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In the Name of God بسم الله
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(bismillah) (salam) Author's note:I hope that you are all well. I’ve been meaning to do something creative for the past few weeks, yet still manage to raise awareness about the Ahlul Bayt. As we all know, there’s tons of books about Imam Ali and his martial exploits specifically, but I sometimes feel distanced when authors skim through the combat part and merely declare the background and outcome of a battle. Thus it lacks a certain depth. So, I decided to write about the martial exploits of Imam Ali (as) as if I was actually there. I’ve used authentic sources and narrations, and several books. I’ve put myself in the battle as an un-named spearman, who’s merely an observer (for the duration of the passage at least) yet one who speaks of the battle with more clarity. The following passage begins with the arrival of the Meccans and ends with the commencement of one v one combat. Please do read it. Its an experiment, so it might not be as “perfect” as you’d want it to be, but it seemed like a good idea, so please, rate and review. And Allah’s Curse be upon the fat bellied killer of Imam Hasan al-Mujtaba. Salam The morning sun shines upon a sea of silver. Row upon row of spearmen march and chant in unison, spears held aloft and banners fluttering in the breeze. Their martial songs shatter the morning calm; the neighing of warhorses and the bawdy jokes of the more raucous among them exacerbate the din. War- horns and trumpets blare forth, announcing the arrival of this confident and mighty foe. We stand upon the high ground, swords half drawn; spears at hand; shields and bows slung around our backs. Not a man speaks. The tension and anxiety (such a common feature of the last few days) has vanished almost completely. The news of the flight of Abu Sufyan, and the impending arrival of the Meccan forces had nigh shattered our resolve. Every Muslim, from the water carriers of Medina to the men from Khazraj, had been wracked with uncertainty, and a sense of irrevocable despair. And yet our God strengthened our resolve, when he revealed to our Master: Allah has promised to grant you victory over one of the two bands……. (8:7) Even so, the more materialistic people have grumbled about the loss of such a tempting opportunity to amass great wealth. Our Master does not bother with such whisperings. He stands upon a crag, surrounded by his most loyal men; men who accompanied him from Medina and struggled in his way. At his left stands Miqdad, whose suggestion to fight in Allah’s (swt) way pleased the Master so immensely that he prayed for him. A little further from him is Ammar, stout of body and faith, whose parents have already given the supreme sacrifice. At the master’s right stands broad shouldered Ali, attired in a green surcoat, the color of his clan. As a child in Mecca, he wrestled boys much older than him to protect his teacher, Muhammad. No higher honor could have been given to him than to be called the brother of the Prophet at the event of Mawakhat. He has resumed the role of our master’s sworn shield and stands tensed, his sword slung across his back. There is a flurry of excitement among our brothers as the Meccans draw nigh. Our hands tighten on our shields and swords some out of their sheaths. The Master does not move an inch, his lips feverishly uttering a silent prayer. The men who surround him draw closer to him, ever ready to shield him lest the infidels let loose their arrows. The army stops. The shrill clanging of the tambourines fades away. Silence, at last. Three come out, attired for battle. The intricate jewels on their armour glisten in the sun. They take their time, walking out with slow, ostentatious steps, as if to emphasise their haughty demeanour. They thrust their chins out. The oldest among them, wily old Utba, drawls out,” Where are the Muslims of Medina?” Three youths from the Ansar pick up their lances and hurry to the Master to receive his permission. Within an instant they walk to the clearing between the two armies, to answer the cry of the infidels. The latter are not amused.” Where are the sons of Hashim?” Walid demands, bristling with fury,” We have no business with you, it’s them we want.” The Master calls the dejected youths back to the encampment, a frown upon his noble face. Hamza, the great hunter and inspiration of legends, hurries to his Prophet, and asks him for his permission. The Master grants him his wish. Ali is quick to follow his uncle, and asks the Master, in a subdued voice, for permission to fight. The two are joined by the aged Ubaydah. The Meccans nod their approval. There is a tense moment of calm before the hostilities commence. Ali and Hamzah have covered their faces and walk briskly towards their foes. Swords are unsheathed; shields are tightened upon the hands. The combat begins. Walid uses his huge girth to his advantage and showers blow upon blow upon his younger opponent, Ali. The latter brings up his shield and bears the brunt of Walid’s brutal assault. The blows continue to rain until Ali brings up his sword and starts parrying away his foe’s blows. Neither of the two wishes to stop, and the sounds of clanging steel reverberate with fury. Ali sees an opening and disarms Walid with a counter riposte in one instant. He slashes open his opponent’s throat in the next. Shaibah comes to the same end, having been overwhelmed by the skilled veteran Hamzah. The Meccan falls to the ground, his tunic ruptured and bloody. Unlike his compatriots, Ubaydah does not fare as well. Dozens of wounds cover his body and wear him down. Utba is relentless, and shows no mercy as he hammers blow upon blow. Ali rushes to the scene of the commotion and puts an end to it by cutting open the Meccan from navel to collar-bone. The Meccans lie upon the ground, to await the Hell that was promised to them. The Muslims roar out their happiness, shouting, ”Allahu Akbar!"
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