Recounting her sufferings...

Recounting her sufferings, Zaynab and others were crying Only one lady, sitting near the grave, was quietly lying Seeing her loosing consciousness, Zaynab immediately rushed Putting her head on her lap, she was very carressingly brushed. Hind, ordered cold water, from her nearby palace She sprinkled it on Umm Rabab's ash white face Opening her eyes with a dazed look, she glanced She faintly uttered, as if she was in a trance.

Her grief stricken mind had created a protective shield To resist the cruel impact, of what fate had purposefully built To escape the grief laden atmosphere around the grave Of her darling daughter, who had, all sufferings braved. Zaynab felt, she must be awakened from this stupor Or else she would loose her sorrowing mind, for ever; She gently explained, that Sakina had joined her father, At this, she returned, to the word of reality with a shudder!

Hind, excusing herself, to the palace she hurried Moawiyah, her son, was the only male issue of Yazid Only they had access to him, without announcement They found Yazid, pacing up and down, himself denouncing.

Yazid was surprised to see Hind's hair disheveled; Her eyes full of tears, charges she defiantly leveled Both mother and son, spared no words to make it plain, "Set free this very day, the family of Imam Husayn." The cup of cruelty had got filled to the brim Yazid was aware, the situation was getting grim; Realization had dawned that time was running out Nemesis might overtake him, unless he had stopped the rot.

He was having nightmares, with Prophet upbraiding him Everyday, he was having most horrifying and frightening dreams "O' Yazid, what had my Husayn done to deserve your vengeance What made you bestow upon my family such inhuman penance." "Is your hatred, for me and my family, not yet satisfied Such tortures, you are inflicting, as can not be narrated." He was brooding about ways, to resolve the dilemma Which was his own creation, a self created drama!

Now his own son, his own flesh and blood With Queen Hind, was flinging at him mud The time was now ripe to act with grace A little delay, and he would loose the race.