Nabíl-i-Akbar

There was, in the city of Najaf, among the disciples of
the widely known mujtahid, Shaykh Murtadá, a man
without likeness or peer. His name was Áqá
Muḥammad-i-Qá’iní, and later on he would
receive, from the Manifestation, the title of Nabíl-i-Akbar.1
This eminent soul became the leading member of the mujtahid’s
company of disciples. Singled out from among them all, he alone was
given the rank of mujtahid—for the late Shaykh
Murtadá was never wont to confer this degree.

He excelled not only in theology but in other branches
of knowledge, such as the humanities, the philosophy of the
Illuminati, the teachings of the mystics and of the Shaykhí
School. He was a universal man, in himself alone a convincing proof.
When his eyes were opened to the light of Divine guidance, and he
breathed in the fragrances of Heaven, he became a flame of God. Then
his heart leapt within him, and in an ecstasy of joy and love, he
roared out like leviathan in the deep.

With praises showered upon him, he received his new rank
from the mujtahid. He then left Najaf and came to Baghdád,
and here he was honored with meeting Bahá’u’lláh.
Here he beheld the light that blazed on Sinai in the Holy Tree. Soon
he was in such a state that he could rest neither day nor night.

One day, on the floor of the outer apartments reserved
for the men, the honored Nabíl was reverently kneeling in the
presence of Bahá’u’lláh. At that moment
Ḥájí Mírzá Ḥasan-‘Amú,
a trusted associate of the mujtahids of Karbilá, came in with
Zaynu’l-Ábidín Khán, the
Fakhru’d-Dawlih. Observing how humbly and deferentially
Nabíl was kneeling there, the Ḥájí was
astonished.

“Sir,” he murmured, “what are you
doing in this place?”

Nabíl answered, “I came here for the same
reason you did.”

The two visitors could not recover from their surprise,
for it was widely known that this personage was unique among
mujtahids and was the most favored disciple of the renowned Shaykh
Murtadá.

Later, Nabíl-i-Akbar left for Persia and went on
to Khurásán. The Amír of Qá’in—Mír
Álam Khán—showed him every courtesy at
first, and greatly valued his company. So marked was this that people
felt the Amír was captivated by him, and indeed he was
spellbound at the scholar’s eloquence, knowledge, and
accomplishments. One can judge, from this, what honors were accorded
to Nabíl by the rest, for “men follow the faith of their
kings.”

Nabíl spent some time thus esteemed and in high
favor, but the love he had for God was past all concealing. It burst
from his heart, flamed out and consumed its coverings.

He brought light to the Qá’in area and
converted a great number of people. And when he had become known far
and wide by this new name, the clergy, envious and malevolent, arose,
and informed against him, sending their calumnies on to Ṭihrán,
so that Náṣiri’d-Dín Sháh
rose up in wrath. Terrified of the Sháh, the Amír
attacked Nabíl with all his might. Soon the whole city was in
an uproar, and the populace, lashed to fury, turned upon him.

That enraptured lover of God never gave way, but
withstood them all. At last, however, they drove him out—drove
out that man who saw what they did not—and he went up to
Ṭihrán, where he was a fugitive, and homeless.

Here, his enemies struck at him again. He was pursued by
the watchmen; guards looked everywhere for him, asking after him in
every street and alley, hunting him down to catch and torture him.
Hiding, he would pass by them like the sigh of the oppressed, and
rise to the hills; or again, like the tears of the wronged, he would
slip down into the valleys. He could no longer wear the turban
denoting his rank; he disguised himself, putting on a layman’s
hat, so that they would fail to recognize him and would let him be.

In secret, with all his powers he kept on spreading the
Faith and setting forth its proofs, and was a guiding lamp to many
souls. He was exposed to danger at all times, always vigilant and on
his guard. The Government never gave up its search for him, nor did
the people cease from discussing his case.

He left, then, for Bukhárá and
Ishqábád, continuously teaching the Faith in
those regions. Like a candle, he was using up his life; but in spite
of his sufferings he was never dispirited, rather his joy and ardor
increased with every passing day. He was eloquent of speech; he was a
skilled physician, a remedy for every ill, a balm to every sore. He
would guide the Illuminati by their own philosophical principles, and
with the mystics he would prove the Divine Advent in terms of
“inspiration” and the “celestial vision.” He
would convince the Shaykhí leaders by quoting
the very words of their late Founders, Shaykh Aḥmad
and Siyyid Kázim, and would convert Islamic theologians with
texts from the Qur’án and traditions from the Imáms,
who guide mankind aright. Thus he was an instant medicine to the
ailing, and a rich bestowal to the poor.

He became penniless in Bukhárá and
a prey to many troubles, until at the last, far from his homeland, he
died, hastening away to the Kingdom where no poverty exists.

Nabíl-i-Akbar was the author of a masterly essay
demonstrating the truth of the Cause, but the friends do not have it
in hand at the present time. I hope that it will come to light, and
will serve as an admonition to the learned. It is true that in this
swiftly passing world he was the target of countless woes; and yet,
all those generations of powerful clerics, those shaykhs
like Murtadá and Mírzá Habíbu’lláh
and Áyatu’lláh-i-Khurásání
and Mullá Asadu’lláh-i-Mazandarání—all
of them will disappear without a trace. They will leave no name
behind them, no sign, no fruit. No word will be passed down from any
of them; no man will tell of them again. But because he stood
steadfast in this holy Faith, because he guided souls and served this
Cause and spread its fame, that star, Nabíl, will shine
forever from the horizon of abiding light.

It is clear that whatever glory is gained outside the
Cause of God turns to abasement at the end; and ease and comfort not
met with on the path of God are finally but care and sorrow; and all
such wealth is penury, and nothing more.

A sign of guidance, he was, an emblem of the fear of
God. For this Faith, he laid down his life, and in dying, triumphed.
He passed by the world and its rewards; he closed his eyes to rank
and wealth; he loosed himself from all such chains and fetters, and
put every worldly thought aside. Of wide learning, at once a
mujtahid, a philosopher, a mystic, and gifted with intuitive sight,
he was also an accomplished man of letters and an orator without a
peer. He had a great and universal mind.

Praise be to God, at the end he was made the recipient
of heavenly grace. Upon him be the glory of God, the All-Glorious.
May God shed the brightness of the Abhá Kingdom upon his
resting-place. May God welcome him into the Paradise of reunion, and
shelter him forever in the realm of the righteous, submerged in an
ocean of lights.

Ismu’lláhu’l-Asdaq

Among the Hands of the Cause of God who have departed
this life and ascended to the Supreme Horizon was
Jináb-i-Ismu’lláhu’l-Asdaq. Another was
Jináb-i-Nabíl-i-Akbar. Still others were Jináb-i-Mullá
‘Alí-Akbar and Jináb-i-Shaykh
Muḥammad-Riḍáy-i-Yazdí. Again, among
others, was the revered martyr, Áqá Mírzá
Varqá.

Ismu’lláhu’l-Asdaq was truly a
servant of the Lord from the beginning of life till his last breath.
When young, he joined the circle of the late Siyyid Kázim and
became one of his disciples. He was known in Persia for his purity of
life, winning fame as Mullá Ṣádiq the saintly. He
was a blessed individual, a man accomplished, learned, and much
honored. The people of Khurásán were strongly
attached to him, for he was a great scholar and among the most
renowned of matchless and unique divines. As a teacher of the Faith,
he spoke with such eloquence, such extraordinary power, that his
hearers were won over with great ease.

After he had come to Baghdád and attained
the presence of Bahá’u’lláh, he was seated
one day in the courtyard of the men’s apartments, by the little
garden. I was in one of the rooms just above, that gave onto the
courtyard. At that moment a Persian prince, a grandson of Fatḥ-‘Alí
Sháh, arrived at the house. The prince said to him,
“Who are you?” Ismu’lláh answered, “I
am a servant of this Threshhold. I am one of the keepers of this
door.” And as I listened from above, he began to teach the
Faith. The prince at first objected violently; and yet, in a quarter
of an hour, gently and benignly, Jináb-i-Ismu’lláh
had quieted him down. After the prince had so sharply denied what was
said, and his face had so clearly reflected his fury, now his wrath
was changed to smiles and he expressed the greatest satisfaction at
having encountered Ismu’lláh and heard what he had to
say.

He always taught cheerfully and with gaiety, and would
respond gently and with good humor, no matter how much passionate
anger might be turned against him by the one with whom he spoke. His
way of teaching was excellent. He was truly Ismu’lláh,
the Name of God, not for his fame but because he was a chosen soul.

Ismu’lláh had memorized a great number of
Islámic traditions and had mastered the teachings of Shaykh
Aḥmad and Siyyid Kázim. He became a believer in Shíráz,
in the early days of the Faith, and was soon widely known as such.
And because he began to teach openly and boldly, they hung a halter
on him and led him about the streets and bázárs of the
city. Even in that condition, composed and smiling, he kept on
speaking to the people. He did not yield; he was not silenced. When
they freed him he left Shíráz and went to
Khurásán, and there, too, began to spread the
Faith, following which he traveled on, in the company of Bábu’l-Báb,
to Fort Tabarsí. Here he endured intense sufferings as a
member of that band of sacrificial victims. They took him prisoner at
the Fort and delivered him over to the chiefs of Mázindarán,
to lead him about and finally kill him in a certain district of that
province. When, bound with chains, Ismu’lláh was brought
to the appointed place, God put it into one man’s heart to free
him from prison in the middle of the night and guide him to a place
where he was safe. Throughout all these agonizing trials he remained
staunch in his faith.

Think, for example, how the enemy had completely hemmed
in the Fort, and were endlessly pouring in cannon balls from their
siege guns. The believers, among them Ismu’lláh, went
eighteen days without food. They lived on the leather of their shoes.
This too was soon consumed, and they had nothing left but water. They
drank a mouthful every morning, and lay famished and exhausted in
their Fort. When attacked, however, they would instantly spring to
their feet, and manifest in the face of the enemy a magnificent
courage and astonishing resistance, and drive the army back from
their walls. The hunger lasted eighteen days. It was a terrible
ordeal. To begin with, they were far from home, surrounded and cut
off by the foe; again, they were starving; and then there were the
army’s sudden onslaughts and the bombshells raining down and
bursting in the heart of the Fort. Under such circumstances to
maintain an unwavering faith and patience is extremely difficult, and
to endure such dire afflictions a rare phenomenon.2

Ismu’lláh did not slacken under fire. Once
freed, he taught more widely than ever. He spent every waking breath
in calling the people to the Kingdom of God. In ‘Iráq,
he attained the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and again in the Most Great Prison, receiving from Him grace and
favor.

He was like a surging sea, a falcon that soared high.
His visage shone, his tongue was eloquent, his strength and
steadfastness astounding. When he opened his lips to teach, the
proofs would stream out; when he chanted or prayed, his eyes shed
tears like a spring cloud. His face was luminous, his life spiritual,
his knowledge both acquired and innate; and celestial was his ardor,
his detachment from the world, his righteousness, his piety and fear
of God.

Ismu’lláh’s tomb is in Hamadán.
Many a Tablet was revealed for him by the Supreme Pen of Bahá’u’lláh,
including a special Visitation Tablet after his passing. He was a
great personage, perfect in all things.

Such blessed beings have now left this world. Thank God,
they did not linger on, to witness the agonies that followed the
ascension of Bahá’u’lláh—the intense
afflictions; for firmly rooted mountains will shake and tremble at
these, and the high-towering hills bow down.

He was truly Ismu’lláh, the Name of God.
Fortunate is the one who circumambulates that tomb, who blesses
himself with the dust of that grave. Upon him be salutations and
praise in the Abhá Realm.

Mullá ‘Alí-Akbar

Yet another Hand of the Cause was the revered Mullá
‘Alí-Akbar, upon him be the glory of God, the
All-Glorious. Early in life, this illustrious man attended
institutions of higher learning and labored diligently, by day and
night, until he became thoroughly conversant with the learning of the
day, with secular studies, philosophy, and religious jurisprudence.
He frequented the gatherings of philosophers, mystics, and Shaykhís,
thoughtfully traversing those areas of knowledge, intuitive wisdom,
and illumination; but he thirsted after the wellspring of truth, and
hungered for the bread that comes down from Heaven. No matter how he
strove to perfect himself in those regions of the mind, he was never
satisfied; he never reached the goal of his desires; his lips stayed
parched; he was confused, perplexed, and felt that he had wandered
from his path. The reason was that in all those circles he had found
no passion; no joy, no ecstasy; no faintest scent of love. And as he
went deeper into the core of those manifold beliefs, he discovered
that from the day of the Prophet Muḥammad’s advent until
our own times, innumerable sects have arisen: creeds differing among
themselves; disparate opinions, divergent goals, uncounted roads and
ways. And he found each one, under some plea or other, claiming to
reveal spiritual truth; each one believing that it alone followed the
true path—this although the Muḥammedic sea could rise in
one great tide, and carry all those sects away to the ocean floor.
“No cry shalt thou hear from them, nor a whisper even.”3

Whoso ponders the lessons of history will learn that
this sea has lifted up innumerable waves, yet in the end each has
dissolved and vanished, like a shadow drifting by. The waves have
perished, but the sea lives on. This is why ‘Alí
Qabl-i-Akbar could never quench his thirst, till the day when he
stood on the shore of Truth and cried:

Like a fountain, his heart welled and jetted forth;
meaning and truth, like soft-flowing crystal waters, began to stream
from his lips. At first, with humility, with spiritual poverty, he
garnered the new light, and only then he proceeded to shed it abroad.
For how well has it been said,

A teacher must proceed in this way:
he must first teach himself, and then others. If he himself still
walks the path of carnal appetites and lusts, how can he guide
another to the “evident signs”4
of God?

This honored man was successful in converting a
multitude. For the sake of God he cast all caution aside, as he
hastened along the ways of love. He became as one frenzied, as a
vagrant and one known to be mad. Because of his new Faith, he was
mocked at in Ṭihrán by high and low. When he walked
through the streets and bázárs, the people pointed
their fingers at him, calling him a Bahá’í.
Whenever trouble broke out, he was the one to be arrested first. He
was always ready and waiting for this, since it never failed.

Again and again he was bound with chains, jailed, and
threatened with the sword. The photograph of this blessed individual,
together with that of the great Amín, taken of them in their
chains, will serve as an example to whoever has eyes to see. There
they sit, those two distinguished men, hung with chains, shackled,
yet composed, acquiescent, undisturbed.

Things came to such a pass that in the end whenever
there was an uproar Mullá ‘Alí would put on his
turban, wrap himself in his ‘abá and sit waiting, for
his enemies to rouse and the farráshes to break in and
the guards to carry him off to prison. But observe the power of God!
In spite of all this, he was kept safe. “The sign of a knower
and lover is this, that you will find him dry in the sea.” That
is how he was. His life hung by a thread from one moment to the next;
the malevolent lay in wait for him; he was known everywhere as a
Bahá’í—and still he was protected from all
harm. He stayed dry in the depths of the sea, cool and safe in the
heart of the fire, until the day he died.

After the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh,
Mullá ‘Alí continued on, loyal to the Testament
of the Light of the World, staunch in the Covenant which he served
and heralded. During the lifetime of the Manifestation, his yearning
made him hasten to Bahá’u’lláh, Who
received him with grace and favor, and showered blessings upon him.
He returned, then, to Írán, where he devoted all his
time to serving the Cause. Openly at odds with his tyrannical
oppressors, no matter how often they threatened him, he defied them.
He was never vanquished. Whatever he had to say, he said. He was one
of the Hands of the Cause of God, steadfast, unshakable, not to be
moved.

I loved him very much, for he was delightful to converse
with, and as a companion second to none. One night, not long ago, I
saw him in the world of dreams. Although his frame had always been
massive, in the dream world he appeared larger and more corpulent
than ever. It seemed as if he had returned from a journey. I said to
him, “Jináb, you have grown good and stout.”
“Yes,” he answered, “praise be to God! I have been
in places where the air was fresh and sweet, and the water crystal
pure; the landscapes were beautiful to look upon, the foods
delectable. It all agreed with me, of course, so I am stronger than
ever now, and I have recovered the zest of my early youth. The
breaths of the All-Merciful blew over me and all my time was spent in
telling of God. I have been setting forth His proofs, and teaching
His Faith.” (The meaning of teaching the Faith in the next
world is spreading the sweet savors of holiness; that action is the
same as teaching.) We spoke together a little more, and then some
people arrived and he disappeared.

His last resting-place is in Ṭihrán.
Although his body lies under the earth, his pure spirit lives on, “in
the seat of truth, in the presence of the potent King.”5
I long to visit the graves of the friends of God, could this be
possible. These are the servants of the Blessed Beauty; in His path
they were afflicted; they met with toil and sorrow; they sustained
injuries and suffered harm. Upon them be the glory of God, the
All-Glorious. Unto them be salutation and praise. Upon them be God’s
tender mercy, and forgiveness.

Shaykh Salmán

In 1266 A.H.6
the trusted messenger, Shaykh Salmán, first
heard the summons of God, and his heart leapt for joy. He was then in
Hindíyán. Irresistibly attracted, he walked all the way
to Ṭihrán, where with ardent love he secretly joined the
believers. On a certain day he was passing through the bázár
with Áqá Muḥammad Taqíy-i-Káshání,
and the farráshes followed him and discovered where he
lived. The next day, police and farráshes came looking
for him and took him to the chief of police.

“Who are you?” the chief asked.

“I am from Hindíyán,” replied
Salmán. “I have come to Ṭihrán and am on my
way to Khurásán, for a pilgrimage to the Shrine
of Imám Riḍá.”

“What were you doing yesterday,” the chief
asked, “with that man in the white robe?”

Salmán answered, “I had sold him an ‘abá
the day before, and yesterday he was to pay me.”

“You are a stranger here,” the chief said.
“How could you trust him?”

“A money-changer guaranteed the payment,”
Salmán replied. He had in mind the respected believer, Áqá
Muḥammad-i-Sarraf (money-changer).

The chief turned to one of his farráshes
and said, “Take him to the money-changer’s and look into
it.”

When they reached there the farrásh went
on ahead. “What was all this,” he said, “about the
sale of an ‘abá and your vouching for the payment?
Explain yourself.”

“I know nothing about it,” the money-changer
replied. “Come along,” said the farrásh to
Salmán. “All is clear at last. You are a Bábí.”

It happened that the turban which Salmán had on
his head was similar to those worn in Shúshtar.
As they were passing a crossroads, a man from Shúshtar
came out of his shop. He embraced Salmán and cried: “Where
have you been, Khájih Muḥammad-‘Alí?
When did you arrive? Welcome!”

Salmán replied, “I came here a few days ago
and now the police have arrested me.”

“What do you want with him?” the merchant
asked the farrásh. “What are you after?”

“He is a Bábí,” was the
answer. “God forbid!” cried the man from Shúshtar.
“I know him well. Khájih Muḥammad-‘Alí
is a God-fearing Muslim, a Shí’ih, a devout
follower of the Imám ‘Alí.” With this he
gave the farrásh a sum of money and Salmán was
freed.

They went into the shop and the merchant began to ask
Salmán how he was faring. Salmán told him: “I am
not Khájih Muḥammad-‘Alí.”

The man from Shúshtar was
dumbfounded. “You look exactly like him!” he exclaimed.
“You two are identical. However, since you are not he, give me
back the money I paid the farrásh.”

Salmán immediately handed him the money, left,
went out through the city gate and made for Hindíyán.

When Bahá’u’lláh arrived in
‘Iráq, the first messenger to reach His holy presence
was Salmán, who then returned with Tablets addressed to the
friends in Hindíyán. Once each year, this blessed
individual would set out on foot to see his Well-Beloved, after which
he would retrace his steps, carrying Tablets to many cities, Iṣfáhán,
Shíráz, Káshán, Ṭihrán,
and the rest.

From the year 69 until the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh
in 1309 A.H.,7
Salmán would arrive once a year, bringing letters, leaving
with the Tablets, faithfully delivering each one to him for whom it
was intended. Every single year throughout that long period, he came
on foot from Persia to ‘Iráq, or to Adrianople, or to
the Most Great Prison at Akká; came with the greatest
eagerness and love, and then went back again.

He had remarkable powers of endurance. He traveled on
foot, as a rule eating nothing but onions and bread; and in all that
time, he moved about in such a way that he was never once held up and
never once lost a letter or a Tablet. Every letter was safely
delivered; every Tablet reached its intended recipient. Over and over
again, in Iṣfáhán, he was subjected to severe
trials, but he remained patient and thankful under all conditions,
and earned from non-Bahá’ís the title of “the
Bábís’ Angel Gabriel.”

Throughout his entire life, Salmán rendered this
momentous service to the Cause of God, becoming the means of its
spread and contributing to the happiness of the believers, annually
bringing Divine glad tidings to the cities and villages of Persia. He
was close to the heart of Bahá’u’lláh, Who
looked upon him with especial favor and grace. Among the Holy
Scriptures, there are Tablets revealed in his name.

After the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh,
Salmán remained faithful to the Covenant, serving the Cause
with all his powers. Then, as before, he would come to the Most Great
Prison every year, delivering mail from the believers, and returning
with the answers to Persia. At last, in Shíráz,
he winged his way to the Kingdom of glory.

From the dawn of history until the present day, there
has never been a messenger so worthy of trust; there has never been a
courier to compare with Salmán. He has left respected
survivors in Iṣfáhán who, because of the troubles
in Persia, are presently in distress. It is certain that the friends
will see to their needs. Upon him be the glory of God, the
All-Glorious; unto him be salutations and praise.

Mírzá Muḥammad-‘Alí,
the Afnán

In the days of Bahá’u’lláh,
during the worst times in the Most Great Prison, they would not
permit any of the friends either to leave the Fortress or to come in
from the outside. “Skew-Cap”8
and the Siyyid9
lived by the second gate of the city, and watched there at all times,
day and night. Whenever they spied a Bahá’í
traveler they would hurry away to the Governor and tell him that the
traveler was bringing in letters and would carry the answers back.
The Governor would then arrest the traveler, seize his papers, jail
him, and drive him out. This became an established custom with the
authorities and went on for a long time—indeed, for nine years
until, little by little, the practice was abandoned.

It was at such a period that the Afnán, Ḥájí
Mírzá Muḥammad-‘Alí—that great
bough of the Holy Tree10—journeyed
to Akká, coming from India to Egypt, and from Egypt to
Marseilles. One day I was up on the roof of the caravanserai. Some of
the friends were with me and I was walking up and down. It was
sunset. At that moment, glancing at the distant seashore, I observed
that a carriage was approaching. “Gentlemen,” I said, “I
feel that a holy being is in that carriage.” It was still far
away, hardly within sight.

“Let us go to the gate,” I told them.
“Although they will not allow us to pass through, we can stand
there till he comes.” I took one or two people with me and we
left.

At the city gate I called to the guard, privately gave
him something and said: “A carriage is coming in and I think it
is bringing one of our friends. When it reaches here, do not hold it
up, and do not refer the matter to the Governor.” He put out a
chair for me and I sat down.

By this time the sun had set. They had shut the main
gate, too, but the little door was open. The gatekeeper stayed
outside, the carriage drew up, the gentleman had arrived. What a
radiant face he had! He was nothing but light from head to foot. Just
to look at that face made one happy; he was so confident, so assured,
so rooted in his faith, and his expression so joyous. He was truly a
blessed being. He was a man who made progress day by day, who added,
every day, to his certitude and faith, his luminous quality, his
ardent love. He made extraordinary progress during the few days that
he spent in the Most Great Prison. The point is that when his
carriage had come only part of the way from Haifa to Akká, one
could already perceive his spirit, his light.

After he had received the endless bounties showered on
him by Bahá’u’lláh, he was given leave to
go, and he traveled to China. There, over a considerable period, he
spent his days mindful of God and in a manner conformable to Divine
good pleasure. Later he went on to India, where he died.

The other revered Afnán and the friends in India
felt it advisable to send his blessed remains to ‘Iráq,
ostensibly to Najaf, to be buried near the Holy City; for the Muslims
had refused to let him lie in their graveyard, and his body had been
lodged in a temporary repository for safekeeping. Áqá
Siyyid Asadu’lláh, who was in Bombay at the time, was
deputized to transport the remains with all due reverence to ‘Iráq.
There were hostile Persians on the steamship and these people, once
they reached Búshihr, reported that the coffin of Mírzá
Muḥammad-‘Alí the Bábí was being
carried to Najaf for burial in the Vale of Peace, near the sacred
precincts of the Shrine, and that such a thing was intolerable. They
tried to take his blessed remains off the ship, but they failed; see
what the hidden Divine decrees can bring about.

His body came as far as Baṣrá. And since
that was a period when the friends had to remain in concealment,
Siyyid Asadu’lláh was obliged to proceed as if he were
going on with the burial in Najaf, meanwhile hoping in one way or
another to effect the interment near Baghdád. Because,
although Najaf is a holy city and always shall be, still the friends
had chosen another place. God, therefore, stirred up our enemies to
prevent the Najaf burial. They swarmed in, attacking the quarantine
station to lay hold of the body and either bury it in Baṣrá
or throw it into the sea or out on the desert sands.

The case took on such importance that in the end it
proved impossible to bring the remains to Najaf, and Siyyid
Asadu’lláh had to carry them on to Baghdád.
Here, too, there was no burial place where the Afnán’s
body would be safe from molestation at enemy hands. Finally the
Siyyid decided to carry it to the shrine of Persia’s Salmán
the Pure,11
about five farsakhs out of Baghdád, and bury it
in Ctesiphon, close to the grave of Salmán, beside the palace
of the Sásáníyán kings. The body was
taken there and that trust of God was, with all reverence, laid down
in a safe resting-place by the palace of Nawshíraván.

And this was destiny, that after a lapse of thirteen
hundred years, from the time when the throne city of Persia’s
ancient kings was trampled down, and no trace of it was left, except
for rubble and hills of sand, and the very palace roof itself had
cracked and split so that half of it toppled to the ground—this
edifice should win back the kingly pomp and splendor of its former
days. It is indeed a mighty arch. The width of its entry-way is
fifty-two paces and it towers very high.

Thus did God’s grace and favor encompass the
Persians of an age long gone, in order that their ruined capital
should be rebuilt and flourish once again. To this end, with the help
of God, events were brought about which led to the Afnán’s
being buried here; and there is no doubt that a proud city will rise
up on this site. I wrote many letters about it, until at last the
holy dust could be laid to rest in this place. Siyyid Asadu’lláh
would write me from Baṣrá and I would answer him. One of
the public functionaries there was completely devoted to us, and I
directed him to do all he could. Siyyid Asadu’lláh
informed me from Baghdád that he was at his wits’
end, and had no idea where he could consign this body to the grave.
“Wherever I might bury it,” he wrote, “they will
dig it up again.”

At last, praised be God, it was laid down in the very
spot to which time and again the Blessed Beauty had repaired; in that
place honored by His footsteps, where He had revealed Tablets, where
the believers of Baghdád had been in His company; that
very place where the Most Great Name was wont to stroll. How did this
come about? It was due to the Afnán’s purity of heart.
Lacking this, all those ways and means could never have been brought
to bear. Verily, God is the Mover of heaven and earth.

I loved the Afnán very much. Because of him, I
rejoiced. I wrote a long Visitation Tablet for him and sent it with
other papers to Persia. His burial site is one of the holy places
where a magnificent Mashriqu’l-Adhkár must
be raised up. If possible, the actual arch of the royal palace should
be restored and become the House of Worship. The auxiliary buildings
of the House of Worship should likewise be erected there: the
hospital, the schools and university, the elementary school, the
refuge for the poor and indigent; also the haven for orphans and the
helpless, and the travelers’ hospice.

Gracious God! That royal edifice was once splendidly
decked forth and fair. But there are spiders’ webs today, where
hung the curtains of gold brocade, and where the king’s drums
beat and his musicians played, the only sound is the harsh cries of
kites and crows. “This is verily the capital of the owl’s
realm, where thou wilt hear no sound, save only the echo of his
repeated calls.” That is how the barracks were, when we came to
Akká. There were a few trees inside the walls, and on their
branches, as well as up on the battlements, the owls cried all night
long. How disquieting is the hoot of an owl; how it saddens the
heart.

From earliest youth until he grew helpless and old, that
sacred bough of the Holy Tree, with his smiling face, shone out like
a lamp in the midst of all. Then he leapt and soared to undying
glory, and plunged into the ocean of light. Upon him be the
breathings of his Lord, the All-Merciful. Upon him, lapped in the
waters of grace and forgiveness, be the mercy and favor of God.

Ḥájí Mírzá
Ḥasan, the Afnán

Among the most eminent of those who left their homeland
to join Bahá’u’lláh was Mírzá
Ḥasan, the great Afnán, who during the latter days won
the honor of emigrating and of receiving the favor and companionship
of his Lord. The Afnán, related to the Báb, was
specifically named by the Supreme Pen as an offshoot of the Holy
Tree. When still a small child, he received his portion of bounty
from the Báb, and showed forth an extraordinary attachment to
that dazzling Beauty. Not yet adolescent, he frequented the society
of the learned, and began to study sciences and arts. He reflected
day and night on the most abstruse of spiritual questions, and gazed
in wonderment at the mighty signs of God as written in the Book of
Life. He became thoroughly versed even in such material sciences as
mathematics, geometry, and geography; in brief, he was well grounded
in many fields, thoroughly conversant with the thought of ancient and
modern times.

A merchant by profession, he spent only a short period
of the day and evening at his business, devoting most of his time to
discussion and research. He was truly erudite, a great credit to the
Cause of God amongst leading men of learning. With a few concise
phrases, he could solve perplexing questions. His speech was laconic,
but in itself a kind of miracle.

Although he first became a believer in the days of the
Báb, it was during the days of Bahá’u’lláh
that he caught fire. Then his love of God burned away every
obstructing veil and idle thought. He did all he could to spread the
Faith of God, becoming known far and wide for his ardent love of
Bahá’u’lláh.

After the ascension of the Báb, he had the high
honor of serving and watching over the revered and saintly consort of
the blessed Lord. He was in Persia, mourning his separation from
Bahá’u’lláh, when his distinguished son
became, by marriage, a member of the Holy Household. At this, the
Afnán rejoiced. He left Persia and hastened to the sheltering
favor of his Well-Beloved. He was a man amazing to behold, his face
so luminous that even those who were not believers used to say that a
heavenly light shone from his forehead.

He went away for a time and sojourned in Beirut, where
he met the noted scholar, Khájih Findík. This
personage warmly praised the erudition of the great Afnán in
various circles, affirming that an individual of such wide and
diverse learning was rare throughout the East. Later on, the Afnán
returned to the Holy Land, settling near the Mansion of Bahjí
and directing all his thoughts toward aspects of human culture. Much
of the time he would occupy himself with uncovering the secrets of
the heavens, contemplating in their detail the movements of the
stars. He had a telescope with which he would make his observations
every night. He lived a happy life, carefree and light of heart. In
the neighborhood of Bahá’u’lláh his days
were blissful, his nights bright as the first morning in spring.

But then came the Beloved’s departure from this
world. The Afnán’s peace was shattered, his joy was
changed to grief. The Supreme Affliction was upon us, separation
consumed us, the once bright days turned black as night, and all
those roses of other hours were dust and rubble now. He lived on for
a little while, his heart smoldering, his eyes shedding their tears.
But he could not bear the longing for his Well-Beloved, and in a
little while his soul gave up this life and fled to the eternal one;
passed into the Heaven of abiding reunion and was immersed beneath an
ocean of light. Upon him be most great mercy, plenteous bounty, and
every blessing, as the ages and cycles roll on. His honored tomb is
in Akká at the Manshíyyih.

Muḥammad-‘Alíy-i-Iṣfáhání

Muḥammad-‘Alí of Iṣfáhán
was among the earliest of believers, guided to the Faith from its
very beginning. He was one of the mystics; his house was a gathering
place for them, and the philosophers. Noble, high-minded, he was one
of Iṣfáhán’s most respected citizens, and
served as a host and sanctuary for every stranger, rich or poor. He
had verve, an excellent disposition, was forbearing, affable,
generous, a boon companion; and it was known throughout the city that
he enjoyed a good time.

Then he was led to embrace the Faith and caught fire
from the Sinaitic Tree. His house became a teaching center, dedicated
to the glory of God. Day and night the believers flocked there, as to
a lamp lit by heavenly love. Over a long period, the sacred verses
were chanted in that house and the clear proofs set forth. Although
this was widely known, Muḥammad-‘Alí was not
molested, because he was a kinsman of the Imám-Jum’ih of
Iṣfáhán. Finally, however, things came to such a
pass that the Imám-Jum’ih himself sent him away, telling
him: “I can protect you no longer. You are in grave danger. The
best thing for you is to leave here, and go on a journey.”

He left his home then, went to ‘Iráq, and
entered the presence of the world’s Desired One. He spent some
time there, progressing every day; he had little to live on, but was
happy and content. A man of excellent disposition, he was congenial
to believers and others alike.

When Bahá’u’lláh and His
retinue left Baghdád for Constantinople, Muḥammad-‘Alí
was in His company, and continued on with Him to the Land of Mystery,
Adrianople. Not one to be inconstant, he maintained his
characteristic immutability of heart. Whatever happened, he remained
the same. In Adrianople as well, his days passed happily, under the
protection of Bahá’u’lláh. He would carry
on some business which, however trifling, would bring in surprisingly
abundant returns.

From Adrianople, Muḥammad-‘Alí
accompanied Bahá’u’lláh to the fortress of
Akká, was put in jail there, and was numbered among
Bahá’u’lláh’s fellow captives for the
rest of his life, achieving that greatest of all distinctions, to be
in prison with the Blessed Beauty.

He spent his days in utter bliss. Here, too, he carried
on a small business, which occupied him from morning till noon. In
the afternoons he would take his samovar, wrap it in a dark-colored
pouch made from a saddlebag, and go off somewhere to a garden or
meadow, or out in a field, and have his tea. Sometimes he would be
found at the farm of Mazra’ih, or again in the Ridván
Garden; or, at the Mansion, he would have the honor of attending upon
Bahá’u’lláh.

Muḥammad-‘Alí would carefully
consider every blessing that came his way. “How delicious my
tea is today,” he would comment. “What perfume, what
color! How lovely this meadow is, and the flowers so bright!”
He used to say that everything, even air and water, had its own
special fragrance. For him the days passed in indescribable delight.
Even kings were not so happy as this old man, the people said. “He
is completely free of the world,” they would declare. “He
lives in joy.” It also happened that his food was of the very
best, and that his home was situated in the very best part of Akká.
Gracious God! Here he was, a prisoner, and yet experiencing comfort,
peace and joy.

Muḥammad-‘Alí was past eighty when he
finally departed to eternal light. He had been the recipient of many
Tablets from Bahá’u’lláh, and of endless
bounty, under all conditions. Upon him be the glory of God the Most
Glorious. Upon him be myriads of heavenly blessings; may God favor
him with gladness forever and ever. His luminous grave is in Akká.

‘Abdu’s-Ṣáliḥ,
the Gardener

Among those who emigrated and were companions in the
Most Great Prison was Áqá ‘Abdu’s-Ṣáliḥ.
This excellent soul, a child of early believers, came from Iṣfáhán.
His noble-hearted father died, and this child grew up an orphan.
There was none to rear or care for him and he was the prey of anyone
who chose to do him harm. At last he became adolescent, and older
now, sought out his Well-Beloved. He emigrated to the Most Great
Prison and here, at the Ridván, achieved the honor of being
appointed gardener. At this task he was second to none. In his faith,
too, he was staunch, loyal, worthy of trust; as to his character, he
was an embodiment of the sacred verse, “Of a noble nature art
thou.”12
That is how he won the distinction of being gardener at the Ridván,
and of thus receiving the greatest bounty of all: almost daily, he
entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.

For the Most Great Name was held prisoner and confined
nine years in the fortress-town of Akká; and at all times,
both in the barracks and afterward, from without the house, the
police and farráshes had Him under constant guard. The
Blessed Beauty lived in a very small house, and He never set foot
outside that narrow lodging, because His oppressors kept continual
watch at the door. When, however, nine years had elapsed, the fixed
and predetermined length of days was over; and at that time, against
the rancorous will of the tyrant, ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd,
and all his minions, Bahá’u’lláh proceeded
out of the fortress with authority and might, and in a kingly mansion
beyond the city, made His home.

Although the policy of Sulṭán ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd
was harsher than ever; although he constantly insisted on his
Captive’s strict confinement—still, the Blessed Beauty
now lived, as everyone knows, with all power and glory. Some of the
time Bahá’u’lláh would spend at the
Mansion, and again, at the farm village of Mazra’ih; for a
while He would sojourn in Haifa, and occasionally His tent would be
pitched on the heights of Mount Carmel. Friends from everywhere
presented themselves and gained an audience. The people and the
government authorities witnessed it all, yet no one so much as
breathed a word. And this is one of Bahá’u’lláh’s
greatest miracles: that He, a captive, surrounded Himself with
panoply and He wielded power. The prison changed into a palace, the
jail itself became a Garden of Eden. Such a thing has not occurred in
history before; no former age has seen its like: that a man confined
to a prison should move about with authority and might; that one in
chains should carry the fame of the Cause of God to the high heavens,
should win splendid victories in both East and West, and should, by
His almighty pen, subdue the world. Such is the distinguishing
feature of this supreme Theophany.

One day the government leaders, pillars of the country,
the city’s ‘ulamás, leading mystics and
intellectuals came out to the Mansion. The Blessed Beauty paid them
no attention whatever. They were not admitted to His presence, nor
did He inquire after any of them. I sat down with them and kept them
company for some hours, after which they returned whence they had
come. Although the royal farmán specifically decreed that
Bahá’u’lláh was to be held in solitary
confinement within the Akká fortress, in a cell, under
perpetual guard; that He was never to set foot outside; that He was
never even to see any of the believers—notwithstanding such a
farmán, such a drastic order, His tent was raised in majesty
on the heights of Mount Carmel. What greater display of power could
there be than this, that from the very prison, the banner of the Lord
was raised aloft, and rippled out for all the world to see! Praised
be the Possessor of such majesty and might; praised be He, weaponed
with the power and the glory; praised be He, Who defeated His foes
when He lay captive in the Akká prison!

To resume: ‘Abdu’s-Ṣáliḥ
lived under a fortunate star, for he regularly came into the presence
of Bahá’u’lláh. He enjoyed the distinction
of serving as gardener for many years, and he was at all times loyal,
true, and strong in faith. He was humble in the presence of every one
of the believers; in all that time he never hurt nor offended any
one. And at the last he left his garden and hastened to the
encompassing mercy of God.

The Ancient Beauty was well pleased with ‘Abdu’s-Ṣáliḥ,
and after his ascension revealed a Visitation Tablet in his honor,
also delivering an address concerning him, which was taken down and
published together with other Scriptures.

Upon him be the glory of the All-Glorious! Upon him be
God’s gentleness and favor in the Exalted Realm.

Ustád Ismá’íl

Yet another from amongst that blessed company was Ustád
Ismá’íl, the builder. He was the construction
overseer of Farrukh Khán (Amínu’d-Dawlih)
in Ṭihrán, living happily and prosperously, a man of
high standing, well regarded by all. But he lost his heart to the
Faith, and was enraptured by it, till his holy passion consumed every
intervening veil. Then he cast caution aside, and became known
throughout Ṭihrán as a pillar of the Bahá’ís.

Farrukh Khán ably defended him at
first. But as time went on, he summoned him and said, “Ustád,
you are very dear to me and I have given you my protection and have
stood by you as best I could. But the Sháh has found
out about you and you know what a bloodthirsty tyrant he is. I am
afraid that he will seize you without warning, and he will hang you.
The best thing for you is to go on a journey. Leave this country, go
somewhere else, and escape from this peril.”

Composed, happy, Ustád gave up his work, closed
his eyes to his possessions, and left for ‘Iráq, where
he lived in poverty. He had recently taken a bride, and loved her
beyond measure. Her mother arrived, and by subterfuge, obtained his
permission to conduct the daughter back to Ṭihrán,
supposedly for a visit. As soon as she reached Kirmansháh,
she went to the mujtahid, and told him that because her son-in-law
had abandoned his religion, her daughter could not remain his lawful
wife. The mujtahid arranged a divorce, and wedded the girl to another
man. When word of this reached Baghdád, Ismá’íl,
steadfast as ever, only laughed. “God be praised!” he
said. “Nothing is left me on this pathway. I have lost
everything, including my bride. I have been able to give Him all I
possessed.”

When Bahá’u’lláh departed from
Baghdád, and traveled to Rumelia, the friends remained
behind. The inhabitants of Baghdád then rose up against
those helpless believers, sending them away as captives to Mosul.
Ustád was old and feeble, but he left on foot, with no
provisions for his journey, crossed over mountains and deserts,
valleys and hills, and in the end arrived at the Most Great Prison.
At one time, Bahá’u’lláh had written down
an ode of Rúmí’s for him, and had told him to
turn his face toward the Báb and sing the words, set to a
melody. And so as he wandered through the long dark nights, Ustád
would sing these lines:

He was like a bird with broken wings but he had the song
and it kept him going onward to his one true Love. By stealth, he
approached the Fortress and went in, but he was exhausted, spent. He
remained for some days, and came into the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
after which he was directed to look for a lodging in Haifa. He got
himself to Haifa, but he found no haven there, no nest or hole, no
water, no grain of corn. Finally he made his home in a cave outside
the town. He acquired a little tray and on this he set out rings of
earthenware, and some thimbles, pins and other trinkets. Every day,
from morning till noon, he peddled these, wandering about. Some days
his earnings would amount to twenty paras,14
some days thirty; and forty on his best days. Then he would go home
to the cave and content himself with a piece of bread. He was always
voicing his thanks, always saying, “Praise be to God that I
have attained such favor and grace; that I have been separated from
friend and stranger alike, and have taken refuge in this cave. Now I
am of those who gave their all, to buy the Divine Joseph in the
market place. What bounty could be any greater than this!”

Such was his condition, when he died. Many and many a
time, Bahá’u’lláh was heard to express His
satisfaction with Ustád Ismá’íl. Blessings
hemmed him round, and the eye of God was on him. Salutations be unto
him, and praise. Upon him be the glory of the All-Glorious.

Nabíl-i-Zarandí

Still another of those who emigrated from their native
land to be near Bahá’u’lláh was the great
Nabíl.15
In the flower of youth he bade farewell to his family in Zarand and
with Divine aid began to teach the Faith. He became a chief of the
army of lovers, and on his quest he left Persian ‘Iráq
for Mesopotamia, but could not find the One he sought. For the
Well-Beloved was then in Kurdistán, living in a cave at
Sar-Galú; and there, entirely alone in that wasteland, with no
companion, no friend, no listening soul, He was communing with the
beauty that dwelt in His own heart. All news of Him was completely
cut off; ‘Iráq was eclipsed, and in mourning.

When Nabíl discovered that the flame which had
once been kindled and tended there was almost out, that the believers
were few, that Yaḥyá16
had crawled into a secret hole where he lay torpid and inert, and
that a wintry cold had taken over—he found himself obliged to
leave, bitterly grieving, for Karbilá. There he stayed until
the Blessed Beauty returned from Kurdistán, making His way to
Baghdád. At that time there was boundless joy; every
believer in the country sprang to life; among them was Nabíl,
who hastened to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and became the recipient of great bestowals. He spent his days in
gladness now, writing odes to celebrate the praises of his Lord. He
was a gifted poet, and his tongue most eloquent; a man of mettle, and
on fire with passionate love.

After a time he returned to Karbilá, then came
back to Baghdád and from there went on to Persia.
Because he associated with Siyyid Muḥammad he was led into
error and sorely afflicted and tried; but like the shooting stars, he
became as a missile to drive off satanic imaginings,17
and he repulsed the evil whisperers and went back to Baghdád,
where he found rest in the shade of the Holy Tree. He was later
directed to visit Kirmansháh. He returned again, and on
every journey was enabled to render a service.

Bahá’u’lláh and His retinue
then left Baghdád, the “Abode of Peace,”
for Constantinople, the “City of Islám.” After His
departure, Nabíl put on the dress of a dervish, and set out on
foot, catching up with the convoy along the way. In Constantinople he
was directed to return to Persia and there teach the Cause of God;
also to travel throughout the country, and acquaint the believers in
its cities and villages with all that had taken place. When this
mission was accomplished, and the drums of “Am I not your
Lord?” were rolling out—for it was the “year
eighty”18—
Nabíl hurried to Adrianople, crying as he went, “Yea
verily Thou art! Yea verily!” and “Lord, Lord, here am
I!”

He entered Bahá’u’lláh’s
presence and drank of the red wine of allegiance and homage. He was
then given specific orders to travel everywhere, and in every region
to raise the call that God was now made manifest: to spread the
blissful tidings that the Sun of Truth had risen. He was truly on
fire, driven by restive love. With great fervor he would pass through
a country, bringing this best of all messages and reviving the
hearts. He flamed like a torch in every company, he was the star of
every assemblage, to all who came he held out the intoxicating cup.
He journeyed as to the beat of drums and at last he reached the Akká
fortress.

In those days the restrictions were exceptionally
severe. The gates were shut, the roads closed off. Wearing a
disguise, Nabíl arrived at the Akká gate. Siyyid
Muḥammad and his wretched accomplice immediately hurried to the
Governorate and informed against the traveler. “He is a
Persian,” they reported. “He is not, as he seems, a man
of Bukhárá. He has come here to seek for news of
Bahá’u’lláh.” The authorities
expelled him at once.

Nabíl, despairing, withdrew to the town of Safád.
Later he came on to Haifa, where he made his home in a cave on Mount
Carmel. He lived apart from friend and stranger alike, lamenting
night and day, moaning and chanting prayers. There he remained as a
recluse, and waited for the doors to open. When the predestined time
of captivity was over, and the gates were flung wide, and the Wronged
One issued forth in beauty, in majesty and glory, Nabíl
hastened to Him with a joyful heart. Then he used himself up like a
candle, burning away with the love of God. Day and night he sang the
praises of the one Beloved of both worlds and of those about His
threshold, writing verses in the pentameter and hexameter forms,
composing lyrics and long odes. Almost daily, he was admitted to the
presence of the Manifestation.19

This went on until the day Bahá’u’lláh
ascended. At that supreme affliction, that shattering calamity, Nabíl
sobbed and trembled and cried out to Heaven. He found that the
numerical value of the word “shidád”—year
of stress—was 309, and it thus became evident that Bahá’u’lláh
foretold what had now come to pass.20

Utterly cast down, hopeless at being separated from
Bahá’u’lláh, fevered, shedding tears, Nabíl
was in such anguish that anyone seeing him was bewildered. He
struggled on, but the only desire he had was to lay down his life. He
could suffer no longer; his longing was aflame in him; he could stand
the fiery pain no more. And so he became king of the cohorts of love,
and he rushed into the sea.

Before that day when he offered himself up, he wrote out
the year of his death in the one word: “Drowned.”21
Then he threw down his life for the Well-Beloved, and was released
from his despair, and no longer shut away.

This distinguished man was erudite, wise, and eloquent
of speech. His native genius was pure inspiration, his poetic gift
like a crystal stream. In particular his ode “Bahá,
Bahá!” was written in sheer ecstasy. Throughout all his
life, from earliest youth till he was feeble and old, he spent his
time serving and worshiping the Lord. He bore hardships, he lived
through misfortunes, he suffered afflictions. From the lips of the
Manifestation he heard marvelous things. He was shown the lights of
Paradise; he won his dearest wish. And at the end, when the Daystar
of the world had set, he could endure no more, and flung himself into
the sea. The waters of sacrifice closed over him; he was drowned, and
he came, at last, to the Most High.

Upon him be abundant blessings; upon him be tender
mercies. May he win a great victory, and a manifest grace in the
Kingdom of God.

Darvísh Ṣidq-‘Alí

Áqá Ṣidq-‘Alí was yet
one more of those who left their native land, journeyed to
Bahá’u’lláh and were put in the Prison. He
was a dervish; a man who lived free and detached from friend and
stranger alike. He belonged to the mystic element and was a man of
letters. He spent some time wearing the dress of poverty, drinking
the wine of the Rule and traveling the Path,22
but unlike the other Súfís he did not devote his life
to dusty hashísh; on the contrary, he cleansed
himself of their vain imaginings and only searched for God, spoke of
God, and followed the path of God.

He had a fine poetic gift and wrote odes to sing the
praises of Him Whom the world has wronged and rejected. Among them is
a poem written while he was a prisoner in the barracks at Akká,
the chief couplet of which reads:

That free and independent soul discovered, in Baghdád,
a trace of the untraceable Beloved. He witnessed the dawning of the
Daystar above the horizon of ‘Iráq, and received the
bounty of that sunrise. He came under the spell of Bahá’u’lláh,
and was enraptured by that tender Companion. Although he was a quiet
man, one who held his peace, his very limbs were like so many tongues
crying out their message. When the retinue of Bahá’u’lláh
was about to leave Baghdád he implored permission to go
along as a groom. All day, he walked beside the convoy, and when
night came he would attend to the horses. He worked with all his
heart. Only after midnight would he seek his bed and lie down to
rest; the bed, however, was his mantle, and the pillow a sun-dried
brick.

As he journeyed, filled with yearning love, he would
sing poems. He greatly pleased the friends. In him the name23
bespoke the man: he was pure candor and truth; he was love itself; he
was chaste of heart, and enamored of Bahá’u’lláh.
In his high station, that of groom, he reigned like a king; indeed he
gloried over the sovereigns of the earth. He was assiduous in
attendance upon Bahá’u’lláh; in all things,
upright and true.

The convoy of the lovers went on; it reached
Constantinople; it passed to Adrianople, and finally to the Akká
prison. Ṣidq-‘Alí was present throughout,
faithfully serving its Commander.

While in the barracks, Bahá’u’lláh
set apart a special night and He dedicated it to Darvísh
Ṣidq-‘Alí. He wrote that every year on that night
the dervishes should bedeck a meeting place, which should be in a
flower garden, and gather there to make mention of God. He went on to
say that “dervish” does not denote those persons who
wander about, spending their nights and days in fighting and folly;
rather, He said, the term designates those who are completely severed
from all but God, who cleave to His laws, are firm in His Faith,
loyal to His Covenant, and constant in worship. It is not a name for
those who, as the Persians say, tramp about like vagrants, are
confused, unsettled in mind, a burden to others, and of all mankind
the most coarse and rude.

This eminent dervish spent his whole life-span under the
sheltering favor of God. He was completely detached from worldly
things. He was attentive in service, and waited upon the believers
with all his heart. He was a servant to all of them, and faithful at
the Holy Threshold.

Then came that hour when, not far from his Lord, he
stripped off the cloak of life, and to physical eyes passed into the
shadows, but to the mind’s eye betook himself to what is plain
as day; and he was seated there on a throne of lasting glory. He
escaped from the prison of this world, and pitched his tent in a wide
and spacious land. May God ever keep him close and bless him in that
mystic realm with perpetual reunion and the beatific vision; may he
be wrapped in tiers of light. Upon him be the glory of God, the
All-Glorious. His grave is in Akká.

Áqá Mírzá
Maḥmúd and Áqá Riḍá

These two blessed souls, Mírzá Maḥmúd
of Káshán and Áqá Riḍá
of Shíráz, were like two lamps lit with God’s
love from the oil of His knowledge. Encompassed by Divine bestowals
from childhood on, they succeeded in rendering every kind of service
for fifty-five years. Their services were countless, beyond
recording.

When the retinue of Bahá’u’lláh
left Baghdád for Constantinople, He was accompanied by
a great crowd of people. Along the way, they met with famine
conditions. These two souls strode along on foot, ahead of the howdah
in which Bahá’u’lláh was riding, and
covered a distance of seven or eight farsakhs every day.
Wayworn and faint, they would reach the halting-place; and yet, weary
as they were, they would immediately set about preparing and cooking
the food, and seeing to the comfort of the believers. The efforts
they made were truly more than flesh can bear. There were times when
they had not more than two or three hours sleep out of the
twenty-four; because, once the friends had eaten their meal, these
two would be busy collecting and washing up the dishes and cooking
utensils; this would take them till midnight, and only then would
they rest. At daybreak they would rise, pack everything, and set out
again, in front of the howdah of Bahá’u’lláh.
See what a vital service they were able to render, and for what
bounty they were singled out: from the start of the journey, at
Baghdád, to the arrival in Constantinople, they walked
close beside Bahá’u’lláh; they made every
one of the friends happy; they brought rest and comfort to all; they
prepared whatever anyone asked.

Áqá Riḍá and Mírzá
Maḥmúd were the very essence of God’s love,
utterly detached from all but God. In all that time no one ever heard
either of them raise his voice. They never hurt nor offended anyone.
They were trustworthy, loyal, true. Bahá’u’lláh
showered blessings upon them. They were continually entering His
presence and He would be expressing His satisfaction with them.

Mírzá Maḥmúd was a youth when
he arrived in Baghdád from Káshán.
Áqá Riḍá became a believer in Baghdád.
The spiritual condition of the two was indescribable. There was in
Baghdád a company of seven leading believers who lived
in a single, small room, because they were destitute. They could
hardly keep body and soul together, but they were so spiritual, so
blissful, that they thought themselves in Heaven. Sometimes they
would chant prayers all night long, until the day broke. Days, they
would go out to work, and by nightfall one would have earned ten
paras, another perhaps twenty paras, others forty or fifty. These
sums would be spent for the evening meal. On a certain day one of
them made twenty paras, while the rest had nothing at all. The one
with the money bought some dates, and shared them with the others;
that was dinner, for seven people. They were perfectly content with
their frugal life, supremely happy.

These two honored men devoted their days to all that is
best in human life: they had seeing eyes; they were mindful and
aware; they had hearing ears, and were fair of speech. Their sole
desire was to please Bahá’u’lláh. To them,
nothing was a bounty at all, except service at His Holy Threshold.
After the time of the Supreme Affliction, they were consumed with
sorrow, like candles flickering away; they longed for death, and
stayed firm in the Covenant and labored hard and well to spread that
Daystar’s Faith. They were close and trusted companions of
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and could be relied on in all
things. They were always lowly, humble, unassuming, evanescent. In
all that long period, they never uttered a word which had to do with
self.

And at the last, during the absence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
they took their flight to the Kingdom of unfading glory. I sorrowed
much because I was not with them when they died. Although absent in
body, I was there in my heart, and mourning over them; but to outward
seeming I did not bid them good-by; this is why I grieve.

Unto them both be salutations and praise; upon them be
compassion and glory. May God give them a home in Paradise, under the
Lote-Tree’s shade. May they be immersed in tiers of light,
close beside their Lord, the Mighty, the All-Powerful.

Pidar-Ján of Qazvín

The late Pidar-Ján was among those believers who
emigrated to Baghdád. He was a godly old man, enamored
of the Well-Beloved; in the garden of Divine love, he was like a rose
full-blown. He arrived there, in Baghdád, and spent his
days and nights communing with God and chanting prayers; and although
he walked the earth, he traveled the heights of Heaven.

To obey the law of God, he took up a trade, for he had
nothing. He would bundle a few pairs of socks under his arm and
peddle them as he wandered through the streets and bázárs,
and thieves would rob him of his merchandise. Finally he was obliged
to lay the socks across his outstretched palms as he went along. But
he would get to chanting a prayer, and one day he was surprised to
find that they had stolen the socks, laid out on his two hands, from
before his eyes. His awareness of this world was clouded, for he
journeyed through another. He dwelt in ecstasy; he was a man drunken,
bedazzled.

For some time, that is how he lived in ‘Iráq.
Almost daily he was admitted to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
His name was ‘Abdu’lláh but the friends bestowed
on him the title of Pidar-Ján—Father Dear—for he
was a loving father to them all. At last, under the sheltering care
of Bahá’u’lláh, he took flight to the “seat
of truth, in the presence of the potent king.”24

May God make fragrant his sepulcher with the outpouring
rains of His mercy and cast upon him the eye of Divine compassion.
Salutations be unto him, and praise.

Shaykh Ṣádiq-i-Yazdí

Another of those who emigrated to Baghdád
was Shaykh Ṣádiq of Yazd, a man esteemed,
and righteous as his name, Ṣádiq.25
He was a towering palm in the groves of Heaven, a star flaming in the
skies of the love of God.

It was during the ‘Iráq period that he
hastened to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
His detachment from the things of this world and his attachment to
the life of the spirit are indescribable. He was love embodied,
tenderness personified. Day and night, he commemorated God. Utterly
unconscious of this world and all that is therein, he dwelt
continually on God, remaining submerged in supplications and prayers.
Most of the time, tears poured from his eyes. The Blessed Beauty
singled him out for special favor, and whenever He turned His
attention toward Ṣádiq, His loving-kindness was clear to
see.

On a certain day they brought word that Ṣádiq
was at the point of death. I went to his bedside and found him
breathing his last. He was suffering from ileus, an abdominal pain
and swelling. I hurried to Bahá’u’lláh and
described his condition. “Go,” He said. “Place your
hand on the distended area and speak the words: ‘O Thou the
Healer!’”26

I went back. I saw that the affected part had swollen up
to the size of an apple; it was hard as stone, in constant motion,
twisting, and coiling about itself like a snake. I placed my hand
upon it; I turned toward God and, humbly beseeching Him, I repeated
the words, “O Thou the Healer!” Instantly the sick man
rose up. The ileus vanished; the swelling was carried off.

This personified spirit lived contentedly in ‘Iráq
until the day when Bahá’u’lláh’s
convoy wended its way out of Baghdád. As bidden, Ṣádiq
remained behind in that city. But his longing beat so passionately
within him that after the arrival of Bahá’u’lláh
at Mosul, he could endure the separation no more. Shoeless, hatless,
he ran out alongside the courier going to Mosul; ran and ran until,
on that barren plain, with mercy all about him, he fell to his rest.

May God give him to drink from “a wine cup
tempered at the camphor fountain,”27
and send down crystal waters on his grave; may God perfume his dust
in that desert place with musk, and cause to descend there range on
range of light.

Sháh-Muḥammad-Amín

Sháh-Muḥammad, who had the title of
Amín, the Trusted One, was among the earliest of believers,
and most deeply enamored. He had listened to the Divine summons in
the flower of his youth, and set his face toward the Kingdom. He had
ripped from his gaze the veils of idle suppositions and had won his
heart’s desire; neither the fancies current among the people
nor the reproaches of which he was the target turned him back.
Unshaken, he stood and faced a sea of troubles; staunch with the
strength of the Advent day, he confronted those who tried to thwart
him and block his path. The more they sought to instill doubts in his
mind, the stronger he became; the more they tormented him, the more
progress he made. He was a captive of the face of God, enslaved by
the beauty of the All-Glorious; a flame of God’s love, a
jetting fountain of the knowledge of Him.

Love smoldered in his heart, so that he had no peace;
and when he could bear the absence of the Beloved One no more, he
left his native home, the province of Yazd. He found the desert sands
like silk under his feet; light as the wind’s breath, he passed
over the mountains and across the endless plains, until he stood at
the door of his Love. He had freed himself from the snare of
separation, and in ‘Iráq, he entered the presence of
Bahá’u’lláh.

Once he made his way into the home of the Darling of
mankind, he was emptied of every thought, released from every
concern, and became the recipient of boundless favor and grace. He
passed some days in ‘Iráq and was directed to return to
Persia. There he remained for a time, frequenting the believers; and
his pure breathings stirred each one of them anew, so that each one
yearned over the Faith, and became more restless, more impatient than
before.

Later he arrived at the Most Great Prison with Mírzá
Abu’l-Ḥasan, the second Amín. On this journey he
met with severe hardships, for it was extremely difficult to find a
way into the prison. Finally he was received by Bahá’u’lláh
in the public baths. Mírzá Abu’l-Ḥasan was
so overwhelmed at the majestic presence of his Lord that he shook,
stumbled, and fell to the floor; his head was injured and the blood
flowed out.

Amín, that is Sháh-Muḥammad,
was honored with the title of the Trusted One, and bounties were
showered upon him. Full of eagerness and love, taking with him
Tablets from Bahá’u’lláh, he hastened back
to Persia, where, at all times worthy of trust, he labored for the
Cause. His services were outstanding, and he was a consolation to the
believers’ hearts. There was none to compare with him for
energy, enthusiasm and zeal, and no man’s services could equal
his. He was a haven amidst the people, known everywhere for devotion
to the Holy Threshold, widely acclaimed by the friends.

He never rested for a moment. Not one night did he spend
on a bed of ease, never did he lay down his head on comfort’s
pillow. He was continuously in flight, soaring as the birds do,
running like a deer, guesting in the desert of oneness, alone and
swift. He brought joy to all the believers; to all, his coming was
good news; to every seeker, he was a sign and token. He was enamored
of God, a vagrant in the desert of God’s love. Like the wind,
he traveled over the face of the plains, and he was restive on the
heights of the hills. He was in a different country every day, and in
yet another land by nightfall. Never did he rest, never was he still.
He was forever rising up to serve.

But then they took him prisoner in Ádhirbayján,
in the town of Míyándu’áb. He fell a prey
to some ruthless Kurds, a hostile band who asked no questions of the
innocent, defenseless man. Believing that this stranger, like other
foreigners, wished ill to the Kurdish people, and taking him for
worthless, they killed him.

When news of his martyrdom reached the Prison, all the
captives grieved, and they shed tears for him, resigned to God and
undefended as he was in his last hour. Even on the countenance of
Bahá’u’lláh, there were visible tokens of
grief. A Tablet, infinitely tender, was revealed by the Supreme Pen,
commemorating the man who died on that calamitous plain, and many
other Tablets were sent down concerning him.

Today, under the shadowing mercy of God, he dwells in
the bright Heavens. He communes with the birds of holiness, and in
the assemblage of splendors he is immersed in light. The memory and
praise of him shall remain, till the end of time, in the pages of
books and on the tongues and lips of men.

Unto him be salutations and praise; upon him be the
glory of the All-Glorious; upon him be the most great mercy of God.

Mashhadí Faṭṭaḥ

Mashhadí Faṭṭaḥ was
personified spirit. He was devotion itself. Brother to Ḥájí
‘Alí-‘Askar—of the same pure lineage—through
the latter he came into the Faith. Like the twins, Castor and Pollux,
the two kept together in one spot, and both were illumined with the
light of belief.

In all things, the two were united as a pair; they
shared the same certitude and faith, the same conscience, and made
their way out of Ádhirbayján to Adrianople,
emigrating at the same time. In every circumstance of their life,
they lived as one individual; their disposition, their aims, their
religion, character, behavior, faith, certitude, knowledge—all
were one. Even in the Most Great Prison, they were constantly
together.

Mashhadí Faṭṭaḥ
possessed some merchandise; this was all he owned in the world. He
had entrusted it to persons in Adrianople, and later on those
unrighteous people did away with the goods. Thus, in the pathway of
God, he lost whatever he possessed. He passed his days, perfectly
content, in the Most Great Prison. He was utter selflessness; from
him, no one ever heard a syllable to indicate that he existed. He was
always in a certain corner of the prison, silently meditating,
occupied with the remembrance of God; at all times spiritually alert
and mindful, in a state of supplication.

Then came the Supreme Affliction. He could not tolerate
the anguish of parting with Bahá’u’lláh,
and after Bahá’u’lláh’s passing, he
died of grief. Blessed is he; again, blessed is he. Glad tidings to
him; again, glad tidings to him. Upon him be the glory of the
All-Glorious.

Nabíl of Qá’in

This distinguished man, Mullá Muḥammad-‘Alí,28
was one of those whose hearts were drawn to Bahá’u’lláh
before the Declaration of the Báb; it was then that he drank
the red wine of knowledge from the hands of the Cupbearer of grace.
It happened that a prince, who was the son of Mír Asadu’lláh
Khán, prince of Qá’in, was commanded to
remain as a political hostage in Ṭihrán. He was young,
far away from his loving father, and Mullá Muḥammad-‘Alí
was his tutor and guardian. Since the youth was a stranger in Ṭihrán,
the Blessed Beauty showed him special kindness. Many a night the
young prince was Bahá’u’lláh’s guest
at the mansion, and Mullá Muḥammad-‘Alí
would accompany him. This was prior to the Declaration of the Báb.

It was then that this chief of all trusted friends was
captivated by Bahá’u’lláh, and wherever he
went, spread loving praise of Him. After the way of Islám, he
also related the great miracles which he had, with his own eyes, seen
Bahá’u’lláh perform, and the marvels he had
heard. He was in ecstasy, burning up with love. In that condition, he
returned to Qá’in with the prince.

Later on that eminent scholar, Áqá
Muḥammad of Qá’in (whose title was Nabíl-i-Akbar)
was made a mujtahid, a doctor of religious law, by the late Shaykh
Murtadá; he left, then, for Baghdád, became an
ardent follower of Bahá’u’lláh, and
hastened back to Persia. The leading divines and mujtahids were well
aware of and acknowledged his vast scholarly accomplishments, the
breadth of his learning, and his high rank. When he reached Qá’in,
he began openly to spread the new Faith. The moment Mullá
Muḥammad-‘Alí heard the name of the Blessed
Beauty, he immediately accepted the Báb. “I had the
honor,” he said, “of meeting the Blessed Beauty in
Ṭihrán. The instant I saw Him, I became His slave.”

In his village of Sar-Cháh, this gifted,
high-minded man began to teach the Faith. He guided in his own family
and saw to the others as well, bringing a great multitude under the
law of the love of God, leading each one to the path of salvation.

Up to that time he had always been a close companion of
Mír Álam Khán, the Governor of Qá’in,
had rendered him important services, and had enjoyed the Governor’s
respect and trust. Now that shameless prince turned against him in a
rage on account of his religion, seized his property and plundered
it; for the Amír was terrified of Náṣiri’d-Dín
Sháh. He banished Nabíl-i-Akbar and ruined Nabíl
of Qá’in. After throwing him in prison and torturing
him, he drove him out as a homeless vagrant.

To Nabíl, the sudden calamity was a blessing, the
sacking of his earthly goods, the expulsion into the desert, was a
kingly crown and the greatest favor God could grant him. For some
time he remained in Ṭihrán, to outward seeming a pauper
of no fixed abode, but inwardly rejoicing; for this is the
characteristic of every soul who is firm in the Covenant.

He had access to the society of the great and knew the
condition of the various princes. He would, therefore, frequent some
of them and give them the message. He was a consolation to the hearts
of the believers and as a drawn sword to the enemies of Bahá’u’lláh.
He was one of those of whom we read in the Qur’án: “For
the Cause of God shall they strive hard; the blame of the blamer
shall they not fear.”29
Day and night he toiled to promote the Faith, and with all his might
to spread abroad the clear signs of God. He would drink and drink
again of the wine of God’s love, was clamorous as the storm
clouds, restless as the waves of the sea.

Permission came, then, for him to visit the Most Great
Prison; for in Ṭihrán, as a believer, he had become a
marked man. They all knew of his conversion; he had no caution, no
patience, no reserve; he cared nothing for reticence, nothing for
dissimulation. He was utterly fearless and in terrible danger.

When he arrived at the Most Great Prison, the hostile
watchers drove him off, and try as he might he found no way to enter.
He was obliged to leave for Nazareth, where he lived for some time as
a stranger, alone with his two sons, Áqá Qulám-Ḥusayn
and Áqá ‘Alí-Akbar, grieving and praying.
At last a plan was devised to introduce him into the fortress and he
was summoned to the prison where they had immured the innocent. He
came in such ecstasy as cannot be described, and was admitted to the
presence of Bahá’u’lláh. When he entered
there and lifted his eyes to the Blessed Beauty he shook and trembled
and fell unconscious to the floor. Bahá’u’lláh
spoke words of loving-kindness to him and he rose again. He spent
some days hidden in the barracks, after which he returned to
Nazareth.

The inhabitants of Nazareth wondered much about him.
They told one another that he was obviously a great and distinguished
man in his own country, a notable and of high rank; and they asked
themselves why he should have chosen such an out-of-the-way corner of
the world as Nazareth and how he could be contented with such poverty
and hardship.

When, in fulfillment of the promise of the Most Great
Name, the gates of the Prison were flung wide, and all the friends
and travelers could enter and leave the fortress-town in peace and
with respect, Nabíl of Qá’in would journey to see
Bahá’u’lláh once in every month. However,
as commanded by Him, he continued to live in Nazareth, where he
converted a number of Christians to the Faith; and there he would
weep, by day and night, over the wrongs that were done to
Bahá’u’lláh.

His means of livelihood was his business partnership
with me. That is, I provided him with a capital of three krans;30
with it he bought needles, and this was his stock-in-trade. The women
of Nazareth gave him eggs in exchange for his needles and in this way
he would obtain thirty or forty eggs a day: three needles per egg.
Then he would sell the eggs and live on the proceeds. Since there was
a daily caravan between Akká and Nazareth, he would refer to
Áqá Riḍá each day, for more needles. Glory
be to God! He survived two years on that initial outlay of capital;
and he returned thanks at all times. You can tell how detached he was
from worldly things by this one fact: the Nazarenes used to say it
was plain to see from the old man’s manner and behavior that he
was very rich, and that if he lived so modestly it was only because
he was a stranger in a strange place—hiding his wealth by
setting up as a peddler of needles.

Whenever he came into the presence of Bahá’u’lláh
he received still more evidences of favor and love. For all seasons,
he was a close friend and companion to me. When sorrows attacked me I
would send for him, and then I would rejoice just to see him again.
How wonderful his talk was, how attractive his society. Bright of
face he was; free of heart; loosed from every earthly tie, always on
the wing. Toward the end he made his home in the Most Great Prison,
and every day he entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.

On a certain day, walking through the bázár
with his friends, he met a gravedigger named Ḥájí
Aḥmad. Although in the best of health, he addressed the
gravedigger and laughingly told him: “Come along with me.”
Accompanied by the believers and the gravedigger he made for
Nabíyu’lláh Ṣáliḥ. Here he
said: “O Ḥájí Aḥmad, I have a request
to make of you: when I move on, out of this world and into the next,
dig my grave here, beside the Purest Branch.31
This is the favor I ask.” So saying, he gave the man a gift of
money.

That very evening, not long after sunset, word came that
Nabíl of Qá’in had been taken ill. I went to his
home at once. He was sitting up, and conversing. He was radiant,
laughing, joking, but for no apparent reason the sweat was pouring
off his face—it was rushing down. Except for this he had
nothing the matter with him. The perspiring went on and on; he
weakened, lay in his bed, and toward morning, died.

Bahá’u’lláh would refer to him
with infinite grace and loving-kindness, and revealed a number of
Tablets in his name. The Blessed Beauty was wont, after Nabíl’s
passing, to recall that ardor, the power of that faith, and to
comment that here was a man who had recognized Him, prior to the
advent of the Báb.

All hail to him for this wondrous bestowal. “Blessedness
awaiteth him and a goodly home… And God will single out for His
mercy whomsoever He willeth.”32

Siyyid Muḥammad-Taqí
Manshadí

Muḥammad-Taqí came from the village of
Manshad. When still young, he learned of the Faith of God. In
holy ecstasy, his mind turned Heavenward, and his heart was flooded
with light. Divine grace descended upon him; the summons of God so
enraptured him that he threw the peace of Manshad to the
winds. Leaving his kinsfolk and children, he set out over mountains
and desert plains, passed from one halting-place to the next, came to
the seashore, crossed over the sea and at last reached the city of
Haifa. From there he hastened on to Akká and entered the
presence of Bahá’u’lláh.

In the early days he opened a small shop in Haifa and
carried on some trifling business. God’s blessing descended
upon it, and it prospered. That little corner became the haven of the
pilgrims. When they arrived, and again at their departure, they were
guests of the high-minded and generous Muḥammad-Taqí. He
also helped to manage the affairs of the believers, and would get
together their means of travel. He proved unfailingly reliable,
loyal, worthy of trust. Ultimately he became the intermediary through
whom Tablets could be sent away and mail from the believers could
come in. He performed this service with perfect dependability,
accomplishing it in a most pleasing way, scrupulously despatching and
receiving the correspondence at all times. Trusted by everyone, he
became known in many parts of the world, and received unnumbered
bounties from Bahá’u’lláh. He was a
treasury of justice and righteousness, entirely free from any
attachment to worldly things. He had accustomed himself to a very
spare way of life, caring nothing for food or sleep, comfort or
peace. He lived all alone in a single room, passed the nights on a
couch of palm branches, and slept in a corner. But to the travelers,
he was a spring in the desert; for them, he provided the softest of
pillows, and the best table he could afford. He had a smiling face
and by nature was spiritual and serene.

After the Daystar of the Supreme Concourse had set,
Siyyid Manshadí remained loyal to the Covenant, a sharp
sword confronting the violators. They tried every ruse, every deceit,
all their subtlest expedients; it is beyond imagining how they
showered favors on him and what honors they paid him, what feasts
they prepared, what pleasures they offered, all this to make a breach
in his faith. Yet every day he grew stronger than before, continued
to be staunch and true, kept free from every unseemly thought, and
shunned whatever went contrary to the Covenant of God. When they
finally despaired of shaking his resolve, they harassed him in every
possible way, and plotted his financial ruin. He remained, however,
the quintessence of constancy and trust.

When, at the instigation of the violators, ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd
began his opposition to me, I was obliged to send Manshadí
away to Port Sa’íd, because he was widely known among
the people as the distributor of our mail. I then had to relay the
correspondence to him through intermediaries who were unknown, and he
would send the letters on as before. In this way the treacherous and
the hostile were unable to take over the mail. During the latter days
of ‘Abdu’l-Ḥamíd, when a commission of
investigation appeared and—urged on by those
familiars-turned-strangers—made plans to tear out the Holy Tree
by the roots; when they determined to cast me into the depths of the
sea or banish me to the Fezzan, and this was their settled purpose;
and when the commission accordingly tried their utmost to get hold of
some document or other, they failed. In the thick of all that
turmoil, with all the pressures and restraints, and the foul attacks
of those persons who were pitiless as Yazíd,33
still the mail went through.

For many long years, Siyyid Manshadí
befittingly performed this service in Port Sa’íd. The
friends were uniformly pleased with him. In that city he earned the
gratitude of travelers, placed those who had emigrated in his debt,
brought joy to the local believers. Then the heavy heat of Egypt
proved too much for him; he took to his bed, and in a raging fever,
cast off the robe of life. He abandoned Port Sa’íd for
the Kingdom of Heaven, and rose up to the mansions of the Lord.

Siyyid Manshadí was the essence of virtue
and intellect. His qualities and attainments were such as to amaze
the most accomplished minds. He had no thought except of God, no hope
but to win the good pleasure of God. He was the embodiment of “Keep
all my words of prayer and praise confined to one refrain; make all
my life but servitude to Thee.”

May God cool his feverish pain with the grace of reunion
in the Kingdom, and heal his sickness with the balm of nearness to
Him in the Realm of the All-Beauteous. Upon him be the glory of God
the Most Glorious.

Muḥammad-‘Alí
Sabbáq of Yazd

Early in youth, Muḥammad-‘Alí Sabbáq
became a believer while in ‘Iráq. He tore away hindering
veils and doubts, escaped from his delusions and hastened to the
welcoming shelter of the Lord of Lords. A man to outward seeming
without education, for he could neither read nor write, he was of
sharp intelligence and a trustworthy friend. Through one of the
believers, he was brought into the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and was soon widely known to the public as a disciple. He found
himself a corner to live in, close beside the house of the Blessed
Beauty, and mornings and evenings would enter the presence of
Bahá’u’lláh. For a time he was supremely
happy.

When Bahá’u’lláh and His
retinue left Baghdád for Constantinople, Áqá
Muḥammad-‘Alí was of that company, and fevered
with the love of God. We reached Constantinople; and since the
Government obliged us to settle in Adrianople we left Muḥammad-‘Alí
in the Turkish capital to assist the believers as they came and went
through that city. We then went on to Adrianople. This man remained
alone and he suffered intense distress for he had no friend nor
companion nor anyone to care for him.

After two years of this he came on to Adrianople,
seeking a haven in the loving-kindness of Bahá’u’lláh.
He went to work as a peddler, and when the great rebellion34
began and the oppressors drove the friends to the extreme of
adversity, he too was among the prisoners and was exiled with us to
the fortress at Akká.

He spent a considerable time in the Most Great Prison,
after which Bahá’u’lláh desired him to
leave for Sidon, where he engaged in trade. Sometimes he would return
and be received by Bahá’u’lláh, but
otherwise he stayed in Sidon. He lived respected and trusted, a
credit to all. When the Supreme Affliction came upon us, he returned
to Akká and passed the remainder of his days near the Holy
Tomb.

The friends, one and all, were pleased with him, and he
was cherished at the Holy Threshold; in this state he soared to
abiding glory, leaving his kin to mourn. He was a kind man, an
excellent one: content with God’s will for him, thankful, a man
of dignity, long-suffering. Upon him be the glory of the
All-Glorious. May God send down, upon his scented tomb in Akká,
tiers of celestial light.

‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár
of Iṣfáhán

Another of those who left their homeland to become our
neighbors and fellow prisoners was ‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár
of Iṣfáhán. He was a highly perceptive individual
who, on commercial business, had traveled about Asia Minor for many
years. He made a journey to ‘Iráq, where Áqá
Muḥammad-‘Alí of Sád (Iṣfáhán)
brought him into the shelter of the Faith. He soon ripped off the
bandage of illusions that had blinded his eyes before, and he rose
up, winging to salvation in the Heaven of Divine love. With him, the
veil had been thin, almost transparent, and that is why, as the first
word was imparted, he was immediately released from the world of idle
imaginings and attached himself to the One Who is clear to see.

On the journey from ‘Iráq to the Great
City, Constantinople, ‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár was a
close and agreeable companion. He served as interpreter for the
entire company, for he spoke excellent Turkish, a language in which
none of the friends was proficient. The journey came peacefully to an
end and then, in the Great City, he continued on, as a companion and
friend. The same was true in Adrianople and also when, as one of the
prisoners, he accompanied us to the city of Haifa.

Here, the oppressors determined to send him to Cyprus.
He was terrified and shouted for help, for he longed to be with us in
the Most Great Prison.35
When they held him back by force, from high up on the ship he threw
himself into the sea. This had no effect whatever on the brutal
officers. After dragging him from the water they held him prisoner on
the ship, cruelly restraining him, and carrying him away by force to
Cyprus. He was jailed in Famagusta, but one way or another managed to
escape and hastened to Akká. Here, protecting himself from the
malevolence of our oppressors, he changed his name to ‘Abdu’lláh.
Sheltered within the loving-kindness of Bahá’u’lláh,
he passed his days at ease, and happy.

But when the world’s great Light had set, to shine
on forever from the All-Luminous Horizon, ‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár
was beside himself and a prey to anguish. He no longer had a home. He
left for Damascus and spent some time there, pent up in his sorrow,
mourning by day and night. He grew weaker and weaker. We despatched
Ḥájí Abbás there, to nurse him and give
him treatment and care, and send back word of him every day. But
‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár would do nothing but talk,
unceasingly, at every hour, with his nurse, and tell how he longed to
go his way, into the mysterious country beyond. And at the end, far
from home, exiled from his Love, he set out for the Holy Threshold of
Bahá’u’lláh.

He was truly a man long-suffering, and mild; a man of
good character, good acts, and goodly words. Greetings and praise be
unto him, and the glory of the All-Glorious. His sweet-scented tomb
is in Damascus.

‘Alí Najaf-Ábádí

Also among the emigrants and near neighbors was Áqá
‘Alí Najaf-Ábádí. When this
spiritual young man first listened to the call of God he set his lips
to the holy cup and beheld the glory of the Speaker on the Mount. And
when, by grace of the light, he had attained positive knowledge, he
journeyed to the Most Great Prison, where he witnessed the substance
of knowledge itself, and arrived at the high station of indubitable
truth.

For a long time he remained in and about the sacred
city; he became the proverbial Habíbu’lláh the
Merchant, and spent his days relying upon God, in supplication and
prayer. He was a man meek, quiet, uncomplaining, steadfast; in all
things pleasing, worthy of praise. He won the approval of all the
friends and was accepted and welcome at the Holy Threshold. During
his latter days, when he felt that a happy end was in store for him,
he again presented himself at the holy city of the Most Great Prison.
Upon arrival he fell ill, weakened, passed his hours in supplicating
God. The breath of life ceased within him, the gates of flight to the
supreme Kingdom were flung wide, he turned his eyes away from this
world of dust and went onward to the Holy Place.

‘Alí Najaf-Ábádí was
tender and sensitive of heart, at all times mindful of God and
remembering Him, and toward the close of his life detached, without
stain, free from the contagion of this world. Sweetly, he gave up his
corner of the earth, and pitched his tent in the land beyond. May God
send upon him the pure savors of forgiveness, brighten his eyes with
beholding the Divine Beauty in the Kingdom of Splendors, and refresh
his spirit with the musk-scented winds that blow from the Abhá
Realm. Unto him be salutation and praise. His sweet and holy dust
lies in Akká. Mashhadí Ḥusayn and Mashhadí
Muḥammad-i-Ádhirbayjání

Mashhadí Ḥusayn and Mashhadí
Muḥammad were both from the province of Ádhirbayján.
They were pure souls who took the great step in their own country:
they freed themselves from friend and stranger alike, escaped from
the superstitions that had blinded them before, strengthened their
resolve, and bowed themselves down before the grace of God, the Lord
of Life. They were blessed souls, loyal, unsullied in faith;
evanescent, submissive, poor, content with the will of God, in love
with His guiding Light, rejoicing over the great message. They left
their province and traveled to Adrianople. Here beside the holy city
they lived for quite a time in the village of Qumrúq-Kilísá.
By day, they supplicated God and communed with Him; by night, they
wept, bemoaning the plight of Him Whom the world hath wronged.

When the exile to Akká was under way, they were
not present in the city and thus were not arrested. Heavy of heart,
they continued on in that area, shedding their tears. Once they had
obtained a definite report from Akká, they left Rumelia and
came here: two excellent souls, loyal bondsmen of the Blessed Beauty.
It is impossible to tell how translucent they were of heart, how firm
in faith.

They lived outside Akká in Bágh-i-Firdaws,
worked as farmers, and spent their days returning thanks to God
because once again they had won their way to the neighborhood of
grace and love. But they were natives of Ádhirbayján,
accustomed to the cold, and they could not endure the local heat.
Furthermore, this was during our early days in Akká, when the
air was noxious, and the water unwholesome in the extreme. They both
fell ill of a chronic, high fever. They bore it cheerfully, with
amazing patience. During their days of illness, despite the assault
of the fever, the violence of their ailment, the raging thirst, the
restlessness, they remained inwardly at peace, rejoicing at the
Divine glad tidings. And at a time when they were offering thanks
with all their heart, they hurried away from this world and entered
the other; they escaped from this cage and were released into the
garden of immortality. Upon them be the mercy of God, and may He be
well pleased with them. Unto them be salutations and praise. May God
bring them into the Realm that abides forever, to delight in reunion
with Him, to bask in the Kingdom of Splendors. Their two luminous
tombs are in Akká.

Ḥájí ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím-i-Yazdí

Ḥájí ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím
of Yazd was a precious soul, from his earliest years virtuous and
God-fearing, and known among the people as a holy man, peerless in
observing his religious duties, mindful as to his acts. His strong
religious faith was an indisputable fact. He served and worshiped God
by day and night, was sound, mild, compassionate, a loyal friend.

Because he was fully prepared, at the very moment when
he heard the summons from the Supreme Horizon—heard the
drumbeats of “Am I not your Lord?”—he instantly
cried out, “Yea, verily!” With his whole being, he became
enamored of the splendors shed by the Light of the World. Openly and
boldly he began to confirm his family and friends. This was soon
known throughout the city; to the eyes of the evil ‘ulamás,
he was now an object of hate and contempt. Incurring their wrath, he
was despised by those creatures of their own low passions. He was
molested and harassed; the inhabitants rioted, and the evil ‘ulamás
plotted his death. The government authorities turned on him as well,
hounded him, even subjected him to torture. They beat him with clubs,
and whipped him. All this went on, by day and night.

He was forced, then, to abandon his home and go out of
the city, a vagrant, climbing the mountains, crossing over the
plains, until he came to the Holy Land. But so weak he was, and
wasted away, that whoever saw him thought he was breathing his last;
when he reached Haifa, Nabíl of Qá’in hurried to
Akká, and desired me to summon the Ḥájí at
once, because he was in his death agony and failing fast.

“Let me go to the Mansion,” I said, “and
ask leave.” “It would take too long,” he said. “And
then ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím will never see Akká.
I long for him to have this bounty; for him at least to see Akká,
and die. I beg of You, send for him at once!”

Complying with his wish, I summoned ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím.
When he came, I could hardly detect in him a whisper of life. At
times he would open his eyes, but he spoke no word. Still, the sweet
savors of the Most Great Prison restored the vital spark, and his
yearning to meet Bahá’u’lláh breathed life
into him again. I looked in on him the next morning and found him
cheerful and refreshed. He asked permission to attend upon
Bahá’u’lláh. “It all depends,”
I answered, “on whether He grants you leave. God willing, you
shall be singled out for this cherished gift.”

A few days later, permission came, and he hastened to
the presence of Bahá’u’lláh. When
‘Abdu’r-Raḥím entered there, the spirit of
life was wafted over him. On his return, it was clear that this Ḥájí
had become a different Ḥájí entirely: he was in
the bloom of health. Nabíl was dumbfounded, and said: “How
life-giving, to a true believer, is this prison air!”

For some time, ‘Abdu’r-Raḥím
lived in the neighborhood. He spent his hours remembering and
praising God; he chanted prayers, and carefully attended to his
religious duties. Thus he saw few people. This servant paid special
attention to his needs, and ordered a light diet for him. But it all
came to an end with the Supreme Affliction, the ascension of
Bahá’u’lláh. There was anguish then, and
the noise of loud weeping. With his heart on fire, his eyes raining
tears, he struggled weakly to move about; so his days went by, and
always, he longed to make his exit from this rubbish heap, the world.
At last he broke away from the torment of his loss, and hurried on to
the Realm of God, and came to the assemblage of Divine splendor in
the Kingdom of Lights.

Unto him be salutations and praise, and mercy ineffable.
May God scatter on his resting-place rays from the mysterious Realm.

Ḥájí ‘Abdu’lláh
Najaf-Ábádí

Once he had become a believer, Ḥájí
‘Abdu’lláh left his native Persia, hastened to the
Holy Land, and under the sheltering grace of Bahá’u’lláh
found peace of heart. He was a man confident, steadfast and firm;
certain of the manifold bounties of God; of an excellent disposition
and character.

He spent his days in friendly association with the other
believers. Then for a while he went to Ghawr, near Tiberias,
where he farmed, both tilling the soil and devoting much of his time
to supplicating and communing with God. He was an excellent man,
high-minded and unsullied.

Later he returned from Ghawr, settled near
Bahá’u’lláh in Junayna, and came often into
His presence. His eyes were fixed on the Abhá Kingdom;
sometimes he would shed tears and moan, again he would rejoice, glad
because he had achieved his supreme desire. He was completely
detached from all but God, happy in God’s grace. He would keep
a vigil most of the night, remaining in a state of prayer. Then death
came at the appointed hour, and in the shadowing care of Bahá’u’lláh
he ascended, hurried away from this world of dust to the high
Firmament, soared upward to the secret land. Unto him be salutations,
mercy and praise, in the neighborhood of his exalted Lord.

Muḥammad-Hádíy-i-Ṣaḥḥáf

Yet one more among those who emigrated and came to
settle near Bahá’u’lláh was the bookbinder,
Muḥammad-Hádí. This noted man was from Iṣfáhán,
and as a binder and illuminator of books he had no peer. When he gave
himself up to the love of God he was alert on the path and fearless.
He abandoned his home and began a dreadful journey, passing with
extreme hardship from one country to another until he reached the
Holy Land and became a prisoner. He stationed himself by the Holy
Threshold, carefully sweeping it and keeping watch. Through his
constant efforts, the square in front of Bahá’u’lláh’s
house was at all times swept, sprinkled and immaculate.

Bahá’u’lláh would often glance
at that plot of ground, and then He would smile and say:
“Muḥammad-Hádí has turned the square in
front of this prison into the bridalbower of a palace. He has brought
pleasure to all the neighbors and earned their thanks.”

When his sweeping, sprinkling and tidying was done, he
would set to work illuminating and binding the various books and
Tablets. So his days went by, his heart happy in the presence of the
Beloved of mankind. He was an excellent soul, righteous, true, worthy
of the bounty of being united with his Lord, and free of the world’s
contagion.

One day he came to me and complained of a chronic
ailment. “I have suffered from chills and fever for two years,”
he said, “The doctors have prescribed a purgative, and quinine.
The fever stops a few days; then it returns. They give me more
quinine, but still the fever returns. I am weary of this life, and
can no longer do my work. Save me!”

“What food would you most enjoy?” I asked
him. “What would you eat with great appetite?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Jokingly, I
named off the different dishes. When I came to barley soup with whey
(ásh-i-kashk), he said, “Very good! But on
condition there is braised garlic in it.”

I directed them to prepare this for him, and I left. The
next day he presented himself and told me: “I ate a whole
bowlful of the soup. Then I laid my head on my pillow and slept
peacefully till morning.”

In short, from then on he was perfectly well for about
two years.

One day a believer came to me and said: “Muḥammad-Hádí
is burning up with fever.” I hurried to his bedside and found
him with a fever of 42 Centigrade. He was barely conscious. “What
has he done?” I asked. “When he became feverish,”
was the reply, “he said that he knew from experience what he
should do. Then he ate his fill of barley soup with whey and braised
garlic; and this was the result.”

I was astounded at the workings of fate. I told them:
“Because, two years ago, he had been thoroughly purged and his
system was clear; because he had a hearty appetite for it, and his
ailment was fever and chills, I prescribed the barley soup. But this
time, with the different foods he has had, with no appetite, and
especially with a high fever, there was no reason to diagnose the
previous chronic condition. How could he have eaten the soup!”
They answered, “It was fate.” Things had gone too far;
Muḥammad-Hádí was past saving.

He was a man short of stature, lofty of station and
mind. His heart was pure, his soul luminous. During all those days
when he served the Holy Threshold, he was loved by the friends and
favored by God. From time to time, a smile on His lips, the Blessed
Beauty would speak to him, expressing kindness and grace.

Muḥammad-Hádí was loyal always, and
he accounted all things other than God’s good pleasure as
fiction and fable, nothing more. Blessed is he for this gift bestowed
upon him, glad tidings to him for the place to which he shall be led;
may it do him good, this wine-cup tempered at the camphor fountain,
and may all his strivings meet with thanks and be acceptable to God.36

Mírzá Muḥammad-Qulí

Jináb-i-Mírzá Muḥammad-Qulí37
was a loyal brother of the Blessed Beauty. This great man was known
even from his childhood for nobility of soul. He was newly born when
his distinguished father passed away, and thus it came about that
from the beginning to the end of his days, he spent his life in the
sheltering arms of Bahá’u’lláh. He was
detached from every selfish thought, averse to every mention except
to whatever concerned the Holy Cause. He was reared in Persia under
the care of Bahá’u’lláh, and in ‘Iráq
as well, especially favored by Him. In the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
it was he who would pass around the tea; and he waited upon his
Brother at all times, by day and night. He was always silent. He
always held fast to the Covenant of “Am I not your Lord?”
He was encompassed by loving-kindness and bounty; day and night he
had access to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh;
he was invariably patient and forbearing, until in the end he reached
the very heights of Divine favor and acceptance.

He kept always to his own way of being. He traveled in
the company of Bahá’u’lláh; from ‘Iráq
to Constantinople he was with the convoy and at the halting-places it
was his task to pitch the tents. He served with the greatest
diligence, and did not know the meaning of lethargy or fatigue. In
Constantinople as well, and later in the Land of Mystery, Adrianople,
he continued on, in one and the same invariable condition.

With his peerless Lord, he then was exiled to the Akká
fortress, condemned by order of the Sulṭán to be
imprisoned forever.38
But he accepted in the same spirit all that came his way—comfort
and torment, hardship and respite, sickness and health; eloquently,
he would return thanks to the Blessed Beauty for His bounties,
uttering praise with a free heart and a face that shone like the sun.
Each morning and evening he waited upon Bahá’u’lláh,
delighting in and sustained by His presence; and mostly, he kept
silent.

When the Beloved of all mankind ascended to the Kingdom
of Splendors, Mírzá Muḥammad-Qulí remained
firm in the Covenant, shunning the craft, the malice and hypocrisy
which then appeared, devoting himself entirely to God, supplicating
and praying. To those who would listen he gave wise advice; and he
called to mind the days of the Blessed Beauty and grieved over the
fact that he himself lived on. After the departure of Bahá’u’lláh,
he did not draw an easeful breath; he kept company with no one, but
stayed by himself most of the time, alone in his small refuge,
burning with the fires of separation. Day by day he grew feebler,
more helpless, until at the last he soared away to the world of God.
Upon him be peace; upon him be praise and mercy, in the gardens of
Heaven. His luminous grave is in Naqíb, by Tiberias.

Ustád Báqir and Ustád
Aḥmad

And again among those who left their homeland were two
carpenters, Ustád Báqir and Ustád Aḥmad.
These two were brothers, of pure lineage, and natives of Káshán.
From the time when both became believers each held the other in his
embrace. They harkened to the voice of God, and to His cry of “Am
I not your Lord?” they replied, “Yea, verily!”

For a time they stayed on in their own country, occupied
with the remembrance of God, characterized by faith and knowledge,
respected by friend and stranger alike, known to all for
righteousness and trustworthiness, for austerity of life and the fear
of God. When the oppressor stretched forth his hands against them,
and tormented them beyond endurance, they emigrated to ‘Iráq,
to the sheltering care of Bahá’u’lláh. They
were two most blessed souls. For some time they remained in ‘Iráq,
praying in all lowliness, and supplicating God.

Then Ustád Aḥmad departed for Adrianople,
while Ustád Báqir remained in ‘Iráq and
was taken as a prisoner to Mosul. Ustád Aḥmad went on
with the party of Bahá’u’lláh to the Most
Great Prison, and Ustád Báqir emigrated from Mosul to
Akká. Both of the brothers were under the protection of God
and free from every earthly bond. In the prison, they worked at their
craft, keeping to themselves, away from friend and stranger alike.
Tranquil, dignified, confident, strong in faith, sheltered by the
All-Merciful, they happily spent their days. Ustád Báqir
was the first to die, and some time afterward his brother followed
him.

These two were firm believers, loyal, patient, at all
times thankful, at all times supplicating God in lowliness, with
their faces turned in His direction. During that long stay in the
prison they were never neglectful of duty, never at fault. They were
constantly joyful, for they had drunk deep of the holy cup; and when
they soared upward, out of the world, the friends mourned over them
and asked that by the grace of Bahá’u’lláh,
they should be favored and forgiven. These two were embosomed in
bounty, and Divinely sustained, and the Blessed Beauty was well
pleased with them both; with this provision for their journey, they
set out for the world to come. Upon them both be the glory of God the
All-Glorious; to each be a seat of truth39
in the Kingdom of Splendors.

Muḥammad Haná-Sab

This man of dignity and rank, Áqá
Muḥammad, was yet another among those who abandoned their
homes, and was one of the earliest believers. From the dawn tide, he
was widely known as a lover of the Most Great Light. He was then in
Iṣfáhán, and he shut his eyes to this world and
the next as well,40
and opened them to the beauty of Him Who is the embodiment of all
that is lovable.41

Áqá Muḥammad could no longer find
rest, for he had come alive through the musk-laden breathings of God;
his heart was alight, he could inhale the holy fragrance, he had an
eye to see, an ear to hear. He guided a number of souls, remaining
true and loyal to the great Cause. He endured terrible persecution
and torment, but did not falter. Then he found favor in the eyes of
the King of Martyrs and became a trusted attendant of the Beloved of
Martyrs,42
serving them for some years. He was confirmed in his work, so that on
many occasions the King of Martyrs expressed satisfaction with him,
saying, “This man is one of those souls who are at rest; he is
indeed well-pleased with his Lord, and well-pleasing unto Him.43
His faith is unalloyed, he loves God, he has a good character, and
leads a good life. He is also an agreeable companion, and an eloquent
one.”

After the King of Martyrs was put to death, Áqá
Muḥammad stayed on for a time in Iṣfáhán,
consumed with mourning for him. Finally he emigrated to the Most
Great Prison, where he was received by Bahá’u’lláh,
and won the high honor of sweeping the ground about the Threshold. He
was patient, forbearing, a true friend and companion. Then the
Supreme Affliction came upon us, and Áqá Muḥammad
was in such anguish that he was unable to rest for a moment. At every
dawn he would rise and would sweep the ground about the house of
Bahá’u’lláh, his tears pouring down like
rain, chanting prayers as he worked.

What a holy being he was, how great a man! He could not
bear the separation very long, but died, and hastened onward to the
world of lights, to the assemblage where the beauty of God is
unveiled. May God shed upon his grave rays from the realm of
forgiveness, and lull his spirit in the heart of Paradise. May God
exalt his station in the gardens above. His bright tomb is in Akká.

Ḥájí Faraju’lláh
Tafríshí

Yet another of those who came out of their homeland to
live in the neighborhood of Bahá’u’lláh was
Faraju’lláh of Tafrísh. This blessed
individual was from earliest youth the servant of Bahá’u’lláh,
and with his esteemed father, Áqá Lutfu’lláh,
he emigrated from Persia to Adrianople. Áqá Lutfu’lláh
was a staunch believer, lovingly devoted to the Blessed Beauty.
Patient, long-suffering, completely indifferent to this world and its
vanities, he lived content in the neighborhood of Bahá’u’lláh;
and then humbly at the Threshold, with a contrite heart, he abandoned
this fleeting life and soared away to the boundless realms beyond.
His sweet-scented dust is in Adrianople.

As for Ḥájí Faraju’lláh,
he lived on in that city, until the day when merciless oppressors
banished Bahá’u’lláh to Akká, and in
His company the Ḥájí came here to the Most Great
Prison. Later on, when hardship was changed into ease, he engaged in
trade, becoming a partner to Muḥammad-‘Alí of
Iṣfáhán. For some time he prospered and was
happy. Then he was given leave to go, and journeyed to India, where
he spent a long period before he winged his way into the gardens of
forgiveness, and entered the precincts of ineffable mercy.

This servant of the Blessed Beauty was one with the
believers in their afflictions and calamities; he had his share of
the anguish. The favors of Bahá’u’lláh
compassed him about, and he rejoiced in that boundless grace. He was
among the companions, a close associate of the friends, and he had a
docile heart. Although his body was thin and sickly, he was thankful,
accepted it, was patient, and endured the trials of God’s path.
Unto him be greetings and praise; may he receive Heavenly gifts and
blessings; upon him be the glory of God the All-Glorious. His pure
sepulcher is in Bombay, India.

Áqá Ibráhím-i-Iṣfáhání
and His Brothers

And among those who emigrated and came to settle in the
Holy Land was Áqá Ibráhím, one of four
honored brothers: Muḥammad-Ṣádiq;
Muḥammad-Ibráhím; Áqá Habíbu’lláh;
and Muḥammad-‘Alí. These four lived in Baghdád
with their paternal uncle, Áqá Muḥammad-Riḍá,
known as Árid. They all lived in the same house, and remained
together day and night. Bird-like, they shared the one nest; and they
were always fresh and full of grace, like flowers in a bed.

When the Ancient Beauty arrived in ‘Iráq
their house was in the neighborhood of His, and thus they had the joy
of watching Him as He came and went. Little by little the manner of
that Lord of hearts, what He did and what He did not do, and the
sight of His lovesome face, had its effect; they began to thirst
after the Faith and to seek His grace and favor. They presented
themselves at the door of His house, as if they were flowers blooming
there; and they were soon enamored of the light that shone out from
His brow, captives of the beauty of that dear Companion. They needed
no teacher, then; by themselves, they saw through the veils that had
blinded them before, and won the supreme desire of their hearts.

As commanded by the Blessed Beauty, Mírzá
Javád of Turshíz went to their house one night.
Mírzá Javád had hardly opened his mouth when
they accepted the Faith. They did not hesitate for an instant, for
they had amazing receptivity. This is what is meant by the Qur’ánic
verse: “…whose oil would well nigh shine out, even though
fire touched it not! It is light upon light.”44
That is, this oil is so fully prepared, so ready to be lit, that it
almost catches fire of itself, though no flame be at hand; which
means that the capacity for faith, and the deserving it, can be so
great, that without the communication of a single word the light
shines forth. This is how it was with those pure-hearted men; truly
they were loyal, staunch, and devoted to God.

The eldest brother, Muḥammad-Ṣádiq,
accompanied Bahá’u’lláh from ‘Iráq
to Constantinople, and from there to Adrianople, where he lived
happily for some time, close to his Lord. He was humble,
long-suffering, thankful; there was always a smile on his lips; he
was light of heart, and his soul was in love with Bahá’u’lláh.
Later he was given leave to return to ‘Iráq, for his
family was there, and he remained in that city for a while, dreaming
and remembering.

Then a great calamity occurred in ‘Iráq,
and all four brothers with their noble uncle were taken prisoner.
Victimized, captive, they were brought to Mosul. The uncle, Áqá
Muḥammad-Riḍá, was an old man, illumined of mind,
spiritual of heart, a man detached from all worldly things. He had
been extremely rich in ‘Iráq, enjoying comforts and
pleasures, but now in Hadba—Mosul—he became the chief
victim among the prisoners, and suffered dire need. He was destitute,
but remained dignified, patient, content, and thankful. Keeping to
himself in an out-of-the-way place, he praised God day and night
until he died. He gave up his heart to his heart’s Love, burst
from the shackles of this inconstant world and ascended to the
Kingdom that endures forever. May God immerse him in the waters of
forgiveness, make him to enter the garden of His compassion and good
pleasure, and keep him in Paradise till the end of time.

As for Muḥammad-Ṣádiq, he too, in
Mosul, was subjected to hardships on God’s path. He too was a
soul at rest, well-pleased with his Lord and well-pleasing unto Him.
In the end he too replied to the voice of the King of Glory: “Lord,
here am I!” and came to fulfill the verses: “O thou soul
who art well-assured, return unto thy Lord, well-pleased, and
well-pleasing unto Him. Enter thou among My servants; enter Thou My
Paradise.”45

And Muḥammad-‘Alí, once he was freed
from captivity, hastened from Mosul to the Holy Land, to the
precincts of inexhaustible grace. Here he still lives. Although he
suffers hardship, his heart is at peace. As for his brother Ibráhím,
referred to above, he also came on from Mosul to Akká, but to
a region close by. There with patience, calm, contentment, but
difficulty, he engaged in trade, meanwhile mourning the ascension of
Bahá’u’lláh by day and night. Lowly and
contrite, with his face turned toward the mysterious realms of God,
he wore his life away. At the end, consumed by the years, hardly able
to move about, he came to Haifa, where he found a corner of the
travelers’ hospice to live in, and spent his time humbly
calling upon God, entreating Him, offering praise. Little by little,
eaten away with age, his person began its dissolution, and at the end
he stripped off the garment of flesh and with his unclothed spirit
took flight to the realm of the All-Merciful. He was transported out
of this dark life into the shining air, and was plunged in a sea of
lights. May God brighten his grave with spreading rays, and lull his
spirit with the fannings of Divine compassion. Upon him be the mercy
of God, and His good pleasure.

As for Áqá Habíbu’lláh,
he too was made a captive in ‘Iráq and was banished away
to Mosul. For a long time, he lived in that city, subjected to
hardships, but remaining content, and his faith increasing day by
day. When famine came to Mosul life was harder than ever on the
outsiders, but in the remembrance of God their hearts were at rest,46
and their souls ate of food from Heaven. Thus they endured it all
with astonishing patience, and the people wondered at those strangers
in their midst who were neither distressed nor terrified as the
others were, and who continued to offer praise day and night. “What
amazing trust,” the people said, “they have in God!”

Habíb was a man with a great store of patience
and a joyous heart. He accustomed himself to exile and he lived in a
state of yearning love. After the departure from Baghdád,
the prisoners of Mosul were constantly made mention of by
Bahá’u’lláh; with regard to them, He
expressed His infinite favor. A few years afterward, Habíb
hastened away to the encompassing mercy of God, and found a nest and
refuge on the boughs of the celestial Tree. There, in the Paradise of
all delights, with wondrous songs he poured out his praise of the
bountiful Lord.

Áqá Muḥammad-Ibráhím

Muḥammad-Ibráhím, who bore the title
of Mansúr—Victorious—was a coppersmith. This man
of God, yet another among the emigrants and settlers, was a native of
Káshán. In the early flowering of his youth he
recognized the newborn Light and drank deep of the holy cup that is
“tempered at the camphor fountain.”47
He was a man of pleasing disposition, full of zest and the joy of
life. As soon as the light of faith was lit in his heart, he left
Káshán, journeyed to Baghdád, and
was honored with coming into the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.

Áqá Muḥammad had a fine poetic gift,
and he would create verses like stringed pearls. In Zawrá—that
is, Baghdád, the Abode of Peace—he was on
amicable terms with friend and stranger alike, ever striving to show
forth loving-kindness to all. He brought his brothers from Persia to
Baghdád, and opened a shop for arts and crafts,
applying himself to the welfare of others. He, too, was taken
prisoner and exiled from Baghdád to Mosul, after which
he journeyed to Haifa, where day and night, lowly and humble, he
chanted prayers and supplications and centered his thoughts on God.

He remained a long time in Haifa, successfully serving
the believers there, and most humbly and unobtrusively seeing to the
travelers’ needs. He married in that city, and fathered fine
children. To him every day was a new life and a new joy, and whatever
money he made he spent on strangers and friends. After the slaying of
the King of Martyrs, he wrote an elegy to memorialize that believer
who had fallen on the field of anguish, and recited his ode in the
presence of Bahá’u’lláh; the lines were
touching in the extreme, so that all who were there shed tears, and
voices were raised in grief.

Áqá Muḥammad continued to live out
his life, high of aim, unvarying as to his inner condition, with
fervor and love. Then he welcomed death, laughing like a rose
suddenly full-blown, and crying, “Here am I!” Thus he
quitted Haifa, exchanging it for the world above. From this narrow
slip of land he hastened upward to the Well-Beloved, soared out of
this dust heap to pitch his tent in a fair and shining place.
Blessings be unto him, and a goodly home.48
May God sheathe him in mercies; may he rest under the tabernacles of
forgiveness and be brought into the gardens of Heaven.

Zaynu’l-Ábidín
Yazdí

One of the emigrants who died along the way to the Holy
Land was Zaynu’l-Ábidín of Yazd. When, in
Manshad, this devoted man first heard the cry of God, he was
awakened to restless life. A holy passion stirred him, his soul was
made new. The light of guidance flamed from the lamp of his heart;
the love of God sparked a revolution in the country of his inner
self. Carried away by love for the Loved One’s beauty, he left
the home that was dear to him and set out for the Desired Land.

As he traveled along with his two sons, gladdened by
hopes of the meeting that would be his, he paused on every hilltop,
in every plain, village and hamlet to visit with the friends. But the
great distance stretching out before him changed to a sea of
troubles, and although his spirit yearned, his body weakened, and at
the end he sickened and turned helpless; all this when he was without
a home.

Sick as he was, he did not renounce the journey, nor
fail in his resolve; he had amazing strength of will, and was
determined to keep on; but the illness worsened with every passing
day, until at last he winged his way to the mercy of God, and yielded
up his soul in a longing unfulfilled.

Although to outward eyes he never drained the cup of
meeting, never gazed upon the beauty of Bahá’u’lláh,
still he achieved the very spirit of spiritual communion; he is
accounted as one of those who attained the Presence, and for him the
reward of those who reached that Presence is fixed and ordained. He
was a stainless soul, faithful, devoted and true. He never drew a
breath except in righteousness, and his single desire was to worship
his Lord. He walked the ways of love; he was known to all for
steadfast loyalty and pure intent. May God fill up reunion’s
cup for him in a fair country, make him to enter the everlasting
Kingdom, and console his eyes with beholding the lights of that
mysterious Realm.

Ḥájí Mullá
Mihdíy-i-Yazdí

Yet another who left his homeland was Mullá Mihdí
of Yazd. Although to all appearances this excellent man was not of
the learned class, he was an expert in the field of Muslim sacred
traditions and an eloquent interpreter of orally transmitted texts.
Persevering in his devotions, known for holy practices and nightly
communings and vigils, his heart was illumined, and he was spiritual
of mind and soul. He spent most of his time repeating communes,
performing the obligatory prayers, confessing his failings and
supplicating the Lord. He was one of those who penetrate mysteries,
and was a confidant of the righteous. As a teacher of the Faith he
was never at a loss for words, forgetting, as he taught, all
restraint, pouring forth one upon another sacred traditions and
texts.

When news of him spread around the town and he was
everywhere charged, by prince and pauper alike, with bearing this new
name, he freely declared his adherence and on this account was
publicly disgraced. Then the evil ‘ulamás of Yazd rose
up, issuing a decree that he must die. Since the mujtahid, Mullá
Báqir of Ardikán, refused to confirm the sentence of
those dark divines, Mullá Mihdí lived on, but was
forced to leave his native home. With his two sons, one the great
martyr-to-be, Jináb-i-Varqá, and the other
Jináb-i-Ḥusayn, he set out for the country of his
Well-Beloved. In every town and village along the way, he ably spread
the Faith, adducing clear arguments and proofs, quoting from and
interpreting the sacred traditions and evident signs.49
He did not rest for a moment; everywhere he shed abroad the attar of
the love of God, and diffused the sweet breathings of holiness. And
he inspired the friends, making them eager to teach others in their
turn, and to excel in knowledge.

He was an eminent soul, with his heart fixed on the
beauty of God. From the day he was first created and came into this
world, he single-mindedly devoted all his efforts to acquiring grace
for the day he should be born into the next.50
His heart was illumined, his mind spiritual, his soul aspiring, his
destination Heaven. He was imprisoned along his way; and as he
crossed the deserts and climbed and descended the mountain slopes he
endured terrible, uncounted hardships. But the light of faith shone
from his brow and in his breast the longing was aflame, and thus he
joyously, gladly passed over the frontiers until at last he came to
Beirut. In that city, ill, restive, his patience gone, he spent some
days. His yearning grew, and his agitation was such that weak and
sick as he was, he could wait no more.

He set out on foot for the house of Bahá’u’lláh.
Because he lacked proper shoes for the journey, his feet were bruised
and torn; his sickness worsened; he could hardly move, but still he
went on; somehow he reached the village of Mazra’ih and here,
close by the Mansion, he died. His heart found his Well-Beloved One,
when he could bear the separation no more. Let lovers be warned by
his story; let them know how he gambled away his life in his yearning
after the Light of the World. May God give him to drink of a brimming
cup in the everlasting gardens; in the Supreme Assemblage, may God
shed upon his face rays of light. Upon him be the glory of the Lord.
His sanctified tomb is in Mazra’ih, beside Akká. His
Eminence Kalím (Mírzá Músá)

Jináb-i-Mírzá Músá
was the true brother of Bahá’u’lláh, and
from earliest childhood he was reared in the sheltering embrace of
the Most Great Name. He drank in the love of God with his mother’s
milk; when yet a suckling, he showed an extraordinary attachment to
the Blessed Beauty. At all times he was the object of Divine grace,
favor and loving-kindness. After their distinguished father died,
Mírzá Músá was brought up by Bahá’u’lláh,
growing to maturity in the haven of His care. Day by day, the youth’s
servitude and devotion increased. In all things, he lived according
to the commandments, and he was entirely severed from any thoughts of
this world.

Like a bright lamp, he shone out in that Household. He
wished neither rank nor office, and had no worldly aims at all. His
one supreme desire was to serve Bahá’u’lláh,
and for this reason he was never separated from his Brother’s
presence. No matter what torments the others inflicted, his loyalty
equaled the cruelty of the rest, for he had drunk the wine of
unadulterated love.

Then the voice was heard, crying out of Shíráz,
and from a single utterance of Bahá’u’lláh’s
his heart was filled with light, and from a single gust that blew
over the gardens of faith, he caught the fragrance. At once, he began
to serve the friends. He had an extraordinary attachment to me, and
was at all times concerned for my well-being. In Ṭihrán
he occupied himself day and night with propagating the Faith and
gradually became well known to everyone; habitually he spent his time
in the company of blessed souls.

Bahá’u’lláh then left Ṭihrán,
journeying to ‘Iráq, and of His brothers the two who
were in His company were Áqáy-i-Kalím51
and Mírzá Muḥammad-Qulí. They turned their
faces away from Persia and the Persians, and closed their eyes to
comfort and peace; in the Beloved’s path they chose with all
their hearts to bear whatever calamity should be their lot.

Thus they arrived in ‘Iráq. During the days
when Bahá’u’lláh had vanished from sight,
that is, when He was on the journey to Kurdistán, Áqáy-i-Kalím
lived on the edge of an abyss; his life was constantly in danger, and
each day that passed was worse than the one before; still, he bore it
all, and knew no fear. When at last the Blessed Beauty returned out
of Kurdistán, Áqáy-i-Kalím resumed his
post by the Holy Threshold, rendering every service within his power.
For this he became known far and wide. At the time when Bahá’u’lláh
left Baghdád for Constantinople, Áqáy-i-Kalím
was with Him and continued to serve along the way, as he did on the
further journey from Constantinople to Adrianople.

It was during the sojourn in this latter city that he
detected from Mírzá Yaḥyá the odor of
rebellion. Day and night he tried to make him mend his ways, but all
to no avail. On the contrary, it was astonishing how, like a deadly
poison, the temptings and satanic suggestions of Siyyid Muḥammad
worked on Mírzá Yaḥyá, so that
Áqáy-i-Kalím finally abandoned hope. Even then
he never ceased trying, thinking that somehow, perhaps, he could
still the tempest and rescue Mírzá Yaḥyá
from the gulf. His heart was worn away with despair and grief. He
tried everything he knew. At last he had to admit the truth of these
words of Saná’í:

When all hope was gone, he ended the relationship,
saying: “O my brother, if others are in doubt as to this
affair, you and I both know the truth. Have you forgotten the
loving-kindness of Bahá’u’lláh, and how He
trained us both? What care He took with your lessons and your
penmanship; how constantly He saw to your spelling and your
composition, and encouraged you to practice the different
calligraphic styles; He even guided your copy with His own blessed
fingers. Who does not know how He showered favors on you, how He
brought you up in the haven of His embrace. Is this your thanks for
all His tenderness—that you plot with Siyyid Muḥammad and
desert the shelter of Bahá’u’lláh? Is this
your loyalty? Is this the right return for all His love?” The
words had no effect whatever; on the contrary, with each passing day,
Mírzá Yaḥyá disclosed a greater measure of
his concealed intent. Then at the end, the final rupture took place.

From Adrianople, Áqáy-i-Kalím went
on with the convoy of Bahá’u’lláh, to the
fortress of Akká. His name was specifically listed in the
Sulṭán’s decree, and he was condemned to perpetual
banishment.52
He devoted all his time in the Most Great Prison to serving
Bahá’u’lláh, and had the honor of being
continually in his Brother’s presence, also keeping company
with the believers; until at last he left this world of dust and
hastened to the holy world above, dying with lowliness and
contrition, as he supplicated his Lord.

It happened that during the Baghdád
period, the well-known Ílkhání, son of
Músá Khán-i-Qazvíní,
received through Siyyid Javád-i-Tabátabá’í
an audience with Bahá’u’lláh. Siyyid Javád
on that occasion made a plea in the Ílkhání’s
behalf, saying: “This Ílkhání,
‘Alí-Qulí Khán, although a sinner
and a lifelong creature of his passions, has now repented. He stands
before You with regret as to his former ways, and from this day
forward he will not so much as draw a breath that might be contrary
to Your good pleasure. I beg of You, accept his repentance; make him
the object of Your grace and favor.”

Bahá’u’lláh replied: “Because
he has chosen you as intercessor, I will hide away his sins, and I
will take steps to bring him comfort and peace of mind.”

The Ílkhání had been a man
of unlimited wealth, but he had wasted it all on the desires of the
flesh. He was now destitute, to such a point that he did not even
dare to step outside his house, because of the creditors waiting
there to fall upon him. Bahá’u’lláh
directed him to go to Umar Páshá, the Governor
of Damascus, and obtain from him a letter of recommendation to
Constantinople. The Ílkhání complied, and
he received every assistance from the Governor of Baghdád.
After utter despair, he began to hope again, and left for
Constantinople. When he arrived at Díyárbakr53
he penned a letter on behalf of two Armenian merchants. “These
two are about to leave for Baghdád,” his letter
said. “They have shown me every courtesy, and have also asked
me for an introduction. I had no refuge or shelter except Your
bounty; thus I beg of You to show them favor.” The
superscription, that is, the address he had written on the envelope
was: “To His Eminence Bahá’u’lláh,
Leader of the Bábís.” The merchants presented
this letter to Bahá’u’lláh at the head of
the bridge, and when He inquired about it their reply was: “In
Díyárbakr, the Ílkhání gave
us particulars as to this Cause.” Then they accompanied Him to
His house.

When the Blessed Beauty entered the family apartments,
Áqáy-i-Kalím was there to meet Him. Bahá’u’lláh
cried out, “Kalím, Kalím! The fame of the Cause
of God has reached as far as Díyárbakr!” And He
was smiling, jubilant.

Mírzá Músá was indeed a true
brother to the Blessed Beauty; this is why he remained steadfast,
under all conditions, to the very end. Unto him be praise and
salutations, and the breath of life, and glory; upon him be mercy and
grace.

Ḥájí Muḥammad
Khán

Another of those who left their homes and came to settle
in the neighborhood of Bahá’u’lláh was Ḥájí
Muḥammad Khán. This distinguished man, a native
of Sístán, was a Balúch. When he was very
young, he caught fire and became a mystic—an árif, or
adept. As a wandering dervish, completely selfless, he went out from
his home and, following the dervish rule, traveled about in search of
his murshíd, his perfect leader. For he yearned, as the
Qalandar dervishes would say, to discover that “priest of the
Magi,” or spiritual guide.

Far and wide, he carried on his search. He would speak
to everyone he met. But what he longed for was the sweet scent of the
love of God, and this he was unable to detect in anyone, whether
Gnostic or philosopher, or member of the Shaykhí
sect. All he could see in the dervishes was their tufted beards, and
their palms-up religion of beggary. They were “dervish”—poor
in all save God—in name only; all they cared about, it seemed
to him, was whatever came to hand. Nor did he find illumination among
the Illuminati; he heard nothing from them but idle argument. He
observed that their grandiloquence was not eloquence and that their
subtleties were but windy figures of speech. Truth was not there; the
core of inner meaning was absent. For true philosophy is that which
produces rewards of excellence, and among these learned men there was
no such fruit to be found; at the peak of their accomplishment, they
became the slaves of vice, led an unconcerned life and were given
over to personal characteristics that were deserving of blame. To
him, of all that constitutes the high, distinguishing quality of
humankind, they were devoid.

As for the Shaykhí group, their
essence was gone, only the dregs remained; the kernel of them had
vanished, leaving the shell behind; most of their dialectics was
lumber and superfluities by now.

Thus at the very moment when he heard the call from the
Kingdom of God, he shouted, “Yea, verily!” and he was off
like the desert wind. He traveled over vast distances, arrived at the
Most Great Prison and attained the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
When his eyes fell upon that bright Countenance he was instantly
enslaved. He returned to Persia so that he could meet with those
people who professed to be following the Path, those friends of other
days who were seeking out the Truth, and deal with them as his
loyalty and duty required.

Both going and returning, the Ḥájí
betook himself to each one of his friends, foregathered with them,
and let each one hear the new song from Heaven. He reached his
homeland and set his family’s affairs in order, providing for
all, seeing to the security, happiness and comfort of each one. After
that he bade them all goodby. To his relatives, his wife, children,
kin, he said: “Do not look for me again; do not wait for my
return.”

He took up a staff and wandered away; over the mountains
he went, across the plains, seeking and finding the mystics, his
friends. On his first journey, he went to the late Mírzá
Yúsúf Khán (Mustawfíyu’l-Mámalík),
in Ṭihrán. When he had said his say, Yúsúf
Khán expressed a wish, and declared that should it be
fulfilled, he would believe; the wish was to be given a son. Should
such a bounty become his, Yúsúf Khán
would be won over. The Ḥájí reported this to
Bahá’u’lláh, and received a firm promise in
reply. Accordingly, when the Ḥájí met with Yúsúf
Khán on his second journey, he found him with a child
in his arms. “Mírzá,” the Ḥájí
cried, “praise be to God! Your test has demonstrated the Truth.
You snared your bird of joy.” “Yes,” answered Yúsúf
Khán, “the proof is clear. I am convinced. This
year, when you go to Bahá’u’lláh, say that
I implore His grace and favor for this child, so that it may be kept
safe in the sheltering care of God.”

Ḥájí Muḥammad then went to the
blissful future martyr, the King of Martyrs, and asked him to
intercede, so that he, the Ḥájí, might be allowed
to keep watch at the doorway of Bahá’u’lláh.
The King of Martyrs sent in this request by letter, after which Ḥájí
Khán duly arrived at the Most Great Prison and made his
home in the neighborhood of his loving Friend. He enjoyed this honor
for a long time, and later, in the Mazra’ih garden as well, he
was very frequently in Bahá’u’lláh’s
presence. After the Beloved had ascended, Ḥájí
Khán remained faithful to the Covenant and Testament,
shunning the hypocrites. At last, when this servant was absent on the
journeys to Europe and America, the Ḥájí made his
way to the travelers’ hospice at the Hazíratu’l-Quds;
and here, beside the Shrine of the Báb, he took his flight to
the world above.

May God refresh his spirit with the musk-scented air of
the Abhá Paradise, and the sweet savors of holiness that blow
from the highest Heaven. Unto him be greetings and praise. His bright
tomb is in Haifa.

Áqá Muḥammad-Ibráhím
Amír

Muḥammad-Ibráhím Amír came
from Nayríz. He was a blessed person; he was like a cup filled
with the red wine of faith. At the time when he was first made
captive by the tender Loved One, he was in the flower of his youth.
Then he fell a prey to the oppressors, and following the upheaval in
Nayríz and all the suffering, his persecutors laid hold of
him. Three farráshes pinned his arms and tied his hands
behind him; but the Amír by main strength burst his bonds,
snatched a dagger from a farrásh’s belt, saved
himself and ran away to ‘Iráq. There he engaged in
writing down the sacred verses and later won the honor of serving at
the Holy Threshold. Constant and steadfast, he remained on duty day
and night. During the journey from Baghdád to
Constantinople, from there to Adrianople, and from there to the Most
Great Prison, he was always at hand to serve. He married the handmaid
of God, Habíbih, who also served at the Threshold, and his
daughter Badí’ih became the helpmeet of the late
Ḥusayn-Áqá Qahvih-chí.

Thus the Amír was steadfast in service throughout
his life; but after the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh
his health steadily declined, and at last he left this world of dust
behind him and hastened away to the unsullied world above. May God
illumine the place where he rests with rays from the all-highest
Realm. Unto him be salutations and praise. His bright shrine is in
Akká.

Mírzá Mihdíy-i-Káshání

This honored man, Mírzá Mihdí, was
from Káshán. In early youth, under his father’s
tutelage, he had studied sciences and arts, and had become skilled in
composing both prose and verse, as well as in producing calligraphy
in the style known as shikastih.54
He was singled out from his fellows, head and shoulders above the
rest. When still a child, he learned of the Lord’s Advent,
caught fire with love, and became one of those who “gave their
all to purchase Joseph.” He was chief of the yearning seekers,
lord of lovers; eloquently, he began to teach the Faith, and to prove
the validity of the Manifestation.

He made converts; and because he yearned after God, he
became a laughingstock in Káshán, disparaged by
friend and stranger alike, exposed to the taunts of his faithless
companions. One of them said: “He has lost his mind.” And
another: “He is a public disgrace. Fortune has turned against
him. He is done for.” The bullies mocked him, and spared him
nothing. When life became untenable, and open war broke out, he left
his homeland and journeyed to ‘Iráq, the focal center of
the new Light, where he gained the presence of all mankind’s
Beloved.

He spent some time here, in the friends’ company,
composing verses that sang the praises of Bahá’u’lláh.
Later he was given leave to return home, and went back to live for a
while in Káshán. But again, he was plagued by
yearning love, and could bear the separation no more. He returned,
therefore, to Baghdád, bringing with him his respected
sister, the third consort55
.

Here he remained, under the bountiful protection of
Bahá’u’lláh, until the convoy left ‘Iráq
for Constantinople, at which time Mírzá Mihdí
was directed to remain behind and guard the Holy House. Restless,
consumed with longing, he stayed on. When the friends were banished
from Baghdád to Mosul, he was among the prisoners, a
victim along with the others. With the greatest hardship, he got to
Mosul, and here fresh calamities awaited him; he was ill almost all
the time, he was an outcast, and destitute. Still he endured it for a
considerable period, was patient, retained his dignity, and
continually offered thanks. Finally he could bear the absence of
Bahá’u’lláh no longer. He sought
permission, was granted leave to come, and set out for the Most Great
Prison.

Because the way was long and hard, and he suffered
cruelly on the journey, when he finally reached the Akká
prison he was almost helpless, and worn to the bone. It was during
the time when the Blessed Beauty was imprisoned within the citadel,
at the center of the barracks. Despite the terrible hardships, Mírzá
Mihdí spent some days here, in great joy. To him, the
calamities were favors, the tribulations were Divine Providence, the
chastisement abounding grace; for he was enduring all this on the
pathway of God, and seeking to win His good pleasure. His illness
worsened; from day to day he failed; then at the last, under
sheltering grace, he took his flight to the inexhaustible mercy of
the Lord.

This noble personage had been honored among men, but for
God’s love he lost both name and fame. He bore manifold
misfortunes with never a complaint. He was content with God’s
decrees, and walked the ways of resignation. The glance of
Bahá’u’lláh’s favor was upon him; he
was close to the Divine Threshold. Thus, from the beginning of his
life till the end, he remained in one and the same inner state:
immersed in an ocean of submission and consent. “O my Lord,
take me, take me!” he would cry, until at last he soared away
to the world that no man sees.

May God cause him to inhale the sweet scent of holiness
in the highest Paradise, and refresh him with the crystalline wine
cup, tempered at the camphor fountain.56
Unto him be salutations and praise. His fragrant tomb is in Akká.

Mishkín-Qalam

Among the exiles, neighbors, and prisoners there was
also a second Mír Imád,57
the eminent calligrapher, Mishkín-Qalam.58
He wielded a musk-black pen, and his brows shone with faith. He was
among the most noted of mystics, and had a witty and subtle mind. The
fame of this spiritual wayfarer reached out to every land. He was the
leading calligrapher of Persia and well known to all the great; he
enjoyed a special position among the court ministers of Ṭihrán,
and with them he was solidly established.59
He was famed throughout Asia Minor; his pen was the wonder of all
calligraphers, for he was adept at every calligraphic style. He was
besides, for human virtues, a bright star.

This highly accomplished man first heard of the Cause of
God in Iṣfáhán, and the result was that he set
out to find Bahá’u’lláh. He crossed the
great distances, measured out the miles, climbing mountains, passing
over deserts and over the sea, until at last he came to Adrianople.
Here he reached the heights of faith and assurance; here he drank the
wine of certitude. He responded to the summons of God, he attained
the presence of Bahá’u’lláh, he ascended to
that apogee where he was received and accepted. By now he was reeling
to and fro like a drunkard in his love for God, and because of his
violent desire and yearning, his mind seemed to wander. He would be
raised up, and then cast down again; he was as one distracted. He
spent some time under the sheltering grace of Bahá’u’lláh,
and every day new blessings were showered upon him. Meanwhile he
produced his splendid calligraphs; he would write out the Most Great
Name, Yá Bahá’u’l-Abhá, O Thou Glory
of the All-Glorious, with marvelous skill, in many different forms,
and would send them everywhere.60

He was then directed to go on a journey to
Constantinople, and set out with Jináb-i-Sáyyah. When
he reached that Great City, the leading Persians and Turks received
him with every honor at first, and they were captivated by his jet
black, calligraphic art. He, however, began boldly and eloquently to
teach the Faith. The Persian ambassador lurked in ambush; betaking
himself to the Sulṭán’s vazírs he slandered
Mishkín-Qalam. “This man is an agitator,”
the ambassador told them, “sent here by Bahá’u’lláh
to stir up trouble and make mischief in this Great City. He has
already won over a large company, and he intends to subdue still
more. These Bahá’ís turned Persia upside down;
now they have started in on the capital of Turkey. The Persian
Government put 20,000 of them to the sword, hoping by this tactic to
quench the fires of sedition. You should awaken to the danger; soon
this perverse thing will blaze up here as well. It will consume the
harvest of your life; it will burn up the whole world. Then you can
do nothing, for it will be too late.”

Actually that mild and submissive man, in that throne
city of Asia Minor, was occupied solely with his calligraphy and his
worship of God. He was striving to bring about not sedition but
fellowship and peace. He was seeking to reconcile the followers of
different faiths, not to drive them still further apart. He was of
service to strangers and was helping to educate the native people. He
was a refuge to the hapless and a horn of plenty to the poor. He
invited all comers to the oneness of humankind; he shunned hostility
and malice.

The Persian ambassador, however, wielded enormous power,
and he had maintained close ties with the ministers for a very long
time. He prevailed on a number of persons to insinuate themselves
into various gatherings and there to make every kind of false charge
against the believers. Urged on by the oppressors, spies began to
surround Mishkín-Qalam. Then, as instructed by the
ambassador, they carried reports to the Prime Minister, stating that
the individual in question was stirring up mischief day and night,
that he was a trouble maker, a rebel and a criminal. The result was,
they jailed him and they sent him away to Gallipoli, where he joined
our own company of victims. They despatched him to Cyprus and
ourselves to the Akká prison. On the island of Cyprus,
Jináb-i-Mishkín was held prisoner in the citadel
at Famagusta, and in this city he remained, a captive, from the year
85 till 94.

When Cyprus passed out of Turkish hands, Mishkín-Qalam
was freed and betook himself to his Well-Beloved in the city of Akká,
and here he lived encompassed by the grace of Bahá’u’lláh,
producing his marvelous calligraphs and sending them about. He was at
all times joyous of spirit, ashine with the love of God, like a
candle burning its life away, and he was a consolation to all the
believers.

After the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh,
Mishkín-Qalam remained loyal, solidly established in
the Covenant. He stood before the violators like a brandished sword.
He would never go half way with them; he feared no one but God; not
for a moment did he falter, nor ever fail in service.

Following the ascension he made a journey to India,
where he associated with the lovers of truth. He spent some time
there, making fresh efforts every day. When I learned that he was
getting helpless, I sent for him at once and he came back to this
Most Great Prison, to the joy of the believers, who felt blessed to
have him here again. He was at all times my close companion. He had
amazing verve, intense love. He was a compendium of perfections:
believing, confident, serene, detached from the world, a peerless
companion, a wit—and his character like a garden in full bloom.
For the love of God, he left all good things behind; he closed his
eyes to success, he wanted neither comfort nor rest, he sought no
wealth, he wished only to be free from the defilement of the world.
He had no ties to this life, but spent his days and nights
supplicating and communing with God. He was always smiling,
effervescing; he was spirit personified, love embodied. For sincerity
and loyalty he had no match, nor for patience and inner calm. He was
selflessness itself, living on the breaths of the spirit.

If he had not been in love with the Blessed Beauty, if
he had not set his heart on the Realm of Glory, every worldly
pleasure could have been his. Wherever he went, his many calligraphic
styles were a substantial capital, and his great accomplishment
brought him attention and respect from rich and poor alike. But he
was hopelessly enamored of man’s one true Love, and thus he was
free of all those other bonds, and could float and soar in the
spirit’s endless sky.

Finally, when I was absent, he left this darksome,
narrow world and hastened away to the land of lights. There, in the
haven of God’s boundless mercy, he found infinite rewards. Unto
him be praise and salutations, and the Supreme Companion’s
tender grace.

Ustád ‘Alí-Akbar-i-Najjár

Ustád ‘Alí-Akbar, the
Cabinet-Maker,61
was numbered among the just, a prince of the righteous. He was one of
Persia’s earliest believers and a leading member of that
company. From the beginning of the Cause a trusted confidant, he
loosed his tongue to proclaim the Faith. He informed himself as to
its proofs, and went deep into its Scriptures. He was also a gifted
poet, writing odes in eulogy of Bahá’u’lláh.

Exceptionally skilled in his craft, Ustád
produced highly ingenious work, fashioning carpentry that, for
intricacy and precision, resembled mosaic inlay. He was expert in
mathematics as well, solving and explaining difficult problems.

From Yazd, this revered man traveled to ‘Iráq,
where he achieved the honor of entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and received abundant grace. The Blessed Beauty showered favors upon
Ustád ‘Alí, who entered His presence almost every
day. He was one of those who were exiled from Baghdád
to Mosul, and he endured severe hardships there. He remained a long
time in Mosul, in extremely straitened circumstances but resigned to
the will of God, always in prayer and supplication, and with a
thankful tongue.

Finally he came from Mosul to the Holy Shrine and here
by the tomb of Bahá’u’lláh he would
meditate and pray. In the dark of the night, restless and uneasy, he
would lament and cry out; when he was supplicating God his heart
burned within him; his eyes would shed their tears, and he would lift
up his voice and chant. He was completely cut off from this dust
heap, this mortal world. He shunned it, he asked but one thing—to
soar away; and he hoped for the promised recompense to come. He could
not bear for the Light of the World to have disappeared, and what he
sought was the paradise of reunion with Him, and what his eyes
hungered to behold was the glory of the Abhá Realm. At last
his prayer was answered and he rose upward into the world of God, to
the gathering-place of the splendors of the Lord of Lords.

Upon him be God’s benediction and praise, and may
God bring him into the abode of peace, as He has written in His book:
“For them is an abode of peace with their Lord.”62
“And to those who serve Him, is God full of kindness.”63

Shaykh
‘Alí-Akbar-i-Mazgání

This chief of free souls, of wanderers for the love of
God, was only an infant when, in Mazgán, he was suckled at the
breast of grace. He was a child of the eminent scholar,
Shaykh-i-Mazgání; his noble father was
one of the leading citizens of Qamsar, near Káshán,
and for piety, holiness, and the fear of God he had no peer. This
father embodied all the qualities that are worthy of praise; moreover
his ways were pleasing, his disposition good, he was an excellent
companion, and for all these things he was well known. When he threw
off restraint and openly declared himself a believer, the faithless,
whether friend or stranger, turned their backs on him and began to
plot his death. But he continued to further the Cause, to alert the
people’s hearts, and to welcome the newcomers as generously as
ever. Thus in Káshán the fame of his strong
faith reached as high as the Milky Way. Then the pitiless aggressors
rose up, plundered his possessions and killed him.

‘Alí-Akbar, the son of him who had laid
down his life in the pathway of God, could live in that place no
longer. Had he remained, he too, like his father, would have been put
to the sword. He passed some time in ‘Iráq, and received
the honor of being in the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
Then he went back to Persia, but again he longed to look upon
Bahá’u’lláh, and with his wife he set out
over the deserts and mountains, sometimes riding, sometimes on foot,
measuring off the miles, passing from one shore to the other,
reaching the Holy Place at last and in the shade of the Divine
Lote-Tree finding safety and peace.

When the beauty of the Desired One had vanished from
this world, ‘Alí-Akbar remained loyal to the Covenant
and prospered under the grace of God. By disposition and because of
the intense love in his heart, he yearned to write poetry, to fashion
odes and ghazáls, but he lacked both meter and rhyme:

With rapturous longing, his heart
desired the realms of his compassionate Lord; consumed by burning
love, he left this world at last, and pitched his tent in the world
above. May God send down upon his grave, from the Kingdom of His
forgiveness, a heavy rain64
of blessings, bestow a great victory upon him, and grant him mercies,
pressed down and running over, in the retreats of Heaven.

Mírzá Muḥammad,
the Servant at the Travelers’ Hospice

This youth of God was from Iṣfáhán,
and from an early age was known to its leading divines for his
excellent mind. He was of gentle birth, his family was known and
respected, and he was an accomplished scholar. He had profited from
philosophy and history alike, from sciences and arts, but he thirsted
after the secret of reality, and longed for knowledge of God. His
feverish thirst was not allayed by the arts and sciences, however
limpid those waters. He kept on seeking, seeking, carrying on debates
in gatherings of learned men until at last he discovered the meaning
of his longing dream, and the enigma, the inviolable secret, lay open
before him. Suddenly he caught the scent of fresh flowers from the
gardens of the splendor of God, and his heart was ashine with a ray
from the Sun of Truth. Whereas before, he was like a fish taken from
the water, now he had come to the wellspring of eternal life; before,
he was a questing moth; now he had found the candle flame. A true
seeker after truth, he was instantly revived by the supreme Glad
Tidings; his heart’s eye was brightened by the new dawn of
guidance. So blinding was the fire of Divine love that he turned his
face away from his life, its peace, its blessings, and set out for
the Most Great Prison.

In Iṣfáhán he had enjoyed every
comfort, and the world was good to him. Now his yearning for
Bahá’u’lláh freed him from all other bonds.
He passed over the long miles, suffered intense hardships, exchanged
a palace for a prison, and in the Akká fortress assisted the
believers and attended upon and served Bahá’u’lláh.
He who had been waited upon, now waited on others; he who had been
the master was now the servant, he who had once been a leader was now
a captive. He had no rest, no leisure, day or night. To the travelers
he was a trusted refuge; to the settlers, a companion without peer.
He served beyond his strength, for he was filled with love of the
friends. The travelers were devoted to him, and the settlers
grateful. And because he was continuously busy, he kept silent at all
times.

Then the Supreme Affliction came upon us and the absence
of Bahá’u’lláh was not to be endured. Mírzá
Muḥammad could not stay quiet, day or night. He wasted away,
like a candle burning down; from the fiery anguish, his liver and
heart were inflamed, and his body could bear no more. He wept and
supplicated day and night, yearning to soar away to that undiscovered
country. “Lord, free me, free me from this absence,” he
would cry, “let me drink of reunion’s cup, find me a
lodging in the shelter of Thy mercy, Lord of Lords!”

At last he quit this dust heap, the earth, and took his
flight to the world that has no end. May it do him good, that cup
brimming with the grace of God, may he eat with healthy relish of
that food which gives life to heart and soul. May God lead him to
that happy journey’s end and grant him an abundant share in the
gifts which shall then be bestowed.65

Mírzá Muḥammad-i-Vakíl

One of the captives who were sent on from Baghdád
to Mosul was Mírzá Muḥammad-i-Vakíl. This
righteous soul was among those who became believers in Baghdád.
It was there he drank from the cup of resignation to the will of God
and sought his rest in the shade of the celestial Tree. He was a man
high-minded and worthy of trust. He was also an extremely capable and
energetic administrator of important affairs, famous in ‘Iráq
for his wise counsel. After he became a believer, he was
distinguished by the title of Vakíl—deputy. It happened
in this way:

There was a notable in Baghdád by the name
of Ḥájí Mírzá Hádí,
the jeweler. He had a distinguished son, Áqá Mírzá
Músá, who had received from Bahá’u’lláh
the title “Letter of Eternity.” This son had become a
staunch believer. As for his father, the Ḥájí, he
was a princely individual known for his lavish open-handedness not
only in Persia and ‘Iráq but as far away as India. To
begin with he had been a Persian vazír; but when he saw how
the late Fatḥ-‘Alí Sháh eyed worldly
riches, particularly the worldly riches of Persian vazírs, and
how he snatched whatever they had accumulated, and how, not content
with confiscating their costly vanities and lumber, he punished and
tortured them right and left, calling it a legal penalty—the
Ḥájí dreaded that he too might be catapulted into
the abyss. He abandoned his position as vazír, and his
mansion, and fled to Baghdád. Fatḥ-‘Alí
Sháh demanded that the Governor of Baghdád,
Dávúd Páshá, send him back, but
the Páshá was a man of courage and the Ḥájí
was widely known for his able mind. Accordingly, the Páshá
respected and helped him and the Ḥájí set up in
business as a jeweler. He lived with pomp and splendor, like a great
prince. He was one of the most remarkable men of his time, for within
his palace he carried on a life of gratification and opulence, but he
left his pomp, style and retinue behind, occupied himself with his
business affairs and realized great profits.

The door of his house was always open. Turks and
Persians, neighbors, strangers from far places, all were his honored
guests. Most of Persia’s great, when they came on pilgrimage to
the Holy Shrines, would stop at his house, where they would find a
banquet laid out, and every luxury ready to hand. The Ḥájí
was, indeed, more distinguished than Persia’s Grand Vazír;
he outshone all the vazírs for magnificence, and as the days
passed by he dispensed ever more largesse to all who came and went.
He was the pride of the Persians throughout ‘Iráq, the
glory of his fellow nationals. Even on the Turkish vazírs and
ministers and the grandees of Baghdád he bestowed gifts
and favors; and for intelligence and perceptivity he had no equal.

Because of the Ḥájí’s
advancing years, toward the end of his days his business affairs
declined. Still, he made no change in his way of life. Exactly as
before, he continued to live with elegance. The prominent would
borrow heavily from him, and never pay him back. One of them, the
mother of Áqá Khán Maḥallátí,
borrowed 100,000 túmans66
from him and did not repay one penny, for she died soon after. The
Íl-Khán, ‘Alí-Qulí Khán,
was another debtor; another was Sayfu’d-Dawlih, a son of
Fatḥ-‘Alí Sháh; another, Valíyyih,
a daughter of Fatḥ-‘Alí Sháh; these
are only a few examples out of many, from among the Turkish amírs
and the great of Persia and ‘Iráq. All these debts
remained unpaid and irrecoverable. Nevertheless, that eminent and
princely man continued to live exactly as before.

Toward the close of his life he conceived a remarkable
love for Bahá’u’lláh, and most humbly,
would enter His presence. I remember him saying one day, to the
Blessed Beauty, that in the year 1250 and something over, Mírzá
Mawkab the famed astrologer visited the Shrines. “One day he
said to me,” the Ḥájí continued, “‘Mírzá,
I see a strange, a unique conjunction in the stars. It has never
occurred before. It proves that a momentous event is about to take
place, and I am certain that this event can be nothing less than the
Advent of the promised Qá’im.’”

Such was the situation of that illustrious prince when
he passed away, leaving as heirs a son and two daughters. Thinking
him to be as wealthy as ever, the people believed that his heirs
would inherit millions, for everyone knew his way of life. The
Persian diplomatic representative, the latter-day mujtahids, and the
faithless judge all sharpened their teeth. They started a quarrel
among the heirs, so that in the resulting turmoil they themselves
would make substantial gains. With this in view they did whatever
they could to ruin the heirs, the idea being to strip the inheritors
bare, while the Persian diplomat, the mujtahids, and the judge would
accumulate the spoils.

Mírzá Músá was a staunch
believer; his sisters, however, were from a different mother, and
they knew nothing of the Cause. One day the two sisters, accompanied
by the son-in-law of the late Mírzá Siyyid Riḍá,
came to the house of Bahá’u’lláh. The two
sisters entered the family apartments while the son-in-law settled
down in the public reception rooms. The two girls then said to
Bahá’u’lláh: “The Persian envoy, the
judge, and the faithless mujtahids have destroyed us. Toward the
close of his life, the late Ḥájí trusted no one
but Yourself. We ourselves have been remiss and we should have sought
Your protection before; in any case we come now to implore Your
pardon and help. Our hope is that You will not send us away
despairing, and that through Your favor and support we shall be
saved. Deign, then, to look into this affair, and to overlook our
past mistakes.”

Replying, the Blessed Beauty declared with finality that
intervention in affairs of this kind was abhorrent to Him. They kept
on pleading with Him, however. They remained a whole week in the
family apartments, clamoring every morning and evening for favor and
grace. “We will not lift our heads from off this Threshold,”
they said. “We will seek sanctuary here in this house; we will
remain here, by the door of Him Who guards the angels, until He shall
deign to look into our concerns and to save us from our oppressors.”

Each day, Bahá’u’lláh would
counsel them, saying, “Matters of this kind are in the hands of
the mujtahids and the government authorities. We do not interfere in
such affairs.” But they kept on with their importunities,
insisting, imploring, begging for help. It happened that the house of
Bahá’u’lláh was bare of worldly goods, and
these ladies, accustomed to the best of everything, could hardly be
satisfied with bread and water. Food had to be procured for them on
credit. Briefly, from every direction, there were problems.

Finally one day Bahá’u’lláh
summoned me to His presence. “These esteemed ladies,” He
said, “with all their exactions, have put Us to considerable
inconvenience. There is no help for it—you will have to see to
this case. But you must solve this entire, complicated matter in a
single day.”

The next morning, accompanied by Áqáy-i-Kalím,
I went to the house of the late Ḥájí. We called
in appraisers and they collected all the jewels in an upper
apartment; the ledgers and account books having to do with the
properties were placed in a second room; the costly furnishings and
art objects of the house in a third. A number of jewelers then went
to work and set a value on the gems. Other experts appraised the
house, the shops, the gardens, the baths. As soon as they began their
work I came out and posted someone in each room so that the
appraisers could duly complete their tasks. By this time it was
nearly noon. We then had luncheon, after which the appraisers were
directed to divide everything into two equal parts, so that lots
could be cast; one part would be that of the daughters, and one that
of the son, Mírzá Músá.67
I then went to bed, for I was ill. In the afternoon I rose, had tea,
and repaired to the family apartments of the mansion. Here I observed
that the goods had been divided into three parts. I said to them: “My
instructions were that everything should be divided into two parts.
How is it that there are three?” The heirs and other relatives
answered as one: “A third must certainly be set aside. That is
why we have divided everything into three. One share is for Mírzá
Músá, one for the two daughters, and the third we place
at Your disposal; this third is the portion of the deceased and You
are to expend it in any way You see fit.”

Greatly disturbed, we told them, “Such a thing is
out of the question. This you must not require, for it cannot be
complied with. We gave our word to Bahá’u’lláh
that not so much as a copper coin would be accepted.” But they,
too, swore upon oath that it must be as they wished, that they would
agree to nothing else. This servant answered: “Let us leave
this matter for the present. Is there any further disagreement among
you?” “Yes,” said Mírzá Músá,
“what has become of the money that was left?” Asked the
amount, he answered: “Three hundred thousand túmans.”
The daughters said: “There are two possibilities: either this
money is here in the house, in some coffer, or buried hereabouts—or
else it is in other hands. We will give over the house and all its
contents to Mírzá Músá. We two will leave
the house, with nothing but our veils. If anything turns up we, as of
now, freely accord it to him. If the money is elsewhere, it has no
doubt been deposited in someone’s care; and that person, well
aware of the breach of trust, will hardly come forward, deal
honorably by us, and return it—rather, he will make off with it
all. Mírzá Músá must establish a
satisfactory proof of what he says; his claim alone is not evidence.”
Mírzá Músá replied: “All the
property was in their hands; I knew nothing of what was going on—I
had no hint of it. They did whatever they pleased.”

In short, Mírzá Músá had no
clear proof of his claim. He could only ask, “Is such a thing
possible, that the late Ḥájí had no ready funds?”
Since the claim was unsupported, I felt that pursuing it further
would lead to a scandal and produce nothing of value. Accordingly I
bade them: “Cast the lots.” As for the third share, I had
them put it in a separate apartment, close it off, and affix a seal
to the door. The key I brought to Bahá’u’lláh.
“The task is done,” I said. “It was accomplished
only through Your confirmations. Otherwise it could not have been
completed in a year. However, a difficulty has arisen.” I
described in detail the claim of Mírzá Músá
and the absence of any proof. Then I said, “Mírzá
Músá is heavily in debt. Even should he expend all he
has, still he could not pay off his creditors. It is best, therefore,
if You Yourself will accept the heirs’ request, since they
persist in their offer, and bestow that share on Mírzá
Músá. Then he could at least free himself from his
debts and still have something left over.”

On the following day the heirs appeared and implored the
Blessed Beauty to have me accept the third share. “This is out
of the question,” He told them. Then they begged and entreated
Him to accept that share Himself and expend it for charitable
purposes of His own choice. He answered: “There is only one
purpose for which I might expend that sum.” They said, “That
is no concern of ours, even if You have it thrown into the sea. We
will not loose our hold from the hem of Your garment and we will not
cease our importunities until You accede to our request.” Then
He told them, “I have now accepted this third share; and I have
given it to Mírzá Músá, your brother, but
on the condition that, from this day forward, he will speak no more
of any claim against yourselves.” The heirs were profuse in
their thanks. And so this weighty and difficult case was settled in a
single day. It left no residue of complaints, no uproar, no further
quarrels.

Mírzá Músá did his best to
urge some of the jewels on me, but I refused. Finally he requested
that I accept a single ring. It was a precious ring, set with a
costly pomegranate ruby, a flawless sphere, and unique. All around
the central stone, it was gemmed with diamonds. This too I refused,
although I had no ‘abá to my back and nothing to wear
but a cotton tunic that bespoke the antiquity of the world, nor did I
own a copper coin. As Háfiz would say: “An empty purse,
but in our sleeve a hoard.”

Grateful for the bounty he had received, Mírzá
Músá offered Bahá’u’lláh
everything he possessed: orchards, lands, estates—but it was
refused. Then he appointed the ‘ulamás of ‘Iráq
to intercede for him. They hastened to Bahá’u’lláh
in a body and begged Him to accept the proffered gifts. He
categorically refused. They respectfully told Him: “Unless You
accept, in a very short time Mírzá Músá
will scatter it all to the winds. For his own good, he should not
have access to this wealth.”

Then in his own hand, Mírzá Músá
penned deeds of gift, made out according to each of the five creeds,
in Arabic and Persian; two copies he made, and chose the ‘ulamás
as his witnesses. Through certain ‘ulamás of Baghdád,
among them the famed scholar ‘Abdu’s-Salám
Effendi, and the erudite and widely known Siyyid Dávúd
Effendi, he presented the deed of gift to Bahá’u’lláh.
The Blessed Beauty told them: “We are appointing Mírzá
Músá himself as Our deputy.”

After Bahá’u’lláh’s
departure for Rumelia, Mírzá Músá, with a
promissory note, purchased from the Government the tithes of
Hindíyyih, a district near Karbilá, and suffered a
terrible loss, close to 100,000 túmans. The Government
confiscated his properties and sold them for next to nothing. When
told of the matter, Bahá’u’lláh said, “Do
not speak of this, ever again. Do not so much as utter a word about
those estates.” Meanwhile the exile from Adrianople to Akká
took place. Mírzá Muḥammad went to the Government
authorities and said to them: “I am the deputy (vakíl)
of Bahá’u’lláh. These properties do not
belong to Mírzá Músá. How is it that you
have taken them over?” But he had no documents to support him,
for the title deeds were in Akká, and on this account the
Government rejected his claim. However, in the process, he became
known to all as Mírzá Muḥammad the Deputy. This
is how he received the title.

When we were in Adrianople, Mírzá Músá
sent on the ruby ring, through Siyyid ‘Alí-Akbar, and
the Blessed Beauty directed us to accept it. After we reached Akká
the believers fell ill, and lay suffering in their beds. I sent the
ring to India, to one of the friends, asking him to sell it with all
possible speed and forward the proceeds to us in Akká to be
expended on the sick. That blessed individual never sent us a penny.
Two years later he wrote to say that he had sold the ring for
twenty-five pounds and had spent that sum on the pilgrims. This, when
the ring was of such great value. I made no complaint. Rather, I
praised God, thanking Him that out of all that wealth not a fleck of
dust had settled on my robe.

Mírzá Muḥammad was taken prisoner
and sent away from Baghdád to Mosul, where he fell a
prey to fearful ills. He had been rich; in God’s path he was
now poor. He had enjoyed his ease and comfort; now, for the love of
God, he suffered pain and toil. He lived on for a time in Mosul,
suppliant, resigned, and lowly. And then, severed from all save God,
irresistibly drawn by the gentle gales of the Lord, he rose out of
this dark world to the land of light. Unto him be salutations and
praise. May God shed down upon him the waters of forgiveness, and
open before his grave the gates of Heaven.

Ḥájí
Muḥammad-Riḍáy-i-Shírází

Ḥájí Muḥammad-Riḍá
came from Shíráz. He was a man spiritually
minded, lowly, contrite, the embodiment of serenity and faith. When
the call of God was lifted up, that needy soul hurried into the
shelter of heavenly grace. As soon as he heard the summons, “Am
I not your Lord?” he cried out: “Yea, verily!”68
and became as a lamp to the people’s feet.

For a long time he served the Afnán, Ḥájí
Mírzá Muḥammad-‘Alí, and was his
loyal and close companion, trusted in all things. Later, following a
journey to distant countries, he went to the Holy Land, and there in
utter submission and lowliness bowed his head before the Sacred
Threshold and was honored with entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
where he drank in endless bounties from cupped hands. For quite a
time he remained there, attending upon Bahá’u’lláh
almost every day, encompassed by holy favor and grace. He was
outstanding as to character, and lived after the commandments of God:
tranquil and long-suffering, in his surrender to God’s will he
was selflessness itself. He had no personal aims whatever, no feeling
of attachment to this fleeting world. His one desire was to please
his Lord, his one hope, to walk the holy path.

He went on, then, to Beirut, serving the honored Afnán
in that city. He spent a long time in this wise, returning again and
again to enter the presence of Bahá’u’lláh
and gaze upon that Most Great Beauty. Later, in Sidon, he fell ill.
Unable to make the journey to Akká, in perfect acquiescence
and contentment he ascended to the Abhá Kingdom, and was
plunged in the ocean of lights. By the Supreme Pen, endless bounty
was bestowed upon his memory. He was indeed one of the loyal, the
steadfast, a solid pillar of servitude to Bahá’u’lláh.
Many and many a time, from the lips of the Blessed Beauty, we heard
his praise.

Unto him be greetings and praise, and the glory of the
All-Glorious. Upon him be compassion and most great mercy from the
Lord of the High Heavens. His shining grave is in Sidon, near the
place called the Station of John the Holy.

Ḥusayn Effendi Tabrízí

This youth was from Tabríz, and he was filled
with the love of God like a cup flowing and brimming over with red
wine. In the flower of his youth he left Persia and traveled to
Greece, making his living as a merchant there; till a day came when,
guided by Divine bounty, he went from Greece to Smyrna, and there he
was given the glad tidings of a new Manifestation on earth. He
shouted aloud, was frenzied, was drunk with the music of the new
message. He escaped from his debits and credits, set out to meet the
Lord of his heart, and entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
For some time, a trusted attendant and companion, he served the
Blessed Beauty. He was then directed to seek a lodging in the city of
Haifa.

Here he faithfully waited upon the believers, and his
home was a way station for Bahá’í travelers. He
had an excellent disposition, a wonderful character, and high,
spiritual aims. He was friendly with friend and stranger alike; he
was kind to people of every nation and wished them well.

When the Most Great Light ascended to the Concourse
above, Ḥusayn Effendi remained faithful to Him, steadfast and
firm; and as before, he continued to be a close friend to the
friends. Thus he lived for a considerable period, and felt himself
better off than the kings of the earth. He became the son-in-law of
Mírzá Muḥammad-Qulí, brother of the
Blessed Beauty, and remained for a time peaceful and serene. He
carefully avoided any occasion of being seduced into error, for he
dreaded that the tempest of afflictions might mount in fury, surge
ever higher, and sweep many a soul into the fathomless gulf.69
He would sigh and mourn, for this fear was with him at all times. At
last he could bear the world no longer, and with his own hands
stripped off the garment of life.

Praise be unto him, and salutations, and the mercy of
God, and Divine acceptance. May God pardon him and make him to enter
the highest Heaven, the Paradise that towers above all the rest. His
sweet-scented grave is in Haifa.

Jamshíd-i-Gurjí

Yet another of the emigrants and settlers was the
valiant Jamshíd-i-Gurjí, who came from Georgia,
but grew up in the city of Káshán. He was a fine
youth, faithful, trustworthy, with a high sense of honor. When he
heard of a new Faith dawning, and awoke to the tidings that on
Persia’s horizons the Sun of Truth had risen, he was filled
with holy ecstasy, and he longed and loved. The new fire burned away
those veils of uncertainty and doubt that had closed him round; the
light of Truth shed down its rays, the lamp of guidance burned before
him.

He remained in Persia for a time, then left for Rumelia,
which was Ottoman territory, and in the Land of Mystery, Adrianople,
won the honor of entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh;
it was there that his meeting took place. His joy and fervor were
boundless. Later, at Bahá’u’lláh’s
command he made a journey to Constantinople, with Áqá
Muḥammad-Báqir and Áqá ‘Abdu’l-Ghaffár.
In that city, the tyrannous imprisoned him and put him in chains.

The Persian ambassador informed against Jamshíd
and Ustád Muḥammad-‘Alí-i-Dallák as
enemy leaders and fighters. Jamshíd he described as a
latter-day Rustam70
while Muḥammad-‘Alí, according to the envoy, was a
ravening lion. These two respected men were first imprisoned and
caged; then they were sent out of Turkish territory, under guard to
the Persian frontier. They were to be delivered over to the Persian
Government and crucified, and the guards were threatened with
terrible punishments should they once relax their vigilance and let
the prisoners escape. For this reason, at every stopping place the
victims were kept in some almost inaccessible spot. Once they were
thrown into a pit, a kind of well, and suffered agonies all through
the night. The next morning Jamshíd cried out: “O
you who oppress us! Are we Joseph the Prophet that you have thrown us
in this well? Remember how He rose out of the well as high as the
full moon? We too walk the pathway of God, we too are down here for
His sake, and we know that these depths are the heights of the Lord.”

Once arrived at the Persian frontier, Jamshíd
and Muḥammad-‘Alí were handed over to Kurdish
chiefs to be sent on to Ṭihrán. The Kurdish chiefs could
see that the prisoners were innocent men, kindly and well-disposed,
who had fallen a prey to their enemies. Instead of dispatching them
to the capital, they set them free. Joyfully, the two hastened away
on foot, went back to Bahá’u’lláh and found
a home close by Him in the Most Great Prison.

Jamshíd spent some time in utter bliss,
receiving the grace and favor of Bahá’u’lláh
and ever and again being admitted to His presence. He was tranquil
and at peace. The believers were well-pleased with him, and he was
well-pleased with God. It was in this condition that he hearkened to
the celestial bidding: “O thou soul who art well-assured,
return unto thy Lord, well-pleased with Him, and well-pleasing unto
Him.”71
And to God’s cry: “Return!” he replied, “Yea,
verily!” He rose out of the Most Great Prison to the highest
Heaven; he soared away to a pure and gleaming Kingdom, out of this
world of dust. May God succor him in the celestial company,72
bring him into the Paradise of Splendors, and safe in the Divine
gardens, make him to live forevermore.

Salutations be unto him, and praise. His grave, sweet as
musk, is in Akká.

Ḥájí
Ja’far-i-Tabrízí and His Brothers

There were three brothers, all from Tabríz: Ḥájí
Ḥasan, Ḥájí Ja’far, and Ḥájí
Taqí. These three were like eagles soaring; they were three
stars of the Faith, pulsing with the light of the love of God.

Ḥájí Ḥasan was of the earlier
day; he had believed from the new Luminary’s first dawning. He
was full of ardor, keen of mind. After his conversion he traveled
everywhere, through the cities and villages of Persia, and his breath
moved the hearts of longing souls. Then he left for ‘Iráq,
and on the Beloved’s first journey, attained His presence
there. Once he beheld that beauteous Light he was carried away to the
Kingdom of Splendors; he was incandescent, he became a thrall of
yearning love. At this time he was directed to go back to Persia. He
was a peddler, a vendor of small wares, and would travel from city to
city.

On Bahá’u’lláh’s second
journey to ‘Iráq, Ḥájí Ḥasan
longed to behold Him again, and there in Baghdád was
once more bedazzled by His presence. Every so often he would journey
to Persia and then return, his thoughts centered on teaching and
furthering the Cause. His business fell apart. His merchandise was
carried away by thieves, and thus, as he put it, his load was lifted
from him—he was disencumbered. He shunned every worldly tie. He
was held fast as by a magnet; he fell hopelessly, madly in love with
the tender Companion, with Him Who is the Well-Beloved of both
worlds. He was known everywhere for the ecstasy he was in, and
experienced strange states of being; sometimes, with utmost
eloquence, he would teach the Faith, adducing as proofs many a sacred
verse and holy tradition, and bringing sound and reasonable arguments
to bear. Then his hearers would comment on the power of his mind, on
his wisdom and his self-possession. But there were other times when
love suddenly flamed within him, and then he could not remain still
for an instant. At those times he would skip, and dance, or again in
a loud voice he would cry out a verse from the poets, or a song.
Toward the end of his days he became a close friend of Jináb-i-Múníb;
the two exchanged many a recondite confidence, and each carried many
a melody in his breast.

On the friends’ final journey he went to
Ádhirbayján, and there, throwing caution to the
winds, he roared out the Greatest Name: “Yá
Bahá’u’l-Abhá!” The unbelievers there
joined forces with his relatives, and they lured that innocent, that
man in his ecstasy, away to a garden. Here, they first put questions
to him and listened to his answers. He spoke out; he expounded the
secret verities of the Faith, and set forth conclusive proofs that
the Advent had indeed come to pass. He recited verses from the
Qur’án, and traditions handed down from the Prophet
Muḥammad and the Holy Imáms. Following that, in a frenzy
of love and longing rapture, he began to sing. It was a shahnáz
melody he sang; the words were from the poets, to say that the Lord
had come. And they killed him; they shed his blood. They wrenched and
hacked his limbs apart and hid his body underneath the dust.

As for Ḥájí Muḥammad-Ja’far,
the gently born, he too, like his brother, was bewitched by the
Blessed Beauty. It was in ‘Iráq that he entered the
presence of the Light of the World, and he too caught fire with
Divine love and was carried away by the gentle gales of God. Like his
brother, he was a vendor of small wares, always on a journey from one
place to the next. When Bahá’u’lláh left
Baghdád for the capital of Islám, Ḥájí
Ja’far was in Persia, and when the Blessed Beauty and His
retinue came to a halt in Adrianople, Ja’far and Ḥájí
Taqí, his brother, arrived there from Ádhirbayján.
They found a corner somewhere and settled down. Our oppressors then
stretched out arrogant hands to send Bahá’u’lláh
forth to the Most Great Prison, and they forbade the believers to
accompany the true Beloved, for it was their purpose to bring the
Blessed Beauty to this prison with but a few of His people. When Ḥájí
Ja’far saw that they had excluded him from the band of exiles,
he seized a razor and slashed his throat.73
The crowds expressed their grief and horror and the authorities then
permitted all the believers to leave in company with Bahá’u’lláh—this
because of the blessing that came from Ja’far’s act of
love.

They stitched up his wound but no one thought he would
recover. They told him, “For the time being, you will have to
stay where you are. If your throat heals, you will be sent on, along
with your brother. Be sure of this.” Bahá’u’lláh
also directed that this be done. Accordingly, we left Ja’far in
the hospital and went on to the Akká prison. Two months later,
he and his brother Ḥájí Taqí arrived at
the fortress, and joined the other prisoners. The safely delivered
Ḥájí grew more loving, more ardent with every
passing day. From dusk till dawn he would stay awake, chanting
prayers, shedding his tears. Then one night he fell from the roof of
the caravanserai and ascended to the Kingdom of miracles and signs.

Ḥájí Taqí, born under a
fortunate star, was in every sense a true brother to Ḥájí
Ja’far. He lived in the same spiritual condition, but he was
calmer. After Ḥájí Ja’far’s death, he
would stay in one room, all alone. He was silence itself. He would
sit there, all alone, properly and courteously, even during the
night. One midnight he climbed up to the roof to chant prayers. The
next morning they found him where he had fallen, on the ground by the
wall. He was unconscious, and they could not tell whether this was an
accident or whether he had thrown himself down. When he came to
himself he said: “I was weary of this life, and I tried to die.
Not for a moment do I wish to linger in this world. Pray that I may
go on.”

This, then, is the life story of those three brothers.
All three were souls well-assured; all three were pleased, and
pleasing unto God.74
They were flames; they were captives of the Faith; they were pure and
holy. And therefore, cut off from the world, turning their faces
toward the Most High Kingdom, they ascended. May God wrap them in the
garment of His grace in the realm of forgiveness, and immerse them in
the waters of His mercy forever and ever. Greetings be unto them, and
praise.

Ḥájí Mírzá
Muḥammad-Taqí, the Afnán

Among those souls that are righteous, that are luminous
entities and Divine reflections, was Jináb-i-Muḥammad-Taqí,
the Afnán.75
His title was Vakílu’d-Dawlih. This eminent Bough was an
offshoot of the Holy Tree; in him an excellent character was allied
to a noble lineage. His kinship was a true kinship. He was among
those souls who, after one reading of the Book of Íqán,
became believers, bewitched by the sweet savors of God, rejoicing at
the recital of His verses. His agitation was such that he cried out,
“Lord, Lord, here am I!” Joyously, he left Persia and
hurried away to ‘Iráq. Because he was filled with
longing love, he sped over the mountains and across the desert
wastes, not pausing to rest until he came to Baghdád.

He entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and achieved acceptance in His sight. What holy ecstasy he had, what
fervor, what detachment from the world! It was beyond description.
His blessed face was so comely, so luminous that the friends in ‘Iráq
gave him a name: they called him “the Afnán of all
delights.” He was truly a blessed soul, a man worthy to be
revered. He never failed in his duty, from the beginning of life till
his last breath. As his days began, he became enamored of the sweet
savors of God, and as they closed, he rendered a supreme service to
the Cause of God. His life was righteous, his speech agreeable, his
deeds worthy. Never did he fail in servitude, in devotion, and he
would set about a major undertaking with alacrity and joy. His life,
his behavior, what he did, what he left undone, his dealings with
others—were all a way of teaching the Faith, and served as an
example, an admonishment to the rest.

After he had achieved the honor, in Baghdád,
of meeting Bahá’u’lláh, he returned to
Persia, where he proceeded to teach the Faith with an eloquent
tongue. And this is how to teach: with an eloquent tongue, a ready
pen, a goodly character, pleasing words, and righteous ways and
deeds. Even enemies bore witness to his high-mindedness and his
spiritual qualities, and they would way: “There is none to
compare with this man for his words and acts, his righteousness,
trustworthiness, and strong faith; in all things he is unique; what a
pity that he is a Bahá’í!” That is: “What
a pity that he is not as we are, perverse, uncaring, committing sins,
engrossed in sensuality, the creatures of our passions!”
Gracious God! They saw with their own eyes that the moment he learned
of the Faith he was transformed, he was severed from the world, he
began to emit rays from the Sun of Truth; and still, they failed to
profit by the example he set.

During his days in Yazd he was, outwardly, engaged in
commercial pursuits, but actually teaching the Faith. His only aim
was to exalt the Word of God, his only wish, to spread the Divine
sweet savors, his only thought, to come nearer and ever nearer to the
mansions of the Lord. There was no remembrance on his lips but the
verses of God. He was an embodiment of the good pleasure of
Bahá’u’lláh; a dawning-point of the grace
of the Greatest Name. Many and many a time, Bahá’u’lláh
expressed to those about Him, His extreme satisfaction with the
Afnán; and consequently, everyone was certain that he would in
future initiate some highly important task.

After the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh,
the Afnán, loyal and staunch in the Covenant, rendered even
more services than he had before; this in spite of many obstacles,
and an overwhelming load of work, and an infinite variety of matters
all claiming his attention. He gave up his comfort, his business, his
properties, estates, lands, hastened away to Ishqábád
and set about building the Mashriqu’l-Adhkár;
this was a service of very great magnitude, for he thus became the
first individual to erect a Bahá’í House of
Worship, the first builder of a House to unify man. With the
believers in Ishqábád assisting him, he
succeeded in carrying off the palm. For a long period in Ishqábád,
he had no rest. Day and night, he urged the believers on. Then they
too exerted their efforts, and made sacrifices above and beyond their
power; and God’s edifice arose, and word of it spread
throughout East and West. The Afnán expended everything he
possessed to rear this building, except for a trifling sum. This is
the way to make a sacrifice. This is what it means to be faithful.

Afterward he journeyed to the Holy Land, and there
beside that place where the chosen angels circle, in the shelter of
the Shrine of the Báb, he passed his days, holy and pure,
supplicating and entreating the Lord. God’s praise was always
on his lips, and he chanted prayers with both his tongue and heart.
He was wonderfully spiritual, strangely ashine. He is one of those
souls who, before ever the drumbeat of “Am I not your Lord?”
was sounded, drummed back: “Yea, verily Thou art!”76
It was in the ‘Iráq period, during the years between the
seventies and the eighties of the Hijra, that he first caught fire
and loved the Light of the World, beheld the glory dawning in
Bahá’u’lláh and witnessed the fulfillment
of the words, “I am He that liveth in the Abhá Realm of
Glory!”

The Afnán was an uncommonly happy man. Whenever I
was saddened, I would meet with him, and on the instant, joy would
return again. Praise be to God, at the last, close by the Shrine of
the Báb, he hastened away in light to the Abhá Realm;
but the loss of him deeply grieved ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.

His bright grave is in Haifa, beside the
Hazíratu’l-Quds, near Elijah’s Cave. A tomb must
be erected there, and built solidly and well. May God shed upon his
resting-place rays from the Paradise of Splendors, and lave that holy
dust with the rains that beat down from the retreats of the Exalted
Companion. Upon him be the glory of the All-Glorious.

‘Abdu’lláh
Baghdádí

When he was very young, people thought of ‘Abdu’lláh
Baghdádí as a libertine, solely devoted to
pleasure. He was regarded by all as the sport of inordinate desires,
mired down in his physical passions. But the moment he became a
believer, he was carried away by the sweet savors of God, and was
changed into a new creation. He found himself in a strange rapture,
completely transformed. He had been of the world, now he was of
Heaven; he had lived by the flesh, now he lived by the spirit; he had
walked in darkness; now he walked in light. He had been a slave to
his senses, now he was a thrall of God. He had been clay and
earthenware before, now he was a dear-bought pearl; a dull and
lusterless stone before, now a ruby glowing.

Even among the non-believers, people were astonished at
the change. What could have come over this youth, they wanted to
know; how did it happen that he was suddenly detached from the world,
eager and devoted? “He was tainted, corrupted,” they
said; “today he is abstemious and chaste. He was sunk in his
appetites, but is now the soul of purity, living a righteous life. He
has left the world behind him. He has broken up the feast, dismissed
the revelers, and folded the banquet cloth away. His mind is
distracted by love.”

Briefly, he let go his pleasures and possessions, and
journeyed to Akká on foot. His face had turned so bright, his
nature so luminous, that it was a joy to look at him. I used to say:
“Áqá ‘Abdu’lláh, what
condition are you in?” And he would answer to this effect: “I
was in darkness; now, by the favor of the Blessed Beauty, I am in
light. I was a heap of dust; He changed me to a fertile field. I was
in constant torment; I am now at peace. I was in love with my chains;
He has broken them. I was avid for this one and that; now I cling to
the Lord. I was a bird in a cage; He let me out. Today, though I live
in the desert, and I have the bare ground for my bed and pillow, it
feels like silk. In the old time, my coverlet was satin, and my soul
was on the rack. Now I am homeless, and happy.”

But his burning heart broke when he saw how victimized
was Bahá’u’lláh, how patiently He suffered.
‘Abdu’lláh yearned to die for Him. And thus it
came about that he offered up his life for his tender Companion, and
hastened away, out of this dark world to the country of light. His
luminous grave is in Akká. Upon him be the glory of the
All-Glorious; upon him be mercy, out of the grace of the Lord.

Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá
Baghdádí

Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá was a blazing
light. He was the son of the famous scholar Shaykh
Muḥammad-i-Shibl; he lived in ‘Iráq, and
from his earliest youth was clearly unique and beyond compare; wise,
brave, deserving in every way, he was known far and wide. From
childhood, guided by his father, he had lit the light of faith in the
chapel of his heart. He had rid himself of the hindering veils of
illusion, gazed about with perceptive eyes, witnessed great new signs
of God and, regardless of the consequences, had cried aloud: “The
earth hath shone out with the light of her Lord!”77

Gracious God! The opposition was powerful, the penalty
obvious, the friends, every one of them, terrified, and off in some
corner hiding their belief; at such a time this intrepid personality
boldly went about his business, and like a man, faced up to every
tyrant. The one individual who, in the year seventy, was famed in
‘Iráq for his love of Bahá’u’lláh,
was this honored person. A few other souls, then in Baghdád
and its environs, had crept away into nooks and crannies and,
imprisoned in their own lethargy, there they remained. But this
admirable Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá would boldly,
proudly come and go like a man, and the hostile, because of his
physical strength and his courage, were afraid to attack him.

After Bahá’u’lláh’s
return from His journey to Kurdistán, the virile strength and
bearing of that gallant individual was still further enhanced.
Whenever leave was granted, he would attend upon Bahá’u’lláh,
and would hear from His lips expressions of favor and grace. He was
the leader, among all the friends in ‘Iráq, and after
the great separation, when the convoy of the Beloved left for
Constantinople, he remained loyal and staunch, and withstood the foe.
He girded himself for service and openly, publicly, observed by all,
taught the Faith.

As soon as Bahá’u’lláh’s
declaration that He was “He Whom God Shall Manifest”78
had become known far and wide, Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá—being
among those souls who had become believers prior to this Declaration,
and before the call was raised—cried out: “Verily, we
believe!” Because, even before this Declaration, the very light
itself pierced through the veils that had closed off the peoples of
the world, so that every seeing eye beheld the splendor, and every
longing soul could look upon its Well-Beloved.

With all his strength, then, Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá
arose to serve the Cause. He rested neither day nor night. After the
Ancient Beauty had departed to the Most Great Prison; after the
friends had been taken prisoner in Baghdád and sent
away to Mosul; after the hostility of outstanding enemies and the
opposition of the populace of Baghdád, he did not
falter, but continued to stand his ground. A long time passed in this
way. But with his yearning for Bahá’u’lláh,
the tumult in his heart was such that he set out alone for the Most
Great Prison. He reached there during the period of extreme
restrictions, and had the honor of entering the presence of
Bahá’u’lláh.

He asked then for leave to find a lodging somewhere in
the neighborhood of Akká, and was permitted to reside in
Beirut. There he went and faithfully served the Cause, assisting all
the pilgrims as they arrived and departed. He was an excellent
servitor, a generous and kindly host, and he sacrificed himself to
see to their affairs as they passed through. For all this he became
known everywhere.

When the Sun of Truth had set and the Light of the
Concourse on high had ascended, Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá
remained loyal to the Covenant. He stood so firm against the waverers
that they dared not draw a breath. He was like a shooting star, a
missile hurled against the demons;79
against the violators, an avenging sword. Not one of the violators so
much as dared pass through the street where he lived and if they
chanced to meet him they were like those described in the Qur’án:
“deaf, dumb, blind: therefore they shall not retrace their
steps from error!”80
He was the very embodiment of: “The blame of the blamer shall
not deflect him from the path of God, and the terrible might of the
reviler shall not shake him.”

Living in the same manner as before, he served the
believers with a free mind and pure intent. With all his heart, he
assisted the travelers to the Holy Land, those who had come to
circumambulate that place which is ringed around by the Company on
high. Later he moved from Beirut to Iskandarún, and there he
spent some time, until, drawn as if by a magnet to the Lord, detached
from all save Him, rejoicing in His glad tidings, holding fast to the
cord that none can sever—he ascended on the wings of the spirit
to his Exalted Companion.

May God lift him up to the highest Heaven, to the
fellowship of glory.81
May God bring him into the land of lights, the mysterious Kingdom,
the assemblage of the splendors of the mighty, all powerful Lord.
Upon him be the glory of the All-Glorious.

Sulaymán Khán-i-Tunúkábání

Sulaymán Khán was the emigrant and
settler who was given the title of Jamálí’d-Dín.
He was born in Tunúkábán, into an old family of
that region. He was cradled in wealth, bred to ease, reared in the
comfortable ways of luxury. From his early childhood he had high
ambitions and noble aims, and he was honor and aspiration
personified. At first he planned to outdistance all his fellows and
achieve some lofty rank. For this reason he left his birthplace and
went to the capital, Ṭihrán, where he hoped to become a
leader, surpassing the rest of his generation.

In Ṭihrán, however, the fragrance of God
was borne his way, and he listened to the summons of the
Well-Beloved. He was saved from the perturbations of high rank; from
all the din and clatter, the glory, the pomps and palaces, of this
heap of dust, the world. He threw off his chains, and by God’s
grace, discovered peace. To him, the seat of honor was now no
different from the place where people removed their slippers at the
door, and high office was a thing soon gone and forgotten. He was
cleansed from the stain of living, his heart was eased, for he had
burst the shackles that held him to this present life.

Putting on the garments of a pilgrim, he set out to find
his loving Friend, and came to the Most Great Prison. Here for a time
he rested, under the protection of the Ancient Beauty; here he gained
the honor of entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
and listened to momentous teachings from His holy lips. When he had
breathed the scented air, when his eyes were illumined and his ears
attuned to the words of the Lord, he was permitted to make a journey
to India, and bidden to teach the true seekers after truth.

Resting his heart on God, in love with the sweet savors
of God, on fire with the love of God, he left for India. There he
wandered, and whenever he came to a city he raised the call of the
Great Kingdom and delivered the good news that the Speaker of the
Mount had come. He became one of God’s farmers, scattering the
holy seed of the Teachings. This sowing was fruitful. Through him a
considerable number found their way into the Ark of Salvation. The
light of Divine guidance was shed upon those souls, and their eyes
were brightened with beholding the mighty signs of God. He became the
focal point of every gathering, the honored guest. To this day, in
India, the results of his auspicious presence are clear to see, and
those whom he taught are now, in their turn, guiding others to the
Faith.

Following his Indian journey, Sulaymán Khán
came back to Bahá’u’lláh, but when he
arrived, the ascension had taken place. Continuously, he shed his
tears, and his heart was a thurible for sorrow. But he remained loyal
to the Covenant, well rooted in Heaven.

Not long before His passing, Bahá’u’lláh
had said: “Should someone go to Persia, and manage to convey
it, this message must be delivered to Amínu’s-Sultán:82
‘You took steps to help the prisoners; you freely rendered them
a befitting service; this service will not be forgotten. Rest assured
that it will bring you honor and call down a blessing upon all your
affairs. O Amínu’s-Sultán! Every house that is
raised up will one day fall to ruin, except the house of God; that
will grow more massive and be better guarded day by day. Then serve
the Court of God with all your might, that you may discover the way
to a home in Heaven, and found an edifice that will endure forever.’”
After the departure of Bahá’u’lláh, this
message was conveyed to Amínu’s-Sultán.

In Ádhirbayján the Turkish clerics
had brought down Áqá Siyyid Asadu’lláh,
hunted him down in Ardabíl and plotted to shed his blood; but
the Governor, by a ruse, managed to save him from being physically
beaten and then murdered: he sent the victim to Tabríz in
chains, and from there had him conducted to Ṭihrán.
Amínu’s-Sultán came to the prisoner’s
assistance and, in his own office, provided Asadu’lláh
with a sanctuary. One day when the Prime Minister was ill,
Náṣiri’d-Dín Sháh arrived to
visit him. The Minister then explained the situation, and lavished
praise upon his captive; so much so that the Sháh, as
he left, showed great kindness to Asadu’lláh, and spoke
words of consolation. This, when at an earlier time, the captive
would have been strung up at once to adorn some gallows-tree, and
shot down with a gun.

After a time Amínu’s-Sultán lost the
Sovereign’s favor. Hated, in disgrace, he was banished to the
city of Qum. Thereupon this servant dispatched Sulaymán Khán
to Persia, carrying a prayer and a missive written by me. The prayer
besought God’s aid and bounty and succor for the fallen
Minister, so that he might, from that corner of oblivion, be recalled
to favor. In the letter we clearly stated: “Prepare to return
to Ṭihrán. Soon will God’s help arrive; the light
of grace will shine on you again; with full authority again, you will
find yourself free, and Prime Minister. This is your reward for the
efforts you exerted on behalf of a man who was oppressed.” That
letter and that prayer are today in the possession of the family of
Amínu’s-Sultán.

From Ṭihrán, Sulaymán Khán
journeyed to Qum, and according to his instructions went to live in a
cell in the shrine of the Immaculate.83
The relatives of Amínu’s-Sultán came to visit
there; Sulaymán Khán inquired after the fallen
Minister and expressed the wish to meet him. When the Minister
learned of this, he sent for Sulaymán Khán.
Placing all his trust in God, Sulaymán Khán
hastened to the Minister’s house and, meeting him in private,
presented the letter from ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. The
Minister rose, and received the letter with extreme respect. Then
addressing the Khán he said: “I had given up
hope. If this longing is fulfilled, I will arise to serve; I will
preserve and uphold the friends of God.” Then he expressed his
gratitude, indebtedness and joy, and added, “Praise be to God,
I hope again; I feel that by His aid, my dream will come true.”

In brief, the Minister pledged himself to serve the
friends, and Sulaymán Khán took his leave. The
Minister then desired to give him a sum of money to defray the
expenses of his journey, but Sulaymán Khán
refused, and despite the Minister’s insistence, would accept
nothing. The Khán had not yet reached the Holy Land on
his return journey when Amínu’s-Sultán was
recalled from exile and immediately summoned to the Premiership
again. He assumed the position and functioned with full authority;
and at first he did indeed support the believers, but toward the end,
in the case of the Yazd martyrdoms, he was neglectful. He neither
helped nor protected the sufferers in any way, nor would he listen to
their repeated pleas, until all of them were put to death.
Accordingly he too was dismissed, a ruined man; that flag which had
flown so proudly was reversed, and that hoping heart despaired.

Sulaymán Khán lived on in the Holy
Land, near the Shrine which the Exalted Assembly circle about. He
kept company with the believers until the day of inescapable death,
when he set out for the mansions of Him Who liveth, and dieth not. He
turned his back on this heap of dust, the world, and hurried away to
the country of light. He broke out of this cage of contingent being
and soared into the endless, placeless Realm. May God enfold him in
the waters of His mercy, cause His forgiveness to rain down upon him,
and bestow on him the wonders of abounding grace. Salutations be unto
him, and praise.

‘Abdu’r-Rahmán,
the Coppersmith

This was a patient and long-enduring man, a native of
Káshán. He was one of the very earliest
believers. The down was not yet upon his cheek when he drank of the
love of God, saw with his own eyes the heavenly table spread out
before him, and received his faith and his portion of abounding
grace.

In a little while he left his home and set out for the
rose garden that was Baghdád, where he achieved the
honor of entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
He spent some time in ‘Iráq, and won a crown of endless
favor: he would enter the presence of Bahá’u’lláh
and many a time would accompany Him on foot to the Shrine of the Two
Kázims; this was his great delight.

‘Abdu’r-Rahmán was among the
prisoners exiled to Mosul, and later he fairly dragged himself to the
fortress at Akká. Here he lived, blessed by Bahá’u’lláh.
He carried on a small business, trifling, but he was content with it,
happy and at peace. Thus, walking the path of righteousness, he lived
to be eighty years old, at which time, serenely patient, he soared
away to the Threshold of God. May the Lord enfold him there with His
bounty and compassion, and clothe him in the garment of forgiveness.
His luminous grave is in Akká.

Muḥammad-Ibráhím-i-Tabrízí

This man, noble and high-minded, was the son of the
respected ‘Abdu’l-Faṭṭaḥ who was in the
Akká prison. Learning that his father was a captive there, he
came with all speed to the fortress so that he too might have a share
of those dire afflictions. He was a man wise, understanding, in a
tumult from drinking the wine of the love of God, but with a
wonderful, basic serenity and calm.

He had inherited the nature of his father, and he
exemplified the saying that the child is the secret essence of its
sire. For this reason, over a long period, he found delight in the
neighborhood of the Divine Presence, enjoying utter peace. Daytimes,
he would carry on his trade, and at night he would come in all haste
to the door of the house, to be with the friends. He was close to all
those who were staunch and true; he was full of courage; he was
grateful to God, abstemious and chaste, expectant of and relying on
the bounty and grace of the Lord. He made his father’s lamp to
shine, brightened the household of ‘Abdu’l-Faṭṭaḥ,
and left descendants to remain behind him in this swiftly passing
world.

He always did what he could to provide for the happiness
of the believers; he always saw to their well-being. He was
sagacious, grave, and steadfast. By God’s grace, he stayed
loyal to the end, and sound in faith. May God give him to drink from
the cup of forgiveness; may he sip from the spring of God’s
bounty and good pleasure; may God raise him up to the heights of
Divine bestowal. His sweet-scented tomb is in Akká.

Muḥammad-‘Alíy-i-Ardikání

In the flower of tender youth, Muḥammad-‘Alí,
the illumined, heard the cry of God, and lost his heart to heavenly
grace. He entered the service of the Afnán, offshoot of the
Holy Tree, and lived happy and content. This was how he came to the
city of Akká, and was for quite a time present at the Sacred
Threshold, winning a crown of lasting glory. The eye of Bahá’u’lláh’s
grace and favor was upon him. He served with a loyal heart. He had a
happy nature, a comely face; he was a man believing, seeking, tested
and tried.

During the days of Bahá’u’lláh,
Muḥammad-‘Alí remained steadfast, and after the
Supreme Affliction his heart did not fail him, for he had drunk the
wine of the Covenant and his thoughts were fixed on the bounties of
God. He moved to Haifa and lived, a firm believer, near the
Hazíratu’l-Quds by the Holy Shrine on Mount Carmel till
his final breath, when death came and the carpet of his earthly life
was rolled up and put away.

This man was a true servant of the Threshold, a good
friend to the believers. All were pleased with him, finding him an
excellent companion, gentle and mild. May God succor him in His
exalted Kingdom, and give him a home in the Abhá Realm, and
send upon him abounding grace from the gardens of Heaven—the
place of meeting, the place of the mystical contemplation of God. His
amber-scented dust is in Haifa.

Ḥájí
Áqáy-i-Tabrízí

Early in his youth this spiritual man, who came from
Tabríz, had sensed the mystic knowledge and drunk the heady
wine of God, and he remained staunch as ever in the Faith during his
years of helpless age.

He lived for a time in Ádhirbayján,
enamored of the Lord. When he became widely known thereabouts as one
bearing the name of God, the people ruined his life. His relatives
and friends turned against him, finding a new excuse to hound him
with every passing day. Finally he broke up his home, took his family
and fled to Adrianople. He reached there during the close of the
Adrianople period and was taken prisoner by the oppressors.

Along with us homeless wanderers, and under the
protection of the Ancient Beauty, he came to the Most Great Prison
and was a confidant and companion, sharing with us the calamities and
tribulations, humble and long-enduring. Afterward, when the
restrictions were somewhat relaxed, he engaged in trade, and through
the bounty of Bahá’u’lláh was comfortable
and at peace. But his body had become enfeebled from the earlier
hardships, and all the suffering, and his faculties had deteriorated;
so that ultimately he fell ill, beyond hope of a remedy; and not far
from Bahá’u’lláh, and shadowed by His
protection, he hastened away from this least of worlds to the high
Heavens, from this dark place to the land of lights. May God immerse
him in the waters of forgiveness; may He bring him into the gardens
of Paradise, and there keep him safe forevermore. His pure dust rests
in Akká.

Qulám-‘Alíy-i-Najjár

This man, a carpenter and a master craftsman, came from
Káshán. For faith and certitude, he was like a
sword drawn from the scabbard. He was well known in his own city as a
man righteous, true and worthy of trust. He was high-minded,
abstemious and chaste. When he became a believer, his urgent longing
to meet Bahá’u’lláh could not be stilled;
full of joyous love, he went out of the Land of Káf (Káshán)
and traveled to ‘Iráq, where he beheld the splendor of
the rising Sun.

He was a mild man, patient, quiet, mostly keeping to
himself. In Baghdád, he worked at his craft, was in
touch with the friends, and sustained by the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
For some time he lived in utter happiness and peace. Then those who
had been taken prisoner were sent away to Mosul, and he was among the
victims and like them exposed to the wrath of the oppressors. He
remained in captivity for quite a while and when freed came to Akká.
Here too he was a friend to the prisoners and in the Fortress he
continued to practice his skill. As usual he was inclined to
solitude, apt to stay apart from friend and stranger alike, and much
of the time lived by himself.

Then the supreme ordeal, the great desolation, came upon
us. Qulám-‘Alí took on the carpentry work of the
Holy Tomb, exerting all his sure powers. To this day, the glass roof
which is over the inner courtyard of the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh
remains as the product of his skill. He was a man crystal clear of
heart. His face shone; his inner condition was constant; at no time
was he changeable or unstable. He was staunch, loving, and true till
his last breath.

After some years in this neighborhood, he rose upward to
the neighborhood of the all-embracing mercy of God, and became a
friend to those who dwell in the high Heavens. He had the honor of
meeting Bahá’u’lláh in both worlds. This is
the most precious bestowal, the costliest of all gifts. To him be
salutations and praise. His bright grave is in Akká.
Jináb-i-Múníb, upon him be the Glory of the
All-Glorious

His name was Mírzá Áqá and
he was spirit itself. He came from Káshán. In
the days of the Báb, he was drawn to the sweet savors of God;
it was then he caught fire. He was a fine youth, handsome, full of
charm and grace. He was a calligrapher second to none, a poet, and he
had as well a remarkable singing voice. He was wise and perceptive;
staunch in the Faith of God; a flame of God’s love, severed
from all but God.

During the years when Bahá’u’lláh
resided in ‘Iráq, Jináb-i-Múníb
left Káshán and hastened to His presence. He
went to live in a small and humble house, barely managed to subsist,
and set about committing to writing the words of God. On his brow,
the bestowals of the Manifestation were clear to see. In all this
mortal world he had only one possession, his daughter; and even his
daughter he had left behind in Persia, as he hurried away to ‘Iráq.

At the time when, with all pomp and ceremony,
Bahá’u’lláh and His retinue departed from
Baghdád, Jináb-i-Múníb accompanied
the party on foot. The young man had been known in Persia for his
easy and agreeable life and his love of pleasure; also for being
somewhat soft and delicate, and used to having his own way. It is
obvious what a person of this type endured, going on foot from
Baghdád to Constantinople. Still, he gladly measured
out the desert miles, and he spent his days and nights chanting
prayers, communing with God and calling upon Him.

He was a close companion of mine on that journey. There
were nights when we would walk, one to either side of the howdah of
Bahá’u’lláh, and the joy we had defies
description. Some of those nights he would sing poems; among them he
would chant the odes of Háfiz, like the one that begins,
“Come, let us scatter these roses, let us pour out this wine,”84
and that other:

The Blessed Beauty, at the time of His departure from
Constantinople, directed Jináb-i-Múníb to return
to Persia and promulgate the Faith. Accordingly he went back, and
over a considerable period he rendered outstanding services,
especially in Ṭihrán. Then he came again, from Persia to
Adrianople, and entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
enjoying the privilege of attending upon Him. At the time of the
greatest catastrophe, that is, the exile to Akká, he was made
a prisoner on this Pathway and traveled, by now feeble and ill, with
the party of Bahá’u’lláh.

He had been stricken by a severe ailment and was
pitifully weak. Still, he would not agree to remaining behind in
Adrianople where he could receive treatment, because he wanted to
sacrifice his life and fall at the feet of his Lord. We journeyed
along till we reached the sea. He was now so feeble that it took
three men to lift him and carry him onto the ship. Once he was on
board, his condition grew so much worse that the captain insisted we
put him off the ship, but because of our repeated pleas he waited
till we reached Smyrna. In Smyrna, the captain addressed Colonel Umar
Bayk, the government agent who accompanied us, and told him: “If
you don’t put him ashore, I will do it by force, because the
ship will not accept passengers in this condition.”

We were compelled, then, to take Jináb-i-Múníb
to the hospital at Smyrna. Weak as he was, unable to utter a word, he
dragged himself to Bahá’u’lláh, lay down at
His feet, and wept. On the countenance of Bahá’u’lláh
as well, there was intense pain.

We carried Jináb-i-Múníb to the
hospital, but the functionaries allowed us not more than one hour’s
time. We laid him down on the bed; we laid his fair head on the
pillow; we held him and kissed him many times. Then they forced us
away. It is clear how we felt. Whenever I think of that moment, the
tears come; my heart is heavy and I summon up the remembrance of what
he was. A great man; infinitely wise, he was, steadfast, modest and
grave; and there was no one like him for faith and certitude. In him
the inner and outer perfections, the spiritual and physical, were
joined together. That is why he could receive endless bounty and
grace.

His grave is in Smyrna, but it is off by itself, and
deserted. Whenever this can be done, the friends must search for it,
and that neglected dust must be changed into a much-frequented
shrine,85
so that pilgrims who visit there may breathe in the sweet scent of
his last resting-place.

Mírzá Muṣṭafá
Naráqí

Among that company of pure and goodly souls was Mírzá
Muṣṭafá, a leading citizen of Naráq and one
of the earliest believers. His face shone with the love of God. His
mind was concerned with the anemones of mystic meanings, fair as
meadows and beds of flowers.

It was in the days of the Báb that he first set
his lips to the intoxicating cup of spiritual truth, and he had a
strange tumult in his brain, a fierce yearning in his heart. In the
path of God he threw down whatever he possessed; he gambled
everything away, gave up his home, his kin, his physical well-being,
his peace of mind. Like a fish on the sand, he struggled to reach the
water of life. He came to ‘Iráq, joined the friends of
his soul, and entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
For some time he lived there, joyful and content, receiving endless
bounty. Then he was sent back to Persia, where, to the utmost of his
capacity, he served the Faith. He was a whole and accomplished man,
staunch, firmly rooted as the hills; sound, and worthy of trust. To
him, in all that turmoil and panic, the wild dogs howling were only
buzzing flies; tests and trials rested his mind; when cast into the
fire of afflictions that broke out, he proved to be shining gold.

On the day when the convoy of Bahá’u’lláh
was leaving Constantinople for Adrianople, Mírzá
Muṣṭafá arrived from Persia. There was no
opportunity for him to reach Bahá’u’lláh
except once; and he was thereupon directed to return to Persia. At
such a moment he had the honor of being received.

When Mírzá Muṣṭafá
reached Ádhirbayján, he began to spread the
Faith. Day and night he remained in a state of prayer, and there in
Tabríz he drank of a brimming cup. His fervor increased, his
teaching raised a tumult. Then the eminent scholar, the renowned
Shaykh Aḥmad-i-Khurásání,
came to Ádhirbayján and the two of them joined
forces. The result was such overwhelming spiritual fire that they
taught the Faith openly and publicly and the people of Tabríz
rose up in wrath.

The farráshes hunted them down, and caught
Mírzá Muṣṭafá. But then the
oppressors said, “Mírzá Muṣṭafá
had two long locks of hair. This cannot be the right man.” At
once, Mírzá Muṣṭafá took off his hat
and down fell the locks of hair. “Behold!” he told them.
“I am the one.” They arrested him then. They tortured him
and Shaykh Aḥmad until finally, in Tabríz,
those two great men drained the cup of death and, martyred, hastened
away to the Supreme Horizon.

At the place where they were to be killed, Mírzá
Muṣṭafá cried out: “Kill me first, kill me
before Shaykh Aḥmad, that I may not see them shed
his blood!”

Their greatness has been recorded for all time in the
Writings of Bahá’u’lláh. They received many
a Tablet from Him, and after their death He set down, with His
exalted pen, the anguish they endured.

From youth till old age, this illustrious man, Mírzá
Muṣṭafá, devoted his entire life to service on the
pathway of God. Today he dwells in the all-glorious Realm, in the
neighborhood of the ineffable mercy of God, and he rejoices with
exceeding gladness, and he celebrates the praise of his Lord.
Blessedness be his, and a goodly home.86
To him be tidings of great joy, from the Lord of Lords. May God grant
him an exalted station, in that high Company.

Zaynu’l-Muqarrabín

This distinguished man was one of the greatest of all
the Báb’s companions and all the loved ones of
Bahá’u’lláh. When he lived under Islám,
he was already famed for his purity and holiness of life. He was
talented and highly accomplished in many directions. He was the
leader and spiritual exemplar of the entire population of Najaf-Ábád,
and the eminent of that area showed him unbounded respect. When he
spoke out, his was the deciding opinion; when he passed judgment, it
took effect; for he was known to all as the standard, and the
authority of last resort.

He had no sooner learned of the Báb’s
Declaration than he cried out from the depths of his heart, “O
our Lord! we have indeed heard the voice of one that called. He
called us to the Faith—‘Believe ye on your Lord’—and
we have believed.”87
He rid himself of all impeding veils; his doubts dispelled, he began
to extol and glorify the Beauty promised from of old. In his own
home, and at Iṣfáhán, he became notorious for
declaring far and wide that the advent of the long-desired One had
come to pass. By the hypocrites, he was mocked, cursed and tormented.
As for the people, “the mass, as a snake in the grass,”
who had worshiped him before, now rose up to do him harm. Every day
brought on a fresh cruelty, a new torment from his oppressors. He
endured it all, and went on teaching with great eloquence. He
remained staunch, unmoved, as their wrath increased. In his hands he
held out a full cup of Divine glad tidings, offering to all who came
that heady draught of the knowledge of God. He was utterly without
fear, knew nothing of danger, and swiftly followed the holy path of
the Lord.

After the attempt on the Sháh, however,
there was no shelter anywhere; no evening, no morning, without
intense affliction. And since his staying on in Najaf-Ábád
at such a time was a great danger to the believers, he left there and
traveled to ‘Iráq. It was during the period when the
Blessed Beauty was in Kurdistán, when He had gone into
seclusion and was living in the cave on Sar-Galú, that
Jináb-i-Zayn arrived in Baghdád. But his hopes
were dashed, his heart grieved, for all was silence: there was no
word of the Cause of God, no name nor fame of it; there were no
gatherings, no call was being raised. Yaḥyá, terror
stricken, had vanished into some dark hiding place. Torpid, flaccid,
he had made himself invisible. Try as he might, Jináb-i-Zayn
could find not one soul. He met on a single occasion with His
Eminence Kalím. But it was a period when great caution was
being exercised by the believers, and he went on to Karbilá.
He spent some time there, and occupied himself with copying out the
Writings, after which he returned home to Najaf-Ábád.
Here the foul persecutions and attacks of his relentless enemies
could hardly be endured.

But when the Trump had been sounded a second time,88
he was restored to life. To the tidings of Bahá’u’lláh’s
advent his soul replied; to the drum beat, “Am I not your
Lord?” his heart drummed back: “Yea, verily!”89
Eloquently, he taught again, using both rational and historical
proofs to establish that He Whom God Shall Manifest—the
Promised One of the Báb—had indeed appeared. He was like
refreshing waters to those who thirsted, and to seekers, a clear
answer from the Concourse on high. In his writing and speaking, he
was first among the righteous, in his elucidations and commentaries a
mighty sign of God.

In Persia his life was in imminent peril; and since
remaining at Najaf-Ábád would have stirred up the
agitators and brought on riots, he hastened away to Adrianople,
seeking sanctuary with God, and crying out as he went, “Lord,
Lord, here am I!” Wearing the lover’s pilgrim dress, he
reached the Mecca of his longing. For some time he tarried there, in
the presence of Bahá’u’lláh, after which he
was commanded to leave, with Jináb-i-Mírzá
Ja’far-i-Yazdí, and promulgate the Faith. He returned to
Persia and began to teach most eloquently, so that the glad tidings
of the Lord’s advent resounded to the high heavens. In the
company of Mírzá Ja’far he traveled everywhere,
through cities flourishing and ruined, spreading the good news that
the Blessed Beauty was now manifest.

Once again, he returned to ‘Iráq, where he
was the center of every gathering, and rejoiced his hearers. At all
times, he gave wise counsel; at all times he was consumed with the
love of God.

When the believers were taken prisoner in ‘Iráq
and banished to Mosul, Jináb-i-Zayn became their chief. He
remained for some time in Mosul, a consolation to the rest, working
to solve their many problems. He would kindle love in people’s
hearts, and make them kind to one another. Later he asked for
permission to attend upon Bahá’u’lláh; when
this was granted he arrived at the Prison and had the honor of
entering the presence of his Well-Beloved. He then busied himself
with writing down the sacred verses, and encouraging the friends. He
was love itself to the emigrants, and warmed the travelers’
hearts. He never rested for a moment, and received new grace and
bounty every day, meanwhile taking down the Bahá’í
Scriptures with faultless care.

From his early years till his last breath, this eminent
man never failed in service to the Manifestation. After the ascension
he was consumed with such grieving, such constant tears and anguish,
that as the days passed by, he wasted away. He remained faithful to
the Covenant, and was a close companion to this servant of the Light
of the World, but he longed to rise out of this life, and awaited his
departure from day to day. At last, serene and happy, rejoicing in
the tidings of the Kingdom, he soared away to that mysterious land.
There he was loosed from every sorrow, and in the gathering-place of
splendors he was immersed in light.

Unto him be salutations and praise from the luminous
Realm, and the glory of the All-Glorious from the Concourse on high,
and great joy in that Kingdom which endures forever. May God provide
him with an exalted station in the Abhá Paradise.

Aẓím-i-Tafríshí

This man of God came from the district of Tafrísh.
He was detached from the world, fearless, independent of kindred and
stranger alike. He was one of the earliest believers, and belonged to
the company of the faithful. It was in Persia that he won the honor
of belief, and began to assist the friends; he was a servant to every
believer, a trusted helper to every traveler. With Músáy-i-Qumí,
upon whom be the glory of God, he came to ‘Iráq,
received his portion of bounty from the Light of the World, and was
honored with entering the presence of Bahá’u’lláh,
attending upon Him and becoming the object of bestowals and grace.

After a time, Aẓím and Ḥájí
Mírzá Músá went back to Persia, where he
continued to render service to the friends, purely for God’s
sake. Without wage or stipend he served Mírzá
Nasru’lláh of Tafrísh for a number of
years, his faith and certitude growing stronger with every passing
day. Mírzá Nasru’lláh then left Persia for
Adrianople, and in his company came Jináb-i-‘Aẓím,
and entered the presence of Bahá’u’lláh. He
kept on serving with love and loyalty, purely for the sake of God;
and when the convoy departed for Akká, Aẓím
received the distinction of accompanying Bahá’u’lláh,
and he entered the Most Great Prison.

In the prison he was chosen to serve the Household; he
became the water carrier both within doors and on the outside. He
undertook many hard tasks in the barracks. He had no rest at all, day
or night. Aẓím—“the great, the
magnificent”—was magnificent as to character. He was
patient, long-suffering, forbearing, shunning the stain of this
earth. And since he was the family water carrier, he had the honor of
coming into Bahá’u’lláh’s presence
every day.

He was a good companion to all the friends, a
consolation to their hearts; he brought happiness to all of them, the
present and the absent as well. Many and many a time, Bahá’u’lláh
was heard to express His approval of this man. He always maintained
the same inner condition; he was constant, never subject to change.
He was always happy-looking. He did not know the meaning of fatigue.
He was never despondent. When anyone asked a service of him, he
performed it at once. He was staunch and firm in his faith, a tree
that grew in the scented garden of God’s tenderness.

After he had served at the Holy Threshold for many long
years, he hastened away, tranquil, serene, rejoicing in the tidings
of the Kingdom, out of this swiftly fading life to the world that
does not die. The friends, all of them, mourned his passing, but the
Blessed Beauty eased their hearts, for He lavished grace and praise
on him who was gone.

Mercies be upon Aẓím from the Kingdom of
Divine compassion; God’s glory be upon him, at nightfall and
the rising of the sun.

Mírzá Ja’far-i-Yazdí

This knight of the battlefield was one of the most
learned of seekers after truth, well versed in many branches of
knowledge. For a long time he was in the schools, specializing in the
fundamentals of religion and religious jurisprudence, and making
researches into philosophy and metaphysics, logic and history, the
contemplative and the narrated sciences.90
He began, however, to note that his fellows were arrogant and
self-satisfied, and this repelled him. It was then that he heard the
cry out of the Supreme Concourse, and without a moment’s
hesitation he raised up his voice and shouted, “Yea, verily!”;
and he repeated the words, “O our Lord! We have heard the voice
of one that called. He called us to the Faith—‘Believe ye
on your Lord’—and we have believed.”91

When he saw the great tumult and the riots in Yazd, he
left his homeland and went to Najaf, the noble city; here for
safety’s sake he mingled with the scholars of religion,
becoming renowned among them for his own wide knowledge. Then,
listening to the voice from Baghdád, he hastened there,
and changed his mode of dress. That is, he put a layman’s hat
on his head, and went to work as a carpenter to earn his living. He
traveled once to Ṭihrán, returned, and sheltered by the
grace of Bahá’u’lláh was patient and
content, rejoicing in his garb of poverty. In spite of his great
learning he was humble, self-effacing, lowly. He kept silent at all
times, and was a good companion to every sort of man.

On the journey from ‘Iráq to
Constantinople, Mírzá Ja’far was one of
Bahá’u’lláh’s retinue, and in seeing
to the needs of the friends, he was a partner to this servant. When
we would come to a stopping-place the believers, exhausted by the
long hours of travel, would rest or sleep. Mírzá Ja’far
and I would go here and there to the surrounding villages to find
oats, straw and other provisions for the caravan.92
Since there was a famine in that area, it sometimes happened that we
would be roaming from village to village from after the noon hour
until half the night was gone. As best we could, we could procure
whatever was available, then return to the convoy.

Mírzá Ja’far was patient and
long-suffering, a faithful attendant at the Holy Threshold. He was a
servant to all the friends, working day and night. A quiet man,
sparing of speech, in all things relying entirely upon God. He
continued to serve in Adrianople until the banishment to Akká
was brought about and he too was made a prisoner. He was grateful for
this, continually offering thanks, and saying, “Praise be to
God! I am in the fully-laden Ark!”93

The Prison was a garden of roses to him, and his narrow
cell a wide and fragrant place. At the time when we were in the
barracks he fell dangerously ill and was confined to his bed. He
suffered many complications, until finally the doctor gave him up and
would visit him no more. Then the sick man breathed his last. Mírzá
Áqá Ján ran to Bahá’u’lláh,
with word of the death. Not only had the patient ceased to breathe,
but his body was already going limp. His family were gathered about
him, mourning him, shedding bitter tears. The Blessed Beauty said,
“Go; chant the prayer of Yá Sháfí—O
Thou, the Healer—and Mírzá Ja’far will come
alive. Very rapidly, he will be as well as ever.” I reached his
bedside. His body was cold and all the signs of death were present.
Slowly, he began to stir; soon he could move his limbs, and before an
hour had passed he lifted his head, sat up, and proceeded to laugh
and tell jokes.

He lived for a long time after that, occupied as ever
with serving the friends. This giving service was a point of pride
with him: to all, he was a servant. He was always modest and humble,
calling God to mind, and to the highest degree full of hope and
faith. Finally, while in the Most Great Prison, he abandoned this
earthly life and winged his way to the life beyond.

Greetings and praise be unto him; upon him be the glory
of the All-Glorious, and the favoring glances of the Lord. His
luminous grave is in Akká.

Ḥusayn-Áqáy-i-Tabrízí

This man who was close to the Divine Threshold was the
respected son of ‘Alí-‘Askar-i-Tabrízí.
Full of yearning love, he came with his father from Tabríz to
Adrianople, and by his own wish, went on with joy and hope to the
Most Great Prison. From the day of his arrival at the fortress of
Akká he took over the coffee service, and waited upon the
friends. This accomplished man was so patient, so docile, that over a
forty-year period, despite extreme difficulties (for day and night,
friend and stranger alike thronged the doors), he attended upon each
and every one who came, faithfully helping them all. During all that
time Ḥusayn-Áqá never offended a soul, nor did
anyone, where he was concerned, utter a single complaint. This was
truly a miracle, and no one else could have established such a record
of service. He was always smiling, attentive as to the tasks
committed to his care, known as a man to trust. In the Cause of God
he was staunch, proud and true; in times of calamity he was patient
and long-suffering.

After the ascension of Bahá’u’lláh
the fires of tests leaped up and a whirlwind of violation battered
the edifice down. This believer, in spite of a close tie of kinship,
remained loyal, showing such strength and firmness that he manifested
the words: “In the Cause of God, the blame of the blamer shall
he not fear.”94
Not for a moment did he hesitate, nor waver in his faith, but he
stood firm as a mountain, proud as an impregnable citadel, and rooted
deep.

The Covenant-breakers took his mother away to their own
place, where her daughter lived. They did everything they could think
of to unsettle her faith. To an extent beyond belief, they lavished
favors upon her, and plied her with kindnesses, hiding the fact that
they had broken the Covenant. Finally, however, that respected
handmaid of Bahá’u’lláh detected the odor
of violation, whereupon she instantly quit the Mansion of Bahjí
and hurried back to Akká. “I am the handmaid of the
Blessed Beauty,” she said, “and loyal to His Covenant and
Testament. Though my son-in-law were a prince of the realm, what
would that profit me? I am not to be won over by kinship and displays
of affection. I am not concerned with external tokens of friendliness
from those who are the very embodiment of selfish desire. I stand by
the Covenant, and I hold to the Testament.” She would not
consent to meet with the Covenant-breakers again; she freed herself
completely from them, and turned her face to God.

As for Ḥusayn-Áqá, never did he
separate himself from ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. He had the
utmost consideration for me and was my constant companion, and it
followed that his passing was a formidable blow. Even now, whenever
he comes to mind I grieve, and mourn his loss. But God be praised
that this man of God, in the days of the Blessed Beauty, remained at
all times in close proximity to His House, and was the object of His
good pleasure. Time and again, Bahá’u’lláh
was heard to comment that Ḥusayn-Áqá had been
created to perform this service.

After forty years of serving, he forsook this swiftly
passing world and soared away to the realms of God. Greetings and
praise be unto him, and mercy from his bountiful Lord. May his grave
be encircled with lights that stream from the exalted Companion. His
resting-place is in Haifa.

Ḥájí
‘Alí-‘Askar-i-Tabrízí

The distinguished ‘Alí-‘Askar was a
merchant from Tabríz. He was much respected in Ádhirbayján
by all who knew him, and recognized for godliness and
trustworthiness, for piety and strong faith. The people of Tabríz,
one and all, acknowledged his excellence and praised his character
and way of life, his qualities and talents. He was one of the
earliest believers, and one of the most notable.

When the Trumpet first sounded, he fainted away, and at
the second blast, he was awakened to new life.95
He became a candle burning with the love of God, a goodly tree in the
Abhá gardens. He led all his household, his other kindred and
his friends to the Faith, and successfully rendered many services;
but the tyranny of the wicked brought him to an agonizing pass, and
he was beset by new afflictions every day. Still, he did not slacken
and was not dispirited; on the contrary, his faith, his certitude and
self-sacrifice increased. Finally he could endure his homeland no
more. Accompanied by his family, he arrived in Adrianople, and here,
in financial straits, but content, he spent his days, with dignity,
patience, acquiescence, and offering thanks.

Then he took a little merchandise with him from
Adrianople, and left for the city of Jum’ih-Bázár,
to earn his livelihood. What he had with him was trifling, but still,
it was carried off by thieves. When the Persian Consul learned of
this he presented a document to the Government, naming an enormous
sum as the value of the stolen goods. By chance the thieves were
caught and proved to be in possession of considerable funds. It was
decided to investigate the case. The Consul called in Ḥájí
‘Alí-‘Askar and told him: “These thieves are
very rich. In my report to the Government, I wrote that the amount of
the theft was great. Therefore you must attend the trial and testify
conformably to what I wrote.”

The Ḥájí replied: “Your Honor,
Khán, the stolen goods amounted to very little. How can
I report something that is not true? When they question me, I will
give the facts exactly as they are. I consider this my duty, and only
this.”

“Ḥájí,” said the Consul,
“We have a golden opportunity here; you and I can both profit
by it. Don’t let such a once-in-a-lifetime chance slip through
your hands.”

The Ḥájí answered: “Khán,
how would I square it with God? Let me be. I shall tell the truth and
nothing but the truth.”

The Consul was beside himself. He began to threaten and
belabor ‘Alí-‘Askar. “Do you want to make me
out a liar?” he cried. “Do you want to make me a
laughingstock? I will jail you; I will have you banished; there is no
torment I will spare you. This very instant I will hand you over to
the police, and I will tell them that you are an enemy of the state,
and that you are to be manacled and taken to the Persian frontier.”

The Ḥájí only smiled.
“Jináb-i-Khán,” he said. “I
have given up my life for the truth. I have nothing else. You are
telling me to lie and bear false witness. Do with me as you please; I
will not turn my back on what is right.”

When the Consul saw that there was no way to make
‘Alí-‘Askar testify to a falsehood, he said: “It
is better, then, for you to leave this place, so that I can inform
the Government that the owner of the merchandise is no longer
available and has gone away. Otherwise I shall be disgraced.”

The Ḥájí returned to Adrianople, and
spoke not a word as to his stolen goods, but the matter became public
knowledge and caused considerable surprise.

That fine and rare old man was taken captive in
Adrianople along with the rest, and he accompanied the Blessed Beauty
to the Akká fortress, this prison-house of sorrows. With all
his family, he was jailed in the path of God for a period of years;
and he was always offering thanks, because the prison was a palace to
him, and captivity a reason to rejoice. In all those years he was
never known to express himself except in thankfulness and praise. The
greater the tyranny of the oppressors, the happier he was. Time and
again Bahá’u’lláh was heard to speak of him
with loving kindness, and He would say: “I am pleased with
him.” This man, who was spirit personified, remained constant,
true, and joyful to the end. When some years had passed, he exchanged
this world of dust for the Kingdom that is undefiled, and he left
powerful influences behind.

As a rule, he was the close companion of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
One day, at the beginning of our time in the Prison, I hurried to the
corner of the barracks where he lived—the cell that was his
shabby nest. He was lying there, running a high fever, out of his
head. On his right side lay his wife, shaking and trembling with
chills. To his left was his daughter, Fátimih, burning up with
typhus. Beyond them his son, Ḥusayn-Áqá, was down
with scarlet fever; he had forgotten how to speak Persian, and he
kept crying out in Turkish, “My insides are on fire!” At
the father’s feet lay the other daughter, deep in her sickness,
and along the side of the wall was his brother, Mashhadí
Faṭṭaḥ, raving and delirious. In this condition,
‘Alí-‘Askar’s lips were moving: he was
returning thanks to God, and expressing joy.

Praise be to God! He died in the Most Great Prison,
still patient and thankful, still with dignity and firm in his faith.
He rose up to the retreats of the compassionate Lord. Upon him be the
glory of the All-Glorious; to him be salutations and praise: upon him
be mercy and forgiveness forever and ever.

Áqá ‘Alíy-i-Qazvíní

This eminent man had high ambitions and aims. He was to
a supreme degree constant, loyal and firmly rooted in his faith, and
he was among the earliest and greatest of the believers. At the very
dawn of the new Day of Guidance he became enamored of the Báb
and began to teach. From morning till dark he worked at his craft,
and almost every night he entertained the friends at supper. Being
host in this way to friends in the spirit, he guided many seekers to
the Faith, attracting them with the melody of the love of God. He was
amazingly constant, energetic, and persevering.

Then the perfume-laden air began to stir from over the
gardens of the All-Glorious, and he caught fire from the newly
kindled flame. His illusions and fancies were burned away and he
arose to proclaim the Cause of Bahá’u’lláh.
Every night there was a meeting, a gathering that rivaled the flowers
in their beds. The verses were read, the prayers chanted, the good
news of the greatest of Advents was shared. He spent most of his time
in showing kindness to friend and stranger alike; he was a
magnanimous being, with open hand and heart.

The day came when he set out for the Most Great Prison,
and arrived with his family at the Akká fortress. He had been
afflicted with many a hardship on his journey, but his longing to see
Bahá’u’lláh was such that he found the
calamities easy to endure; and so he measured off the miles, looking
for a home in God’s sheltering grace.

At first he had means; life was comfortable and
pleasant. Later on, however, he was destitute and subjected to
terrible ordeals. Most of the time his food was bread, nothing else;
instead of tea, he drank from a running brook. Still, he remained
happy and content. His great joy was to enter the presence of
Bahá’u’lláh; reunion with his Beloved was
bounty enough; his food was to look upon the beauty of the
Manifestation; his wine, to be with Bahá’u’lláh.
He was always smiling, always silent; but at the same time, his heart
shouted, leapt and danced.

Often, he was in the company of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
He was an excellent friend and comrade, happy, delightful; favored by
Bahá’u’lláh, respected by the friends,
shunning the world, trusting in God. There was no fickleness in him,
his inner condition was always the same: stable, constant, firmly
rooted as the hills.

Whenever I call him to mind, and remember that patience
and serenity, that loyalty, that contentment, involuntarily I find
myself asking God to shed His bounties upon Áqá ‘Alí.
Misfortunes and calamities were forever descending on that estimable
man. He was always ill, continually subjected to unnumbered physical
afflictions. The reason was that when at home and serving the Faith
in Qazvín, he was caught by the malevolent and they beat him
so brutally over the head that the effects stayed with him till his
dying hour. They abused and tormented him in many ways and thought it
permissible to inflict every kind of cruelty upon him; yet his only
crime was to have become a believer, and his only sin, to have loved
God. As the poet has written, in lines that illustrate the plight of
Áqá ‘Alí:

Briefly, that great man spent his time in the Akká
prison, praying, supplicating, turning his face toward God. Infinite
bounty enfolded him; he was favored by Bahá’u’lláh,
much of the time admitted to His presence and showered with endless
grace. This was his joy and his delight, his great good fortune, his
dearest wish.

Then the fixed hour was upon him, the daybreak of his
hopes, and it came his turn to soar away, into the invisible realm.
Sheltered under the protection of Bahá’u’lláh,
he went swiftly forth to that mysterious land. To him be salutations
and praise and mercy from the Lord of this world and the world to
come. May God light up his resting-place with rays from the Companion
on high. Áqá Muḥammad-Báqir and Áqá
Muḥammad-Ismá’íl, the Tailor

These were two brothers who, in the path of God,
captives along with the rest, were shut in the Akká fortress.
They were brothers of the late Pahlaván Riḍá.
They left Persia and emigrated to Adrianople, hastening to the
loving-kindness of Bahá’u’lláh; and under
His protection, they came to Akká.

Pahlaván Riḍá—God’s
mercy and blessings and splendors be upon him; praise and salutations
be unto him—was a man to outward seeming untutored, devoid of
learning. He was a tradesman, and like the others who came in at the
start, he cast everything away out of love for God, attaining in one
leap the highest reaches of knowledge. He is of those from the
earlier time. So eloquent did he suddenly become that the people of
Káshán were astounded. For example this man, to
all appearances unschooled, betook himself to Ḥájí
Muḥammad-Karím Khán in Káshán
and propounded this question:

“Sir, are you the Fourth Pillar? I am a man who
thirsts after spiritual truth and I yearn to know of the Fourth
Pillar.”96

Since a number of political and military leaders were
present, the Ḥájí replied: “Perish the
thought! I shun all those who consider me the Fourth Pillar. Never
have I made such a claim. Whoever says I have, speaks falsehood; may
God’s curse be on him!”

A few days later Pahlaván Riḍá again
sought out the Ḥájí and told him: “Sir, I
have just finished your book, Irshadu’l-‘Avám
(Guidance unto the Ignorant); I have read it from cover to cover; in
it you say that one is obligated to know the Fourth Pillar or Fourth
Support; indeed, you account him a fellow knight of the Lord of the
Age.97
Therefore I long to recognize and know him. I am certain that you are
informed of him. Show him to me, I beg of you.”

The Ḥájí was wrathful. He said: “The
Fourth Pillar is no figment. He is a being plainly visible to all.
Like me, he has a turban on his head, he wears an ‘abá,
and carries a cane in his hand.” Pahlaván Riḍá
smiled at him. “Meaning no discourtesy,” he said, “there
is, then, a contradiction in Your Honor’s teaching. First you
say one thing, then you say another.”

Furious, the Ḥájí replied: “I
am busy now. Let us discuss this matter some other time. Today I must
ask to be excused.”

The point is that Riḍá, a man considered to
be unlettered, was able, in an argument, to best such an erudite
“Fourth Pillar.” In the phrase of Allámíy-i-Hillí,
he downed him with the Fourth Support.98

Whenever that lionhearted champion of knowledge began to
speak, his listeners marveled; and he remained, till his last breath,
the protector and helper of all seekers after truth. Ultimately he
became known far and wide as a Bahá’í, was turned
into a vagrant, and ascended to the Abhá Kingdom.

As for his two brothers: through the grace of the
Blessed Beauty, after they were taken captive by the tyrants, they
were shut in the Most Great Prison, where they shared the lot of
these homeless wanderers. Here, during the early days at Akká,
with complete detachment, with ardent love, they hastened away to the
all-glorious Realm. For our ruthless oppressors, as soon as we
arrived, imprisoned all of us inside the fortress in the soldiers’
barracks, and they closed up every issue, so that none could come and
go. At that time the air of Akká was poisonous, and every
stranger, immediately following his arrival, would be taken ill.
Muḥammad-Báqir and Muḥammad-Ismá’íl
came down with a violent ailment and there was neither doctor nor
medicine to be had; and those two embodied lights died on the same
night, wrapped in each other’s arms. They rose up to the
undying Kingdom, leaving the friends to mourn them forever. There was
none there but wept that night.

When morning came we wished to carry their sanctified
bodies away. The oppressors told us: “You are forbidden to go
out of the fortress. You must hand over these two corpses to us. We
will wash them, shroud them and bury them. But first you must pay for
it.” It happened that we had no money. There was a prayer
carpet which had been placed under the feet of Bahá’u’lláh.
He took up this carpet and said, “Sell it. Give the money to
the guards.” The prayer carpet was sold for 170 piasters99
and that sum was handed over. But the two were never washed for their
burial nor wrapped in their winding sheets; the guards only dug a
hole in the ground and thrust them in, as they were, in the clothes
they had on; so that even now, their two graves are one, and just as
their souls are joined in the Abhá Realm, their bodies are
together here, under the earth, each holding the other in his close
embrace.

The Blessed Beauty showered His blessings on these two
brothers. In life, they were encompassed by His grace and favor; in
death, they were memorialized in His Tablets. Their grave is in Akká.
Greetings be unto them, and praise. The glory of the All-Glorious be
upon them, and God’s mercy, and His benediction.

Abu’l-Qásim of
Sulṭán-Ábád

Another among the prisoners was Abu’l-Qásim
of Sulṭán-Ábád, the traveling companion of
Áqá Faraj. These two were unassuming, loyal and
staunch. Once their souls had come alive through the breathings of
the Faithful Spirit they hastened out of Persia to Adrianople, for
such was the unabating cruelty of the malevolent that they could no
longer remain in their own home. On foot, free of every tie, they
took to the plains and hills, seeking their way across trackless
waters and desert sands. How many a night they could not sleep,
staying in the open with no place to lay their heads; with nothing to
eat or drink, no bed but the bare earth, no food but the desert
grasses. Somehow they dragged themselves along and managed to reach
Adrianople. It happened that they came during the last days in that
city, and were taken prisoner with the rest, and in the company of
Bahá’u’lláh they traveled to the Most Great
Prison.

Abu’l-Qásim fell violently ill with typhus.
He died about the same time as those two brothers, Muḥammad-Báqir
and Muḥammad-Ismá’íl, and his pure remains
were buried outside Akká. The Blessed Beauty expressed
approval of him and the friends, all of them, wept over his
afflictions and mourned him. Upon him be the glory of the
All-Glorious.

Áqá Faraj

In all these straits, Áqá Faraj was the
companion of Abu’l-Qásim. When, in Persian ‘Iráq,
he first heard the uproar caused by the Advent of the Most Great
Light, he shook and trembled, clapped his hands, cried out in
exultation and hastened off to ‘Iráq. Overcome with
delight, he entered the presence of his holy Lord. He was gathered
into the loving fellowship, and blissfully received the honor of
attending upon Bahá’u’lláh. Then he
returned, bearing glad tidings to Sulṭán-Ábád.

Here the malevolent were lying in wait, and disturbances
broke out, with the result that the sainted Mullá-Báshí
and some other believers who had none to defend them were struck down
and put to death. Áqá Faraj and Abu’l-Qásim,
who had gone into hiding, then hurried away to Adrianople, to fall,
ultimately, with the others and with their Well-Beloved, into the
Akká prison.

Áqá Faraj then won the honor of waiting
upon the Ancient Beauty. He served the Holy Threshold at all times
and was a comfort to the friends. During the days of Bahá’u’lláh
he was His loyal servitor, and a close companion to the believers,
and so it was after Bahá’u’lláh’s
departure: he remained true to the Covenant, and in the domain of
servitude he stood like a towering palm; a noble, superior man,
patient in dire adversity, content under all conditions.

Strong in faith, in devotion, he left this life and set
his face toward the Kingdom of God, to become the object of endless
grace. Upon him be God’s mercy and good pleasure, in His
Paradise. Greetings be unto him, and praise, in the meadows of
Heaven. The Consort of the King of Martyrs

Among the women who came out of their homeland was the
sorrowing Fátimih100
Begum, widow of the King of Martyrs. She was a holy leaf of the Tree
of God. From her earliest youth she was beset with uncounted ordeals.
First was the disaster which overtook her noble father in the
environs of Badasht, when, after terrible suffering, he died
in a desert caravanserai, died hard—helpless and far from home.

The child was left an orphan, and in distress, until, by
God’s grace, she became the wife of the King of Martyrs. But
since he was known everywhere as a Bahá’í, was an
impassioned lover of Bahá’u’lláh, a man
distracted, carried away, and since Náṣiri’d-Dín
Sháh thirsted for blood—the hostile lurked in
their ambush, and every day they informed against him and slandered
him afresh, started a new outcry and set new mischief afoot. For this
reason his family was never sure of his safety for a single day, but
lived from moment to moment in anguish, foreseeing and dreading the
hour of his martyrdom. Here was the family, everywhere known as
Bahá’ís; their enemies, stony-hearted tyrants;
their government inflexibly, permanently against them; their reigning
Sovereign rabid for blood.

It is obvious how life would be for such a household.
Every day there was a new incident, more turmoil, another uproar, and
they could not draw a breath in peace. Then, he was martyred. The
Government proved brutal and savage to such a degree that the human
race cried out and trembled. All his possessions were stripped away
and plundered, and his family lacked even their daily bread.

Fátimih spent her nights in weeping; till dawn
broke, her only companions were tears. Whenever she gazed on her
children, she would sigh, wearing away like a candle in devouring
grief. But then she would thank God, and she would say: “Praised
be the Lord, these agonies, these broken fortunes are on
Bahá’u’lláh’s account, for His dear
sake.” She would call to mind the defenseless family of the
martyred Ḥusayn, and what calamities they were privileged to
bear in the pathway of God. And as she pondered those events, her
heart would leap up, and she would cry, “Praise be to God! We
too have become companions of the Prophet’s Household.”101

Because the family was in such straits, Bahá’u’lláh
directed them to come to the Most Great Prison so that, sheltered in
these precincts of abounding grace, they might be compensated for all
that had passed. Here for a time she lived, joyful, thankful, and
praising God. And although the son of the King of Martyrs, Mírzá
‘Abdu’l-Ḥusayn, died in the prison, still his
mother, Fátimih, accepted this, resigned herself to the will
of God, did not so much as sigh or cry out, and did not go into
mourning. Not a word did she utter to bespeak her grief.

This handmaid of God was infinitely patient, dignified
and reserved, and at all times thankful. But then Bahá’u’lláh
left the world, and this was the supreme affliction, the ultimate
anguish, and she could endure no more. The shock and alarm were such
that like a fish taken from the water she writhed on the ground,
trembled and shook as if her whole being quaked, until at last she
took leave of her children and she died. She rose up into the
shadowing mercy of God and was plunged in an ocean of light. Unto her
be salutations and praise, compassion and glory. May God make sweet
her resting-place with the outpourings of His heavenly mercy; in the
shade of the Divine Lote-Tree102
may He honor her dwelling.

He is God!103

Thou seest, O my Lord, the assemblage of Thy loved ones,
the company of Thy friends, gathered by the precincts of Thine
all-sufficing Shrine, and in the neighborhood of Thine exalted
garden, on a day among the days of Thy Ridván Feast—that
blessed time when Thou didst dawn upon the world, shedding thereon
the lights of Thy holiness, spreading abroad the bright rays of Thy
oneness, and didst issue forth from Baghdád, with a
majesty and might that encompassed all mankind; with a glory that
made all to fall prostrate before Thee, all heads to bow, every neck
to bend low, and the gaze of every man to be cast down. They are
calling Thee to mind and making mention of Thee, their breasts
gladdened with the lights of Thy bestowals, their souls restored by
the evidences of Thy gifts, speaking Thy praise, turning their faces
toward Thy Kingdom, humbly supplicating Thy lofty Realms.

They are gathered here to commemorate Thy bright and
holy handmaid, a leaf of Thy green Tree of Heaven, a luminous
reality, a spiritual essence, who ever implores Thy tender
compassion. She was born into the arms of Divine wisdom, and she
suckled at the breast of certitude; she flourished in the cradle of
faith and rejoiced in the bosom of Thy love, O merciful, O
compassionate Lord! And she grew to womanhood in a house from which
the sweet savors of oneness were spread abroad. But while she was yet
a girl, distress came upon her in Thy path, and misfortune assailed
her, O Thou the Bestower, and in her defenseless youth she drank from
the cups of sorrow and pain, out of love for Thy beauty, O Thou the
Forgiver!

Thou knowest, O my God, the calamities she joyfully bore
in Thy pathway, the trials she confronted in Thy love, with a face
that radiated delight. How many a night, as others lay on their beds
in soft repose, was she wakeful, humbly entreating Thy heavenly
Realm. How many a day did Thy people spend, safe in the citadel of
Thy sheltering care, while her heart was harried from what had come
upon Thy holy ones.

O my Lord, her days and her years passed by, and
whenever she saw the morning light she wept over the sorrows of Thy
servants, and when the evening shadows fell she cried and called out
and burned in a fiery anguish for what had befallen Thy bondsmen. And
she arose with all her strength to serve Thee, to beseech the Heaven
of Thy mercy, and in lowliness to entreat Thee and to rest her heart
upon Thee. And she came forth veiled in holiness, her garments
unspotted by the nature of Thy people, and she entered into wedlock
with Thy servant on whom Thou didst confer Thy richest gifts, and in
whom Thou didst reveal the ensigns of Thine endless mercy, and whose
face, in Thine all-glorious Realm, Thou didst make to shine with
everlasting light. She married him whom Thou didst lodge in the
assemblage of reunion, one with the Company on high; him whom Thou
didst cause to eat of all heavenly foods, him on whom Thou didst
shower Thy blessings, on whom Thou didst bestow the title: Martyrs’
King.

And she dwelt for some years under the protection of
that manifest Light; and with all her soul she served at Thy
Threshold, holy and luminous; preparing foods and a place of rest and
couches for all Thy loved ones that came, and she had no other joy
but this. Lowly and humble she was before each of Thy handmaids,
deferring to each, serving each one with her heart and soul and her
whole being, out of love for Thy beauty, and seeking to win Thy good
pleasure. Until her house became known by Thy name, and the fame of
her husband was noised abroad, as one belonging to Thee, and the Land
of Sád (Iṣfáhán) shook and exulted for
joy, because of continual blessings from this mighty champion of
Thine; and the scented herbage of Thy knowledge and the roses of Thy
bounty began to burgeon out, and a great multitude was led to the
waters of Thy mercy.

Then the ignoble and the ignorant amongst Thy creatures
rose against him, and with tyranny and malice they pronounced his
death; and void of justice, with harsh oppression, they shed his
immaculate blood. Under the glittering sword that noble personage
cried out to Thee: “Praised be Thou, O my God, that on the
Promised Day, Thou hast helped me to attain this manifest grace; that
Thou hast reddened the dust with my blood, spilled out upon Thy path,
so that it puts forth crimson flowers. Favor and grace are Thine, to
grant me this gift which in all the world I longed for most. Thanks
be unto Thee that Thou didst succor me and confirm me and didst give
me to drink of this cup that was tempered at the camphor fountain104—on
the Day of Manifestation, at the hands of the cupbearer of martyrdom,
in the assemblage of delights. Thou art verily the One full of grace,
the Generous, the Bestower.”

And after they had killed him they invaded his princely
house. They attacked like preying wolves, like lions at the hunt, and
they sacked and plundered and pillaged, seizing the rich furnishings,
the ornaments and the jewels. She was in dire peril then, left with
the fragments of her broken heart. This violent assault took place
when the news of his martyrdom was spread abroad, and the children
cried out as panic struck at their hearts; they wailed and shed
tears, and sounds of mourning rose from out of that splendid home,
but there was none to weep over them, there was none to pity them.
Rather was the night of tyranny made to deepen about them, and the
fiery Hell of injustice blazed out hotter than before; nor was there
any torment but the evil doers brought it to bear, nor any agony but
they inflicted it. And this holy leaf remained, she and her brood, in
the grip of their oppressors, facing the malice of the unmindful,
with none to be their shield.

And the days passed by when tears were her only
companions, and her comrades were cries; when she was mated to
anguish, and had nothing but grief for a friend. And yet in these
sufferings, O my Lord, she did not cease to love Thee; she did not
fail Thee, O my Beloved, in these fiery ordeals. Though disasters
followed one upon another, though tribulations compassed her about,
she bore them all, she patiently endured them all, to her they were
Thy gifts and favors, and in all her massive agony—O Thou, Lord
of most beauteous names—Thy praise was on her lips.

Then she gave up her homeland, rest, refuge and shelter,
and taking her young, like the birds she winged her way to this
bright and holy Land—that here she might nest and sing Thy
praise as the birds do, and busy herself in Thy love with all her
powers, and serve Thee with all her being, all her soul and heart.
She was lowly before every handmaid of Thine, humble before every
leaf of the garden of Thy Cause, occupied with Thy remembrance,
severed from all except Thyself.

And her cries were lifted up at dawntide, and the sweet
accents of her chanting would be heard in the night season and at the
bright noonday, until she returned unto Thee, and winged her way to
Thy Kingdom; went seeking the shelter of Thy Threshold and soared
upward to Thine everlasting sky. O my Lord, reward her with the
contemplation of Thy beauty, feed her at the table of Thine eternity,
give her a home in Thy neighborhood, sustain her in the gardens of
Thy holiness as Thou willest and pleasest; bless Thou her lodging,
keep her safe in the shade of Thy heavenly Tree; lead her, O Lord,
into the pavilions of Thy godhood, make her to be one of Thy signs,
one of Thy lights.

Verily Thou art the Generous, the Bestower, the
Forgiver, the All-Merciful.

Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá

Khurshíd Begum, who was given the
title of Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá,105
the Morning Sun, was mother-in-law to the King of Martyrs. This
eloquent, ardent handmaid of God was the cousin on her father’s
side of the famous Muḥammad-Báqir of Iṣfáhán,
widely celebrated as chief of the ‘ulamás in that city.
When still a child she lost both her parents, and was reared by her
grandmother in the home of that famed and learned mujtahid, and well
trained in various branches of knowledge, in theology, sciences and
the arts.

Once she was grown, she was married to Mírzá
Hádíy-i-Nahrí; and since she and her husband
were both strongly attracted to the mystical teachings of that great
luminary, the excellent and distinguished Siyyid Kázim-i-Rashtí,106
they left for Karbilá, accompanied by Mírzá
Hádí’s brother, Mírzá
Muḥammad-‘Alíy-i-Nahrí.107
Here they used to attend the Siyyid’s classes, imbibing his
knowledge, so that this handmaid became thoroughly informed on
subjects relating to Divinity, on the Scriptures and on their inner
meanings. The couple had two children, a girl and a boy. They called
their son Siyyid ‘Alí and their daughter Fátimih
Begum, she being the one who, when she reached adolescence, was
married to the King of Martyrs.

Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá was there
in Karbilá when the cry of the exalted Lord was raised in
Shíráz, and she shouted back, “Yea,
verily!” As for her husband and his brother, they immediately
set out for Shíráz; for both of them, when
visiting the Shrine of Imám Ḥusayn, had looked upon the
beauty of the Primal Point, the Báb; both had been astonished
at what they saw in that transplendent face, in those heavenly
attributes and ways, and had agreed that One such as this must indeed
be some very great being. Accordingly, the moment they learned of His
Divine summons, they answered: “Yea, verily!” and they
burst into flame with yearning love for God. Besides, they had been
present every day in that holy place where the late Siyyid taught,
and had clearly heard him say: “The Advent is nigh, the affair
most subtle, most elusive. It behoves each one to search, to inquire,
for it may be that the Promised One is even now present among men,
even now visible, while all about Him are heedless, unmindful, with
bandaged eyes, even as the sacred traditions have foretold.”

When the two brothers arrived in Persia they heard that
the Báb had gone to Mecca on a pilgrimage. Siyyid
Muḥammad-‘Alí therefore left for Iṣfáhán
and Mírzá Hádí returned to Karbilá.
Meanwhile Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá had become
friends with the “Leaf of Paradise,” sister to Mullá
Husayn, the Bábu’l-Báb.108
Through that lady she had met Táhirih, Qurratu’l-‘Ayn,109
and had begun to spend most of her time in close companionship with
them both, occupied in teaching the Faith. Since this was in the
early days of the Cause, the people were not yet afraid of it. From
being with Táhirih, Shams profited immeasurably, and
was more on fire with the Faith than ever. She spent three years in
close association with Táhirih in Karbilá. Day and
night, she was stirred like the sea by the gales of the All-Merciful,
and she taught with an eloquent tongue.

As Táhirih became celebrated throughout Karbilá,
and the Cause of His Supreme Holiness, the Báb, spread all
over Persia, the latter-day ‘ulamás arose to deny, to
heap scorn upon, and to destroy it. They issued a fatvá or
judgment that called for a general massacre. Táhirih was one
of those designated by the evil ‘ulamás of the city as
an unbeliever, and they mistakenly thought her to be in the home of
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá. They broke into
Shams’s house, hemmed her in, abused and vilified her,
and inflicted grievous bodily harm. They dragged her out of the house
and through the streets to the bázár; they beat her
with clubs; they stoned her, they denounced her in foul language,
repeatedly assaulting her. While this was going on, Ḥájí
Siyyid Mihdí, the father of her distinguished husband, reached
the scene. “This woman is not Táhirih!” he shouted
at them. But he had no witness to prove it,110
and the farráshes, the police and the mob would not let
up. Then, through the uproar, a voice screamed out: “They have
arrested Qurratu’l-‘Ayn!” At this, the people
abandoned Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá.

Guards were placed at the door of Táhirih’s
house and no one was allowed to enter or leave, while the authorities
waited for instructions from Baghdád and
Constantinople. As the interval of waiting lengthened out, Táhirih
asked for permission to leave for Baghdád. “Let
us go there ourselves,” she told them. “We are resigned
to everything. Whatever happens to us is the best that can happen,
and the most pleasing.” With government permission, Táhirih,
the Leaf of Paradise, her mother and Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
all left Karbilá and traveled to Baghdád, but
the snake-like mass of the populace followed them for some distance,
stoning them from a little way off.

When they reached Baghdád they went to
live at the house of Shaykh Muḥammad-i-Shibl,
the father of Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá; and since
many crowded the doors there was an uproar throughout that quarter,
so that Táhirih transferred her residence elsewhere, to a
lodging of her own, where she continually taught the Faith, and
proclaimed the Word of God. Here the ‘ulamás, shaykhs
and others would come to listen to her, asking their questions and
receiving her replies, and she was soon remarkably well known
throughout Baghdád, expounding as she would the most
recondite and subtle of theological themes.

When word of this reached the government authorities,
they conveyed Táhirih, Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
and the Leaf to the house of the Muftí, and here they remained
three months until word as to their case was received from
Constantinople. During Táhirih’s stay at the Muftí’s,
much of the time was spent in conversations with him, in producing
convincing proofs as to the Teachings, analyzing and expounding
questions relative to the Lord God, discoursing on the Resurrection
Day, on the Balance and the Reckoning,111
unraveling the complexities of inner truths.

One day the Muftí’s father came in and
belabored them violently and at length. This somewhat discomfited the
Muftí and he began to apologize for his father. Then he said:
“Your answer has arrived from Constantinople. The Sovereign has
set you free, but on condition that you quit his realms.” The
next morning they left the Muftí’s house and proceeded
to the public baths. Meanwhile Shaykh Muḥammad-i-Shibl
and Shaykh Sulṭán-i-‘Arab made the
necessary preparations for their journey, and when three days had
passed, they left Baghdád; that is, Táhirih,
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá, the Leaf of Paradise,
the mother of Mírzá Hádí, and a number of
Siyyids from Yazd set out for Persia. Their travel expenses were all
provided by Shaykh Muḥammad.

They arrived at Kirmansháh, where the
women took up residence in one house, the men in another. The work of
teaching went on at all times, and as soon as the ‘ulamás
became aware of it they ordered that the party be expelled. At this
the district head, with a crowd of people, broke into the house and
carried off their belongings; then they seated the travelers in open
howdahs and drove them from the city. When they came to a field, the
muleteers set them down on the bare ground and left, taking animals
and howdahs away, leaving them without food or luggage, and with no
roof over their heads.

Táhirih thereupon wrote a letter to the Governor
of Kirmansháh. “We were travelers,” she
wrote, “guests in your city. ‘Honor thy guest,’ the
Prophet says, ‘though he be an unbeliever.’ Is it right
that a guest should be thus scorned and despoiled?” The
Governor ordered that the stolen goods be restored, and that all be
returned to the owners. Accordingly the muleteers came back as well,
seated the travelers in the howdahs again, and they went on to
Hamadán. The ladies of Hamadán, even the princesses,
came every day to meet with Táhirih, who remained in that city
two months.112
There she dismissed some of her traveling companions, so that they
could return to Baghdád; others, however, accompanied
her to Qazvín.

As they journeyed, some horsemen, kinsfolk of Táhirih’s,
that is, her brothers, approached. “We have come,” they
said, “at our father’s command, to lead her away, alone.”
But Táhirih refused, and accordingly the whole party remained
together until they arrived in Qazvín. Here, Táhirih
went to her father’s house and the friends, those who had
ridden and those who had traveled on foot, put up at a caravanserai.
Mírzá Hádí, the husband of Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá,
had gone to Máh-Kú, seeking out the Báb. On his
return, he awaited the arrival of Shams in Qazvín,
after which the couple left for Iṣfáhán, and when
they reached there, Mírzá Hádí journeyed
on to Badasht. In that hamlet and its vicinity he was
attacked, tormented, even stoned, and was subjected to such ordeals
that finally, in a ruined caravanserai, he died. His brother, Mírzá
Muḥammad-‘Alí, buried him there, along the
roadside.

Shams-i-Ḍuḥá remained in
Iṣfáhán. She spent her days and nights in the
remembrance of God and in teaching His Cause to the women of that
city. She was gifted with an eloquent tongue; her utterance was
wonderful to hear. She was highly honored by the leading women of
Iṣfáhán, celebrated for piety, for godliness, and
the purity of her life. She was chastity embodied; all her hours were
spent in reciting Holy Writ, or expounding the Texts, or unraveling
the most complex of spiritual themes, or spreading abroad the sweet
savors of God.

It was for these reasons that the King of Martyrs
married her respected daughter and became her son-in-law. And when
Shams went to live in his princely house, day and night the
people thronged its doors, for the leading women of the city, whether
friends or strangers, whether close to her or not, would come and go.
For she was a fire lit by the love of God, and she proclaimed the
Word of God with great ardor and verve, so that she became known
among the non-believers as Fátimih, the Bahá’ís’
Lady of Light.113

And so time passed, until the day when the “She-Serpent”
and the “Wolf” conspired together and issued a decree, a
fatvá, that sentenced the King of Martyrs to death. They
plotted as well with the Governor of the city so that among them they
could sack and plunder and carry off all that vast treasure he
possessed. Then the Sháh joined forces with those two
wild animals; and he commanded that the blood of both brothers, the
King of Martyrs and the Beloved of Martyrs, be spilled out. Without
warning, those ruthless men: the She-Serpent, the Wolf, and their
brutal farráshes and constabulary—attacked; they
chained the two brothers and led them off to prison, looted their
richly furnished houses, wrested away all their possessions, and
spared no one, not even infants at the breast. They tortured, cursed,
reviled, mocked, beat the kin and others of the victims’
household, and would not stay their hands.

In Paris, Zillu’s-Sulṭán114
related the following, swearing to the truth of it upon his oath:
“Many and many a time I warned those two great scions of the
Prophet’s House, but all to no avail. At the last I summoned
them one night, and with extreme urgency I told them in so many
words: ‘Gentlemen, the Sháh has three times
condemned you to death. His farmáns keep on coming. The decree
is absolute and there is only one course open to you now: you must,
in the presence of the ‘ulamás, clear yourselves and
curse your Faith.’ Their answer was: ‘Yá
Bahá’u’l-Abhá! O Thou Glory of the
All-Glorious! May our lives be offered up!’ Finally I agreed to
their not cursing their Faith. I told them all they had to say was,
‘We are not Bahá’ís.’ ‘Just
those few words,’ I said, ‘will be enough; then I can
write out my report for the Sháh, and you will be
saved.’ ‘That is impossible,’ they answered,
‘because we are Bahá’ís. O Thou Glory of
the All-Glorious, our hearts hunger for martyrdom! Yá
Bahá’u’l-Abhá!’ I was enraged, then,
and I tried, by being harsh with them, to force them to renounce
their Faith, but it was hopeless. The decree of the rapacious
She-Serpent and Wolf, and the Sháh’s commands,
were carried out.”

After those two were martyred, Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
was hunted down, and had to seek a refuge in her brother’s
house. Although he was not a believer, he was known in Iṣfáhán
as an upright, pious and godly man, a man of learning, an ascetic
who, hermit-like, kept to himself, and for these reasons he was
highly regarded and trusted by all. She stayed there with him, but
the Government did not abandon its search, finally discovered her
whereabouts and summoned her to appear; the evil ‘ulamás
had a hand in this, joining forces with the civil authorities. Her
brother was therefore obliged to accompany Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
to the Governor’s house. He remained without, while they sent
his sister into the women’s apartments; the Governor came
there, to the door, and he kicked and trampled her so savagely that
she fainted away. Then the Governor shouted to his wife: “Princess!
Princess! Come here and take a look at the Bahá’ís’
Lady of Light!”

The women lifted her up and put her in one of the rooms.
Meanwhile her brother, dumbfounded, was waiting outside the mansion.
Finally, trying to plead with him, he said to the Governor: “This
sister of mine has been beaten so severely that she is at the point
of death. What is the use of keeping her here? There is no hope for
her now. With your permission I can get her back to my house. It
would be better to have her die there, rather than here, for after
all, she is a descendant of the Prophet, she is of Muḥammad’s
noble line, and she has done no wrong. There is nothing against her
except her kinship to the son-in-law.” The Governor answered:
“She is one of the great leaders and heroines of the Bahá’ís.
She will simply cause another uproar.” The brother said: “I
promise you that she will not utter a word. It is certain that within
a few days she will not even be alive. Her body is frail, weak,
almost lifeless, and she has suffered terrible harm.”

Since the brother was greatly respected and trusted by
high and low alike, the Governor released Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
in his custody, letting her go. She lived for a while in his house,
crying out, grieving, shedding her tears, mourning her dead. Neither
was the brother at peace, nor would the hostile leave them alone;
there was some new turmoil every day, and public clamor. The brother
finally thought it best to take Shams away on a pilgrimage to
Mashhad, hoping that the fire of civil disturbances would die
down.

They went to Mashhad and settled in a vacant
house near the Shrine of the Imám Riḍá.115

Because he was such a pious man the brother would leave
every morning to visit the Shrine, and there he would stay, busy with
his devotions until almost noon. In the afternoon as well, he would
hasten away to the Holy Place, and pray until evening. The house
being empty, Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá managed to
get in touch with various women believers and began to associate with
them; and because the love of God burned so brightly in her heart she
was unable to keep silent, so that during those hours when her
brother was absent the place came alive. The Bahá’í
women would flock there and absorb her lucid and eloquent speech.

In those days life in Mashhad was hard for the
believers, with the malevolent always on the alert; if they so much
as suspected an individual, they murdered him. There was no security
of any kind, no peace. But Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
could not help herself: in spite of all the terrible ordeals she had
endured, she ignored the danger, and was capable of flinging herself
into flames, or into the sea. Since her brother frequented no one, he
knew nothing of what was going on. Day and night he would only leave
the house for the Shrine, the Shrine for the house; he was a recluse,
had no friends, and would not so much as speak to another person.
Nevertheless there came a day when he saw that trouble had broken out
in the city, and he knew it would end in serious harm. He was a man
so calm and silent that he did not reproach his sister; he simply
took her away from Mashhad without warning, and they returned
to Iṣfáhán. Here, he sent her to her daughter,
the widow of the King of Martyrs, for he would no longer shelter her
under his roof.

Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá was thus
back in Iṣfáhán, boldly teaching the Faith and
spreading abroad the sweet savors of God. So vehement was the fiery
love in her heart that it compelled her to speak out, whenever she
found a listening ear. And when it was observed that once again the
household of the King of Martyrs was about to be overtaken by
calamities, and that they were enduring severe afflictions there in
Iṣfáhán, Bahá’u’lláh
desired them to come to the Most Great Prison. Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá,
with the widow of the King of Martyrs and the children, arrived in
the Holy Land. Here they were joyously spending their days when the
son of the King of Martyrs, Mírzá ‘Abdu’l-Ḥusayn,
as a result of the awful suffering he had been subjected to in
Iṣfáhán, came down with tuberculosis and died in
Akká.

Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá was heavy
of heart. She mourned his absence, she wasted away with longing for
him, and it was all much harder because then the Supreme Affliction
came upon us, the crowning anguish. The basis of her life was
undermined; candle-like, she was consumed with grieving. She grew so
feeble that she took to her bed, unable to move. Still, she did not
rest, nor keep silent for a moment. She would tell of days long gone,
of things that had come to pass in the Cause, or she would recite
from Holy Writ, or she would supplicate, and chant her prayers—until,
out of the Most Great Prison, she soared away to the world of God.
She hastened away from this dust gulf of perdition to an unsullied
country; packed her gear and journeyed to the land of lights. Unto
her be salutations and praise, and most great mercy, sheltered in the
compassion of her omnipotent Lord.

Táhirih

A woman chaste and holy, a sign and token of surpassing
beauty, a burning brand of the love of God, a lamp of His bestowal,
was Jináb-i-Táhirih.116
She was called Umm-Salmá; she was the daughter of Ḥájí
Mullá Ṣáliḥ, a mujtahid of Qazvín,
and her paternal uncle was Mullá Taqí, the Imám-Jum’ih
or leader of prayers in the cathedral mosque of that city. They
married her to Mullá Muḥammad, the son of Mullá
Taqí, and she gave birth to three children, two sons and a
daughter; all three were bereft of the grace that encompassed their
mother, and all failed to recognize the truth of the Cause.

When she was still a child her father selected a teacher
for her and she studied various branches of knowledge and the arts,
achieving remarkable ability in literary pursuits. Such was the
degree of her scholarship and attainments that her father would often
express his regret, saying, “Would that she had been a boy, for
he would have shed illumination upon my household, and would have
succeeded me!”117

One day she was a guest in the home of Mullá
Javád, a cousin on her mother’s side, and there in her
cousin’s library she came upon some of the writings of Shaykh
Aḥmad-i-Ahsá’í.118
Delighted with what he had to say, Táhirih asked to borrow the
writings and take them home. Mullá Javád violently
objected, telling her: “Your father is an enemy of the Twin
Luminous Lights, Shaykh Aḥmad and Siyyid Kázim.
If he should even dream that any words of those two great beings, any
fragrance from the garden of those realities, had come your way, he
would make an attempt against my life, and you too would become the
target of his wrath.” Táhirih answered: “For a
long time now, I have thirsted after this; I have yearned for these
explanations, these inner truths. Give me whatever you have of these
books. Never mind if it angers my father.” Accordingly, Mullá
Javád sent over the writings of the Shaykh and
the Siyyid.

One night, Táhirih sought out her father in his
library, and began to speak of Shaykh Aḥmad’s
teachings. The very moment he learned that his daughter knew of the
Shaykhí doctrines, Mullá Ṣáliḥ’s
denunciations rang out, and he cried: “Javád has made
you a lost soul!” Táhirih answered, “The late
Shaykh was a true scholar of God, and I have learned an
infinity of spiritual truths from reading his books. Furthermore, he
bases whatever he says on the traditions of the Holy Imáms.
You call yourself a mystic knower and a man of God, you consider your
respected uncle to be a scholar as well, and most pious—yet in
neither of you do I find a trace of those qualities!”

For some time, she carried on heated discussions with
her father, debating such questions as the Resurrection and the Day
of Judgment, the Night-Ascent of Muḥammad to Heaven, the
Promise and the Threat, and the Advent of the Promised One.119
Lacking arguments, her father would resort to curses and abuse. Then
one night, in support of her contention, Táhirih quoted a holy
tradition from the Imám Ja’far-i-Ṣádiq;120
and since it confirmed what she was saying, her father burst out
laughing, mocking the tradition. Táhirih said, “Oh my
father, these are the words of the Holy Imám. How can you mock
and deny them?”

From that time on, she ceased to debate and contend with
her father. Meanwhile she entered into secret correspondence with
Siyyid Kázim, regarding the solution of complex theological
problems, and thus it came about that the Siyyid conferred on her the
name “Solace of the Eyes” (Qurratu’l-‘Ayn);
as for the title Táhirih (“The Pure One”), it was
first associated with her in Badasht, and was subsequently
approved by the Báb, and recorded in Tablets.

Táhirih had caught fire. She set out for Karbilá,
hoping to meet Siyyid Kázim, but she arrived too late: ten
days before she reached that city, he passed away. Not long before
his death the Siyyid had shared with his disciples the good news that
the promised Advent was at hand. “Go forth,” he
repeatedly told them, “and seek out your Lord.” Thus the
most distinguished of his followers gathered for retirement and
prayer, for fasts and vigils, in the Masjid-i-Kúfih, while
some awaited the Advent in Karbilá. Among these was Táhirih,
fasting by day, practicing religious disciplines, and spending the
night in vigils, and chanting prayers. One night when it was getting
along toward dawn she laid her head on her pillow, lost all awareness
of this earthly life, and dreamed a dream; in her vision a youth, a
Siyyid, wearing a black cloak and a green turban, appeared to her in
the heavens; he was standing in the air, reciting verses and praying
with his hands upraised. At once, she memorized one of those verses,
and wrote it down in her notebook when she awoke. After the Báb
had declared His mission, and His first book, “The Best of
Stories,”121
was circulated, Táhirih was reading a section of the text one
day, and she came upon that same verse, which she had noted down from
the dream. Instantly offering thanks, she fell to her knees and bowed
her forehead to the ground, convinced that the Báb’s
message was truth.

This good news reached her in Karbilá and she at
once began to teach. She translated and expounded “The Best of
Stories,” also writing in Persian and Arabic, composing odes
and lyrics, and humbly practicing her devotions, performing even
those that were optional and supernumerary. When the evil ‘ulamás
in Karbilá got wind of all this, and learned that a woman was
summoning the people to a new religion and had already influenced a
considerable number, they went to the Governor and lodged a
complaint. Their charges, to be brief, led to violent attacks on
Táhirih, and sufferings, which she accepted and for which she
offered praise and thanks. When the authorities came hunting for her
they first assaulted Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá,
mistaking her for Táhirih. As soon, however, as they heard
that Táhirih had been arrested they let Shams go—for
Táhirih had sent a message to the Governor saying, “I am
at your disposal. Do not harm any other.”

The Governor set guards over her house and shut her
away, writing Baghdád for instructions as to how he
should proceed. For three months, she lived in a state of siege,
completely isolated, with the guards surrounding her house. Since the
local authorities had still received no reply from Baghdád,
Táhirih referred her case to the Governor, saying: “No
word has come from either Baghdád or Constantinople.
Accordingly, we will ourselves proceed to Baghdád and
await the answer there.” The Governor gave her leave to go, and
she set out, accompanied by Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá
and the Leaf of Paradise (the sister of Mullá Ḥusayn)
and her mother. In Baghdád she stayed first in the
house of Shaykh Muḥammad, the distinguished
father of Áqá Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá.
But so great was the press of people around her that she transferred
her residence to another quarter, engaged night and day in spreading
the Faith, and freely associated with the inhabitants of Baghdád.
She thus became celebrated throughout the city and there was a great
uproar.

Táhirih also maintained a correspondence with the
‘ulamás of Kazímayn; she presented them with
unanswerable proofs, and when one or another appeared before her she
offered him convincing arguments. Finally she sent a message to the
Shí’ih divines, saying to them: “If you are
not satisfied with these conclusive proofs, I challenge you to a
trial by ordeal.”122
Then there was a great outcry from the divines, and the Governor was
obliged to send Táhirih and her women companions to the house
of Ibn-i-Álúsí, who was muftí of Baghdád.
Here she remained about three months, waiting for word and directions
from Constantinople. Ibn-i-Álúsí would engage
her in learned dialogues, questions would be asked and answers given,
and he would not deny what she had to say.

On a certain day the muftí related one of his
dreams, and asked her to tell him what it meant. He said: “In
my dream I saw the Shí’ih ‘ulamás
arriving at the holy tomb of Imám Ḥusayn, the Prince of
Martyrs. They took away the barrier that encloses the tomb, and they
broke open the resplendent grave, so that the immaculate body lay
revealed to their gaze. They sought to take up the holy form, but I
cast myself down on the corpse and I warded them off.” Táhirih
answered: “This is the meaning of your dream: you are about to
deliver me from the hands of the Shí’ih divines.”
“I too had interpreted it thus,” said Ibn-i-Álúsí.

Since he had discovered that she was well versed in
learned questions and in sacred commentaries and Texts, the two often
carried on debates; she would speak on such themes as the Day of
Resurrection, the Balance, and the Ṣiraṭ,123
and he would not turn away.

Then came a night when the father of Ibn-i-Álúsí
called at the house of his son. He had a meeting with Táhirih
and abruptly, without asking a single question, began to curse, mock
and revile her. Embarrassed at his father’s behavior,
Ibn-i-Álúsí apologized. Then he said: “The
answer has come from Constantinople. The King has commanded that you
be set free, but only on condition that you leave his realms. Go
then, tomorrow, make your preparations for the journey, and hasten
away from this land.”

Accordingly Táhirih, with her women companions,
left the muftí’s house, saw to arranging for their
travel gear, and went out of Baghdád. When they left
the city, a number of Arab believers, carrying arms, walked along
beside their convoy. Among the escort were Shaykh
Sulṭán, Shaykh Muḥammad and his
distinguished son Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá, and
Shaykh Ṣáliḥ, and these were
mounted. It was Shaykh Muḥammad who defrayed the
expenses of the journey.

When they reached Kirmansháh the women
alighted at one house, the men at another, and the inhabitants
arrived in a continuous stream to seek information as to the new
Faith. Here as elsewhere the ‘ulamás were soon in a
state of frenzy and they commanded that the newcomers be expelled. As
a result the kad-khudá or chief officer of that
quarter, with a band of people, laid siege to the house where Táhirih
was, and sacked it. Then they placed Táhirih and her
companions in an uncovered howdah and carried them from the town to
an open field, where they put the captives out. The drivers then took
their animals and returned to the city. The victims were left on the
bare ground, with no food, no shelter, and no means of traveling on.

Táhirih at once wrote a letter to the prince of
that territory, in which she told him: “O thou just Governor!
We were guests in your city. Is this the way you treat your guests?”
When her letter was brought to the Governor of Kirmansháh
he said: “I knew nothing of this injustice. This mischief was
kindled by the divines.” He immediately commanded the kad-khudá
to return all the travelers’ belongings. That official duly
surrendered the stolen goods, the drivers with their animals came
back out of the city, the travelers took their places and resumed the
journey.

They arrived in Hamadán and here their stay was a
happy one. The most illustrious ladies of that city, even the
princesses, would come to visit, seeking the benefits of Táhirih’s
teaching. In Hamadán she dismissed a part of her escort and
sent them back to Baghdád, while she brought some of
them, including Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá and
Shaykh-Ṣáliḥ, along with her to
Qazvín.

As they traveled, some riders advanced to meet them,
kinsmen of Táhirih’s from Qazvín, and they wished
to lead her away alone, unescorted by the others, to her father’s
house. Táhirih refused, saying: “These are in my
company.” In this way they entered Qazvín. Táhirih
proceeded to her father’s house, while the Arabs who had formed
her escort alighted at a caravanserai. Táhirih soon left her
father and went to live with her brother, and there the great ladies
of the city would come to visit her; all this until the murder of
Mullá Taqí,124
when every Bábí in Qazvín was taken prisoner.
Some were sent to Ṭihrán and then returned to Qazvín
and martyred.

Mullá Taqí’s murder came about in
this way: One day, when that besotted tyrant had mounted his pulpit,
he began to mock and revile the great Shaykh
Aḥmad-i-Ahsá’í. Shamelessly, grossly,
screaming obscenities, he cried out: “That Shaykh
is the one who has kindled this fire of evil, and subjected the whole
world to this ordeal!” There was an inquirer in the audience, a
native of Shíráz. He found the taunts, jeers and
indecencies to be more than he could bear. Under cover of darkness he
betook himself to the mosque, plunged a spearhead between the lips of
Mullá Taqí and fled. The next morning they arrested the
defenseless believers and thereupon subjected them to agonizing
torture, though all were innocent and knew nothing of what had come
to pass. There was never any question of investigating the case; the
believers repeatedly declared their innocence but no one paid them
any heed. When a few days had passed the killer gave himself up; he
confessed to the authorities, informing them that he had committed
the murder because Mullá Taqí had vilified Shaykh
Aḥmad. “I deliver myself into your hands,” he told
them, “so that you will set these innocent people free.”
They arrested him as well, put him in the stocks, chained him, and
sent him in chains, along with the others, to Ṭihrán.

Once there he observed that despite his confession, the
others were not released. By night, he made his escape from the
prison and went to the house of Riḍá Khán—that
rare and precious man, that star-sacrifice among the lovers of
God—the son of Muḥammad Khán, Master of the
Horse to Muḥammad Sháh. He stayed there for a
time, after which he and Riḍá Khán
secretly rode away to the Fort of Shaykh Tabarsí
in Mázindarán.125
Muḥammad Khán sent riders after them to track
them down, but try as they might, no one could find them. Those two
horsemen got to the Fort of Tabarsí, where both of them won a
martyr’s death. As for the other friends who were in the prison
at Ṭihrán, some of these were returned to Qazvín
and they too suffered martyrdom.

One day the administrator of finance, Mírzá
Sháfí, called in the murderer and addressed him,
saying: “Jináb, do you belong to a dervish order, or do
you follow the Law? If you are a follower of the Law, why did you
deal that learned mujtahid a cruel, a fatal blow in the mouth? If you
are a dervish and follow the Path, one of the rules of the Path is to
harm no man. How, then, could you slaughter that zealous divine?”
“Sir,” he replied, “besides the Law, and besides
the Path, we also have the Truth. It was in serving the Truth that I
paid him for his deed.”126

These things would take place before the reality of this
Cause was revealed and all was made plain. For in those days no one
knew that the Manifestation of the Báb would culminate in the
Manifestation of the Blessed Beauty and that the law of retaliation
would be done away with, and the foundation-principle of the Law of
God would be this, that “It is better for you to be killed than
to kill”; that discord and contention would cease, and the rule
of war and butchery would fall away. In those days, that sort of
thing would happen. But praised be God, with the advent of the
Blessed Beauty such a splendor of harmony and peace shone forth, such
a spirit of meekness and long-suffering, that when in Yazd men, women
and children were made the targets of enemy fire or were put to the
sword, when the leaders and the evil ‘ulamás and their
followers joined together and unitedly assaulted those defenseless
victims and spilled out their blood—hacking at and rending
apart the bodies of chaste women, with their daggers slashing the
throats of children they had orphaned, then setting the torn and
mangled limbs on fire—not one of the friends of God lifted a
hand against them. Indeed, among those martyrs, those real companions
of the ones who died, long gone, at Karbilá—was a man
who, when he saw the drawn sword flashing over him, thrust sugar
candy into his murderer’s mouth and cried, “With a sweet
taste on your lips, put me to death—for you bring me martyrdom,
my dearest wish!”

Let us return to our theme. After the murder of her
impious uncle, Mullá Taqí, in Qazvín, Táhirih
fell into dire straits. She was a prisoner and heavy of heart,
grieving over the painful events that had come to pass. She was
watched on every side, by attendants, guards, the farráshes,
and her foes. While she languished thus, Bahá’u’lláh
dispatched Hádíy-i-Qazvíní, husband of
the celebrated Khátún-Ján, from the
capital, and they managed, by a stratagem, to free her from that
embroilment and got her to Ṭihrán in the night. She
alighted at the mansion of Bahá’u’lláh and
was lodged in an upper apartment.

When word of this spread throughout Ṭihrán,
the Government hunted for her high and low; nevertheless, the friends
kept arriving to see her, in a steady stream, and Táhirih,
seated behind a curtain, would converse with them. One day the great
Siyyid Yaḥyá, surnamed Vahíd, was present there.
As he sat without, Táhirih listened to him from behind the
veil. I was then a child, and was sitting on her lap. With eloquence
and fervor, Vahíd was discoursing on the signs and verses that
bore witness to the advent of the new Manifestation. She suddenly
interrupted him and, raising her voice, vehemently declared: “O
Yaḥyá! Let deeds, not words, testify to thy faith, if
thou art a man of true learning. Cease idly repeating the traditions
of the past, for the day of service, of steadfast action, is come.
Now is the time to show forth the true signs of God, to rend asunder
the veils of idle fancy, to promote the Word of God, and to sacrifice
ourselves in His path. Let deeds, not words, be our adorning!”

The Blessed Beauty made elaborate arrangements for
Táhirih’s journey to Badasht and sent her off
with an equipage and retinue. His own party left for that region some
days afterward.

In Badasht, there was a great open field. Through
its center a stream flowed, and to its right, left, and rear there
were three gardens, the envy of Paradise. One of those gardens was
assigned to Quddús,127
but this was kept a secret. Another was set apart for Táhirih,
and in a third was raised the pavilion of Bahá’u’lláh.
On the field amidst the three gardens, the believers pitched their
tents. Evenings, Bahá’u’lláh, Quddús
and Táhirih would come together. In those days the fact that
the Báb was the Qá’im had not yet been
proclaimed; it was the Blessed Beauty, with Quddús, Who
arranged for the proclamation of a universal Advent and the
abrogation and repudiation of the ancient laws.

Then one day, and there was a wisdom in it, Bahá’u’lláh
fell ill; that is, the indisposition was to serve a vital purpose. On
a sudden, in the sight of all, Quddús came out of his garden,
and entered the pavilion of Bahá’u’lláh.
But Táhirih sent him a message, to say that their Host being
ill, Quddús should visit her garden instead. His answer was:
“This garden is preferable. Come, then, to this one.”
Táhirih, with her face unveiled, stepped from her garden,
advancing to the pavilion of Bahá’u’lláh;
and as she came, she shouted aloud these words: “The Trumpet is
sounding! The great Trump is blown! The universal Advent is now
proclaimed!”128
The believers gathered in that tent were panic struck, and each one
asked himself, “How can the Law be abrogated? How is it that
this woman stands here without her veil?”

“Read the Súrih of the Inevitable,”129
said Bahá’u’lláh; and the reader began:
“When the Day that must come shall have come suddenly… Day
that shall abase! Day that shall exalt!…” and thus was the
new Dispensation announced and the great Resurrection made manifest.
At the start, those who were present fled away, and some forsook
their Faith, while some fell a prey to suspicion and doubt, and a
number, after wavering, returned to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh.
The Conference of Badasht broke up, but the universal Advent
had been proclaimed.

Afterward, Quddús hastened away to the Fort of
Tabarsí130
and the Blessed Beauty, with provisions and equipment, journeyed to
Níyálá, having the intention of going on from
there by night, making His way through the enemy encampment and
entering the Fort. But Mírzá Taqí, the Governor
of Ámul, got word of this, and with seven hundred riflemen
arrived in Níyálá. Surrounding the village by
night, he sent Bahá’u’lláh with eleven
riders back to Ámul, and those calamities and tribulations,
told of before, came to pass.

As for Táhirih, after the breakup at Badasht
she was captured, and the oppressors sent her back under guard to
Ṭihrán. There she was imprisoned in the house of Maḥmúd
Khán, the Kalántar. But she was aflame,
enamored, restless, and could not be still. The ladies of Ṭihrán,
on one pretext or another, crowded to see and listen to her. It
happened that there was a celebration at the Mayor’s house for
the marriage of his son; a nuptial banquet was prepared, and the
house adorned. The flower of Tihran’s ladies were invited, the
princesses, the wives of vazírs and other great. A splendid
wedding it was, with instrumental music and vocal melodies—by
day and night the lute, the bells and songs. Then Táhirih
began to speak; and so bewitched were the great ladies that they
forsook the cithern and the drum and all the pleasures of the wedding
feast, to crowd about Táhirih and listen to the sweet words of
her mouth.

Thus she remained, a helpless captive. Then came the
attempt on the life of the Sháh;131
a farmán was issued; she was sentenced to death. Saying she
was summoned to the Prime Minister’s, they arrived to lead her
away from the Kalántar’s house. She bathed her face and
hands, arrayed herself in a costly dress, and scented with attar of
roses she came out of the house.

They brought her into a garden, where the headsmen
waited; but these wavered and then refused to end her life. A slave
was found, far gone in drunkenness; besotted, vicious, black of
heart. And he strangled Táhirih. He forced a scarf between her
lips and rammed it down her throat. Then they lifted up her unsullied
body and flung it in a well, there in the garden, and over it threw
down earth and stones. But Táhirih rejoiced; she had heard
with a light heart the tidings of her martyrdom; she set her eyes on
the supernal Kingdom and offered up her life.

Salutations be unto her, and praise. Holy be her dust,
as the tiers of light come down on it from Heaven.