With the agony he was enduring on account of the wound and...

With the agony he was enduring on account of the wound and the thirst that he was Offering, he was digging his feet into the sand. With a cry of anguish Hussain fell on the body of Akbar. My son, tell me where you are hurt; tell me who has wounded you in the chest. Why don't you say something? My Akbar, I have come in response to your call. Say one word to me, Akbar.

Seeing that Akbar was lying there without any response to his entreaties, Hussain turned to Abbas and said: Abbas, why don't you tell Akbar to say something to me. My dutiful son, who used to get up on seeing me, is lying on the ground pressed by the hand of death. Hussain once again flung himself on the body of Akbar. His breathing was now heavier, a gurgling sound was coming from his throat. It seemed that his young life was engaged in an uneven struggle with death.

Hussain put his head on Akbar's chest. He lifted it and put his own cheeks against Akbar's and wailed Akbar, for once open your eyes and smile, as you were always smiling to gladden my heart. Though Akbar did not open his eyes, a faint smile appeared on his lips as if he had listened to his father's request. With the sweet smile still playing on his lips, he heaved a gasp and with that his soul departed.

The cheeks of the father were still touching the cheeks of the son, in death as so many time in life. On seeing his son, his beloved son, breathe his last in his own hands, Hussain's condition became such as no words can describe. For quite some time he remained there weeping as only an aged father who has lost a son, in his prime of youth, in such tragic circumstances, can weep. Abbas sat there by his side shedding tears.

What words of consolation could he offer when the tragedy was of such a magnitude? All words of solace and comfort would sound hollow and be in vain when a father, an aged father, gives vent to his pent up emotions. After a time, Abbas reverentially touched Hussain on his shoulders and reminded him that, since he had rushed out of the camp, Zainab and the other ladies of his house were waiting for him, tormented by anxiety, demented by the thoughts of the tragedy that had befallen them.

Only mention of this was enough for Hussain. He knew that, as the head of the family, it was his duty to rally by the side of the grief-stricken mother, his grief-stricken sister Zainab, and the children for whom this bereavement was the greatest calamity.