I had not done anything that made me feel that I deserved to be there… it was simply a bulawa, a call from the Imam AS and thus it was that I was at the Masjid Kufa. The sunlight was bright but my heart was seeing the shadows of time and history as they fell across the great minarets. I heard people whisper: “do you see these minars at the south side? They are Fatimi in design.” I knew what they meant, because I had seen the stamp of this architecture in many of my Indian travels. And then I heard another whisper: “The Sultan of Bohras, Syedna Burhanuddin….” I couldn’t restrain myself. I turned to the young man who was talking to his companion, who looked Arab in dress and language, “Please tell me more. What are you saying about the Sultan of Bohras?” He said: “The tiles we are
walking on… all of them are his gift to Imam Ali’s Mosque!”
Right in the middle is fountain of water, cool and calm. I wet my hands and face and feet, feeling the marvel of coolness in the still hot sun. All around there were various muqamat ascribed to various Prophets Adam, Noah, Idris, and of course Rasulullah (Salawat upon them all). One felt as if all time crossed this great Courtyard. We knew one corner was the qibla where Imam Ali received the fatal blow from Ibn Muljim, we knew further ahead was the house where he lived during the years of his Caliphate. We knew we would see it all, soon but here in Masjid Kufa was something special: muqam quzat. [The station of Justice]
A small knee high marble enclosure marked the spot. A scholar leading another group was explaining in English: “It is not recommended to carry out the tasks of justice in a mosque but Madina and Kufa are the only two places where it happened and it is glorified!”
Of course. Only the Prophet (S) and his Wasi(AS) would connect their Remembrance of Allah (salaat, zikr, ibadah) to their duties to humanity (qaza, adl, qist). I sat down in the small four square feet of space, clearly marked by tiles of a different shade of white. I thought (unable to process the tears overflowing from the words tumbling down my mind like a cascade) so this is where Maula stood and dispensed justice. A parade of humanity passed by my eyes in a flash: those who asked for Justice received it firmly, swiftly, correctly.
We were told to keep moving and we passed by the mimbar of the Mosque. Suddenly it hit me: so this is where many of the Khutbas collected in Nahjul Balagha were given! Of course! Every Friday there would be a sermon, and any other occasion he felt the need to address the people, visitors, tribal chiefs, insiders and outsiders… and then we were shown the mihrab, where he stood in prayer for the last time. Fajar on the morning of 19 th Ramzan 40 Hijri. The eye of the imagination recapped the countless descriptions of the moment. Here, written on the floor were the glorious undying words:
FUZTO BE RABBE KAABA.
By the Lord of the Kaaba, I am victorious
I do not know a single person who was in any mood to speak or hear or think anything by anyone else. Each one was wrapped in a special moment of love and benediction by the Imam (AS) who had called him or her to receive this blessing.
For that no gratitude would be enough.