 Robert Dury Osbro, the major of the Bengalstaff Crop's rights, Hossain had a child named Abdullah, only a year old. He had accompanied his father on this terrible march, tortured by its cries. He took the infant in his arms and wept. At that instant, a shaft from the hostile ranks pierced the child's ear, and it expired in his father's arms. Hossain placed the little crops upon the ground, we come from God, and we return to him, he cried. Oh Lord, give me strength to be this misfortunate. Faint, with thirst, and exhausted with rules, he fought with desperate courage, slaying several of his antagonists. At last, he was cut down from behind. At the same instant, a lance was thrust through his back and bore him to the ground. As the dealer of this last blow withdrew his weapon, the ill-fated son of Ali rolled over the cross. The head was severed from the trunk, the trunk was trumbled under the hooves of the victorious horses. At the next morning, the woman and the surviving infant's son were carried away to Cuba. The bodies of Hossain and his followers were left unburied on the spot they fell. The three days, they remained exposed to the sun and the night use. The vultures and the brolling animals of the waste, but then, the inhabitants of neighbouring village struck with the harrow that the body of the grandson of the prophet should be thrust shamefully, abandoned to the unclean beast of the field. Dare the anger of Oedala, and enter it, the body of a martyr and those of his road friends.