A Meeting on the Road to Mecca

The hot sun beat down on the dusty road outside Mecca. Fifteen-year-old Hadi, excited for his first Hajj, walked alongside his grandfather, Farazdaq, a renowned poet. Their pilgrimage to the holy city had just begun when they saw a small group approaching. At its head rode a man of quiet dignity: Imam Hussain, grandson of the Prophet.

Farazdaq dismounted, his usual confidence replaced by deep respect. Imam Hussain greeted them warmly, then asked, “Farazdaq, what news do you bring of the people you left behind in Kufa?”

Farazdaq’s face clouded. “My Lord, their hearts are with you, that is certain. But their swords… their swords are with the Umayyads. And destiny is from the heavens. Allah does as He wills.”

Hadi felt a chill. Hearts on one side, swords on another? The gravity in his grandfather’s voice was unmistakable.

Imam Hussain nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. “You speak the truth, Farazdaq.” He then looked out at the vast desert. “This world has changed, and truth is not acted upon, and falsehood is not refrained from. Indeed, the believer should desire to meet Allah rightfully.”

His voice grew more intense. “For I see not death except as life, and life with oppressors nothing but weariness. People are slaves of this world, and religion is merely a lick on their tongues. They guard it as long as their livelihoods are abundant. But when they are tested with tribulation, the truly religious ones become few.”

Hadi, a boy heading to the holy city, didn’t fully grasp the depth of the Imam’s words. But he knew, with a certainty that settled in his young heart, that he had just heard a truth far more profound than any poem. As they parted ways, Imam Hussain continuing towards Kufa and Farazdaq and Hadi to Mecca, Hadi couldn’t shake the feeling that he had witnessed a moment that would forever alter history.