When news reached Ibn ʿUmar that al-Ḥusayn, the beloved grandson of the Prophet ﷺ, had set out toward Iraq, he grew uneasy. His political instincts, honed over decades, told him this journey was perilous.
Without delay, he departed to intercept him. After three days of travel, he caught up with al-Ḥusayn on the road.
“Where are you headed?” Ibn ʿUmar asked. “To Iraq,” al-Ḥusayn replied, showing him several letters — invitations from the people of Kūfa pledging loyalty and support. He carried with him hope. Conviction. Faith in their words.
But Ibn ʿUmar pleaded with him: “Don’t go to them. It would be best if you did not. My opinion, with what I’ve seen of the world, is that you must turn back.” Al-Ḥusayn remained committed. His decision was made. Then Ibn ʿUmar said, with tears welling: “I remember what the Messenger of Allah ﷺ once said. Jibrīl came to him, showed him this world and the next, and said: ‘Choose.’ The Prophet chose the Hereafter — not this fleeting world. And you… you are a piece of the Prophet’s own flesh. If God has kept worldly power away from you, I believe it is for your good, not harm.” Al-Ḥusayn smiled warmly.
Seeing he would not be dissuaded, Ibn ʿUmar embraced him — a deep, sorrowful embrace. His eyes overflowed with tears as he whispered: “Farewell, O Husayn. I entrust you to Allah.” He returned. And the tragedy of Karbala unfolded just as he feared.
Years later, whenever the memory of al-Ḥusayn arose, Ibn ʿUmar would say, mournfully: “He was taken away from us. And the lessons he could have drawn from his father and brother, he did not take.”
Even during the time of ʿAbdullah ibn al-Zubayr, Ibn ʿUmar remained detached. He had no appetite for struggles over power. When Yazīd ibn Muʿāwiyah and then his son Muʿāwiyah II died, there was a power vacuum. In some provinces, Ibn al-Zubayr was declared caliph — in Ḥijāz, Iraq, Egypt, and Khurāsān.
But Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam seized the opportunity, wrested control of Syria and Egypt, and later sent his forces to challenge Iraq. He died soon after, and his son ʿAbd al-Malik succeeded him, defeating Ibn al-Zubayr’s brother Musʿab in Iraq and besieging Ibn al-Zubayr himself in Makkah through his general, Ḥajjāj.
Through it all, Ibn ʿUmar kept his distance — disapproving of the greed for power and the blood it spilled. One day, Marwān tried to persuade him: “O Ibn ʿUmar! Come. Extend your hand. Let us pledge allegiance to you. You are the leader of the Arabs, the son of their leader.”
Ibn ʿUmar replied: “And what of the people of the East?”
Marwān coldly responded: “Strike them down until they pledge allegiance too.”
Ibn ʿUmar recoiled: “By Allah, never. Not a drop of blood shall be shed in my name.”
His refusal to take sides left many bewildered. Someone once came to him and asked: “Tell us about the battles of this time. Didn’t Allah say: ‘Fight them until fitnah ceases’?”
Ibn ʿUmar answered calmly: “That verse refers to the battles of the Prophet’s time. Not to your civil wars for power.”
As the clash between Ibn al-Zubayr and ʿAbd al-Malik intensified, two men came to Ibn ʿUmar and pressed him: “Don’t you see the state of this Ummah? You are the son of ʿUmar, the companion of the Messenger ﷺ. Why don’t you take a stand? What holds you back?”
He replied: “One thing holds me back — that Allah has forbidden me from shedding the blood of my fellow Muslim.”
They insisted: “But didn’t Allah command us to fight until fitnah ceases?”
He smiled and answered: “Yes — we fought until worship belonged only to Allah. That was then. But now your wars are about something else — to sow destruction and follow your desires. That’s not a battle I will join.”
Frustrated, another man rebuked him: “Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān! You go year after year to Ḥajj and ʿUmrah, yet you don’t fight in the path of Allah. Why not?”
Ibn ʿUmar, ever serene, replied: “My son, Islam rests upon five pillars: Faith in Allah and His Messenger, prayer, fasting in Ramaḍān, zakāh, and pilgrimage to the House of Allah.”
The man pushed further: “But doesn’t Allah say, ‘If two groups of believers fight, reconcile between them. And if one persists in aggression, then fight them…’?”
Ibn ʿUmar replied: “That was at the time of the Prophet ﷺ, when Islam was still fragile. We were few. And a man couldn’t preserve his faith without hardship. But now, Islam is vast and strong. There is no such fitnah threatening it now.”
The man finally asked: “Then what do you say about ʿUthmān and ʿAlī?”
Ibn ʿUmar answered: “Allah has forgiven ʿUthmān and rewarded him — though you still cannot forgive him. And as for ʿAlī, he is the Prophet’s cousin and son-in-law. Don’t you know his place?
He gestured toward the house next to the Prophet’s grave. No one could shake Ibn ʿUmar from his stance. He had reasons — sound ones. And history would come to vindicate many of them. Then came the most haunting moment of all.
ʿAbdullah ibn al-Zubayr was crucified in Makkah by Ḥajjāj’s orders — left hanging at al-Ḥujūn, his lifeless body exposed to the people of Quraysh. Ibn ʿUmar passed that way. He stopped before the crucified body and said: “Peace be upon you, O Abā Khubayb.” (Using his kunyah, the respectful epithet)
“I swear by Allah, I warned you of this. I swear by Allah, to the best of my knowledge, you were a man of fasting, prayer, and kinship — and you’ve been afflicted by a people who called themselves the best of this Ummah.”
It is said that when Ḥajjāj heard of Ibn ʿUmar’s visit, he was shaken — and finally ordered the body of Ibn al-Zubayr to be taken down from the palm trunk on which it had been displayed.
Thus, with both love and tears, Ibn ʿUmar kept the bond unbroken — never betraying his soul, never stepping beyond the Prophet’s ﷺ light.
