tyrants but because ordinary people choose silence. The tragedy teaches that neutrality in moments of moral crisis is itself a choice. The people of Kufa did not kill Husain with their swords alone. Many helped create the conditions for his martyrdom through fear, hesitation, and inaction. Karbala therefore speaks not only about the crimes of oppressors but also about the responsibilities of bystanders. Every generation must ask itself whether it resembles the small group that stood with Husain or the much larger crowd that remained silent.

The mission of Husain cannot be understood without acknowledging the extraordinary role of the women of Karbala. If Husain gave the movement its blood, Zainab gave it its voice. Following the massacre, it was Zainab who assumed leadership of the survivors. She comforted the bereaved, protected the children, and confronted the victorious authorities. Her speeches in Kufa and Damascus rank among the most powerful acts of resistance in history. Standing as a captive before the rulers responsible for her family’s suffering, she refused to be intimidated. Instead, she transformed captivity into a platform for truth. The survival of Karbala’s message owes as much to Zainab as to those who fell on the battlefield. Without her courage and eloquence, the tragedy might have been reduced to a forgotten military episode. Through her words and actions, it became an enduring moral narrative. The role of the women and children also reminds us that Karbala was not solely a battlefield encounter. It was a struggle involving entire families. The sacrifices of Sakina, Rubab, Umm Kulthum, Fizza, and countless others demonstrate that resistance to oppression is not confined to warriors. The moral courage shown by the women of Karbala was no less significant than the physical courage displayed by its martyrs.

At its deepest level, Husain’s mission was a defence of human dignity. His famous refusal to accept humiliation has inspired people far beyond the Muslim world. Mahatma Gandhi saw in Husain’s sacrifice a model for resisting injustice. Jawaharlal Nehru described him as a symbol of courage and steadfastness. Muhammad Ali Jinnah admired his moral example. The historian Thomas Carlyle regarded Karbala as proof that true victory belongs not to those who possess armies but to those who possess conviction. Such admiration arises because the message of Husain transcends religious boundaries. One need not be Muslim to appreciate the principles for which he stood. Truthfulness, justice, courage, sacrifice, and resistance to oppression are values recognised by all civilisations.

This universality explains why Karbala has inspired such a vast literary and cultural tradition. In the Persian-speaking world, it gave rise to devotional poetry, passion plays, and historical narratives. In South Asia, poets such as Anees and Dabeer transformed Karbala into one of the greatest traditions of Urdu literature. Modern writers, including progressive poets and intellectuals, continue to invoke Husain as a symbol of resistance against tyranny and injustice. Indeed, every Muharram reminds us that Karbala is not merely remembered; it is relived. The majlis, the nauha, the marsiya, the procession, the distribution of food and water, and the gathering of communities all serve to renew the values for which Husain stood. Muharram functions as a living school that educates minds, shapes consciences, and transmits ethical ideals from one generation to the next.

Ultimately, the mission of Husain was to preserve the moral essence of religion. He demonstrated that faith is not measured by outward displays of piety alone but by one’s willingness to stand for justice when doing so carries a cost. He showed that numbers do not determine truth, that power does not confer legitimacy, and that sacrifice in the cause of righteousness can prove more enduring than the victories of kings. This is why Husain remains alive in human memory while the empires that opposed him have largely faded into history. The battlefield of Karbala lasted only a few hours. Its moral impact has endured for more than thirteen centuries. For this reason, Allama Ali Naqi Naqqan aptly described him as Shahid-e-Insaniyat, the Martyr of Humanity. Husain belongs not merely to one sect, one nation, or one historical period. He belongs to every age in which people confront injustice, every society in which conscience struggles against power, and every individual who seeks to live with dignity rather than submission.

The enduring message of Husain can therefore be summarised in a simple but profound proposition: there are values more precious than life itself. Truth, justice, honour, and conscience are among them. When these values are threatened, silence becomes complicity and resistance becomes duty. That was the mission of Husain at Karbala. That remains the message of Husain today. And that is why his name continues to illuminate hearts and consciences across the world, generation after generation.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

When Karbala is recalled, the popular imagination tends to fix upon the members of the Prophet’s family. The names of Husain, Abbas, Ali Akbar, Qasim, Sakina, Zainab and Ali Asghar naturally dominate the narrative. Yet to regard Karbala solely as a tragedy of the Prophet’s household is to overlook one of its most profound dimensions. Karbala was not merely a family calamity; it was a gathering of humanity in miniature. Arabs and non-Arabs, nobles and commoners, former slaves and tribal chiefs, old men and children, blacks and whites, men and women – even those who had once held differing political loyalties – stood together in defence of a single moral principle.

The battlefield of Karbala represented the ideal Islamic community as envisioned by the Prophet Muhammad. Social distinctions disappeared before the demands of conscience. The camp of Husain was defined not by race, tribe, wealth or ancestry, but by the choice to stand with truth. As Wilferd Madelung observes in The Succession to Muhammad, the confrontation at Karbala was fundamentally about the nature of legitimate authority in Islam, and those who rallied to Husain did so out of conviction rather than tribal allegiance.

This diversity becomes even more remarkable when one examines the backgrounds of those who accompanied Imam Husain. Among them were descendants of the Prophet, veterans of the early Islamic conquests, former supporters of Caliph Uthman, Persians, Turks, Africans, freed slaves, servants and even Christians. Husain M. Jafri, in The Origins and Early Development of Shi’a Islam, emphasises that the supporters of Husain represented a cross-section of early Islamic society, bound together by opposition to what they perceived as the usurpation of rightful authority. Karbala thus emerged as a universal movement whose message transcended every social and ethnic boundary.

Among the most celebrated martyrs was Jawn ibn Huwayy, the former slave of Abuzar al-Ghifari. The earliest historical sources provide only a brief mention of his presence. In al-Tabari’s Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk, which preserves the account of Abu Mikhnaf, we find the simple notation that “Huwayy” – a former slave of Abuzar – fell alongside Husain. Similarly, in Shaykh al-Mufid’s Kitab al-Irshad, the figure appears as “Juwayn”, listed among the martyrs without elaboration. By the time of the later maqtal literature, however, his story had grown considerably. Ibn Shahrashub, in Manaqib Al Abi Talib, records a poem attributed to Jawn and a famous dialogue with Imam Husain in which the Imam offers to release him from his oath of allegiance, only for Jawn to refuse. The elderly Abyssinian declared that he could not enjoy the blessings of the Ahl al-Bayt in times of peace and abandon them in times of hardship. He fought until he was martyred. In the memory of Karbala, the former slave attained a rank equal to princes and nobles.

Nor was Jawn alone. The lists of martyrs preserved in the maqtal literature mention numerous freedmen and servants. Aslam al-Turki, a Turkish freedman attached to Husain’s household, fought and died at Karbala. Qarib, a servant of Imam Husain, and Munjih, a servant associated with Imam Hasan, likewise gave their lives. Harith ibn Nabhan, the son of a servant of Hamza ibn Abd al-Muttalib, also fell among the martyrs. Their presence demonstrates that Karbala was not an aristocratic cause; it was a movement in which those occupying the lowest positions in society found themselves standing shoulder to shoulder with the descendants of the Prophet. The Maqatil al-Talibiyyin of Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani preserves numerous such names, underscoring the social diversity of Husain’s companions.

The role of servants and slaves becomes still more striking in the narratives preserved in later maqtal and majlis traditions. These accounts may not always be recoverable from the earliest chronicles, but they reveal how Muslim memory understood the ethical significance of Karbala. As Mahmoud Ayoub demonstrates in Redemptive Suffering in Islam, the Karbala narrative evolved over time to emphasise themes of sacrificial loyalty and moral redemption, with even the humblest figures emerging as exemplars of virtue.

One such account concerns Habib ibn Mazahir, the aged companion of Imam Husain. When news of Husain’s isolation reached Kufa, Habib sought ways to evade Umayyad surveillance. According to later traditions preserved in Persian and Indo-Muslim maqtal works, it was his servant who urged him not to delay and reminded him of his duty towards the grandson of the Prophet. The social hierarchy of master and slave was momentarily reversed; the servant became the voice of conscience.

A similar episode is associated with Hurr ibn Yazid al-Riyahi. Hurr’s own transformation remains one of the most powerful moments in Islamic history. Having initially blocked Husain’s route, he ultimately abandoned worldly rank and military command to join the Imam. Later traditions relate that one of Hurr’s servants requested permission to fight alongside his master. Inspired by Hurr’s example, he too chose martyrdom over survival.

Equally moving is the account connected with Zuhair ibn Qayn. Zuhair had not always been counted among the supporters of Ali. Many traditions describe him as having sympathies with the camp known as the Shi’at Uthman – those who continued to identify strongly with the cause of Caliph Uthman. Yet when confronted with the moral challenge of Karbala, Zuhair underwent a profound transformation and became one of Husain’s most loyal defenders. As Ali Rahnema observes in his studies on Karbala memory, the narrative deliberately includes figures like Zuhair to illustrate that the appeal of Husain’s cause extended beyond partisan boundaries.

After his martyrdom, later narratives tell us, his widow sent a servant carrying a shroud to cover his body. Reaching the battlefield, the servant saw not only the body of Zuhair but also the unburied bodies of Husain, Abbas, Ali Akbar, Qasim and the other martyrs. Overcome with emotion, he returned without using the shroud. How, he reportedly asked, could he cover his master while the grandson of the Prophet remained exposed beneath the sun? Whether preserved as history or as sacred memory, the episode captures the spirit of Karbala, where personal loyalties dissolved before devotion to Husain.

The diversity of Husain’s companions extended beyond slaves and servants. Karbala also included men whose tribal, political and ethnic backgrounds differed widely. Zuhair himself demonstrates that support for Husain was not confined to those already identified with the partisans of Ali; individuals who had previously occupied different positions within the political conflicts of the early Muslim community also found themselves drawn to his cause.

Likewise, the presence of non-Arabs is significant. Men of Persian, Turkish and African origin appear throughout the lists of Karbala’s martyrs, as documented in sources such as Ibsar al-Ayn fi Ansar al-Husayn by Shaykh Muhammad Samawi, which meticulously catalogues the companions of the Imam. Their participation illustrates the cosmopolitan character of the early Islamic world. Karbala was not an Arab tribal struggle; it was a struggle over principles that resonated across ethnic boundaries.

The Christian presence in the wider Karbala tradition further reinforces this point. The stories of Christian monks, hermits and sympathisers who recognised the sanctity of Husain – whether historical or devotional – reflect a conviction deeply embedded in Muslim memory: that the truth represented by Husain could be recognised even by those outside the Muslim community. Karbala became a moral event whose significance transcended confessional boundaries.

Among the most remarkable figures connected with the women of Karbala is Fizza, the devoted servant of Fatima al-Zahra. Although often overshadowed by the towering personality of Zainab, Fizza occupies an important place in Shi’i memory. She had long served the household of Ali and Fatima and remained deeply attached to the family. While the earliest sources, such as al-Tabari and al-Mufid, focus primarily on the male martyrs and the orations of Zainab, the later maqtal and majlis traditions – particularly in Persian and Indo-Muslim devotional literature – expand considerably upon Fizza’s role.

Later traditions place her among those who endured the suffering of Karbala and the subsequent captivity. Her role did not end on the battlefield. Like Zainab, she emerged as one of the voices of resistance during the captivity of the Ahl al-Bayt. Accounts preserved in devotional literature describe her speaking boldly in the courts of Kufa and Damascus and defending the dignity of the Prophet’s family.

One particularly striking tradition recounts that while in captivity she encountered members of her own Abyssinian community. They offered assistance and protection. Yet Fizza refused to separate her fate from that of the Prophet’s household. She would not accept freedom for herself while the daughters and granddaughters of the Prophet remained prisoners. Her loyalty was not to tribe, race or ethnicity; it was to the cause of Husain and the family of Muhammad.

In this respect Fizza’s example parallels that of Zainab herself. Just as Zainab transformed captivity into a platform for resistance, Fizza transformed servitude into a form of moral leadership. Her speeches, her refusal to abandon the captives, and her steadfastness in the face of humiliation ensured that she became one of the lesser-known but deeply significant heroines of the Karbala narrative.

What emerges from all these accounts is a vision of Karbala fundamentally different from the simplistic notion of a conflict between two Arab clans. Karbala was not merely a confrontation between Banu Hashim and Banu Umayya; it was a gathering of humanity around a moral choice. Those who stood with Husain came from different races, tribes, social classes and political backgrounds. Some were descendants of the Prophet, some were former slaves, some were non-Arabs, and some had previously followed different political loyalties. Yet all were united by a shared recognition of truth.

The enduring power of Karbala lies precisely in this universality. Every section of society found representation in Husain’s camp. The noble and the humble, the free and the enslaved, the Arab and the non-Arab, the man and the woman, the elder and the child – all participated in the same struggle.

For this reason Karbala continues to inspire people across cultures and centuries. It demonstrates that dignity is not inherited through birth, wealth or status. The greatest heroes of Karbala were not necessarily those of the highest rank. Some were slaves, some were servants, some were strangers, some were women. Yet all attained greatness because they chose principle over power.

Karbala thus remains a timeless lesson that human worth is determined not by who one is, but by the choices one makes when confronted with injustice. On the plains of Karbala, the descendants of the Prophet stood beside former slaves, and together they created one of history’s most enduring testimonies to equality, loyalty and moral courage.

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Bibliography

Primary Sources

Abu Mikhnaf (d. 774). Maqtal al-Husayn (preserved in al-Tabari).

Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani (d. 967). Maqatil al-Talibiyyin. Beirut: Dar al-Ma’rifah.

Al-Mufid, Shaykh (d. 1022). Kitab al-Irshad. Translated by I.K.A. Howard. London: Muhammadi Trust, 1981.

Al-Samawi, Shaykh Muhammad (d. c. 1920). Ibsar al-Ayn fi Ansar al-Husayn. Najaf: al-Matba’ah al-Haydariyyah.

Al-Tabari (d. 923). Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk. Edited by M.J. de Goeje. Leiden: Brill, 1879-1901.

Ibn Shahrashub (d. 1192). Manaqib Al Abi Talib. Qum: Intisharat-i Allamah.

Ibn Tawus, Sayyid (d. 1266). al-Luhuf ‘ala Qatla al-Tufuf. Beirut: Dar al-Mahajjah al-Bayda’.

Modern Studies

Ayoub, Mahmoud. Redemptive Suffering in Islam: A Study of the Devotional Aspects of Ashura in Twelver Shi’ism. The Hague: Mouton, 1978.

Crone, Patricia. Roman, Provincial and Islamic Law: The Origins of the Islamic Patronate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987.

Inloes, Amina. ‘Racial “Othering” in Shi’i Sacred History: Jawn ibn Huwayy the “African Slave”, and the Ethnicities of the Twelve Imams’. Journal of Shi’a Islamic Studies, vol. 10, no. 2, 2017.

Jafri, S. Husain M. The Origins and Early Development of Shi’a Islam. London: Longman, 1979.

Madelung, Wilferd. The Succession to Muhammad: A Study of the Early Caliphate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

Rahnema, Ali. ‘Karbala and the Memory of the Martyrs’. In The Routledge Handbook of Shi’a Islam, edited by Robert Gleave. London: Routledge, forthcoming.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

The tragedy of Karbala is indelibly marked by the memory of its adult protagonists: Imam Husain ibn Ali, his half-brother Abbas, his son Ali Akbar, and his sister Zainab, alongside the loyal companions who fell beside them on the plains of Karbala in 61 AH (680 CE). Yet the conflict’s profound impact extended far beyond these well-known figures, enveloping the youngest members of Husain’s household and retinue. Children were not merely passive observers; they were integral to the narrative, their experiences ranging from active, albeit tragic, participation on the battlefield to the profound suffering of hunger, thirst, bereavement, captivity, and displacement. Among them was an infant whose death would evolve into one of the most poignant and powerful symbols within Islamic commemorative traditions, particularly in Shi’i piety. Collectively, their stories illuminate how the events at Karbala affected multiple generations of the Prophet’s family, embedding a legacy of sacrifice and resilience that transcends age.

The children associated with Karbala occupy a singular and enduring place in Islamic historical memory. Their narratives, preserved and transmitted through a rich tapestry of early chronicles, biographical dictionaries, maqtal (martyrdom) literature, and later devotional poetry and rituals, are consistently interpreted as exemplars of courage, unwavering loyalty, profound faith, and steadfast perseverance. Over the centuries, these youthful experiences have been imbued with profound symbolic meaning, coming to represent the broader themes of righteous sacrifice, moral commitment in the face of overwhelming tyranny, and the forging of communal identity through shared remembrance.

Sources and the Construction of Historical Memory

Before examining the individual stories, it is essential to consider the historiographical landscape through which their memory has been mediated. Our knowledge of the children of Karbala derives from a layered corpus of sources. The foundational account is that of Abu Mikhnaf (d. 774 CE), whose Maqtal al-Husain was composed relatively soon after the events. Although the original text is no longer extant independently, substantial portions were meticulously preserved by the renowned historian al-Tabari (d. 923 CE) in his monumental Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk. Valuable corroborating information is also found in al-Baladhuri’s (d. 892 CE) Ansab al-Ashraf and in the comprehensive histories of Ibn Athir (d. 1233 CE) and other medieval scholars. Later compilations, such as al-Khwarizmi’s (d. 1172 CE) Maqtal al-Husain and Ibn Tawus’s (d. 1266 CE) al-Luhuf fi Qatla al-Tufuf, preserve a wealth of traditions concerning the younger victims and the surviving children of the Prophet’s household, often elaborating on the emotional and devotional dimensions of the tragedy.

Modern scholarship has approached these sources with a critical eye, seeking to distinguish between the earlier, more restrained historical reports and the later, often more elaborate, devotional elaborations. Scholars such as Wilferd Madelung, S. H. M. Jafri, Moojan Momen, and Kamran Scot Aghaie have carefully examined the transmission chains and the socio-political contexts in which these narratives were cultivated. While they acknowledge that certain details, particularly those of a highly miraculous or emotive nature, appear more prominently in later commemorative traditions, the consensus remains that the available evidence robustly indicates that children were indeed present at Karbala, that several were killed during or in immediate connection with the battle, and that the survivors played a crucial, albeit often understated, role in preserving and transmitting the memory of the event.

With this historical and literary background in mind, the children of Karbala can be thoughtfully considered through three interconnected thematic lenses: the young battlefield casualties, the infant and child victims of the conflict’s violence, and the surviving witnesses whose subsequent experiences shaped the enduring remembrance of the tragedy.

The Young Battlefield Martyrs

Among the most celebrated of these young participants is Qasim ibn Hasan, the son of Imam Hasan and the nephew of Imam Husain. Orphaned years before Karbala, Qasim was raised under the guardianship of his uncle, Husain, who became a paternal figure to him. According to traditional accounts, after witnessing the successive deaths of numerous companions and relatives on the fateful day of Ashura, the youthful Qasim repeatedly importuned his uncle for permission to enter the battlefield. In a widely transmitted tradition preserved in Karbala literature, Husain, moved by the boy’s earnestness, asked him how he regarded death. Qasim is said to have replied with a poignant metaphor, declaring that death in the path of truth was sweeter than honey. While historians exercise due caution regarding the precise historical reliability of such dialogue, the narrative has become a cornerstone of later representations of Qasim’s character, epitomising youthful devotion and an unflinching commitment to principle. Traditional accounts state that permission was eventually granted and that Qasim fought valiantly before being overwhelmed and martyred. His death remains one of the most frequently and poignantly commemorated episodes in Karbala narratives, often serving as a powerful representation of dedication to a just cause, irrespective of age.

Another son of Imam Hasan whose memory is indelibly etched in Karbala traditions is Abdullah ibn Hasan. Unlike Qasim, Abdullah is generally described as a young child who had remained in the camp with the women and other non-combatants. According to the sources, as the battle reached its violent crescendo and Husain stood largely isolated, wounded, and exhausted, Abdullah, upon witnessing his uncle’s peril, ran from the tents in a desperate act of familial loyalty. Traditional reports relate that when a soldier moved to strike Husain, the young Abdullah rushed forward to shield him. In these accounts, his arm was severed by a blow, and he was subsequently killed, falling beside his uncle. The episode is commonly presented as a profound example of spontaneous loyalty and familial devotion, a child’s instinctive love overcoming the terror of the battlefield, though details concerning his age and the exact circumstances of his death vary across different sources.

The youthful casualties also included Aun and Muhammad, the sons of Zainab bint Ali and Abdullah ibn Ja’far. Through their mother, they were direct descendants of Ali and Fatima and great-grandsons of the Prophet Muhammad. Their presence at Karbala vividly illustrates the extent to which members of the Prophet’s extended family were enmeshed in the events surrounding Husain’s movement. According to traditional accounts, the two brothers, after witnessing the martyrdom of their relatives and companions, requested permission to fight. These reports state that they entered the battle and were subsequently killed, defending their uncle. Their deaths have often been interpreted as reflecting the participation of multiple generations of the Banu Hashim in the conflict, and they feature prominently in discussions of Zainab’s anguished but resilient role in Karbala.

The descendants of Aqil ibn Abi Talib, Husain’s cousin, likewise suffered grievous losses. Among them was Muhammad ibn Abi Sa’id ibn Aqil, a young boy whose death is reported to have occurred amid the chaotic turmoil following Husain’s martyrdom. Historical traditions describe him emerging from the tents, perhaps in a state of confusion or seeking his family, and being mercilessly killed by opposing soldiers who showed no distinction between combatant and non-combatant. Although the details of this account vary, it is frequently cited as stark evidence of the vulnerability of the innocent and the indiscriminate nature of the violence meted out during the aftermath of the battle.

Closely associated with the tragedy are Muhammad and Ibrahim, the sons of Muslim ibn Aqil. Muslim, Husain’s cousin and his representative in Kufa, had been betrayed and executed in that city before the events at Karbala, after losing the local support that had initially invited Husain to Iraq. According to long-established traditions, his young sons, having been left behind or subsequently captured, later fell into captivity and were eventually martyred. While many of the more elaborate details of their story derive from later maqtal literature, the narrative became an influential and heart-rending symbol of innocence, persecution, and steadfastness in the face of overwhelming adversity. These accounts collectively demonstrate that the events of Karbala involved not only experienced adult combatants but also a significant number of younger individuals, whose stories became an inextricable part of the broader historical and moral record.

Infant and Child Victims of the Tragedy

Among the children associated with Karbala, Ali Asghar, also reverently known as Abdullah al-Radhi (the ‘Pleasing Infant’), occupies a uniquely prominent and emotive place in later tradition. He is universally identified as the infant son of Imam Husain and is commonly described as being approximately six months old at the time of Ashura. In the harrowing accounts, the severe thirst that afflicted those in Husain’s camp is emphasised, as access to the Euphrates had been restricted by Yazid’s forces for several days. Many narrations relate that Husain, cradling the parched infant in his arms, walked to the frontline and, exposing the baby to the opposing army, made a desperate appeal for water on the child’s behalf. According to the traditional narrative, rather than receiving succour, the innocent infant was instead struck by a three-pronged arrow, which pierced his neck, and he died in his father’s arms. The death of Ali Asghar became one of the most searing and significant episodes in the memory of Karbala. In later religious and literary traditions, it evolved into a powerful symbol of the suffering of the most innocent and vulnerable during the conflict, playing a central role in shaping the moral and emotional dimensions of Karbala commemoration and invoking profound empathy for the plight of Husain and his family. The deaths of children such as Ali Asghar and Muhammad ibn Abi Sa’id ibn Aqil powerfully underscore the extent to which the violence associated with Karbala affected both combatants and non-combatants, leaving no segment of the household untouched.

The Surviving Witnesses of Karbala

If Ali Asghar became a symbol of innocent victimhood in later tradition, Sakina bint Husain (also known as Ruqayya) came to represent endurance, survival, and the profound emotional toll of the tragedy. She was one of the young daughters of Imam Husain and was present during the events of Karbala. Traditional accounts describe her witnessing the deaths of her father and relatives and enduring the immense hardships that followed the battle, including the harrowing journey of captivity. Following the death of her father, Sakina was among those taken captive and paraded through Kufa and Damascus. Her experiences, particularly her poignant suffering and grief, occupy a prominent place in later devotional literature and ritual lamentation. One widely circulated, albeit historically debated, tradition recounts that while imprisoned in a cell in Damascus, she awoke crying for her father. According to this narrative, when Husain’s severed head was brought before her, she died of grief. Although historians have questioned the origins and precise historical reliability of this heart-rending account, it has nevertheless become an influential and indelible element of Karbala remembrance, encapsulating the tragedy of a child’s loss.

Alongside Sakina were other young girls of the Prophet’s household, including Fatima bint Husain and the many daughters of Husain’s brothers and cousins. Their individual stories receive less attention in many of the historical chronicles than those of the battlefield casualties; yet they remain critically important for understanding the full scope of the aftermath of Karbala. Traditional accounts describe them witnessing the burning of their tents, the looting of their possessions, and the profound hardships of captivity, while mourning the loss of their close relatives. Through their reported experiences and recollections, later generations preserved essential aspects of the Karbala narrative. Yet another survivor was Muhammad al-Bāqir, the infant son of Zainul Abedīn, who was later to emerge as the fifth Imām. He is said to have been around 5 years of age when Karbala took place.

The role of these surviving children after Ashura is often less emphasised than that of adult figures like Zainab. Nevertheless, they formed a vital part of the captive group that accompanied Zainab and Imam Ali ibn Husain Zainul Abedīn (the sole adult male survivor from Husain’s immediate family) during their journey to the courts of Kufa and Damascus. Their presence starkly highlighted the far-reaching consequences of the conflict for the Prophet’s family and contributed significantly to the profound emotional and political impact of the speeches attributed to Zainab and Zainul Abedīn in those cities. In this vital sense, the surviving children were not merely passive victims but important witnesses within the historical memory of Karbala. While those who died became central figures in narratives of ultimate sacrifice, it was the survivors who helped preserve and transmit the event’s legacy, ensuring that the tragedy was not forgotten.

Legacy and Enduring Lessons

The children associated with Karbala continue to occupy a place of profound importance in Islamic memory precisely because their stories have been interpreted as embodying a diverse and compelling range of ethical and religious values. In later tradition, Qasim ibn Hasan is often associated with conviction and courage; Abdullah ibn Hasan with spontaneous loyalty; Aun and Muhammad with commitment to principle; Muhammad and Ibrahim with perseverance; Ali Asghar with innocent suffering; and Sakina and Al-Båqir, with patience, resilience, and grief. The surviving daughters of the Prophet’s household are frequently remembered for their crucial, albeit often unheralded, role in preserving and transmitting the memory of the tragedy through oral accounts. Taken together, these narratives suggest that significance within historical and religious traditions is not necessarily linked to age, physical strength, or political authority. Although many of these figures died in childhood, their stories have remained remarkably prominent in communal remembrance for over thirteen centuries.

More than thirteen hundred years after the tragedy of Karbala, the children associated with Imam Husain continue to occupy a notable and deeply resonant place in Islamic historical and devotional traditions. They are remembered as both victims and, in some cases, active participants in a broader narrative concerning moral commitment, justice, and the imperative of remembrance. Through early historical accounts, ritual commemorations such as the Rauza-Khwani and Ta’ziya performances, and a vast body of literary and poetic representations, their diverse experiences continue to shape the interpretative lens through which the events of Karbala are understood and internalised across generations, serving as an enduring testament to the human cost of that fateful day and the timeless values it champions.

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Select Bibliography

Primary Sources:

· Abu Mikhnaf (d. 774 CE). Maqtal al-Husain. Preserved in al-Tabari’s Tarikh.
· Al-Tabari, Muhammad ibn Jarir (d. 923 CE). Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk. Translated as The History of al-Ṭabarī, Vol. XIX: The Caliphate of Yazīd b. Mu‘āwiyah, translated by I. K. A. Howard. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990.
· Al-Baladhuri, Ahmad ibn Yahya (d. 892 CE). Ansab al-Ashraf.
· Al-Khwarizmi, Muwaffaq ibn Ahmad (d. 1172 CE). Maqtal al-Husain.
· Ibn Tawus, Ali ibn Musa (d. 1266 CE). Al-Luhuf fi Qatla al-Tufuf. Translated as The Tragedy of Karbala by A. H. Qureshi. Qum: Ansariyan Publications, n.d.
· Ibn Athir, Ali ibn Muhammad (d. 1233 CE). Al-Kamil fi al-Tarikh.

Secondary Sources: (Selected)

· Aghaie, Kamran Scot, ed. The Women of Karbala: Ritual Performance and Symbolic Discourses in Modern Shi‘i Islam. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005.
· Hyder, Syed Akbar. Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.
· Jafri, S. H. M. The Origins and Early Development of Shi‘a Islam. London: Longman, 1979; repr., Qum: Ansariyan Publications, 2000.
· Madelung, Wilferd. The Succession to Muhammad: A Study of the Early Caliphate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.
· Momen, Moojan. An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985.
· Pinault, David. The Shiites: Ritual and Popular Piety in a Muslim Community. London: I. B. Tauris, 1992.
· Vaglieri, L. Veccia. “al-Ḥusayn b. ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, edited by P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C. E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, and W. P. Heinrichs. Leiden: Brill, 1960-2007.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

These days many people opine: what is the need to waste time in attending or organising a majlis? It’s a useless waste of time, energy and resources. Why keep hearing the same nonsense again and again? This essay, on the other hand, tries to argue contrarily, that majālis of Muharram are actually a great way of a learning process: in fact the months of mourning are in fact a period when the University of the Ahlulbayt, the Living University of Muharram, functions and provides us a cheap and easy way to educate ourselves. It is the madrasa of the Ahlulbayt where you gain much.

Let us start by asking two questions: one, what is a majlis? It is an assembly or congregation, in our case, a congregation to mourn the martyrdom of Imām Husain, the grandson of the Prophet at the hands of Yazid and his cohorts. It is a combination of elegy recitations, marsiya and nauha, and an oration. They can be held any time of the year, but specially so during Muharram and Safar, running into the first week of Rabiul Awwal. The second question is: “What is a madrasa?” Is it only a place which imparts religious education or is it much more? In its conventional sense, it is a place of learning, an institution where knowledge is transmitted through structured lessons, where teachers guide students through established curricula, and where the pursuit of understanding is undertaken with seriousness and purpose.

Muharram gatherings, the majalis, are another kind of madrasa, one that has educated millions for more than thirteen centuries without ever constructing a single building, without charging a single fee, and without issuing a single diploma. It operates not within lecture halls but within homes, community centres, mosques, and public spaces. Here people assemble and are taught by various experts, called Zākir. These teachers are scholars, historians, ethicists, storytellers and even professionals, who offer their knowledge freely. Its students are ordinary people who come not to earn credentials but to understand, to reflect, and to grow. Its curriculum is not a fixed syllabus but a living narrative, revolving around the story of Karbala, which reveals new meanings with each retelling. This is the Living Madrasa that this essay seeks to explore.

Most people associate Muharram with mourning, remembrance, and commemoration. While this is certainly true, it is only part of the picture. Muharram is actually a vast educational enterprise, a monumental madrasa whose classrooms extend across continents and whose curriculum has remained relevant through changing ages and societies. Every year, this remarkable institution, as stated, opens its doors for two months and eight days. During this period, people gather in homes, Imāmbādas, mosques, community centres, and even public spaces to attend majālis, gatherings of mourning and remembrance. These assemblies are often viewed simply as religious rituals, but in reality they function as dynamic classrooms where knowledge is imparted, ideas are debated, history is preserved, and moral values are cultivated. This aspect has been recognised and commented over throughout the world. The Islamic Center at New York University recognising this educational dimension, observed that Muharram majalis programmes offer “in-depth religious education, intensive courses and a lecture series that brings in the brightest minds from the Shia community,” functioning as a unique space “for learning, connection, and spiritual growth” (Islamic Center at New York University, 2024). The Imam Ali Foundation in London similarly emphasises that Muharram is not merely an emotional occasion but “a pivotal opportunity to revive religious awareness, renew allegiance to the path of the Ahl al-Bayt, and foster the development of a mission-driven individual who takes Imam Husain as a role model and exemplar” (Imam Ali Foundation, 2026). Contemporary scholarship has increasingly recognised the educational dimension embedded within such religious practices, identifying how these traditions serve as informal mechanisms for transmitting moral and spiritual values. Syed Akbar Hyder’s Reliving Karbala (2006) examines how the Karbala narrative is “appropriated and lived in the contexts and memories of South Asian Muslims and non-Muslims at different times,” demonstrating how various interpretive strategies shape social milieus and contribute to education across communities (Hyder, 2006, p. 10).

The resemblance between Muharram and a formal educational institution is not metaphorical but striking. In any madrasa or university, students are taught by different teachers who approach the same subject from diverse perspectives. A historian may explain political developments, a philosopher may explore ethical implications, and a literary scholar may examine cultural expressions. In academic institutions multiple approaches and perspectives are discussed and inculcated. Together, they provide a comprehensive understanding of a subject. The same process occurs during Muharram. In my childhood and teenage I remember listening to a known surgeon, a philosopher and a theologian in a single day: and the learning was incredible! The same subject but different approaches becomes the mantra.

Throughout the commemorative period, and particularly during the first ten days, different scholars and speakers address audiences on a wide range of themes connected with Karbala. One speaker may discuss the political conditions of the Umayyad period; another may focus on the personality and mission of Imam Husain; a third may examine the role of Abbas ibn Ali; yet another may analyse the contribution of Lady Zainab in preserving and disseminating the message of Karbala. A fourth may talk of principles of physics or even the basics of chemistry! Some focus on theology, others on history, literature, ethics, philosophy, spirituality, or contemporary social concerns. Each lecture adds a new dimension and deepens understanding, training the mind to approach complex questions from multiple angles.

In many communities, the first ten days of Muharram resemble an intensive academic programme. Majālis (plural of majlis) begin early in the morning and continue until late in the evening. Historical accounts indicate that in the early nineteenth century in Awadh, notables held mourning sessions twice daily during the first ten days, with the evening sessions being the best attended. It is not uncommon for participants to attend several gatherings in a single day, moving from one majlis to another much as students move between lecture halls during a conference or seminar. The process is cumulative: each session contributes something new, and by the end of the ten days the participant has engaged with a rich and multifaceted body of knowledge. The first ten days thus form the core curriculum, while the remaining period, up to the fortieth day (Arba’īn), serves as an extended session for deeper reflection and consolidation of the lessons learned. This pedagogical structure, with its sequenced progression from foundational narratives to advanced ethical and theological reflection, mirrors the curriculum design of traditional madrasas where students advance through progressively deeper levels of study.

What makes this educational experience unique is that its central subject is not merely a text, it is humanity itself explained through an event. Karbala functions as a living text that is read, interpreted, and revisited every year. Like all great texts, it reveals new meanings with each reading. A child listening to the story may be inspired by acts of courage and sacrifice, thus beginning the education of the heart through emotional engagement with virtue. A young person may reflect upon questions of loyalty and integrity, engaging the conscience in moral reasoning. An adult may recognise lessons concerning justice, responsibility, and moral choice, exercising the mind in political and ethical analysis. An elderly listener may discover profound insights about patience, faith, and human dignity, deepening the spiritual cultivation of the heart. The event itself remains unchanged, yet every generation finds new meanings within it, and each listener at each stage of life discovers lessons appropriate to their own spiritual and intellectual development. As Hyder (2006, p. 11) notes, “the interpretive and commemorative strategies that undergird Muharram rituals require agency on the part of individuals and communities, whether they act as storytellers, as listeners, or both.”

This emphasis on education and the pursuit of knowledge is deeply rooted in the foundational sources of Islam. The Qur’an repeatedly stresses the importance of learning, reflection, and understanding. The very first revelation to the Prophet Muhammad began with the command, “Iqra” (Read or Recite) (Qur’an 96:1-5), and the sacred text is replete with verses that urge believers to ponder the signs of God, to seek knowledge, and to recognise that those who possess knowledge are elevated in rank: “Allah will raise those who have believed among you and those who were given knowledge, by degrees” (Qur’an 58:11). The Qur’an also instructs: “And it is not for the believers to go forth [to battle] all at once. For there should separate from every division of them a group [remaining] to obtain understanding in the religion and to warn their people when they return to them that they might be cautious” (Qur’an 9:122). Likewise, the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad consistently encouraged the acquisition of knowledge, declaring it an obligation upon every Muslim, male and female. He famously stated: “Seeking knowledge is a duty upon every Muslim” (Ibn Majah, Sunan, Book of the Sunnah), and he prayed for the increase of knowledge, saying: “O God, benefit me with what You have taught me, and teach me what will benefit me, and increase me in knowledge” (Tirmidhi, Sunan, Book of Supplications). Mu’adh ibn Jabal narrated that the Prophet said: “Seeking knowledge for the sake of Allah results in fearing Allah, it is a form of worship, discussing it is an act of glorifying Allah, and being busy in its search is a form of Jihad” (Abu Nu’aym, Hilyat al-Awliya). This prophetic tradition laid the foundation for an educational ethos that would later manifest itself in various institutional forms, including the very madrasas that have shaped Islamic civilisation for centuries.

Perhaps the first formal school to systematically impart education to children and others was established during the Khilafat of Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib. Recognising the critical need for structured learning, Imam Ali organised educational circles in Kufa, where initially the girls were taught, and later, male children were also included. This pioneering institution was remarkable not only for its inclusivity but also for its comprehensive curriculum, which encompassed Qur’anic exegesis, prophetic traditions, jurisprudence, and ethics. Scholarship on the educational principles of Imam Ali has examined his systematic approach to moral and intellectual development. Research drawing on Nahj al-Balaghah, Ghurar al-Hekam, and other Shiite narrative sources has identified that from Imam Ali’s perspective, the sources of knowledge include “revelation and inspiration, reason, the heart, Fitrah, verses of nature, verses of the soul, and history,” while the instruments for acquiring knowledge include “contemplation in the Holy Qur’an, wisdom, sense, discovery and intuition, and taking lessons from the lives of the Ahl al-Bayt” (Rezayat & Rezayat, 2020, p. 15). This epistemological framework, encompassing reason, revelation, and experiential insight, anticipates the holistic education that Muharram continues to provide, engaging the mind through rational inquiry, the heart through spiritual reflection, and the conscience through moral discernment. Studies have also examined Imam Ali’s emphasis on human social responsibilities, noting that from his viewpoint, “human being is naturally a social creature and in order to live in society, they must be in contact with society,” with education playing a crucial role in realising such social responsibilities (Rezvan Khah, Salehi & Sajadi, 2020, p. 8).

It was in this very school that Habib ibn Mazahir, who would later become one of the most distinguished figures of Karbala, received his initial education. His life story, when heard by a child attending a majlis, leaves a deep moral and practical impact. According to historical sources, Habib ibn Mazahir was a companion of Imams Ali, al-Hasan, and al-Husain, and was a member of the Banu Asad tribe. He had helped Ali ibn Abi Talib in the Battle of the Camel, the Battle of Siffin, and the Battle of Nahrawan. He was also Imam Husain’s childhood friend. He studied under the direct guidance of Imam Ali and other prominent companions, excelling in his studies to such an extent that he himself became a well-known teacher in Kufa, specialising in Qur’anic sciences and jurisprudence. His life exemplifies the ideal that education in this tradition is not an end in itself but a preparation for ethical action, where the mind informs the conscience, and the conscience moves the heart to sacrifice for justice. His example introduces the listener to the fact that education has had its importance even from the very early days of Islam.

When Imam Husain, on his journey to Karbala, found himself surrounded by Yazid’s army, he wrote a letter to Habib informing him of the situation and asking him to come to his aid. Ibn A’tham in his Al-Futuh records the events of Muharram 6th, 61 AH, noting that Habib ibn Mazahir said to Imam Husain: “A part of the Bani-Asad clan lives near here; allow me to go to them and ask them to come to your aid” (Ibn A’tham, Al-Futuh, Vol. 5, pp. 91-92; Khwarizmi, Maqtal al-Husayn, Vol. 1, pp. 243-244). Traditional narratives recount that Habib received the letter while having breakfast with his wife and young son. Upon reading it, “he kissed it and tears began to flow from his eyes. His wife asked him what was wrong. Habib said: ‘I have received a letter from my master, Husain. He has asked me to join him in Kerbala. Yazid’s soldiers have surrounded him and are after his life'” (Hujjat, 2009). Habib’s wife urged him to go, saying: “Habib! Your childhood friend has called you. Your master needs your help. What are you waiting for? Go Habib, before it is too late!” Habib managed to escape Kufa with his slave, who also insisted on joining the mission, saying: “Master! You are not being fair. I have served you faithfully for years. Now, I have a chance to serve the son of Bibi Fatemah, and you are asking me to go. Why are you denying me a place in Heaven?” (Hujjat, 2009). This episode reveals how the education of the heart, love for the Prophet’s family and attachment to justice, had so thoroughly permeated Habib’s household that even his wife and servant were moved to prioritise conscience over personal safety.

When Imam Husain wrote to him, he addressed him with the epithet “Mard e Faqīh” (scholar of law), recognising his profound learning and wisdom. This title was not merely honorific; it acknowledged Habib’s deep understanding of the religious and legal dimensions of the mission he was being called to support. Also important to note is that Husain was not beckoning a warrior, but a scholar.

Traditional narratives recount that Imam Husain received Habib with great affection in Karbala, and Bibi Zainab sent her greetings to him, a gesture that moved Habib to tears, reflecting his deep devotion and the honour he felt. Upon hearing that Bibi Zainab had sent greetings to him, “he screamed out in grief and anger. He threw his turban down on to the ground. He slapped his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke: ‘What a sad day! What has happened to the household of Bibi Fatemah? The princess! Grand-daughter of the Holy prophet, the daughter of Ali and Fatemah is sending her greetings to an ordinary person like me! Yazid! You beast, you tyrant! What have you done to the household of Bibi Fatemah?'” (Hujjat, 2009). In this moment, the intellectual formation of Habib’s mind as a Faqīh, the spiritual cultivation of his heart expressed through tears and devotion, and the moral development of his conscience manifested in grief and righteous anger all converge, demonstrating precisely the three-dimensional education that Muharram seeks to cultivate.

By responding to Imam Husain’s call, Habib ibn Mazahir embodied the ideal that true knowledge must translate into moral action, that the scholar’s place is not in the ivory tower but on the frontlines of justice. On the day of Ashura, Habib sought permission to go to the battlefield. Imam Husain initially urged him to stay, saying: “Habib, my childhood friend. Stay with me. You give comfort to me, my friend” (Hujjat, 2009). But Habib persisted, and eventually Imam Husain gave his permission. Habib ibn Mazahir rode into the battlefield and fought bravely but was finally overpowered. As he fell to the ground, an enemy soldier cut off his head, the first head to be cut off among the martyrs of Karbala (Hujjat, 2009; Ansab al-Ashraf, Vol. 3, p. 388). His head was tied to a horse and dragged across the land of Karbala. Later, in Syria, his young son Qasim followed the horse carrying his father’s head and asked to bury it, to which the severed head seemed to say: “My son Qasim, you are thinking of burying my head. What about the head of Husain on that spearhead?” (Hujjat, 2009). Habib thus gave his life at the age of seventy-five in the Battle of Karbala, and his grave lies near the shrine of Imam Husain. His life and death offer a powerful pedagogical lesson: the mind’s learning finds its fulfilment in the heart’s devotion, and the heart’s devotion finds its ultimate expression in the conscience’s willingness to sacrifice for truth. This is the education that Muharram imparts, not abstract theory but lived reality, not passive reception but active transformation.

The educational significance of this process is perhaps best understood through lived experience. I never formally studied theology in a madrasa or seminary; my academic training belonged to an entirely different discipline. Yet from childhood onwards, by attending the majālis of Muharram year after year, I acquired much of my understanding of Islam, its history, ethics, philosophy, and moral teachings. It was in these gatherings that I first encountered discussions on justice and oppression, truth and falsehood, sacrifice and responsibility, faith and reason, morality and human dignity. Through the majlis, I came to understand not only what Islam teaches but also how a human being ought to conduct himself in society. The majlis thus served as my madrasa, not a building with classrooms and fees, but a living tradition transmitted through narrative and community. I learnt that one should not bow to unjust or cruel. One has to take a principled stand, whatever the consequences. It taught me Yazid is not to be feared, but faced with conviction.

The majlis taught far more than theology. It imparted adab, the comprehensive Islamic concept of cultured behaviour and refined manners. It taught manners, civility, humility, compassion, self-restraint, respect for others, and responsibility towards society. Through the examples of the Prophet’s family and their companions, one learned how to face adversity with dignity, how to disagree without hatred, how to defend principles without arrogance, and how to remain steadfast without becoming intolerant. In many ways, the majlis became a classroom for learning the art of living itself, cultivating the heart through the example of those who embodied virtue, and educating the conscience through narratives that demanded moral reflection.

What is true in my own case is true for countless others. Across South Asia and throughout the wider Shi’i world, generations of men and women who have never attended formal theological institutions possess a substantial understanding of Islamic history, Qur’anic teachings, ethical principles, and religious practices. Their knowledge was acquired not through formal examinations or degrees but through decades of listening, reflecting, questioning, and participating in the educational culture of Muharram. Research on similar traditions has found that such practices operate as effective informal educational platforms, where participants internalise values through active engagement, and faith-based values are reinforced alongside social-moral values fostering compassion and dignity (Umayah, Abidin & Kusumawati, 2022). The majlis thus performs a remarkable function: it democratises knowledge and makes it accessible to ordinary people, bypassing the barriers of literacy, class, and institutional affiliation. It is a madrasa without entrance examinations, without tuition fees, and without graduation requirements, yet its alumni carry its lessons in their hearts for a lifetime.

In this sense, Muharram provided me with what may best be described as a maktab-e fikr, a school of thought and a framework through which to understand religion, society, and life itself. The lessons learned there extended beyond ritual and devotion. They shaped intellectual outlooks, moral sensibilities, and social attitudes. They offered a lens through which to evaluate power, justice, authority, and human conduct. Unlike formal educational systems that often compartmentalise knowledge, the maktab-e fikr of Muharram presents an integrated worldview, connecting the metaphysical with the ethical, the historical with the contemporary, and the personal with the social. It educates the mind through rigorous historical and theological inquiry, the heart through emotional engagement with the suffering and sacrifice of the Prophet’s family, and the conscience through the persistent moral questions that the narrative of Karbala raises.

There is another aspect of this institution that deserves attention. Modern education is often expensive: schools charge fees, universities demand substantial investments, seminars require registration, and specialised training programmes can be beyond the reach of ordinary people. The Madrasa of Muharram functions according to an entirely different economic model. Its only requirement is time and commitment. The student invests nothing except a willingness to attend, listen, reflect, and learn. He pays neither admission fees, nor tuition fees. Nor are there any kind of hidden charges. In this sense, it embodies the prophetic tradition that knowledge should be accessible to all, regardless of economic means.

Indeed, one might say that it is perhaps the only educational institution where the student is rewarded for attending every class. After the lecture concludes, participants are often offered tabarruk, blessed food or items. This may take the form of meals, sweets, fruit, tea, sharbat (sweet drinks), or sometimes even useful household items and other material gifts distributed in memory of the martyrs of Karbala (Grist, 1995; Pinault, 1999). Historical sources confirm that as early as the 1820s, after the Persian reading in the mourning sessions, there would be an intermission during which servants handed around sweetened rose water to the gathering of mourners (JRI Cole). Thus the student departs not only intellectually enriched and spiritually nourished, but often carrying a tangible token of blessing as well. This practice embodies the generosity that is itself a lesson in adab, teaching that knowledge is a gift to be shared, not a commodity to be hoarded.

There is a deeper significance to this practice. In most educational systems, knowledge is treated as a commodity to be purchased. In the culture of Muharram, knowledge is viewed as a blessing to be shared. The organisers seek no profit; the speakers generally address gatherings as a service to the community; and the listeners are welcomed as honoured guests rather than paying customers. The tabarruk symbolises this ethos of generosity. It is a reminder that learning, remembrance, and service are acts of devotion rather than commercial transactions. This also mirrors the prophetic tradition where the acquisition of knowledge was never meant to be a financial burden; rather, the Prophet and his household encouraged the free circulation of knowledge as a communal obligation and a spiritual merit. In this way, the Madrasa of Muharram preserves and perpetuates the prophetic educational ideal.

Looking back upon decades of attending majālis, one realises that the return on this modest investment of time has been extraordinary. For a few hours spent each day in Muharram gatherings, generations have acquired a knowledge of Islamic history, ethics, theology, literature, and human conduct that many formal educational institutions would struggle to impart. They have received not merely information but a worldview; not merely lessons but a maktab-e fikr. And at the end of each class, they have often gone home carrying tabarruk in their hands and the lessons of Karbala in their hearts. The education of the mind has been complemented by the cultivation of the heart, and both have been directed by a conscience formed through years of moral reflection.

This process resembles the methods employed in the great centres of learning that have existed throughout history. The ancient academies encouraged students to reflect upon questions of truth, justice, and virtue; medieval universities sought to combine knowledge with moral formation; and great Islamic madrasas aimed not merely to produce learned individuals but wise human beings. Muharram shares this broader understanding of education: its objective is not simply to convey information but to transform character. It is a madrasa that educates the whole person, mind, heart, and conscience, and measures its success not by examination results but by the quality of lives lived in accordance with truth and justice.

The majlis is therefore much more than a lecture. It is a forum for reflection and self-examination. Beneath every narration lies a series of profound questions: What should an individual do when confronted by tyranny? Is power more important than principle? Can truth be compromised for personal gain? What responsibilities do human beings owe to society and to their own conscience? These questions are as relevant today as they were in seventh-century Iraq. The story of Karbala provides a framework through which successive generations continue to engage with them. As Hyder (2006, p. 11) observes, “an engagement with the story of Karbala is a process through which one is simultaneously involved in shaping one’s identity in the world.” In this sense, the educational process of Muharram is not merely about acquiring information but about forming individuals who can navigate the moral complexities of their time. It is the education of the conscience, preparing individuals to recognise injustice and respond with courage.

Ultimately, the purpose of education is not merely to produce informed individuals but to cultivate wisdom and character. This is precisely what Muharram seeks to achieve. It teaches that knowledge without conscience is incomplete and that learning must lead to ethical action. The lessons of Karbala are not intended to remain confined to the majlis; they are meant to shape everyday conduct and influence the choices individuals make throughout their lives. In this way, Muharram serves as a perpetual guardian of the prophetic tradition of seeking knowledge, and it reaffirms the Qur’anic vision of an educated, conscious, and morally responsible community. The mind is informed so that the heart may be moved, and the heart is moved so that the conscience may act; this is the threefold education that the Living Madrasa of Muharram has imparted for over thirteen centuries.

For more than thirteen centuries, this extraordinary madrasa has continued its work. Every year, for two months and eight days, its classrooms reopen. During the first ten days, lectures begin in the morning and continue until late in the evening. The teachers may change, the audiences may change, and societies may change, but the central lesson remains constant. Through the remembrance of Karbala, Muharram continues to educate minds, refine hearts, preserve historical memory, and nurture a commitment to truth and justice. It remains one of humanity’s most remarkable educational institutions, a madrasa without walls whose graduates are measured not by the certificates they receive but by the values they embody. Its fees are paid only in time, its rewards begin immediately, and its ultimate degree is the cultivation of an informed mind, a compassionate heart, and a conscientious life.

Those who attend its sessions with an open heart and a seeking mind discover that the this madrasa offers an education that no formal institution can replicate, an education that does not end with graduation but continues to shape the soul long after the final majlis has concluded, echoing through the choices one makes, the principles one defends, and the legacy one leaves behind. It is, in the truest sense, an education for eternity, one that transforms mere listeners into bearers of a living tradition, and turns the remembrance of a tragedy into the foundation of a life of meaning, purpose, and unwavering commitment to justice. In a world that often separates knowledge from virtue, intellect from compassion, and learning from conscience, the this school insists that these cannot be divided, for the mind that learns without the heart is cold, the heart that feels without the conscience is unmoored, and the conscience that acts without knowledge is blind. Muharram brings them together, educating the whole human being for a life of truth, justice, and compassion. And in doing so, it fulfils the deepest purpose of all true education: to make us not merely more knowledgeable, but more fully human.

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Bibliography

Primary Sources

1. The Qur’an. (Verses cited: 9:122; 58:11; 96:1-5).
2. Ibn Majah, Sunan, Book of the Sunnah. (Tradition: “Seeking knowledge is a duty upon every Muslim”).
3. Tirmidhi, Sunan, Book of Supplications. (Tradition: “O God, benefit me with what You have taught me…”).
4. Abu Nu’aym, Hilyat al-Awliya. (Tradition of Mu’adh ibn Jabal on seeking knowledge).
5. Ibn A’tham, Al-Futuh, Vol. 5, pp. 91-92. (Account of Habib ibn Mazahir in Karbala).
6. Khwarizmi, Maqtal al-Husayn, Vol. 1, pp. 243-244. (Account of Habib ibn Mazahir’s actions).
7. Ansab al-Ashraf, Vol. 3, p. 388. (Biographical information on Habib ibn Mazahir).
8. Nahj al-Balaghah. (Collection of sermons, letters, and sayings of Imam Ali).
9. Ghurar al-Hekam. (Collection of sayings of Imam Ali).

Secondary Sources

1. Hujjat, Stanmore. (2009). “Habib ibn Mazahir.” Traditional narrative account of Habib’s life, escape from Kufa, arrival in Karbala, and martyrdom. Available at: https://hujjat.org/habib-ibn-mazahir/.
2. Hyder, Syed Akbar. (2006). Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory. New York: Oxford University Press.
3. Imam Ali Foundation, London. (2026). “General Recommendations for Leaders and Staff of Islamic Centers and Institutions on the Occasion of Muharram 1447 AH.” Guidance document recognising Muharram’s role in education and religious awareness.
4. Islamic Center at New York University. (2024). “ICNYU Shia Chaplaincy & Muharram Majlis Campaign.” Description of Muharram programmes and educational initiatives.
5. Pinault, David. The Shiites, 2nd ed. Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2011.
6. Rezayat, Ghulam Hussein & Rezayat, Fatemeh. (2020).  “Epistemology from Imam Ali’s Point of View with Emphasis on Educational Implications.” Research in Islamic Education Issues 28, no. 46, pp. 5–30.
7. Rezvan Khah, Salman; Salehi, Akbar; Sajadi, Seyed Morteza. (2020). “Human Social Responsibilities from the Perspective of Imam Ali, with Emphasis on Nahj al-Balaghah and the Role of Education in Their Realization.” Islam and Social Studies 8, no. 1 (2020): 5–36.
8. Juan RI Cole. Roots of North Indian Shiism in Iran and Iraq: Religion and State in Awadh, 1722–1859. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988Historical accounts of Muharram mourning sessions in Awadh during the early nineteenth century.
9. Umayah, Rina Dewi; Abidin, Ahmad Zainal; Kusumawati, Ita Rahmania. (2022). “Basmalah as a Protection for Bala’: The Tradition of Writing Basmalah Every 1 Muharram at Islamic Boarding Schools Al-Mahrusiyah Lirboyo Kediri.” Jurnal At-Tibyan 7, no. 2 (2022)..
10. Hollister, John Norman. The Shi’a of India. Reprint edition. New Delhi: Oriental Books Reprint Corporation (distributed by Munshiram Manoharlal), 1979. 
11. S Athar Abbas Rizvi, A Socio-Intellectual History of the Isna Ashari Shi’is in India, Canberra, 1986 (2 volumes)
12. Vernon James Schubel, Religious Performance in Contemporary Islam: Shi’i Devotional Rituals in South Asia.
    Schubel explicitly analyses the majlis as a mechanism through which religious knowledge, historical memory, and communal values are transmitted across generations. He shows how listeners learn theology, history, ethics, and social norms through participation in Muharram rituals rather than through formal religious schooling. His work comes very close to viewing the majlis as a pedagogical institution.
13. T. P. A. Cooper, “‘Live has an atmosphere of its own’: Azadari, ethical atmospheres and mediation in Shi’i Muslim London”, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (2022). Cooper examines the majlis as a space of ethical formation where listeners learn how to feel, think, and behave as moral subjects. 
14. Michael Fischer and Mehdi Abedi,
    Debating Muslims: Cultural Dialogues in Postmodernity and Tradition.
    Their discussions of Shi’i discourse emphasise the majlis as a setting where knowledge is collectively produced and transmitted.