Syria: Death and Prayers in Damascus

The golden cupola of the Sayyida Zainab mosque glints, magnificent, against the clear sky. In the courtyard, children play amid shoes shed by their parents before they entered to pray. Only the crack of gunfire, the hissing of bullets overhead and mortar fire close by disturbs the tranquil setting.

The front line in south-east Damascus now lies at the gates of one of the holiest sites for Shia Islam, the resting place of the granddaughter of the Prophet Mohammed.

In the abandoned apartment blocks, some less than 100 yards away, fighters from the al-Qaeda-affiliated group Jabhat al-Nusra train their sniper sights on the wrought iron entrance to the shrine.

Here, soldiers and pro-government militiamen stand their ground. A concrete hideout has been built beside the main entrance to the shrine and sandbag defences mark forward positions beside shuttered market stalls.

Across from the main entrance a road is barricaded with thick stone blocks that mark the end of government held terrain.

 "Jabhat al-Nusra is on the other side of these," says one Syrian army soldier smacking his hand against the concrete and urging this correspondent to peer through a spy hole. Sometimes they are so close the two sides can talk to each other, exchanging insults before the bullets.

Of the hundreds of front lines that now cut deep into the country, it is this one that holds a powerful influence over Syria's future. It stokes the fires of sectarian enmity and threatens to provoke rounds of killings and retributions that would scar the country even further.

The bombing of an Iraqi Shia shrine by Sunni militants triggered the worst of the sectarian fighting of Iraq's civil war. Now, here too, al-Qaeda has announced its intention to destroy Shia places of worship.

Hardline jihadist groups deem the worshipping of anyone other than the prophet as sacrilegious. In a recent statement, the Nusra Front vowed "to destroy all the houses of apostasy that are spread [across] our dear Syria".

"We get telephone calls from them [Jabhat al-Nusra]. They tell me they are going to wipe the shrine from the face of the earth," the chief servant, or manager, of the Sayyida Zainab shrine tells The Daily Telegraph. "Two days ago one called and said, 'We are close by, we are coming for you'."

 He declines to give his name or have his photograph taken. He is so fearful of being killed by Jabhat al-Nusra that he has kept his work in the shrine a complete secret, even from his best friends.

The battle for the Sayyida Zainab takes place amid a backdrop of killings and suicide bombings that happen almost daily in the capital, while rumours of assassinations and opposition "spies" are rife. Residents try to maintain a sense of normality, carrying on with work. But often, in the city centre, shells fired by Syrian military positions on nearby Mount Qasoun fly over the heads of shoppers and workers, bound for rebel-held suburbs. Air strikes punctuate the days and nights.

Journeying to Sayyida Zainab, about nine miles from the city centre, means running the gauntlet of kidnapping, roadside bombs, sniper fire and mortars. The route cuts through rebel-held suburbs, travelling along the road to the main airport, which is attacked almost daily.

Taking a deep breath, their faces grim, some drivers floor their accelerators as they pass the wastelands of destroyed buildings and columns of smoke from recent air strikes.

The bus park at the entrance to the shrine, once the arrival point for some 16 million visitors a year, is covered in glass fragments from the shattered windows of ticket booths. A photograph of President Bashar al-Assad waving his welcome now faces an empty driveway.

Yet despite the perils of the journey into the heart of a war zone, some pilgrims are still risking the trip. "Visiting the shrine did not stop at any time during the crises. We still get some tourists, not as many as before, but some," said the shrine's manager.

Entering through a side gate, visitors are required to file through metal detectors. Security guards dutifully hand out the abayas to women who are too immodestly dressed for the holy site.

Wrapped in the black garments, visitors shuffle forward across the grand open courtyard of the Iranian-built mosque, its white marble tiles gleaming in the sunshine. Arches in the courtyard are elaborately painted in turquoise, blue and gold.

Bursts of gunfire rattle the air loud and close. Government shells retaliate in furious barrages that shake the ground. Young men in military fatigues, some of them sporting bandages after being wounded in combat, mingled among the worshippers.

Inside, the shrine walls shimmer and glisten, covered with thousands of delicately placed small mirrors. At the centre, women cry and kiss and run their fingers over the silver cage that protects Sayyida Zainab's tomb. Others bend earnestly on their prayer mats, as dozens of little girls and boys mill around. All the time the booms and crashes from the war that raged outside can be heard.

Some have travelled from Iran, Lebanon, Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria. "My family and I wanted to come to pray here, so we popped over for the weekend from Beirut," says one mother of three.

Newly built hotels that surround the shrine now house pro-government militiamen. A young Lebanese man who has fought in the area says Jabhat al-Nusra would seize the shrine "over my dead body".

Shia Muslims from Iraq, Iran and Lebanon have also volunteered to fight. The manager denies that they have allowed these men to join the battle. However, a well-placed source supports the widespread claim that the Lebanese Shia militia group Hizbollah has deployed fighters in the area.

The destruction of another sacred site, the Hujr ibn Adi earlier this month outraged Shias around the world and provoked large popular protests in Iran.

The manager seeks to play down the danger of a sectarian war, explaining that the threat comes from radical jihadist groups, rather than from Sunni rebels fighting to oust the Syrian president: "This shrine is open to all and Sunnis come to pray here as well as Shia," he says. "Jabhat al-Nusra hardliners cannot be thought of as Sunni. They don't believe in our faith."

He admits, though, that the situation has already spiralled further out of control than he ever imagined: "I never thought it would come to this. I never expected that such hatred would come to my country," he says.

"Dialogue, dialogue, dialogue is the only answer. At some points on the front line only a wall separates us from Jabhat al-Nusra and we can speak with them. But then it clear they will not lower their arms."

Hiding behind sandbags at the main gate, a soldier points to a red container wedged on a rooftop in the near distance. "The sniper is there," he says.

Minutes later, five shots hiss down the street, passing close to one of the temple's minarets. It has already been hit once, the outer parts of an elaborate carving ripped off by mortar fire.

One Shia analyst warns of the consequences of the Islamists fulfilling their destructive pledge.

"You don't want to know what will happen if this temple is destroyed. The Shia leaders will not be able to control the street. There will be killing everywhere, Syria and the region will become a bloodbath."

The photo: A woman prays at the silver grate inside which Shia Muslims believe the granddaughter of the Prophet is buried. (RUTH SHERLOCK FOR THE TELEGRAPH)

By Ruth Sherlock