Imam Ali Shrine

The marble under your bare feet is cool. Even in the heat of the day, the stone of the courtyard holds a kind of stillness. Around you, people move in every direction. Some walk slowly with their hands raised. Some sit against the walls with small prayer books open on their knees. Above it all, a golden dome catches the sun so brightly that many visitors lower their eyes before they look again.

You are standing at the Imam Ali Shrine in Najaf, in central Iraq. This is one of the most visited religious sites in the Islamic world. For Shia Muslims, it ranks among the holiest places on earth. People come here from Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Pakistan, the Gulf, and far beyond. Many have saved for years to make this journey. For some, standing in this courtyard is the moment of a lifetime.

The man buried here is Ali ibn Abi Talib. He was the cousin of the Prophet Muhammad, and he married the Prophet's daughter, Fatima. Sunni Muslims honour him as the fourth caliph, the fourth leader of the early Muslim community. Shia Muslims regard him as the first Imam, the rightful spiritual successor to the Prophet. That single difference in belief sits near the heart of one of the great divisions in Islamic history. Here, though, the mood is not argument. It is devotion.

Ali's death was violent. In the year 661, he was struck with a poisoned sword while praying in the great mosque of Kufa, a city not far from here. His attacker belonged to the Kharijites, a group that had broken away from his leadership. Ali died of his wound a few days later. According to tradition, he was buried quietly, away from the city, because his family feared that enemies might disturb his grave.

For a long time, the exact place stayed a secret. Then, according to one popular tale, the Abbasid caliph Harun al-Rashid was hunting in this desert in the late eighth century. His hounds chased gazelles to a small mound — and stopped, refusing to go further. Local people told him that this was the grave of Ali. Whether or not the story is true, it shows how long the memory of this spot survived among ordinary people before any great building marked it.

Over the centuries, rulers competed to honour the tomb. In the late tenth century, the Buyid ruler Adud al-Dawla built a major shrine here. Fire, war, and time destroyed and rebuilt it more than once. Later, the Safavid dynasty of Persia gave money and craftsmen. In the eighteenth century, the Persian ruler Nader Shah is widely credited with paying to cover the dome in gold. So the building you see carries the work of many hands, across many empires.

Now look up at the dome. It is covered in gilded tiles, laid close together like the scales of a fish. Two golden minarets rise on either side of it. Below them, a deep arched entrance, called an iwan, frames the way toward the tomb. An iwan is a high vaulted hall, open on one side, common in Persian and Islamic architecture. The gold here is not paint. It is metal fixed onto the surface, and it shines differently with every hour of light.

Walk along the edges of the courtyard and look closely at the walls. They are faced with glazed tiles in deep blue, turquoise, white, and yellow. The patterns repeat: flowers, vines, and lines of Arabic calligraphy. Many of the inscriptions are verses from the Quran or words in praise of Ali and the family of the Prophet. Even if you cannot read the script, notice how the letters stretch and loop, almost like part of the floral design.

Inside the sanctuary, the feeling changes completely. The walls and ceilings are covered in mirror mosaic — thousands of small pieces of cut glass set at different angles. The light from the lamps breaks into countless points, so the whole room seems to glitter. At the centre stands the zarih, a large cage of silver and gold lattice around the tomb itself. Pilgrims press forward to touch it. They kiss the metal, rest their foreheads against it, and whisper their prayers.

Here is something many visitors miss. The shrine is not only about Ali. Shia tradition holds that the Prophet Adam and the Prophet Noah are also buried in this place, beside him. This is a matter of religious belief rather than historical record, but it is deeply felt. Listen to the prayers of greeting that pilgrims recite. Some of them include salutations to Adam and Noah as well as to Ali.

A second surprise lies just outside these walls. Beyond the shrine spreads Wadi al-Salam, the Valley of Peace. It is one of the largest cemeteries in the world, stretching for kilometres across the edge of the city. Many Shia families have long wished to bury their dead close to Ali. Over the generations, millions of people have been laid to rest there. The low domes and brick tombs of the cemetery seem to run on almost to the horizon.

The shrine also explains why Najaf matters far beyond prayer. For about a thousand years, this city has been a centre of Shia religious learning. Its seminaries, together known as the hawza, train scholars from many countries. Some of the most senior religious authorities in the Shia world live and teach in the narrow streets nearby. When you walk out toward the old market, you may pass students in turbans and robes carrying books, heading to their lessons.

A few practical notes. Expect security checks before you enter, and you will leave your shoes at a shoe deposit near the gates. Women are expected to wear a full-length cloak, and loaners are often available at the entrance. Rules about phones and cameras can change, so ask the staff before taking pictures. During major religious anniversaries, the crowds become enormous. Many pilgrims also begin a long walk from here to the holy city of Karbala.

Before you leave, stop for a moment in the courtyard. Feel the stone under your feet again. Watch the families resting together, the old men counting prayer beads, the children running between the arches. Look once more at the gold above you, and notice how it has changed since you arrived. Then, as you step back out into the streets of Najaf, listen. The sound of the shrine follows you for a while — a low, steady murmur of prayer.