Mother of the Martyrs – A Tearful Story
May Allah have mercy on your sons oh mother.
Umm Ash-Shuhadaa and memories of Falujjah........
Finally, the group "*****" stumbled upon the Hajja “Z.M” also known as Mother of the Martyrs who has become well-known for what she did in the Second War of Falujjah.
After a long two month search for her, there was no one left whom we didn’t ask about Umm Ash-Shuhada’, and who’s replies were either that she disappeared, or she had died, or that she had traveled to a village close to Falujjah to see her daughter.
Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’, 62 years old and mother of three sons - Ahmed, Muheeb and Umar – all of whom were martyred in the Second War of Falujjah.
She lives by herself in a small house in Falujjah and spends her time sweating away - despite her age – making brooms to sell to the locals and making only enough to keep her going. She refused all help offered to her by the merchants and rich of Falujjah. She is known in Falujjah to be of those whom their dua is accepted and because of this you find daily people coming to her to ask her to make dua for them. Mostly of them are women who are about to give birth, or those intending to travel, or those sick and even some men of the insurgency. They come to her before every operation, asking her to make dua that Allah guides their shots and protects them.
We entered her small home and she was mending some brooms in the garden, surrounded from all sides by green palm tree branches and five chickens, which she was raising in the courtyard of her small house.
So we entered the house:
“Assalamu Alaikum, Oh Aunt!”
“Walaikum Assalam Warahmatullaahi Wabarakatuh. Greetings my sons. Come in please.”
Entering the house, we sat down on layered out wool. After seeing the camera and notepad we were carrying with us she put aside what she had in her hands and said: “You are welcome my son, any favour”
“We are from “*****” Oh Aunt, and we want you to recount to us your story in Falujjah during its second battle, if you don’t mind”
Here Umm Ash-Shuhada’ began with astonishment and said: ““******” Where did this come from? I have never heard about it on television”
“Oh Mother, this is an Islamic news site on the internet that concerns itself with the affairs of the Muslims in Iraq and other Muslim countries”
Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ laughs and says “By Allah my son, I have no idea what you are talking about, however you are welcome to ask and I will answer you Insha Allah”
“We want you to talk about Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ in the second battle of Falujjah”
Here the correspondent moved the lens of the camera spontaneously, however he wasn’t intending on taping Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’.
So she said “By Allah my son, I don’t like this camera because it is haraam and I am your mother, a covered woman. No matter how old I am, I stay a woman and I am not permitted what Allah has made forbidden for women”
“As for my story, there are tens of women like me in this city, except I am the most stricken for I have lost my three sons, I consider them to be martyrs for Allah’s sake.”
Here Al Hajja Zakia Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ begins to narrate her story:
“I am an old Falujjan woman who believes that Allah is the Truth, so Allah tested her and He still is… and I hope from Him that He accepts my going through this test for I am exhausted, by Allah.
My husband died ten years ago – and what an excellent husband may Allah have mercy on him – and Allah blessed me with three sons and a daughter. They are, Ahmad, Muheeb, Umar and Khulood. The eldest was Ahmad who was thirty-five years old then Khulood, Muheeb and the youngest was Umar. My husband and I devoted ourselves to raising them, caring for them and watching over them. Their father – may Allah house him in Paradise – would teach them and direct them until they grew up and became college graduates. They kept close to the mosques from the time they were young until they died, and they joined the groups of mujahideen in Falujjah after the occupation.
This is on my family, as for Falujjah and its beginnings then it is a long story. I will shorten the talk because I am fasting and I also have a lot of work to do in the house, and there are people who have paid me money to repair their brooms.
Before the Second Battle of Falujjah by a week, I was sitting with my sons -Ahmad, Muheeb and Umar may Allah have mercy on them – in our old house in Ash-Shuhadaa’ District. It was afternoon and we were drinking tea together. They were trying to persuade me to go to their sister’s house in a village out of Falujjah as they were worried about my safety because of the upcoming battle. The Americans, Shia’s and Kurds were gathering like insects around the four gates of Falujjah.
As for me I refused this and they – may Allah have mercy on them – begged me to leave, especially Umar, the youngest of my sons and he was saying to me: “Oh my mother, leave Falujjah and leave us to fight while our hearts are at rest for your sake. Leave, or I will bring a pickup, put you in it and take you by force” He was teasing me may Allah have mercy on Him. He was very merry and all his friends would love him for his light bloodedness. He would even call me Hajji and not Hajjiya for he would say: “Your courage is that of men not of women”
With all their persistence I refused their offer and said: “I will stay and cook for you and your group, and tend to your injuries. I will not leave Falujjah as long as you are in it. By Allah, I cannot leave my heart in Falujjah and go away”
Seeing me determined, they left me alone – may Allah have mercy on them – and our final decision was that we would stay in Falujjah until the end of the battle, either victory or martyrdom. Alhamdulillah my sons achieved martyrdom.
Ahmad, Muheeb and Umar each were in different groups and they were discussing between themselves a plan to stay in contact during the battle. I was listening to their conversation with sadness as I remembered them when they were young, how their father would hold them and play with them, how they grew, how they went through school and how they ended up with beards and moustaches. Until I even remembered each one of them how he planned his first plan in his life. I also remember my happiness the day they first walked, and when their first teeth came and I would put my finger for them to chew on and I would laugh at them. Also their first day in school and they would be with their small schoolbags.
I was crying in secret lest they would be hesitant as I was sure they would die in that battle. “Tell me, if you thought all of your children were going to die what would you do?” Nevertheless I was making dua to Allah that He would take my soul too so that I would not taste the grief and sorrow over them.
Here Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ cries a bitter cry without sound and to be honest we all cried with her.
Suddenly she got up and said: “Excuse me, I will go and see the lentil soup, I fear that it is burning.”
Only, she did not go to the kitchen, for we heard her crying in a room with its window facing the garden. Cries - different from the cries of stricken women – of prayer came from this old woman for she said: “Oh Lord of the Kings and Ministers of whom the people come to them and they don’t reject them nor do they refuse them their requests even if they were sentenced to death. So with all the more reason oh Lord and You are King of the Kings I stand here at Your Door asking You to take my soul for I yearn for my sons and husband and no one will make me stay in this life. Oh my Lord don’t reject me, a poor widowed woman whose sons are all dead. Oh my Lord You are Capable so don’t let me down.”
Minutes later Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ returned, her eyes red from crying. She was leaning on a walking stick that she didn’t have when we first saw her and it was as though her body caved in from the crying and weakness. Pleasantly she said: “The gas when we use it for the stove it finishes in one day. I am sure they cheat us with the gas and sell it to us for a high price. May Allah forgive them” and the poor woman didn’t know that we had heard her cries and dua.
So she continued her tale: “On 7/11/2004 the bombing intensified and there were attempts to penetrate Falujjah from the north and they would hurl lighted bombs. It was eleven o’clock night and I was alone at home and I started to recite what I had memorized of the Quran until I finished all the small Surahs I had memorized. Then I began to pray to Allah, first for victory and second that He protect my sons. I did not sleep that night, until the time for Fajr salat I felt Umar standing over my head while I was in Sajdah. He said to me: “Oh Mother, I see you are not sleeping. We are fine and I was with Muheeb and Ahmad, they are fine and they want you to make enough food and tea for fourteen mujahideen. What do you think, don’t you want the reward?”
By Allah I was so happy with our guests so I hurried to the kitchen and prepared enough food for thirty men, tea and hot bread I prepared quickly.
I went out with him in a hurry to the door and helped him take the food to the car. He said to me: “Oh Mother, today lunch is upon you. My brother Muheeb volunteered lunch to the Arab mujahideen.”
I prayed Fajr and made dua to Allah that He protects them all. Meanwhile Falujjah was still being the target of the hits from the American planes and shelling. With every hit, the house would lift above my head as though it was going to fall. I would turn to Allah with dua and Quran and in fact I did prepare the lunch for them. Muheeb came and kissed my hand as he usually did. He requested from me that if any of his brothers came that they should meet with him, the matter was important. I asked him about the matter and he replied “that it was something simple that you needn’t bother your head with.”
He left and I looked after him until he disappeared from my sight. He may Allah have mercy on him was tall and heavily built.
The next day – and I had baked more than two hundred loaves of bread until I tired out my hands from kneading the dough and I had also prepared two huge pots of rice and stew – they came all three of them and stayed with me until one o’clock. I kissed them and smelt them as though they were young again and I kept looking at them closely as though I knew that I wasn’t going to see them after that day. By Allah I will never forget my kisses on them as long as I live. Their father died and there was no one for me in this world except them. By Allah I knew each one from his nice odor. After an hour they went out together and took with them the food and they kissed my head and hand and said to me: “Oh Mother, make dua for us for the sake of Allah”
So I said to them: “Why do you oath by Allah that I make dua for you night and day”
They said to me: “Not for us but for the whole of Falujjah”
They left and I never saw them again.
Falujjah went through many nights of intense fighting that would make one insane. I would hear nothing but the cries of “Allahu Akbar”, the dua from the mosques, the strikes of the mujahideen and the shelling of the occupation. Daily I would sit on the doorstep of the house hour after hour looking at the street hoping for the arrival of my sons. I would ask anybody coming my way and trot over to them: “Hey, oh one of Ghayrah (sense of honor), did you not see Ahmad, did you not see Muheeb, and did you not see Umar my son?”
Here Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ cries again
“Some of them would say to me that they didn’t know them and some would say that they didn’t see, them except one.
He told me “Oh Mother, Ahmad and Umar are in Al-Jumhooriyah district and Muheeb is in An-Nizaal district and they are fine.”
He hurried off so I ran after him and I tripped and fell over. My nose was smeared in blood as I begged him to stop and talk to me. He stopped again and said to me: “My Mother, I told you that they are fine and there is nothing wrong with them Alhamdulillah, but don’t make me late. I have very important work to do. If I see them again I will give them your salam”
He gave me his Ghutrah and said: “Wipe away your blood oh Mother” then he left.
I continued in this condition until 12/12; however I decided after this that I would strengthen my heart, trust in Allah and do something for the mujahideen. So I began to cook food and distribute water among the arab mujahideen. I also made bandages from the curtains of the house, pieces of material around the house and covers of pillows. Then I would tend to the mujahideen who were injured in the battle. And Alhamdulillah all those whom I tended to returned to fight and they were more than twenty.
Before I come to the day of 12/12, on 12/9 – and the dates, I am sure of, as I was counting the days since I separated from my sons – this day the jews scattered chemicals heavily all over Falujjah, especially in the center. Many people were martyred and these chemicals also burnt trees and animals. This helped the occupation advance into the center of Falujjah in a few hours as tens of mujahideen were martyred. Then a rumor spread among the mujahideen from an unknown source which still now is unknown, except that I am sure it was from an agent.
The rumor was that Umar Hadid and Abdullah Al-Janaabi died in the chemical attack. Panic spread in Falujjah among the groups, only Allah knows. I would hear about this from the injured that I was tending.
However Umar Hadid and Abdullah Al-Janaabi dispelled these rumors when they came up among the mujahideen that day. This event increased the morale of the mujahideen and gave the occupation huge losses, only Allah knows.
Intensive fighting continued back and forth between the mujahideen and the occupation and I would hear that there were tens of martyrs among the mujahideen. I would ask Allah to delight my eyes one day with the sight of my three sons.
Then, at 11 o’clock night on 12/12/2004, which was a Sunday, there occurred a fierce battle between the mujahideen and the Americans who were trying to take hold of Ash-Shuhadaa’ district, advancing from outside of Falujjah not from inside.
The fighting was close to my house and I would look up to the sky and see it lit up with fire, a sight I will never ever forget. Many martyrs fell during this battle and I would hear their groaning close to my house. It went on like this for about four hours, from 11 o’clock until 3 o’clock, or a little less. During this time the American attack on the district failed. I went out to the door of the house and I heard a groan coming from an injured Mujahid. He was remembering Allah and he did not quit from Laa Illaha Illaa Allah Muhammad Rasoolulullah.
I hurried over to him and he was still alive so I dragged him with all my strength into the house. He was injured on his chest and face. I hurriedly got some water and washed his face and bandaged his wounds so that they would stop bleeding. He was crying and I thought that he was crying because of the severity of his pain. Every time he looked at me he would cry, so I said to him: “Trust in Allah oh man. Your injuries are simple and, if Allah wills, curable and the fact that you are fine is what is important. Dawn is close and your faction will be here soon and they will take you and tend to you. However let me go and see if your faction has any life in it or not”.
He began to cry more severely this time and it was as though he didn’t want me to go, so I thought that maybe he felt that his death was close and that he didn’t want to die alone. I convinced him that his companions were in need of help and that I would go and come back quickly.
I went out to the street – after hitching up my abaya and fastening it around my waist - and decided that I would start with the injured. In fact I did find a second injured one, he was an Arab. So I dragged him into the house and began to do what needed to be done with him. However I was astonished when he addressed me with the words “Oh Aunt Umm Muheeb” as though he knew me and also because the people usually call me Umm Ahmad. So I guessed that he was a friend of my son and knew our house. He was injured below his navel – may Allah have mercy on him – and his intestines were hanging out the front. He told me that all he wanted was some mud from the garden, some salt and a bandage. I gave him what he wanted and then I went back out into the street.
There I found two bodies, two houses away from mine. I dragged the first with all my strength to the house and put it in the garden. Then I fetched the spade intending to dig a grave for him. And indeed I dug a three hand span deep, two meter long grave then I buried him in it. I intended to leave him under the protection of the ground until his family or companions come to move his body to bury it more appropriately according to Sharia.
After I buried the first I was very exhausted for I was too old to be dragging two injured people and one dead body tens of meters. However I put my trust in Allah and told myself, perhaps Allah will protect my sons from death, in return for what I have done.
I went out to the street again and found another martyr who was heavily built and tall. I began to slowly drag him from his feet and after some minutes I brought him to the garden of my house. There I started to suspect that I knew this martyr – and his shirt was torn on the back – also his odor was familiar to me. It was night and so dark, I couldn’t even see the palm of my hand so I ran over to the house and got a lantern, despite the dangers of any light emitting from the house. This was because the planes could bomb at any minute.
When I fetched the lantern and got closer to the face of the martyr – which was covered in blood and sand – I froze in my place thunder stricken, speechless! For this martyr was none other than Muheeb my middle son!”
Here Umm Ash-Shuhadaa’ cuts her story and bursts out crying. She says: “By Allah oh Muheeb you broke my back, you and your brothers left me and went away” then she says “Inna Lillahi Wa Innaa Ilayhi Raaji’oon. I had planned on not crying over them and this is the third time I have cried over them today”
Then the stricken woman continues her story: “I lifted his head and brought it to my chest; I cried over him and talked to him for about half an hour as though he was alive. I reminded him of his good talk with me and of when he was young and he used to sleep on my lap. I stroked his beautiful soft hair as I used to always do. I said to him: “Oh Muheeb I am your mother…sleep oh delight of my eyes, sleep and rest from this world. You have won!” By Allah I did not want to let him go from my lap. I buried him under the olive tree that he used to love and study under when he was young – and I made the hole deep, for I decided that his grave would be in his house.
In the morning a group of mujahideen arrived and I was still at Muheeb’s grave, guarding my martyred son as if someone was going to take him from me. I cried over him from the night until the morning and I heard their voices in the street so I went out to them. They knew me and I knew them as they were Ahmad and Umar’s companions from the organization.
I asked them: “Tell me, where are my sons Ahmad and Umar?
They bowed their heads down and said: “Oh Aunt, consider them with Allah. Ahmad and Umar died last night in An-Nizaal district and we buried them in the yard of the home of Hajji Khaleel Al-Fiyaad”
I don’t know why I didn’t cry at the time of the news. Maybe it was because I was tired out from crying over Muheeb or because of the shock I was in. I asked them: “Did they die advancing or retreating?”
One of them replied: “By Allah they died advancing and they received their revenge before they died”
I praised Allah, and then I told them to enter the house to take their two injured men with them. When they entered they found one of them - and it was the Arab – lifeless; his soul had departed. As for the other, he was still alive and they took him with them. They buried the other one in the garden of my house. They were amazed that I had been able to dig two graves in an hour. I told them that the grave under the olive tree belonged to my son Muheeb and the other, a martyr that I didn’t know and that he wasn’t buried properly. So I asked one of them to unbury him and make the grave bigger, fearing for the body.
After this they asked me to come with them as they would try to get me out of Falujjah. I refused this and one of them – he was not an Iraqi - said to me: “Oh Mother you have lost three of your sons and we are all your sons. Insha Allah Ahmad, Umar and Muheeb are in Paradise”
They left in a hurry before my eyes and I returned inside the house to pray Duha. Three more battles broke out in three long nights. I was able during that time to drag four other martyrs and bury them in the garden of my house. With that there was in the garden of the house seven graves belonging to seven martyrs. The whole garden and house was filled with a musky scent that I had never smelt before and this scent made me feel happy and gave me patience. I slept four nights next to the grave of Muheeb and I would smell that aroma. I slept with him like the mother who carries her son when he is asleep. I stayed a prisoner in my house with the martyrs for seven days until 13/1/2005, when the Red Crescent entered from the north with the permission of the occupation. They forced me to go with them to a camp in As-Saqlaawiya. There I found out that after the battle that the volunteer workers from Falujjah dug up Muheeb and his companions and took them to re bury them with their brothers in the new martyr’s graveyard.
This is my story and I tell it despite all the pain and injury I went through. Also I wish that I had three more sons who would die for the sake of Allah despite my grief over them as your mother is proud because she is mother of the martyrs.”
