The path of Ibn Qasim

His name was Ibn Qasim. But no one knew him by that name. On the battlefield he was ‘Al-Mutawakkil’, in the prison camp ‘Abu Hamza’, and on the path of migration he was known as ‘Al-Gharib’. Because his true identity was one—he was a destitute dreamer of Allah, who came to change this world with the fire of sacrifice and faith.

Ibn Qasim was born in a deep valley in Khorasan at the end of the 8th century. His father was a poor Quranic Hafiz, who farmed at night and taught Arabic to children during the day. His mother was a simple village woman, whose only dream was that her child would receive the good news of Paradise. The first Surah of the Quran that Qasim memorized as a child was Al-Buruj, where it is said in the words of the martyrs—“And they took revenge for the crime of saying only: Our Lord is Allah.” (Surah Al-Buruj: 8)

This verse ignited a fire within him that grew with time. As a teenager, while others were playing, Qasim would sit next to an elder, listening to history, learning jurisprudence, and most of all, he was interested in ‘jihad’. But his ‘jihad’ was not limited to the sword. He believed that self-purification, the pursuit of knowledge, and the struggle for the establishment of truth were also part of jihad.

His first struggle began when the Tatars again attacked the Muslim settlements of Turkestan. Against these invaders, he raised a small army of only 11 men—some of them blacksmiths’ sons, some blind beggars, and some a young Mongol who had just converted to Islam. They first began with night raids, against food smugglers and brokers. They did not take the name of any political party, did not raise any flag, but simply said—“We are the people of truth.”

Their biggest campaign was in a remote area called Yasir Qila. There was a occupying general who was enslaving the local Muslims. Ibn Qasim and his team planned for three months, organized the locals, and attacked in the name of Allah before dawn. The battle lasted only 14 minutes, but in history that battle was called “Nisbah at-Tawbah”—because that night the general’s heart changed. He himself stopped fighting and took refuge in the shadow of Islam.

But Qasim’s story did not end there. He knew that a greater battle than a real war was a war against confusion and self-forgetfulness. He then migrated to Damascus, where he established the Majlis of Knowledge, where the subtleties of Islam, modern challenges, and the path to purity of heart were taught day and night. Students would come one by one and be enchanted by his words, the way he would open the horizons of thought with verses from the Quran and the seerah of the Prophet (peace be upon him).

His life was full of hardships—several times he was attacked by spies, once he was poisoned. But he did not stop. In his last years, he wrote a manuscript—“Al-Hayat fil Jihad” (Life in Jihad), in which he wrote his philosophy of life:

> “Jihad does not begin with the sword, but with the heart. He whose heart burns with fire for Allah, is never defeated.”

He died at the age of 43, not during an attack, but on the pulpit of a mosque, where he was delivering a sermon—“O believers, do you fear death when it is the door to your eternal security?” Before he could finish speaking, a poisoned arrow pierced his chest. He fell on the pulpit, but his face was calm, and his jaw was firm.

Today, no one knows where his grave is, no one reads his name in textbooks. But for those who seek the truth, who want to stand firm in faith even in difficult times, there is one name that rings deep in their hearts—Ibn Qasim. Because he was a lone martyr, in whose blood is written the beginning of a nation's renaissance.