This Is The Land- Karbala

The Ominous Walls

Kufah 61 AH

Zainab's POV

We neared the city gates past sundown. I didn't recognize the outer walls of the city, confused as our captors stopped us abruptly and started making their tents. I tried to inch the camel I was on closer to Sajjad, painstakingly quiet so as not to attract Shimr's evil eye.

"Sajjad!" I frantically whispered.

He looked up from where he had collapsed, weighted down by the chains covering his torso and limbs. He made not a sound, his eyes gazing at me for just a moment before dropping. His body curving inward as if he was trying to shield himself from the sight of me, barefaced on a barebacked camel. His pain was consuming him, along with the persistent fever, draining his energy until I knew not how he could bear the journey that brought us here. 

But my fear of the city walls made me keep pushing. There was an ominous familiarity to these walls. I felt I should recognize them but they seemed all wrong, like from a dream seen through a mirror where reality has turned upon its head and twisted itself into a knot. 

"Sajjad, where are we?"

This time, Sajjad's head shot forward, disbelief colouring his expression. For a moment, he forgot his fatigue as he searched my face, for what I do not know. 

"Aunty," he said haltingly, watching my expression, "this is Kufah."

I froze. Kufah. 

Images flood my mind. 

Being carried on a palaquin after dark by my brothers. 

Women flooding to the university I ran in my sitting room.

Iftaar with Abdullah and father facing a modest spread.

People tiptoeing past my front gate, trying to catch a glimpse of the princess of Kufah.

Kufah.

No wonder I didn't recognize the wall before me, the last time I was here, the Caliph's convoy traveled to the city at night, I was in a palaquin and didn't dismount until we reached the courtyard of my father's new headquarters. I had only seen this wall from within the city, and even then, rarely in daylight, so protected I was from the gazes of men.

And here I was now, some twenty years later. I had left as the princess of Kufah, I return as her captive. My once guarded face bare. My hands shackled. Instead of a palaquin I sat bareback on a camel. Instead of an entourage I walked with my brothers' widows and orphans. Here I was now.

We waited for daylight to come, Shimr eager for the largest crowds to see his caravan of miscreants as he pushed and prodded us to the palace where my father once ruled; where my brother's murderer now sat. 

With daylight, the doors of the city opened, we looked in horror as brightly coloured fabrics decorated the streets, signs of festivity and celebration accompanied our caraven, led by the heads of my murdered family on spears, followed by Shimr and his lackey. Sajjad walked behind them, head bowed, chains dragging, each step heavy with the grief and shame he saw before and behind him. 

Behind him was us. The women and orphans of Hussain. Oh, how paltry our number was now as we walked bare faced into the crowded and jubilant streets. Somewhere ahead us a voice joyfully repeatedly proclaimed, "The Muslims have won! The rebellion is crushed, long live Yazid, long live our Caliph!"

Among the jeers and insults hurled our way I heard faint whispers and gasps as the women on the roofs and men on the streets beheld our wounded and sorry appearance. Some women threw scarves at us so we may cover ourselves. I saw Rubab reach for one quickly but a whip was flicked and a scream escaped her before she caught it and swallowed the sounds of agony. No one else reached for the scarves and soon they stopped coming. The procession moved at a painstakingly slow crawl, ensuring each person in the city had ample opportunity to view our damaged visage. 

A voice from a nearby rooftop questioned, "where are you from, prisoner?"

"Madina," I proudly responded. I heard a lull in the noise as those who heard my response swiftly turned to face me.

 "Who are you?" the woman questioned again. I saw Shimr rushing forward to stop the exchange but I spoke loudly and firmly so all would hear.

"We are the family of the Holy Prophet, Muhammed. I am Zainab, daughter of Ali the Lion of God, and Fatima the Lady of Paradise"