(And our share in it if we cannot physically be there)

The annual Arbaeen Walk is such a beautiful aberration in the normal current of human life that it can only be described as a miracle.

All the usual rules of human engagement that we all have internalized seem to fall away, replaced by something much purer, somehow more raw.

Normally, we work hard and accumulate money to secure a materially comfortable future for ourselves. But in Arbaeen, the poorest of the poor line the roadside, offering dates, rice, and even meat they’ve saved all year to the pilgrims; not for profit, not for recognition, but simply for the honour of serving the guests of Husayn (a). (What a beautiful coming out of the self; what a pure manifestation of tawhid!)

Normally, we crave convenience and comfort, chasing technology that makes life easier, avoiding hardship wherever possible. But in Arbaeen, pilgrims traverse 80 km on foot, carrying their belongings on their backs under scorching sun and through suffocating heat. They sleep in overcrowded tents, queue for far-from-glamorous washrooms, and endure sickness, aching muscles, and blistered feet. And for many, the trial does not end upon reaching Karbala. With millions entering the city leading up to the day of Arbaeen, there are nowhere near enough lodgings. Countless pilgrims sleep in the streets near the shrine, wrapped in nothing but a thin sheet against the hard asphalt.

Yet you hear not a sound of complaint. Instead, there is joy. There are tears. There is a tremendous eagerness to be near the beloved, even if it means surrendering every comfort.

What inspires such immense devotion? What force can pull the human being in so complete a way?

Love. Love is the only compelling force that can give fuel to such a potent rejection of self-centeredness.

The transformative power of love depends not primarily on the strength of the lover, but on the greatness of the beloved. When the beloved is connected to the Infinite, the love he inspires is also infinite – a love that grants infinite strength to traverse the infinite path to the Infinite Beloved. The Imam acts as a magnet far ahead on the Straight Path, pulling us towards him and therefore towards God. His pull is so great that it can draw along even the smallest specks of metal – even souls like mine, weighed down with weakness and lowliness.

I have experienced this myself. Every time I have walked from Najaf to Karbala, there comes a moment – always near the end, when the city is just in sight and there are but a few hours of walking left – when I feel I cannot take another step. My lips tremble, my feet scream in pain, and my mind insists I cannot endure. And yet… somehow I keep walking. It isn’t willpower; in that moment, I have deep inner knowledge that I have none left. It is something far greater than my will, a force pulling me forward, lifting my feet, placing each step. I am in the tide of love, swept forward by its current.

This is the effect of Husayn (a)’s love.

But how is it, then, that this love fails to transform me in a lasting way? Why, before even returning home from the majlis or the ziyarah trip, do I so often find myself slipping back into old patterns? While engaging in mourning, while walking from Najaf to Karbala, my heart feels like it is about to burst with the love of Husayn (a); where does that love go when I am faced with sin and falter?

In reality, our problem is not the amount of our love, but its purity. Every beloved pulls the heart toward itself; and if alongside our love for the Imam we still cling to the love of this lowly world, we will be dragged in opposite directions. The pull of the Ahlulbayt (a) weakens only because we resist them with our own divided loves.

Yet there is another, even more fundamental problem with our perception of love: that we imagine it can exist without hatred. But the hallmark of true love of a thing is that it is always accompanied by hatred of its opposite. To love Husayn (a) is to despise Yazid. To love purity is to loathe corruption. To love justice is to abhor oppression, whether it is the oppression of the self (by means of sin – ظلمت نفسی), of other believers, or of whole nations.

This is why the Arbaeen walk is not simply a march of love in a soft, sentimental sense; it is also a march of defiance. Every step toward Husayn is a step away from the camp of the oppressor, away from every manifestation of Yazidiyyat, past or present. It is, in a very real way, fuel to continue to fight against the greatest oppressors of our day, the Zionist entity, even when the force of their brutality pulls us towards hopelessness or the fear of retribution from our pro-Zionist governments leaves us paralyzed.

And here lies the deeper purpose of this journey: The walk is an act of love, but it is also a means of increasing love and hatred. True love expands the self, causing it to be pulled towards all that is good and pure, and therefore find repugnant all that is corrupt and oppressive. The Imam’s lovers are not only pulled to him; they are pulled away from everything that opposes him.

Like many of you, I do not have the tawfiq to be present in Karbala this year. But the beautiful truth is, we do not have to be in a specific location to benefit from the magnetic pull of Husayn’s love.

After the Battle of Nahrawan, a man said to Imam Ali (a), “How fortunate we are to have been present with you in this situation, and to have fought alongside you against these Khawarij!”

The Commander of the Faithful (a) replied:

وَالَّذی فَلَقَ الحَبَّةَ وبَرَأَ النَّسَمَةَ، لَقَد شَهِدَنا فی هذَا المَوقِفِ اُناسٌ لَم یخلُقِ اللّهُ آباءَهُم ولا أجدادَهُم بَعدُ

“By the One who split the seed and created the soul, there were with us in this situation people whose fathers and grandfathers God has not yet created.”

Bewildered, the man asked, “How could people be present with us who have not yet been created?!”

The Imam (a) replied:

بَلی، قَومٌ یکونونَ فی آخِرِ الزَّمانِ یشرَکونَنا فیما نَحنُ فیهِ، ویسَلِّمونَ لَنا، فَاُولئِک شُرَکاؤُنا فیما کنّا فیهِ حَقّا حَقّا
“Indeed, there will be a people in the end of times who will share with us in that which we have and who will submit to us. They are our true partners in what we have – truly, truly.”

al-Mahasin, vol. 1, p. 408, hadith 926

He did not mean these people would merely receive the same reward as the soldiers who were physically present. He meant they have an existential share in the victory of Nahrawan, their reality intertwined with the reality of those who fought, because their yearning to be with the Imam is so profound.

So it is with Arbaeen. If a soul aches to be there, if the heart is pulled toward Husayn with every beat, then in the truest sense, that soul is already walking. And if someone is physically on the road but their heart is unmoved, distracted by worldly loves, perhaps their name will not be counted among those who partook in the walk of love.

The mourning of Aba Abdillah is a call towards the highest of loves and the most valuable of hatreds. The movement of Husayn (a) calls us to deepen our love for all goodness until it eclipses every rival, and to hate oppression until we cannot tolerate its presence in our own actions, in our societies, or in the world.

Whether our feet touch the sacred road or not, we are all, in every moment, on a journey toward or away from Karbala. And the One who waits at the end of that road – the One for whom Husayn walked, for whom Husayn died – is the Beloved who is the source of every good, the One to whom all true love leads: Allah, the All-Good.