34 Sarojini Naidu ...

34 Sarojini Naidu : The Imam Bara I Out of the somber shadow, Over the sunlit grass, Slow in a sad procession The shadowy pageants pass Mournful, majestic, and solemn, Stricken and pale and dumb, Crowned in their peerless anguish The sacred martyrs come. Hark, from the brooding silence Breaks the wild cry of pain Wrung from the heart of the ages Ali! Hassan! Hussain! II Come from this tomb of shadows, Come from this tragic shrine That throbs with the deathless sorrow Of a long-dead martyr line.

Love! Let the living sunlight Kindle your splendid eyes Ablaze with the steadfast triumph Of the spirit that never dies. So may the hope of new ages Comfort the mystic pain That cries from the ancient silence Ali! Hassan! Hussain!* Imam Bara. ?Imambara, Imaumbara, Eemaumberra = A building maintained by the Shia Muslims for the express purpose of celebrating the Muhurrum ceremonies, to which they bring their Tazias and Taboots.?

in Lewis, Sahibs, Nabobs, and Boxwallahs: A Dictionary of the Words of Anglo- India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991. * Naidu, The Sceptred Flute: Songs of India, pp. 152-153. 36 W. C. Tailor : An Ode Tell me friends what shall you say On the awful Judgment Day When Mohammad asks you where Are those trusted to you care? Dearer than a thousand lives? Bound by many a fastening chain Some in dungeons dark remain, On Kerbala's barren strand Others lie, a reaking band.

Torn with wounds and stain'd with mud Weltering in their own heart's blood. When before the Judgment seat You the Holy Prophet meet, He shall ask. If thus you show The gratitude you justly owe, For all the benefits bestow'd By whom whose bounty freely flow'd.* * Khurshed, ed., Imam Husain, 2nd ed., p. 158.

37 Anonymous : Vision of Kerbala Here's the tale of my nightly trance The Vision of Karbala in a deathly dance When a Martyr great faced the lance, Of shameful Shimr for Islam to enhance, No war of weapons or battles' sound Equals this tragedy all world round, No hero hooked to holiness stood With such head held high without shelter or food.

His trumpet spake not to an armed throng But to seventy-two saints, the celestial strong They all sang their heavenly song Giving their all to avenge a wrong. Satanic sceptres arranged with awful eye This orgy of blood without a sigh While our Sovereign Lord was passing by In scorching sand to answer people's cry.