Alhassanain(p) Network for Heritage and Islamic Thought

The Last Words

For many years I had been serving in the house of ImamJa'far Sadegh , and many acted as a companion ofUmma Hamidah , consort of Imam. I had shared the joys and sorrows of that noble family. In many matters it was I who made a decision. I always managed the affairs of the house quietly. But on that day I felt different. I had lost my usual calmness, and I found it hard to make a decision. I occupied myself with this and that, and kept on looking at the door, waiting for the relatives of the Imam to arrive.

On that day the call for the evening prayer has not been performed when UmmHamidah hurriedly came out of the room and said: "Salama , send someone round to fetch all the relatives of the Imam here. The Imam has ordered that they should all gather here. He wants to divulge his last words to his relatives."

I realized from UmmHamidah's words that, it was the last night of ImamSadiq . A great sorrow sat on my heart. I wished to leave the Imam's consort in those critical moments not even to stay one moment away from the Imam. But I had to carry out the Imam's order and find those persons to assemble in his house. I assigned a few people to fetch the relatives of the Imam. They left quickly and I returned tothe beside of the Imam and sat byUmma Hamidah . ImamSadiq was lying down in bed. Some days before, the Imam had been poisoned by the order of Mansur, the caliph of the time. The effect of the poison gradually appeared, and now the Imam was confined to bed. Mansur was an enemy of the Imam. He had many times plotted against the life of the Imam, but he had failed in every case. However, this time Mansur's plan had been carried out, and the Imam was poisoned. It was painful for me, to see his weakened and suffering face. UmmHamidah was gazing at that pale and suffering face while quietly shedding tears. The Imam's lips were moving as if he wanted to say something. I thought that he intended to utter his last words in the presence of his relatives, but none of them had yet arrived. O' God! Let him not die before their arrival!

Suddenly I thought of Abu Nasr who was one of the loyal friends of the Imam. He was one of those who always noted down the words of Imam and repeated them for others. I thought it advisable that Abu Nasr, too, should be present at the last moments of Imam's life, and hear his last words. He would be the only person who could help the ImamSadiq . No one was in the house, for, I had sent away everyone to find the Imam's relatives. I didn't know what to do. Abu Nasr's house was very far away. I had to seek him out myself but I feared that the Imam would be dead by the time I returned, and I would miss being by his side during his last moments.

I was completely perplexed, when I heard a knock on the door. I hurried to the door and found there a pupil of the Imam who had come to see how he was. I told him that the Imam was not well, and that night was probably his last night. He sat down by the door and began to weeping.

He used to visit the Imam every day. I explained my problem to him, and he rose and said: "You had better stay withUmma Hamidah . I will go to find Abu Nasr."

I thanked God, and thanked him; and returned to the room. The Imam was still slept.Umma Hamidah was sitting by his beside and weeping. He looked very pale and thin; He was sixty- five years old, I had never seen him so pale and thin.

Soon afterwards some of his relatives arrived one by one, but not all of them. Each one, on entering, saluted and sat by the Imam's bed. Everyone gazed in silence at his face.

Suddenly he slowly opened his eyes.Umma Hamidah moved slightly and put her face closer to the Imam. He turned his head round with some difficulty and looked at those who were present, maybe to see if all had come, but they had not. Others were expected to arrive. The Imam closed his eyes again. One of those present began to cry. ImamSadiq again opened his eyes and everyone looked at him. He smiled affectionately and said: "Why do you cry?" The man answered: "Why should I not? May God destroy the enemies of Islam! Could I see you in this condition and not cry?"

The Imam remained silent for a moment and then said: "No! Don't cry! Whatever happens to a believer is good, and even if all his limbs are cut off, it is good for him, or if he owns everything on the earth, again it is good for him."

What fine words! O' God! Let not these words be his last! For, not all his relatives are here yet. He closed his eyes again for some moments: and then said: "Remember to give my cousinHasan Ibn Ali seventy coins of my money."

I felt as if the whole room was turning round and round. I almost collapsed. I knewHasan Ibn Ali well. He was an enemy of the Imam. I could bear it no more and said: "He is your enemy. He is the man who attacked you with a dagger to kill you. Do you want to give him some of your money?"

The Imam smiled faintly and said: "God loves those who help their relations. Do you not want to be one of those who are spoken wellof by God?"

Oh! How noble ImamSadiq was! At that moment the door opened and two others entered. One of them was a relative of the Imam. The other one was the same pupil of the Imam who had gone to find Abu Nasr. I went quickly to him and asked about Abu Nasr. He answered: "Abu Nasr was not at home. I sent a member of his family to find and send him here."

I began to think and wish that Abu Nasr would arrive soon. I wished that he were there to write down the words of the Imam. The relatives continued to arrive one by one. Now almost everybody was there, sitting round the Imam's bed, and weeping quietly, and waiting to hear his last words.

These were painful moments, and they passed unpleasantly. Once more the Imam opened his eyes and shifted himself a little in bed. Then he looked round at everyone, remained silent for a moment and said: "He who pays no attention to daily ritual prayers and takes them lightly,can not benefit from our intercession."

I did not know then whether those were the last words of the Imam. He always advised us to take the daily ritual prayers and perform them on time. Now in his last moment of life he was again making the same recommendation, saying that on the Day of Resurrection he would not help those who pay no attention to the heart-rending cry ofUmma Hamidah broke the thread of my thoughts. The Imam had passed away.Everyone thinking of the last words of the Imam, recommending everyone to pay attention to the daily ritual prayers.

* * *

The corpse of the Imam was carried by his relatives and friends to theBaghi'e cemetery, and buried by the tombs of his ancestors ImamHasan , ImamSajjad and ImamBaqir . That night was the 25 of the Lunar month of Shawwal, of the year 148 afterHejrat .

ImamMousa Kazim , son of ImamSadigh ordered a lamp to be lit in the room where his father lived every night.

The relatives and followers of the Imam returned, and Abu Nasr, too, arrived in a confused state of mind and weeping. He went toUmma Hamidah and offered his condolences.Umma Hamidah said in answer: "Alas you were not present at the Imam's death! I wish you had come sooner. The last words recommended the Muslims to pay attention to the daily ritual prayers, namely something which he had repeatedly emphasized during the thirty- four years of his imamate."

The house was silent, and only the sound of lamentation of the relatives of the Imam could be heard. There was no other light but the one which had been lit in his room.

The Second Growth

Ibrahim stood up after performing his night prayer. He was feeling very tired and a few hours of sleep had not yet removed his fatigue. He walked towards the window, put his head out and looked at the sky, thinking to himself: "Is it time for morning prayer?"

It was a clear and starry sky. He gazed at the stars and watched the moon that was moving slowly, as if looking after the baby stars. The moon had been telling stories for the stars all night, so that they could go to sleep. How close the stars seemed to him! He said to himself. "IfHossain were awake, he would think that he could climb a very tall ladder and pick one of the stars for himself."

He laughed at this idea, and a slight smile remained on his lips.

After performing his morning prayer he went back to his bed, arguing with himself whether he should lie down again or not. He was very tired and felt sleepy. But he had much work to do on his farm which needed taking care of. He remembered how much hard labor he had done on the farm. He had cultivated a wide and dry land outsideJawania , of the city of Medina.

He had worked on it round the clock for months, assisted by the members of his family and a few other workers he had hired to turn that arid land into a cultivated farm. Now the corn ears moved with every gentle breeze, filling the heart of his family with hope; the hope of the time of reaping and the time when they could settle their debts and use the rest of the crop for their livelihood.

He thought: "I will certainly take some of the corn to ImamMussa Kazem (p.b.u.h .) to be divided amongst the poor."

He was pleased with this idea. His eyelids felt heavier every moment, but the thought of the corn ears and the unfinished work in the farm did not let him go back to sleep. He shook himself a little and opened his eyes, and said to himself: "I must get up and go to the farm to attend the crop."

He was about to stand up that there came a sudden knock on the door. Before he could rise, his wife and son had reached the door. A voice behind the door kept on calling him with a panting breath, saying: "Ibrahim! Where are you, Ibrahim? All your property is gone! Hurry up! Locusts have swarmed upon your field. May be you can save the rest of your crop!"

It was one of his workers. He had run a long way. He uttered his words with much anxiety and let himself sit on the ground. Ibrahim leapt out of the bed, picked a large handkerchief, put on his shoes, carried a spade on his shoulder and ran towards the farm. The sun was just beginning to rise, that the man was getting quite out of breath, saying to himself: "O God! Help me!"

It was too late when Ibrahim reached the farm. He had lostevery thing . The swarm of locusts was disappearing like a black cloud, and not even one ear of his crop was left. He dropped insensible by his now locust-striken field and looked towards the sky. Then he covered his face with his hands and plunged into thought, saying: "O God! I have lost the fruits of my labors, andevery thing I had has, been destroyed. What can I say to people now? How can I pay my debts? Where can I get a living to support my family?"

He was shocked with grief, and could hardly breathe. The rest of the family arrived soon, looking worried and distressed. His wife began to comfort him with the following words, "There is nothing to be done. It is a mishap that has happened. But God is Compassionate and our subsistence is in His hand."

Ibrahim was still. His wife's words gave him some hope. She was right and one should vest hope in God only. His legs didn't have the strength to stand up. His wife sat by him.

Minutes and hours passed in silence and grief until noon came. The call for prayer could be heard from the Mosque. Ibrahim stood up and headed for the mosque. Upon arriving, he performed ablution and stood up to pray. He finished his prayer, but felt uneasy at having nothing to do. So, he set off for home. The sun was almost in the middle of the sky. He was still thinking of his crop, the crop which had grown with his labor and with the aid of water and sunshine, and was now destroyed with the raid of locusts.

* * *

Several days passed, and although a long time had gone since the raid of the locusts upon his farm he continued to visit it every day. He spent the whole day in thatcropless field, and returned home in the evenings. A little while later he wouldlay down in bed, and listen to the murmur of the moon telling story for the stars. He was thinking to himself: "The stars are golden, and my crop, too, was turning golden." He remembered how hard he had pulled out the weeds. "I won't let you suck the blood of my baby corns." He would say.

Smiling at the thoughts and the hard work he had done, little by little he fell asleep.

One morning, as usual he was sitting by his farm when he saw some horsemen in the distance coming towards him. He thought: "They must be coming in this direction, for; there is no other place to go around here.

He sheltered his eyes with his hand to see if he could recognize them. When they came nearer Ibrahim recognized them. He got up to his feet and ran towards them, saying: "My lord!"

He would not believe that the Imam was visiting him. Yes, it was ImamMussa Kazem and his friends who had come to see him.

Ibrahim ran to the Imam. He was so happy that he felt as if he were flying. The Imam dismounted, stroke Ibrahim's head, embraced him and asked how he was. Ibrahim wiped his tears of joy, and answered: "I am very well, O Imam!"

The Imam asked about the man's family, and he answered that all of them were fine. Imam remained silent and walked towards the farm.

Imam asked about his job, he bent his head and pointed to the field. Again Imam remained silent for a few moments and pressed Ibrahim's hand which he still held, saying: "Tell me, Ibrahim! How much have you borrowed, and how much profit have been lost?"

Again Ibrahim bent his head, and then raised it, saying: "It amounts to two hundred and fiftyDirhams worth which was destroyed as a result of thelocusts raid. The dry land which I turned into a farm by hard work is completely ruined. Now I am not even able to repay my debts. Locusts have caused my ruin. They have left me misery instead of corn."

ImamKazem put his hand in his pocket and took out a bag, and offered two hundred and fiftyDirhams to Ibrahim.Ibrahim, hesitated for some moments and felt as if he was nailed to the ground. He remembered the words of his wife saying: "God is kind, and our subsistence is in His Hand."

At last he took the bag and thanked Imam. ImamKazem took hold of the rein of his horse and together with his companions began to walk towards the farm. It was near noon and the sun was high in the middle of the sky.

Ibrahim looked at the farm for a moment and in his imagination he saw ears of corn, slowly growing reaching higher and higher, each one carrying a fully rich ear, while the breeze gently moving them about. Ibrahim rubbed his eyes to come out of his fanciful dream. He thought that he was either asleep, or that he had gone crazy or fallen into day- dreaming. But it was not a dream. The second growth of the corns was a fact and reality. The sun of ImamKazem's blissful Imamate and guardianship hadshone on his corns making them grow once more. His heart was filled with vast joy. He looked the farm over again. The call for the noon prayer could be heard. Imam and his companions were setting off for the city. Ibrahim was so excited and confounded that he did not notice the Imam and his companions leaving for the city. He began to run after them.

That night was so clear, so calm and full of stars. Ibrahim was thinking of the moon and the stars. He smiled, and thought that the moon was telling a fresh story for his stars.The story of the second growth of his crop.

All people of the city, too, heard about the story. Everyone felt happy. Whenever they saw Ibrahim, they saluted him and begged him to tell them the event of the second growth of the crops. He, too, told the story from the beginning to the end; like the moon.

1)Samera was originally composed ofSorre -Man-Ray, meaning: "He who saw, became glad."

2) The narrator's name is Ali Bin –Khaled .

3) Muhammad Bin – Abdul-Malek Zayyat was a minister to three of theAbbassid caliphs.

4) At this timeMo'etassam was caliph.

De'bel's Secret

No one could guess whatDe'bel was thinking about when he stared at a far away distance. Or for what reason his black, clear eyes filled with tears now and then.

AlthoughDe'bel was returning with a large caravan fromMarve to Medina, however he did not sense the presence of the travelers around himself. Again and again,De'bel remembered the time which he had stood before Imam Reza and had read one of his poems for him. That poem was about the cruelties and oppressions which the Umayyad and Abbasid dynasties had carried out against the household of the Prophet (peacebe upon them).

He had recited for Imam Reza,

I see their spoils,

Divided among others,

And their hands,

Empty oftheir own spoils.

With this poem, Imam Reza had started to cry and had said, "OhDe'bel ! You have said the truth."

WhenDe'bel remembered the tears of the Imam, his heart filled with grief and tears rolled down his face and he quietly said,

"His hands are empty of their own spoils."

At this moment the caravan stopped to rest next to a river.De'bel sat next to a rock and stared at the water. Once again he recalled everything from his arrival inMarve , meeting with Imam Reza, and reciting poems for him.

A smile appeared on his face when he remembered how Imam Reza had liked his poem and that he had given one of his garments to him.

Imam Reza had given one of his garments toDe'bel after hearing the poem and had said, "With this blessed garment you shall be protected from any harm."

De'bel was in his own thoughts when he suddenly heard screams from the caravan people,

-"Bandits! Bandits!"

Alarmed,De'bel looked towards where the bandits were coming from.

The bandits had covered their faces and were quickly getting closer.De'bel was too old and tired to run away, therefore he made no movement and sat on the same rock. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

The people of the caravan were still screaming and running for a refuge in every direction. When the bandits reached the caravan, they screamed with joy and plunderedwhat ever they saw. The sound of crying and screaming was heard from every direction.

SuddenlyDe'bel remembered the garment which was the gift of Imam Reza. The garment was among his belongings and he did not want to lose it. For this reason, he went towards the caravan, to stop them, in any possible way, from getting their hands on the garment.

The happy sound of the bandits and the screams of the travelers were mingled together in a way that distressedDe'bel greatly. He wanted to cry out, "Stop this plundering! Do you know what you're doing?"

But he knew that the only one to hear his voice would be himself.

Suddenly, as he was walking towards the caravan tired and terrified, he heard a voice singing,

I see their spoils,

Divided among others,

And their hands,

Empty oftheir own spoils.

It was, as if, his heart was beating a thousand times faster than before. He was trembling all over, and his hands were shaking. The voice sang again,

I see their spoils,

Divided among others…

"Who is singing? Where is it coming from?"

And their hands,

Empty oftheir own spoils…

De'bel sat on the ground hopeless and desperately said, "for God's sake, who is singing?"

As he was kneeling on the ground he saw one of the bandits singing happily,

I see their spoils,

Divided among others…

De'bel got up with great effort and brought himself to him; "Wait! Wait!"

But the Bandit was so overwhelmed of the spoils he had gained that he was deaf to any voice.De'bel ran after him with more strength and said," Wait, for God's sake,wait !"

The bandit stopped.De'bel got closer to him, looked him in the eyes and asked, "Tell me, who has composed the poem you were singing?"

The bandit looked at him in surprise and asked, "what is the use of knowing the answer to this question?"

De'bel answered pleadingly," I have a reason. Please tell me who the poet of this poem is?"

The Bandit who sawDe'bel asking desperately answered him involuntarily, "De'bel bin AliKhozaei , he is the best poet of the Prophet's Household (peace be upon them).

With hearing these words,De'bel fell to the ground and sat where he was. The man still looked at him, bewildered.De'bel spoke with a voice which seemed to come from deep down inside him, "I amDe'bel , I amDe'bel bin AliKhozaei !"

He said this and again he remembered the moment which he had recited this poem in the presence of Imam Reza.

The man gazed at him for a moment. Then suddenly, he started to run and brought himself to the leader of the Bandits. AsDe'bel was sitting down, little by little the sound of the screams and cries disappeared. After some momentsDe'bel felt a shadow next to himself. Then someone said, " Hey you, why have you claimed falsely?"

De'bel did not answer and the leader of the bandits said with anger, "Why have you claimed to beDe'bel Khozaei ?"

De'bel said, "I amDe'bel . You can go and ask from the other travelers."

The leader of the Bandits looked at the others and said, "We will do that."

The travelers, who had found out that something new had come up, gathered up in a corner. The leader of the Bandits got closer to them and looked them in the eye one by one. Finally he asked one of the men, "Do you know the name of that man?"

The man answered with a trembling voice, "we called himDe'bel and he answered us."

The leader went close to an old woman and asked, "Do you know who that man is?"

The woman answered, "We called him…"

The leader of the bandits screamed, "Enough. Whoever I ask, gives me the same answer; how do I know that you are telling the truth. Perhaps you have all agreed to support the old man."

Then he became quiet and looked around himself. Everyone looked at him with fear and terror. OnlyDe'bel's look was on the ground.

Suddenly the leader's eyes fell upon a little girl. He laughed happily and said, "The truth must be heard from the child." Then he got closer to the little girl and in order to influence her with his kindness asked her in a calm, soft voice," that man over there, the one which is sitting on the ground, what is his name?"

The girl answered, "We called himDe'bel ," and hid herself behind her mother's back.

"And he answered you for sure," added the leader of the bandits.

Hearing this, the bandits all started to laugh. Their leader laughed too. Then he suddenly became serious and murmured, "it's not possible not to believe anymore. So, he isDe'bel .De'bel ; the famous poet of the household of the holy Prophet."

Saying this he went towardsDe'bel .De'bel was still sitting where he was. He lifted him from the ground. In the movements of the leader was such kindness and sympathy that the travelers all looked at each other with astonishment.

The leader said, "De'bel , say the rest of the poem."

AndDe'bel recited with an extremely sad voice, the rest of his poem.

After reciting the poem,De'bel did not know what happened. When he came to himself the bandits had all gone away and had returned the belongings of the travelers to their owners.

The people of the caravan were telling each other happily and with surprise, "It is amazing. It is really amazing for a group of bandits to keep the honor of a poet of the Prophet's household in such a way."

However,De'bel was not thinking about these things. To him the most important thing was the garment which he had got from Imam Reza. That's why he ran toward his belongings. And when he saw the garment was untouched, he sighed in relief and smelled it. At that moment, once again he recalled the face of Imam Reza who was saying, "With this blessed garment you shall be protected from any harm."

No one saw

It was early morning and I could sense the fresh air of the previous night moving around the house. I looked at the single tall palm tree in the middle of the yard. Being heavy hearted, I wanted to sit next to the tree for a while. Moments later, I heard my mother coughing from inside the house. She had been sick for a few days and needed my nursing. I went back to the room and held a bowl of water to her lips. She drank a bit and felt better. I decided to go to the bazaar and buy some milk for her. I went back to yard. A cool breeze was blowing slowly and moved the palm leaves playfully. I moved away from this scene against my will, and stepped out of the house.

* * *

The town ofSamera was full of fruit orchards. The earth of the alleys smelled of flowers. Tree branches stooped over the walls and greeted the pedestrians. You could see a beautiful clean stream from anywhere you passed. Anyone who walked in the town was overwhelmed from these beautiful scenes.

One by one, I left behind different shops until I came across the milk shop. When the milkman saw me, he said with a loud voice, "Hello, the son ofKhaled ! You haven't been around for a few days!"

I told him that I had stayed at home for a few days because of my mother's illness. Surprised, he asked, "So, you don't know about what's been going around in town?"

"No," I answered, "if you have any news tell me about it."

He brought his face close and said, "They have brought a prisoner to town yesterday. They say he has claimed to be a prophet. He is an old man from Damascus…"

I stepped away aimlessly and without direction. The milkman cried with surprise, "Where are you going Ali-bin-khaled ?"

I didn't answer back. I was thinking with myself, how was it possible for a person to call himself a prophet when it was two hundred years after theprophethood of Prophet Mohammad, (peace be upon him and his household), and all the Muslims knew him as the last prophet. The only answer was that perhaps the old man was crazy!

When I came to myself, I had the tall strong walls of the prison in front of me. I have forgotten to tell you that the town ofSamera with all its beauty, was a military town and soldiers and government officials could be seen everywhere. One of the biggest suburbs of the town was called, 'Askar ' and the town's prison was placed in that suburb. I looked around. The towers of the prison seemed taller than before, and its walls stronger and taller than ever. I was sorry for not being a bird to fly over the walls.

Suddenly I remembered one of my old friends. He was my childhood playmate and later he worked in the town prison. I hadn't seen him for years and had no news from him. I felt a power inside me. I went forward and asked the guards about my friend. One of the guards knew him but said, "It is now a year that he has moved to Baghdad and now he is one of the Caliph's bodyguards."

It was a good opportunity. I used my friendship and asked that guard to take me to that old man. First, he would not accept but after my insistence, he gave in. I thanked him happily and promised him to return his kindness some day. Then I looked at the sky and thanked God in my heart.

I saw the sun peeping from behind the clouds and smiling.

* * *

The prison was dark and damp. We went through narrow passages that had low ceilings and mud-built walls. If it were not for the light of the torches, we could have hardly seen in front of our steps. The sound of crying, moaning, and chains, could be heardthrough out the prison. Fear was felt from every corner. After putting behind some passages, we came to an old wooden door. A guard with lots of keys belted on his waist, put a key to the lock, and hit against the door with his leg. The door opened with a shrieking sound. The light of the torch, which was in the hand of one of the guards shone on the old man's face.

It was he; the one whom they said had claimed to be a prophet.

I took the torch from the guard and went down the stairs. I stepped closer to him. His hair and beard were gray and he sat in a corner. Next to him was nothing but a pot of water and a clay bowl. He opened his eyelids and in one look studied me from top to bottom. My heart trembled. I sat next to him quietly. A few minutes passed in silence. Although I could hardly speak, I asked him, "I have heard from people that you know yourself to be a prophet, is this true?"

The old man slowly took his eyes off me and fixed them on the ground. He sighed and said, "Pity that people are simple-minded and easy believers."

I could feel grief and sorrow in his voice. I asked about him and his name. He said that he was from Damascus and that he had spent his life in the way of worshipping God. He talked with serenity and dignity.

I asked about his imprisonment. He did not answer. I asked again. He shook his head in disappointment and said,

"We have different beliefs, so how can you understand the truth of the story I talk about?"

I smartly answered, "Don't you want to put me on the same side as yourself?"

He thought in silence for a while and then said, "The story started in a shrine in Damascus. It was for some time that I prayed and worshiped God there. One day, when I had raised my hands to God, a voice called me and said, "Rise!" I turned towards the sound. I saw a well-dressed man in front of myself who had a blessed face. I got up involuntarily and followed behind him. Only a few moments had passed that he stopped in front of a mosque with tall minarets. He turned towards me and said, "Do you know this mosque?"

"Yes," I answered. "This is theKuffa Mosque." …after praying we left that mosque. We had not taken many steps, when I found myself facing the Mosque of the Prophet in Medina. We prayed there too, and started again. We walked a bit further and I suddenly saw myself in Mecca, next toKa'ba . After circling theKa'ba , we walked on again. This time I found myself in Damascus; the same place I had been before this mysterious trip. At this moment, that person disappeared from my eyes and left me alone with a sea of wonder. A year passed on until one night, for the second time, the same story and the same trip was repeated, with the difference that this time, I begged him for God's sake to tell his name. Do you know who he was? He was ImamJavad –peacebe upon Him- the ninth Imam of usShi'as !"

When I found out that he is a follower of ImamJavad , I was even more surprised. How could it be possible for a person to be a Muslim, count himself as a follower of the Imams, and yet claim to be a prophet? Without hesitation, I asked the old man, "What does this story has to do with claiming to be a prophet?"

The old man turned his face towards me and stared into my eyes. Then with a trembling voice said, "I swear that I have never called myself a prophet. All these are lies. My only mistake was that I told this incident for my friends and family and they retold it for others, till the news reached AbdulMalek . He ordered that I be brought to your town and be imprisoned, and accused me ofprophethood .

I trembled all over when I heard the name, AbdulMalek . Suddenly everything seemed dark to me. I went deep in thoughts. He was the vizier to the Abbasid caliph 'Mo'tasem '; a stonehearted vicious man who did not know friend from foe and had mercy on no one. By his order, they had made a furnace with small and large nails sticking out of its walls. They would throw his enemies in the burning furnace, burning them alive. Tears filled in my eyes and I felt sorry for the old man. I thought with myself that perhaps they had given false news to the vizier about this old man. What if a little mistake or lie, caused great trouble for him? As I was leaving him alone in the darkness, I said, "I will do all I can, to save your life."

From the split between the wall and the closing rusty door, I saw the old man greeting me with a smiling face. I will never forget the look on his face.

* * *

At home, I sadly sat in a corner with my hands circled around my knees. My mother woke up coughing. Her coughs reminded me that I was supposed to buy milk in the morning, but the excitement of seeing the old man had made me forget. I told the story to my mother. She tried to calm me down and said, "The old man's words cannot be trusted. If he is telling the truth, God will show a way for his freedom. If he is lying, then better that he stays where he is."

For me who had spoken with the old man and still felt his voice in my ears, it was hard to think him crazy or a liar. On the other hand, I could not just sit down and see the old man's life ending. I recalled the happenings of the day a few times. Suddenly, I remembered what one of the agents had said about my friend being a special guard of the caliph. It was better to ask him to inform the vizier about the old man. I took a pen and paper with excitement, and wrote everything to him.

* * *

Days went on from that event. My mother's health was improving. So I could spend more time outside the house. Every day when I came home, I asked mother, "Has there been a letter or a message?"

And mother's answer would be "no!"

During this time, I was worried about the old man who was awaiting his death, on one hand and on the other hand, I was searching for a way to find out whether the old man was telling the truth. Finding the truth was more important to me than the old man's destiny, because if he had told the truth, then I had to believe in the Imamate ofHazrate Javad , and be on the same opinion of theShi'as . Because what he had said is possible only through Imam and a successor of the Prophet.

Finally, one morning, I heard a few knocks on the door of the house. I got up and opened the door. In front of me, stood a young man with his horse's bridle in his hands. He looked very tired, and his face and clothes were covered in dust. He greeted me and said, "I come from Baghdad, I have brought a letter for you." I happily received the letter from him, and opened it quickly while saying goodbye. I was shocked when I saw what was written in the letter. The Caliph's vizier, Mohammad-ibn -AbdulMalek had written in his own handwriting, "Ask the same person who takes the old man from Damascus to Medina and Mecca, and then returns him to come and free him from our prisons."

What the Vizier meant by 'the same person' was ImamJavad . I wiped the cold sweet, which had settled on my forehead. I didn't know what I had to say. I gazed at the date palm tree in the middle of the yard. It was bent towards the ground and it did not move. He too, seemed sad and gloomy. It was clear from the vizier's answer that they had imprisoned the old man because of their hatred towards the leader of theShi'as , and claims of prophet hood were only excuses. The Caliph and his vizier feared that if the people heard the story of the old man they become believers of ImamJavad -peacebe upon him. That was why they had sent the old man to prison. I spent one or two ways looking for a solution. But I came to no answer. It was as if the old man had to stay in jail until he was punished.

Finally, I decided to give the old man another visit to inform him about the Vizier's answer. As I was going, I remembered those fearful scenes; narrow passages, small dark rooms, chains clattering, prisoners moaning, and the sad old man, sitting in the prison all alone.

From a distance, I saw many soldiers running from one place to another. I went closer. They were all angry and distressed. I was amazed. I saw two guards running towards their commander, saying, "We searchedevery where …there is no trace of him!"

There was a great crowd around the great gate of the prison. I saw some guards talking in a corner. I went forward and asked, "What's happened?"

One of them moved his hands like two wings and said, "It's as if he has flown away."

The other guard said, "Maybe he has gone into the ground; like a drop of water!"

"Who are you talking about?" I asked, surprised.

"That old man from Damascus, who was jailed here. No one has seen how he has got out of the prison."

I was happy all over. I wanted to scream and thank God. Everything was clear for me. ImamJavad had come to help the old man. And this time too, he had taken him from one place to another, just the old man had said. But this time, the old man wasn't saved alone; I considered myself saved too. ImamJavad had helped me too and he had flown me from the land of darkness to the sky of light and guidance. Now, I knew that He is the Imam and successor of the Prophet of God. I felt very light. I ran as fast as I could towards home to make mother happy too.