By Zakira Shyrose Jaffer Dhalla
“Remember my son, that before you is a long and arduous journey (life). The journey is not only very long, exhausting and onerous but the route is mostly through dismal, dreary and deserted regions where you will be sadly in need of refreshing, renovating and enlivening aids and helps and you cannot dispense with such provisions as to keep you going and to maintain you till the end of the journey – the Day of Judgment.” -Imam Ali (a.s) Letter #31 Nahjul Balagha
I truly understood what it means to persevere on the Sirat e Mustaqeem when I walked, hobbled, staggered and limped on the legendary 90 km March of Arbaeen from Najaf to Kerbala towards the shrine of Imam Hussein (a.s).
It was somewhere during those 5 days and 4 nights of constant walking through blazing sun and then bitter cold, over smooth, flat highway tarmac and then over suddenly uphill, rocky terrain that the similarity of this walk and the journey of life hit me in a moment of pure epiphany:
This walk was not just a walk!!! This path was not just any path!! This destination was not just any destination!!
I was, in fact, physically traversing a metaphor!
This was the journey of life and I was a believer struggling desperately to stay the course on the sirat e mustaqeem fuelled by nothing else but an intense eagerness and a heady anticipation of my ultimate destination: heaven on earth.
The walk had inexplicably managed to encapsulate the very essence of a believer’s existence on earth.
Every joy and every pain, every struggle and every comfort, every adventure and every mundane occurrence, every uplifting moment and every deflating discouragement was a similitude for the ups and downs of my own life.
The sirat e mustaqeem is surely straight, but just like the road to Kerbala, there are stretches where the path suddenly inclines and one has to physically exert oneself more and exhibit unwavering resilience and forbearance much like one when struggles through the spiritual uphill battles of life in order to remain ethical, steadfast and true.
Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq (a.s) was once asked about the meaning of the 6th verse from sura Fateha “Guide us to the Straight Path (al-Sirat al-Mustaqeem).”
He (a.s) replied,
“It means: Guide us to upholding the path that leads to Your pleasure, that ends at Your Paradise, that prohibits us from following our own desires and thus deviate, or follow our own views and thus perish.”
The Holy Quran laments the loss of those who are daunted by the prospect of continuing forward when confronted with these challenging, uphill portions of the path and reminds us that success can only be achieved with exhibiting courage in the carrying out of noble deeds in His Pleasure.
“But he would not attempt the uphill road,
And what will make you comprehend what the uphill road is?
-Holy Quran (90:11-12)
Walking on pus-filled and bleeding blisters where each and every step cut agonizingly through the flesh like a thousand sharp blades, it often felt like I had to summon superhuman strength from deep within. But the constant mental vision of the glowing dome of Aba’ Abdillah il hussain (a.s) offered me such a balm of salvation, relief, joy, love and mercy that the pain felt sweet, and the rewards too great in comparison to any discomfort.
It is no coincidence, then, that Imam Ali (a.s) in letter #31 has referred to the journey of life too as a “pilgrimage” and explained how very motivated are those sincere believers who relentlessly endeavour to walk this thorny path.
“They have eagerly taken up the journey, happy in the hope of future blessings and peace. They have willingly accepted the sufferings, troubles and hazards of the way, parting of friends, scarcity of food and comfort during the pilgrimage so that they may reach the journey’s end – a happy place. They do not refuse to bear any discomfort and do not grudge any expenditure by way of giving out alms and charities, and helping the poor and the needy.
Every step which they put forward towards their goal, however tiring and exhausting it may be, is a happy event of their lives”.
Often times during the walk, when I felt my weakest, it felt as if I was a baby again, taking my first few steps in the journey of life.
I needed an incentive to keep walking, much like how a child needs her mother to hold up a toy to encourage her to ignore the logistics of how to take each step and to just focus automatically on the action of walking.
And just as a child who painstakingly tries her first steps and then is motivated to keep walking because of the smile of pride and joy on her mom’s face, I too felt my Imam’s love. And my steps became more stable and my strength became more focused.
And when I saw others move speedily past me as they too responded to his call, there was no sense of competition because we all had a shared purpose and a shared destination. It didn’t matter how fast one got there or how easily or painlessly others made it there. For this was not a race to out-do each other. We were all in this together. Soon, we would all be joyfully reunited under the shade of His Mercy. “To Allah we belong and to Him is our Return” (2:156).
And as I spiritually, emotionally responded to Imam’s call of “Is there anyone to assist us?!!!!” my entire body reacted physically with a Divinely infused surge of power fuelled completely with overflowing love. My entire existence felt this great, awesome pull. And my feet moved with a strange sense of urgency. And my heart knew that my Imam (a.s) would patiently and eagerly be waiting for me no matter how long it took for me to get there.
Amidst all those millions walking, running, staggering and crawling towards him, I knew without a doubt that my Imam specifically knew about me. He knew I was coming. He knew each and every one of us and each would receive his undivided attention, love and reward. And that made all the difference to me in pushing myself forward.
And yet, there was a gnawing feeling of anxiety within me.
Had I taken too long, after all?
For I admit, I had stumbled and tripped and wasted precious time being lost on this straight path.
I had become enchanted with the colours and the passing scenes and I had indulged and lingered too long.
I had lost sense of time, space and direction and had wasted too much time in finding my purpose.
I had chosen the wrong companions and had become misled.
I had overloaded and burdened myself with that which had slowed me.
Was it too late for me?
I imagined myself as the last, straggling child of a huge brood of children rushing to their home.
And in my mind’s eye, I saw that when a mother welcomes all her enthusiastic children for a feast that she has lovingly cooked, she often looks past the front door and far onto the road yonder, her eyes searching for her other children whose small feet have made it hard to take such large and speedy steps. The mother worries for those faltering, young ones and she prays for them to reach home safely. And no matter how long it takes, she awaits patiently knowing that they will surely return to her loving arms. For each child is precious. And a mother’s love never tires.
I imagined my Maula Imam Hussein (a.s), too, waiting patiently for his lost children. I imagined him standing lovingly at the door of his sanctuary, his eyes searching for me in the distance. I could almost feel the warmth of the shrine. I could see his arms wide open to accept the sinners and the guilty ones like he had once accepted the repentant Hur ibn Riahi.
And despite my bleeding blisters, my footsteps began to quicken and my feet began to pound on the tarmac.
And I began to run and to run across those last few miles to Kerbala.
And every part of me called out,
“Labayk Ya Hussein!!! Labayk Ya Hussein!! Labayk Ya Hussein!!”
This profound article was first published in Africa Federation Samachar.
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