The Hodja in Karbala | A True Horror Story
True Horror Story | Summary: The story of Mahmut from Iraq, afflicted after disturbing jinn in Telafer. The terrifying solution and salvation found through a hodja in Karbala and 20 black goats.
Greetings, I am Mahmut from Iraq. I was born in the Ali Hasan village of Telafer, connected to the city of Mosul in Iraq. When I was about 10 years old, I found myself in the middle of a mysterious event due to something I did unknowingly. After we migrated from the village, we would occasionally visit our village. Since many of our relatives still lived in the village, our ties were not broken.
Once again, we went to visit our village with my parents. I had missed my uncles and cousins very much. Childhood, you know, we immediately got lost in games with my cousins. We were both playing games and catching up. I was so engrossed in the game that I didn’t even realize how badly I needed to relieve myself. Either because there wasn’t enough time to go home and use the toilet, or maybe just due to childhood carelessness, I went to the corner of a wall near where we were playing and started to urinate.
After I finished, someone called out to me. I couldn’t see anything clearly at that moment, but something said to me, “How dare you urinate on us, Son of Adam! I will strike you down here, leave you doubled over!” I didn’t even understand what was happening at that moment. With that fear and shock, I ran towards the house. My cousins ran after me, asking, “What happened, what happened?” Apparently, they hadn’t heard the voice; I think the thing only appeared, or rather, spoke, only to me. I entered the house and immediately cried out to my mother: “I’m scared, Mom, help me!” I said. My hands and feet were trembling uncontrollably. For a long time, I wanted to hug my mother and feel safe. My mother kept asking, “What happened, son, tell me,” but I just wanted to close my eyes and stay there in my mother’s lap. Seeing me in that state, my mother waited quietly for me to calm down.
When I felt a bit better, I told her what had happened. My mother told me, “Don’t be scared, son. But why didn’t you say ‘destur’ (by your leave/permission) while urinating? I taught you that.” I just lowered my head. Seeing my state, my mother stroked my hair, went to perform ablution, and started reading the Holy Quran. I fell asleep with my head resting on my mother’s lap while listening to the Quran. At that moment, I felt truly peaceful, until I fell deep asleep and had that awful dream.
In my dream, I saw myself eating raw meat covered in blood and maggots. But it wasn’t disgusting; it felt like I was eating a very delicious meal. Then I felt a pain in my throat. I forced my eyes open, or thought I did. A weight… A pitch-black entity on top of me! Oh my God, there’s no such thing! Even now, telling this, I’m still terrified. That weight was wrapped around my throat, choking me. I started having extreme difficulty breathing. I could feel death creeping in. I was drenched in sweat. For a moment, I felt that if I recited the surahs (chapters of the Quran) I knew, I would be saved. Back then, my father used to teach me the Quran, making me recite surahs. He would give me small gifts for the surahs I memorized. Despite that, at that moment, not a single surah came to my mind. With my last bit of strength, I could only say “Bismillah!” (In the name of Allah!). After that, the entity released me.
I woke up drenched in sweat, in a terrible state. I was in my bed. I wanted someone to help me, but I was also afraid to get out of bed. Maybe due to the shock of the event, maybe because we were guests, I couldn’t even scream. Mustering some courage, I ran out of the room. I open one room’s door, my aunt and uncle are asleep. I open another room, my cousins are asleep. Finally, like this, I found my mother. I hugged her and cried. My mother asks questions, I cry, unable to do anything. My crying woke up the rest of the household. When everyone woke up and the lights were turned on, I felt a bit more relieved. I told my parents, uncles, and grandparents what happened. At first, they didn’t take it very seriously, everyone said things like, “You might have had sleep paralysis (Karabasan).” But when my mother also recounted the incident from the daytime, my grandfather said, “Tomorrow, let’s consult the village mosque’s hodja (imam).”
In the village, the mosque’s hodja and others are like relatives. In their free time, they gather in large groups, and the elders chat among themselves. That day, my grandfather went and told the imam what had happened. The mosque’s hodja said, “These kinds of situations require knowledge. I have a friend, a hüddam (a person believed to command jinn or possess spiritual knowledge), who deals with these matters. I will refer you to him.” After my grandfather told us about this conversation, he called that hüddam using his push-button phone. In the years when this happened, not everyone had a mobile phone in their pocket like today.
The hodja was someone named Abdullah Abdulkadir living in Karbala. Thankfully, he immediately invited us to his home in Karbala. My grandfather and uncle wanted to come too, but my father said, “Don’t leave your work, my son and I will go,” and we set off. We reached Karbala safely with my father, thank God. Nothing bad happened to me either before leaving or on the way. After arriving there, we first went to visit the shrine of Imam Husayn (peace be upon him), recited prayers. Then we went to the house of the hodja Abdullah Abdulkadir.
As soon as we met the hodja, he looked into my eyes and said, “Why did you disturb them?” When I replied, “Who did I disturb? I didn’t do anything,” he slapped me hard across the face. “Why did you dirty their place? Didn’t your parents teach you? You urinate without saying Bismillah!” he yelled. At that moment, I thought, does one even say Bismillah when going to the toilet, is there such a thing? I knew about saying ‘destur’, but why say Bismillah, I wondered. As if reading my thoughts, he said to me, “Yes, son! You will say Bismillah in everything you do, you will start with Bismillah! Except, of course, when relieving your bowels. When you urinate by a wall or a tree, you will say Bismillah so you don’t disturb them. When you say Bismillah, they will move aside anyway.”
The hodja turned to my father and said, “Your son has been afflicted by them. With Allah’s permission, we will try to save him today.” We waited for nightfall. Thankfully, the hodja’s wife prepared a meal for us. They had made a dish called Bani, and it was very good, very delicious. Having been shaken by yesterday’s events and reassured by the hodja’s words “We will save your son,” I ate until I was stuffed. After we ate well, the hodja and my father chatted for a while. I leaned against my father’s arm and started listening to them. A little more time passed, and the hodja began reciting verses from the Quran loudly. Then he seemed to start talking to something. While I was watching the hodja intently, I later learned from my father that I had responded to him. But I don’t remember anything like that. I could even swear I didn’t utter a single word. It was as if someone else inside me was speaking. I apparently started cursing at the hodja, saying many bad things. Following that, something strange happened; the hodja stopped praying, touched my head, recited a few verses, and then removed the pushi (headscarf) from my head.
I remember absolutely nothing of this until the pushi was removed. I think after all this happened, when I lifted my head and looked carefully, I saw my father and the hodja drenched in sweat, out of breath, as if they had run for kilometers. Probably, the hodja had performed the necessary ritual while I was leaning on my father’s arm so that I wouldn’t be scared. According to what the hodja told us, he had summoned the jinn and asked them, “Why have you afflicted this child?” The jinn came and wanted to grab my father by the collar. My father got scared and tried to leave the room. The hodja held my father and didn’t let him leave the room. Because he was so scared, he was out of breath and sweating. My father heard me cursing at the hodja in an ugly tone of voice.
The hodja had a cloth in his hand. He rubbed that cloth on my face. I asked, “This cloth smells very nice, what is it?” He said, “I rubbed this on the Quran, then I rubbed it on the shrine of Imam Ali (pbuh). They fear this greatly. This will also calm you,” and turning to my father, he said, “I made a deal with them. For your son, they demand exactly 20 black goats, but they must be pitch black.” My father said, “That’s easy, I’ll handle it, hodja,” thanked him, and kissed the hodja’s hand. “Call me after you find the goats, I will tell you what to do,” the hodja said. My father took some money out of his pocket, about 1 million dinars, and tried to give it to the hodja. The hodja pushed it back with his hand and said, “We do this work for the sake of Allah. If anything happens to you again, come, I will always help. If you really want to give a gift, you can gift me a Holy Quran, prayer beads, and a prayer rug.” Thankfully, he hosted us at his home that night as well.
We were to leave the next day. Before leaving, we bought a Holy Quran, a prayer rug, and nice prayer beads for the hodja. We gifted them to the hodja and asked for his prayers. We set off towards our hometown, Telafer. We arrived around mid-afternoon, and my father, saying “Let’s not delay,” drove the car towards the market. We tried to find 20 black goats as described. This task tired us a bit because finding completely black goats of a single color was quite difficult. We asked acquaintances and friends and managed to arrange the 20 goats as specified. My father found a truck with a flatbed from a friend, loaded the goats into it, and called the hodja. “I’ve arranged the animals as you ordered, what should we do now, hodja?” he asked. After a long phone conversation, the hodja sent us near the Syrian border, to a dried-up well in Syria.
My father recited prayers, slaughtered each goat, and let its blood flow into the well. He left the animals by the well and stepped back towards me. After praying a bit more, we got into the car together. When I looked back, a black smoke descended upon the goats, and that smoke started swirling around the well. We drove a little further, wanting to stop and watch for a few seconds. Both my father and I were curious. When we turned and looked, neither the smoke nor the goats were there. However, there was only blood where the goats had been.
Since that day, thank God, I was saved. I haven’t experienced anything bad like I did in those few days. Now I perform my prayers, recite duas (supplications), and currently live in Turkey, in the city of Ankara. Brother, since I cannot read or write, if you could put an Iraqi or Turkmen flag or a man wearing Arab clothes on the video, it would be better for me to understand, and I would be very happy. May Allah be pleased with all of us. Stay safe.
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