Wombs That Remember

Before a Shia mother holds her child in her arms, she holds a story in her bones. In the hush of her womb, Karbala returns as heartbeat than history.

- Adil Abass

In homes where Hussain is not only mourned but lived, a Shia mother does not wait for her child to grow old enough to understand Karbala. She begins before the child is born.

This is not metaphor. It is practice.

In many homes, during the sacred months, pregnant women recite Ziyarat-e-Ashura while sitting on prayer mats, one hand over their swelling belly.

Some press Turbat-e-Hussain, a warm disc of clay from Karbala, gently to their skin. They believe this soil knows things, that it remembers. And that the child inside might listen, and feel.

She is carrying a child, but she is also carrying a legacy.

In the story of Fatimah al-Zahra lies the origin of this sacred labour. Fatimah, the Prophet's daughter, Hussain’s mother, is remembered not only for her strength, but for her mourning.

After her father's death, she spoke less, wept more, lived simply. It is said she asked to be buried in the night, her grave hidden. Her grief was not performance. It was inheritance.

Every Shia mother who wipes her tears in the dark of her room, away from her children's eyes, walks in her footsteps.

She doesn't hold sermons. She isn't quoted in books. But without her, Azadari would fade.