Source: Bahá'í Library Online (bahai-library.com), curated by Jonah Winters. Used by permission of the curator. Original citation: Gloria A. Faizi, Fire on the Mountain-Top, London: Bahá'í Publishing Trust, 1973/2005, bahai-library.com.
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Fire
on the
mountain-top

by
Gloria Faizi
© Gloria A. Faizi

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be translated or
reproduced in any form or by any means without
the written permission of the copyright owner.

Cover by ‘Faizí Designs’

Revised edition: 2003
Reprint: 2005

ISBN: 81-7896-029-X

Baha’í Publishing Trust
F-3/6, Okhla Industrial Area, Phase-I
New Delhi – 110 020, India

Printed at Link Printers, New Delhi-20
To the Pioneers of Arabia

These stories are based on accounts
gathered in Persia by ‘Azízu’llah Sulaymaní.
They are not given here in chronological order.
By the same author:

The Bahá’í Faith—An Introduction
Bahá’u’lláh—The Promised One
Stories About Bahá’í Funds
The Promise of Lord Krishna
Flowers of One Garden
Poems for Children

Three articles under one cover about
Hindu concepts from a Baha’í perspective:

Man and His Creator
The Manifestations of God
Prayer and Meditation
“Ye are even as the fire
which in the darkness of the night
has been kindled upon the mountain-top”
Contents
Introduction… ................................................................................................................... .. 1
Poets of Isfahan.. .............................................................................................................. .. 5
The story of Na‘ím and his friends.. ........................................................................ .. 9
The vengeance of the mujtahids............................................................................... .. 12
A teaching trip................................................................................................................... .. 16
Firesides............................................................................................................................... .. 20
Raised from the dead.. ................................................................................................... .. 22
The wolf and the lamb................................................................................................... .. 23
Persecutions in Yazd.. .................................................................................................... .. 27
A noble son.. ....................................................................................................................... .. 29
Prophecies fulfilled.. ....................................................................................................... .. 32
The journey to Yazd.. ..................................................................................................... .. 34
Bahram’s companion.. ................................................................................................... .. 36
The story of ‘Abbas-Abad.. .......................................................................................... .. 37
The flight to Kashan.. ..................................................................................................... .. 41
A father’s grief................................................................................................................... .. 42
The honoured guest.. ..................................................................................................... .. 43
Hitting the mark.. ............................................................................................................. .. 45
Change of fortune.. .......................................................................................................... .. 47
Giving to the end.. ............................................................................................................ .. 48
The Jewish physician.. ................................................................................................... .. 49
Teaching in Hamadan.. .................................................................................................. .. 50
The difficult crossing.. ................................................................................................... .. 53
Father and son.. ................................................................................................................ .. 55
A plan that worked.. ....................................................................................................... .. 59
Brothers at last.. ............................................................................................................... .. 61
The journey of the mystic.. .......................................................................................... .. 63
Vujdaní and the Mulla.. ................................................................................................. .. 68
The road to Hamadan.. .................................................................................................. .. 71

vii
The essence of dates.. .................................................................................................... .. ..... 73
The dumb prisoner.. ....................................................................................................... .. ..... 75
Varqa’s poem.. ................................................................................................................... .. ..... 76
The prisoners in Zanjan................................................................................................ .. ..... 77
The children.. ..................................................................................................................... .. ..... 81
The child-martyr.............................................................................................................. .. ..... 84
Contacting the prisoners.............................................................................................. .. ..... 91
A strange incident.. ......................................................................................................... .. ..... 92
Blind hatred.. ..................................................................................................................... .. ..... 94
Never at a loss.. ................................................................................................................. .. ..... 95
A brave soul........................................................................................................................ .. ..... 95
Prison life with Mulla Rida.......................................................................................... .. ..... 98
A warm welcome.. ........................................................................................................... .. ..... 99
Rebirth….. ............................................................................................................................ .. ..... 99
Tests….….. ............................................................................................................................ .. .. 103
A famous doctor.. ............................................................................................................. .. .. 111
Methods of teaching.. ..................................................................................................... .. .. 113
The Baha’í Centre.. .......................................................................................................... .. .. 117
“You are right!”.. ............................................................................................................... .. .. 118
An illiterate teacher and his learned pupil.......................................................... .. .. 119
The final proof................................................................................................................... .. .. 120
Abu’l-Fadl at home.......................................................................................................... .. .. 121
The “Baha’í Mulla”.. ......................................................................................................... .. .. 122
A unique servant.. ............................................................................................................ .. .. 123
The murder in ‘Ishqabad.. ........................................................................................... .. .. 124
Meetings in Tihran.. ........................................................................................................ .. .. 128
The miracle......................................................................................................................... .. .. 132
The challenge from the pulpit.. ................................................................................. .. .. 133
Furughí’s turn.................................................................................................................... .. .. 135
The magician...................................................................................................................... .. .. 137
Two princes........................................................................................................................ .. .. 139
Names of the main characters in the book.. ........................................................ .. .. 143

viii
Introduction
The incidents related in this book are taken from the lives of people
who belong to our own age. These people came from every walk of life;
some were from the ranks of the rich nobility, others were poor, simple
folk; some were among the learned and famous scholars of their day, while
others were completely illiterate. The only thing they had in common was
their Faith. They were all inspired by the vision of a glorious Day when the
Kingdom of God would be established on earth, and the different races and
religions of the world would be united in true brotherhood. Though they
themselves would not live to see that day, they were prepared to sacrifice
all they had if by doing so they could raise the call to unity, and prove to an
unbelieving world that the wolf and the lamb could truly drink from the
same stream. They derived their inspiration from the same source: the
Messenger of God Who comes in every age.
In 1844, a Youth from Shíraz, in Persia, claimed to be the Herald of the
One Whose advent had been promised by the Founders of all the religions
of the past. He called Himself the Bab, which means the Gate. He taught
that the old Dispensation had come to an end, and He had come to usher in
a new age. He called upon His followers to sanctify their lives and prepare
themselves for the coming of “Him Whom God shall make Manifest”.
The Bab’s saintly life and inspired teachings soon won Him thousands of
followers from among His countrymen. The clergy were greatly alarmed
and, using their unchallenged power over the government and the mass of
ignorant people around them, started a nation-wide attack on the new
Faith. Many thousands of its adherents—known as Babís—were tortured
to death. The Bab—that youthful and gentle Prophet to Whose greatness
friends and foes alike have attested—was Himself publicly martyred in the
hope that the Movement He had started would die with Him. He willingly
laid down His life as a sacrifice to the One Who was soon to appear.

Baha’u’llah (the Glory of God) declared His mission in 1863. He claimed
to be the great Messenger foretold in all the Holy Scriptures. His mission,
He said, was to bring about the unity of mankind and establish the Kingdom
of God on earth.
The followers of the Bab, having recognized Baha’u’llah and accepted
His claim, became known as Baha ’ís, while the influence of Baha’u’llah’s
teachings was immediately felt among people of all classes and members of
conflicting religious sects. High officials and illiterate peasants forgot their
differences as they sat together in the presence of Baha’u’llah; Jews,
Muslims, Christians and Zoroastrians became united as one family through
the love He was able to create in their hearts.
The fanatical clergy, who had hoped to extinguish the fire which the Bab
had kindled in the heart of Persia, became increasingly alarmed at the
influence of Baha’u’llah’s teachings and vowed not to rest till they had
uprooted the new Movement from their midst. Using every means in their
power, they set out to undermine its prestige, stain its fair name and stir
the ignorant mass of people against its followers. Baha’u’llah Himself
suffered torture, imprisonment and exile at their hands, but no power
could stop the growth of His Cause.
Baha’u’llah appointed His Son., ‘Abdu’l-Baha, as “the Centre of His
Covenant” to whom all Baha’ís should turn for guidance after He, Himself,
had passed away. ‘Abdu’l-Baha, Who had willingly shared His Father’s exile
and imprisonment since He was a child, had already won the love and
respect of the Baha’ís through His great devotion to the Cause of
Baha’u’llah. He dedicated His entire life to the service of humanity and the
promotion of the new Faith. His wisdom and His overflowing love for His
fellow-men won him hundreds of admirers all over the world. The Master,
as He was often called, came to be known as the father of the orphan and
the friend of the poor.
Inspired by the life of ‘Abdu’l-Baha, and led by His unerring guidance,
Baha’ís scattered throughout the world and took the Message of Baha’u’llah
to every corner of the globe. This book, however, deals with incidents in
the lives of some of those early believers who spread the Faith in the land
of its birth, and whose memory will always be cherished by their

fellow-believers everywhere.
As we read about these early Baha ’ís, we realize that they were in many
ways very much like ourselves, for they too had human weaknesses and
shortcomings. Their greatness lay in the quality of their faith in Baha’u’llah
and His Message. This was the secret of their victory—despite their
shortcomings.
*****

Poets of Iṣfahán
The orchards around Isfahan are beautiful in early spring. Hundreds of
almond trees are covered in white blossoms, while between them, here and
there, are splashes of pink from the blossoms on the peach trees. Under
this canopy of delicate bloom, the new crop is growing and the green is like
a rich velvet carpet spread out as far as the eye can see. The sunshine is
warm, the air is perfumed and the birds sing love-songs all the day.
In an orchard such as this, a group of talented young men sat together,
many years ago. Na‘ím, the gifted poet, had just finished reading his latest
poem, and his friends were full of admiration. “How do you do it?”
exclaimed Sína. “There are very few poets who can write about religion in
such beautiful, flowing verse.” “The most wonderful thing,” said Nayyir, “is
that there is nothing grave and solemn about it. Na‘ím can write about an
ancient saint with the same fresh sweetness as he can describe a rose-bud
in spring.” “Come, come,” said the modest poet, “both of you brothers write
beautiful poetry yourselves. And what about the rest of you?” he said,
turning to the others. “Let us hear what you have all been writing since we
met.”
There they sat among the colours and music of nature, reciting poetry,
discussing topics of every kind and trying to unravel the mysteries of life.
Soon they were back on the subject of religion, and each had something to
say:
“It is impossible to find a religious person who is not prejudiced against
every other religion but his own.”
“This is because every one of them is quite sure his own religion is the
right one, and all others are false.”
“Their attitude is quite illogical, yet how can an impartial person
searching for true religion be sure of finding it?”
“He should first make a study of every religion and then decide between
them.”
“Every religion! It would take a hundred lifetimes! Even if it were
possible for one man to do it, how can he be sure he is able

to make the right choice in the end? Ten different people, using their own
intelligence, would probably arrive at ten different conclusions.”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course. All religions teach that God has indicated the path we must
take in every age. If this is true, people going in ten different directions
could not all have found the right path. Besides, there can be no
cooperation and unity of purpose between these men, which is the trouble
between people professing different religions today.”
“What, then, is the answer? Should we believe that God has provided
the Path and then made it impossible for us to find it?”
“This cannot be. What is certain, however, is that Man cannot hope to
find the true path without the help of God. Once we realize our limitations,
we will be prepared to ask for that help. We ourselves must, of course,
make the effort to find Truth, forsaking our prejudices and using our
intelligence, but more important than all is that we must purify our hearts
and pray for Divine guidance.”
From what we know about these young men, their discussion on
religion must have been something like this. Whatever the words and
arguments they used, they came to the conclusion that they themselves
should, putting their trust in God, mix with every group, listen to every
argument and never give up hope until they were fully convinced that they
had been guided to the object of their search.
Such a discussion on religion, with the final decision it led to, may not
seem strange to us today because we live at a time when many young
people question and doubt old standards. Few of those living in the past
century, however, felt and spoke as we do about problems concerning
religion. They were born and bred within a certain sect, and any digression
from its beliefs was considered disastrous. Those who doubted the
accepted ideas around them did not often have the courage to admit it.
Seldom, indeed, did they set out to investigate other religions with the
intention of seeking Truth, wherever the path might lead them.
*****
The travellers were sitting in one of the rooms at the inn in Tabriz. Two
of them had sat with other friends in an orchard outside Isfahan

discussing religion one day, but a long time had passed since then and they
were no nearer the Truth they had hoped to find. Did God truly answer the
prayer of those who asked for guidance?
A horseman had just arrived. He rode up to the room which the
travellers from Isfahan occupied and alighted from his horse. The men had
never seen him before, but welcomed the stranger as he walked in. The
newcomer, looking round the room, saw two men who worked at the inn.
He asked one of them to attend to his horse and sent the other to prepare
the hubble-bubble pipe. After they had left the room, he sat down and
started talking to the young travellers. “Have you heard the glad tidings?”
he asked. He spoke of the advent of a new Messenger from God, the One
Whose coming had been promised by all the religions of the past. He told
them about the young Herald who had come to prepare the way for the
great Messenger, and Who had sacrificed His life for His Cause.
The travellers listened with mixed feelings. This kind of talk was
attributed to the Babís,* whose very name was distasteful to all Muslims.
The stranger went on to tell them of the signs and proofs with which
these twin Messengers had appeared. So great was his faith, so eloquent
his argument, that the travellers listened with rising interest. After some
time, he said: “Now you must hear some of those gem-like verses that have
streamed from the pen of the Promised One.” Taking a folded paper from
his pocket, he proceeded to chant verses of such beauty and grandeur that
the travellers sat spell-bound as they listened. They had heard nothing like
it before. The majesty of those heavenly words, chanted in the most
impressive manner, stirred the depths of their souls.
When he had finished, the stranger folded the paper and, touching it to
his lips and forehead as a sign of reverence, presented it to his hosts. He
had sown the seeds of faith in their hearts and now, his mission
accomplished, he called for his horse and rose to go.
Who was he? Where did he come from and to what destination was he
bound? His name is not important. He was a willing instrument that had
been used by the Hand of God.
*****

*
The Baha’ís were still called Babís by most people.
Thousands of people had gathered from the villages around to see the
Baha’ís being paraded through the streets. There were five of them, their
shoulders tied in such a way that they had to take every step together or
fall down in the snow.
Their naked bodies were bruised and swollen with the beating they had
received all night. Even now as they moved slowly along, the mob kicked
them and threw stones at them, while the guards used their rods on their
wounded backs with such severity that some among the crowd could not
bear to look on. An aged father pleaded with the guards for their pity as he
saw his only son tortured before his eyes; a sister, in sheer desperation,
tore the earrings from her bleeding ears and handed them to one of the
guards, begging him to stop lashing her brother—but none showed any
mercy.
The victims themselves surprised the onlookers by their calm and
fortitude, one of them murmuring to himself:
Truth is Truth, even if all defy it;
Day is day, though blind men may deny it.
He, and three of the others, had once sat with their friends in a beautiful
orchard and vowed to set out in search of Truth. This is where the path had
led them.
*****
Four weary men were dragging themselves along the dusty road. They
had been able to escape with their lives from Isfahan, but they had had
nothing to eat or drink that day and were too weak to go on much farther.
Someone happened to be passing that way. The men asked him
whether they could find any water near by, and he pointed out a place to
them. Na‘ím, who had a little more strength left in him than the others, set
out with an empty jar, but he was so exhausted on the way back that he
could not walk up to his companions. The other three men were even
weaker than he was, so they all had to wait till Na‘ím could make the effort
to reach them with the precious water.
They had no money to buy food. Before leaving the city, Na‘ím, who had
been a rich man, had sent a message to his wife asking

her to let him have a small sum of money in order to help him reach Tihran,
but his wife had sent the messenger away saying she would not help a Babí.
She had taken possession of all Na‘ím’s property and was already married
to another man.
The four companions eventually found a dervish who was prepared to
lend them a small silver coin with which they bought some food on the way.
Later on in Tihran they went through considerable trouble in order to find
this dervish and give him back the money. They found him to be a
receptive soul and gave him the new Message as well.
In Tihran, Na‘ím could often be seen sitting in the corner of a cold, bare
room transcribing the Writings of the Bab and Baha’u’llah for his fellow-
believers. He earned a few copper coins each day and lived in great
poverty. In order to warm his hands, he would gather horse dung from the
streets in the early mornings to burn in his little tin samovar, but he
managed to set aside some coins with which to buy a little tea and sugar to
serve to his friends on Fridays when they gathered in his room to study the
Writings of their Faith. They read by the light of a small fire of dried twigs
which had also been painfully gathered during the week; yet, so eager were
they to study these precious Writings that they often sat up through the
whole night taking turns at chanting the verses.
In the morning as they rose to go, the friends could never tell what fresh
affliction they might each be called upon to endure before they met again,
but they were always, and under all circumstances, prepared to say with
Na‘ím:
I do not know, O Lord, what’s best for me;
I only ask for that which comes from Thee.

The story of Na‘ím and his friends
Na‘ím, the famous Baha’í poet, was a great friend of Nayyir and Sína. He
had known the brothers since childhood when they lived among some of
the most superstitious and fanatical Muslims in a village near Isfahan. In
their youth these men were drawn into close friendship because of their
similar tastes, and they gradually

formed a circle of friends who read and criticized each other’s poetry and
discussed topics of every nature.
They were particularly interested in religion, and their studies and
discussions on this subject led them to decide that they should each
independently investigate truth for themselves; but should one of them
arrive at the goal of this difficult journey and feel convinced that he had
indeed found the object of his search, he should then take upon himself the
obligation of informing his friends.
Nayyir and Sína were the first to embrace the Baha ’í Faith. They were
away from their own home at that time but, faithful to their pledge, they
hurried back to bring the glad tidings to their friends. Na‘ím listened with
great interest as they gave him the Message, and soon became a staunch
follower of the new Cause. One or two others among their friends were
also drawn to the Faith, but the rest felt reluctant to associate with anyone
who spoke in favour of the Baha ’ís, much less were they prepared to listen
to ideas accepted by people who were already branded as enemies of God
and religion.
From that time rumours were spread in the village that Nayyir and Sína,
as well as Na‘ím and a few others, had left the, Faith of Islam to join hands
with the Baha’ís, and were now engaged in misleading others. Most people,
however, who loved and respected these men would not believe the
rumours, while their few enemies had no way of proving anything against
them.
Among the enemies of the Cause in that village were two priests who
acted as deputies of those influential mujtahids* of Isfahan, known to the
Baha’ís as ‘the Wolf’ and ‘the Son of the Wolf’. Confident that any schemes
against the followers of the new Faith would meet with the approval of
these mujtahids, the two priests decided to carry out a plan by which they
could openly denounce the Baha’ís in their village. They approached the
brother of a man who had long been suspected as a Baha ’í, and persuaded
him to pretend adherence to the new Faith. In this way he could get hold of
a book about the Cause and deliver it for proof into the hands of the priests.
This plan was carried out and the book of Íqán fell into the possession of
the enemies of the Faith.

*
Muslim doctors of law.
The next morning one of the priests, armed with the book as proof,
climbed up the minaret of the village mosque. “The religion of God has
perished!” he screamed out to the people, “God’s true Faith is dead!” The
inhabitants of the place hastened to the mosque to hear what he had to say.
“O people,” cried the hysterical priest, “I tell you, the religion of our
forefathers is dead and forgotten! Look,” he said, producing the Íqán, “this
book belongs to the followers of the Bab and has been found in the house of
the infidel brothers, Nayyir and Sína! I, myself,” he assured them, “have
read the first and second pages of this book and I swear by God that, had I
dared to go on to the third page, I would have been converted! Beware of
what these accursed infidels can do and rid yourselves of them before they
have uprooted God’s religion in this village!”
The mischief was done. Friendship and family ties were forgotten as
hatred for the Baha’ís swelled in the hearts of the people, blinding them to
all decency and justice. Nothing could appease them now except the death
of all those who had dared to join the new Faith.
The two mujtahids of Isfahan signed the death-warrants of five Baha’ís
in that village, three of them being Nayyir, Sína and Na‘ím. They were all to
be taken to the prison in Isfahan and handed over to the governor who was
to carry out the death sentence. The villagers, however, were not going to
be deprived of having a share in punishing the Baha’ís themselves. The
evening the death-warrants arrived, the five friends were stripped naked
and beaten till daybreak. Na‘ím has told the story of how, after being
beaten all through the night, their faces and naked bodies were painted
over with gaudy colours and tall paper hats were placed on their heads to
make them look as ridiculous as possible. Their shoulders were then tied
together and they were paraded through the streets of the village
accompanied by a gang who played flutes, drums and tambourines. Na‘ím
also recalled that, notwithstanding the physical torture they endured, their
sense of humour had not completely left them and once in a while they
would burst into laughter as they viewed each other in their new apparel.
Fortunately, the few friends left to them outside managed to get their
release from the governor’s prison in Isfahan. Nayyir and Sína, were the
last to come out of prison, and at first there was little hope for them. Their
wives, in an attempt to move the heart of ‘the

Wolf’, went to him with their young children, begging him to have pity on
the little ones and release their fathers, but that cruel mujtahid had them
thrown out of his house. The deputy governor, however, who already knew
Nayyir and Sína and was devoted to the two brothers, obtained their
release by intervening on their behalf and persuading the governor of
Isfahan, who was in the capital at the time, to overrule the death sentence
issued by the mujtahids. This was a rare occurrence and one which could
not be forgotten by the infuriated religious dignitaries. They vowed that
they would not rest until they had wrought their vengeance on the victims
who had temporarily escaped their punishment.

The vengeance of the mujtahids
The cries and curses of the howling mob could be heard for miles
around. They had surrounded the house and threatened to stone the two
brothers to death.
Nayyir and Sína, the gentle poets who had enjoyed such popularity
before, had now become outcasts among their countrymen. They had
dared to join the ranks of the Baha ’ís and no death was considered too
terrible for them.
The walls round the house were too high to climb and the heavy door
withstood the attack of stones, but the savage mob would not be put off.
“Fetch some paraffin,” some of them shouted, “and we will burn down the
door!”
In the house, the women and children trembled with fear. The first
warning of what was to happen had come to them when the eldest son of
Sína had been attacked on his way through the village a few days before.
He and his father had left the village that same night, while Nayyir was to
follow later with the rest of the family. It was now a consolation to them
that one of the men sought after by the fanatical mob would not be there if
they managed to break into the house, but it seemed as though Nayyir was
doomed to die.
One person alone had not given up hope. The wife of Nayyir was not
wasting precious time in lamentation. While the attention of all the
neighbours was drawn away by the noisy crowd in the street, she was
hacking out a hole in the wall which connected their house

to one of their neighbours. “This should open on to their storeroom,” she
thought. “Please God, do not let them hear the noise I make.”
As soon as the hole was big enough for a man to pass through, the brave
women persuaded her husband to take refuge in their neighbour’s house,
while she quickly patched up the wall. Then, climbing up to the roof of the
house, she called to the crowd below. “Listen to me,” she said, “I swear that
the men you are looking for are not here in this house. Both have left and
you are wasting your time trying to break down the door.” No one believed
her, but she managed to distract their attention for a while hoping that the
crowd might disperse when it grew dark. “Nayyir and Sína have left this
house, I tell you,” she called out again. “Burn down the door!” cried the
angry crowd.
Paraffin was now brought, but the pile of stones that had been thrown
at the door provided a protection and the oil was wasted before the wood
could catch fire. The sun had set by this time and some of the men were
impatient to get to their own homes. After confused discussions and
heated arguments, it was decided that the house should be guarded that
night and they should come back to clear away the stones and finish the job
in the morning.
As the disappointed crowd began to disperse for the night, Nayyir’s
family wondered what fate awaited him in their neighbour’s house. Nayyir,
too, wondered how he would be treated by the neighbours if they found
him there. Should he remain hidden in the storeroom till everyone was
asleep and then try to escape from the rooftops, or should he let the
neighbours know he was in their house? If he did disclose his presence
there, would they not be tempted to hand him over to his enemies?
He listened to the bloodcurdling cries of the mob outside. It seemed
impossible that these could be the same people who had respected him
before and been moved by his poetry. Perhaps even now, he thought, they
might have left him and his fellow-believers to live in peace in the village
had it not been for the instigations of those sworn enemies of their Faith,
the mujtahids in Isfahan.
It seemed many hours before the noises in the street began to lessen
and gradually die away. Now the neighbours could be heard coming into
the house. “Foolish people!” someone was saying. “What makes them
think these two brothers are Babís?” “They

can never be Babís,” said another voice, “we have been their neighbours for
all these years and have never known them to be guilty of any of those
crimes the Babís are blamed for. Both brothers are good Muslims.”
Nayyir decided to come out of his hiding place and throw himself on the
mercy of his neighbours. He quietly moved into one of the rooms and
waited. An old lady came in and, seeing the outline of a figure in the
gathering darkness, started back in fear. Then she recognized her
neighbour. “It is you, Mr. Nayyir!” she exclaimed. “How did you come here
without being seen?” Nayyir told her the story. “Do not be afraid,” the old
lady said, “we will not betray you.” She went out and brought her son. “We
will do all we can for you,” the son assured their guest.
The front door was locked and bolted while they waited for darkness to
descend. The host then sent for a trusted friend and together they armed
themselves and quietly escorted Nayyir to a place outside the boundaries of
their village. There they begged him to take what money they had with
them and sadly left him to go on by himself, while they hurried back to the
village before their absence was discovered.
Nayyir walked on for many a weary mile, stumbling and falling in the
dark, till he found his way to a village where he knew a few Baha’ís. There
he stayed in secret for some time, and was joined by Na‘ím and another
fellow-believer from his own village who had also escaped being killed by
the mob.
The crowd, in the meantime, having returned to burn the door of Nayyir
and Sína’s house the next morning, found a copy of the Qur’an wrapped in a
piece of cloth which Nayyir’s wife had hung on the door. “We must honour
the holy Book and refrain from burning the door,” some of them said.
“These infidels do not believe in the Qur’an,” others remarked. “They may
not believe in it, but we do,” said one man. “We can put the Book aside,”
said another, “and then set fire to the door.” In the end it was decided that
they should not burn the door, but break it down instead. They cleared
away the stones and set themselves to work.
Nayyir and Sína’s family, seeing that the crowd was determined to
break into the house, decided to open the door themselves. The two young
wives, however, threw themselves over a low wall

leading into a neighbour’s yard and escaped through a narrow lane before
the mob could reach them. This they did because they knew what fate
awaited them if they were caught. Already they had heard how the
relatives of the wife of Na‘ím had found a new husband for her, saying that
her marriage with Na‘ím had been annulled when he became a Babí. It also
happened that Sína’s wife was expecting a child at that time, and her own
brother had sworn to rip open her belly rather than let her give birth to the
child of a Babí.
When the hysterical crowd of people rushed into the house, they caught
hold of Nayyir’s eldest son, a child of eight or nine, and started to beat him
so that he might tell them where his father and uncle were hiding, but
seeing that the child could give them no information, they left him and
began to loot the house. They carried away everything that they could
find—expensive carpets and textiles, metal work and beautiful crystal—all
were confiscated. Not a mat or a morsel of food did they leave for the six
small children who were now left alone in the empty house.
No one dared go near the children, and they would have starved had it
not been for a kind neighbour who secretly took them a small pot of soup in
the dead of night when no one was around. Two nights later when the poor
mothers, facing every danger, went to see what had happened to their
children, they found the youngest, only two years old, lying in a manger in
the stable with a swollen stomach and unable to utter a word.
It was impossible for the women to take their children with them, so
they left the six children in that grief-stricken house and came to see them
sometimes in the dark. Their life went on in this way for three months! At
last the mother-in-law of Sína, fearful for what might befall her daughter if
she were found, persuaded a man who had a few mules to take the whole
family by a secret path over the mountains to the city of Qum. From there
they were eventually able to reach Tihran and find Nayyir and Sína who
had taken refuge in the capital.
The two brothers, having lost all their worldly belongings, dedicated the
rest of their lives to the service of their beloved Faith. They travelled on
foot from town to town and village to village to spread the tidings of the
New Day. Sometimes they were treated with tolerance, at other times they
had to suffer innumerable

hardships, but their loyalty and devotion to the task they had set
themselves never wavered. Putting their trust in God, they arose to
proclaim and teach His Cause and, remembering the words addressed by
the Bab to His first disciples, they showed the utmost detachment wherever
they went. They accepted no reward from the people of any city and
departed out of each place as pure and undefiled as they had entered,
shaking the dust from off their feet.
They died in poverty, but the seeds of faith which they sowed in the
hearts of men wherever they travelled bore such a rich harvest that
thousands of people today remember their names with gratitude, and pay
homage to these two selfless men who renounced every comfort in the
service of others.

A teaching trip
It was snowing and bitterly cold, but Sína was impatient to be off. He
had received a message from ‘Abdu’l-Baha asking him to visit the province
of Mazindaran, and he wished to set out without any loss of time. But his
friends and relatives were concerned about Sína who was now an ageing
man. “Is it not possible for you to wait till the weather is a little better?”
they said. “The life of a man cannot be relied upon,” Sína replied. “If I stay
here, I may die tomorrow without having obeyed my Master’s orders
whereas, if I should die on the way, I shall have died while carrying out His
command.” So the mules were ordered, and Sína left for Mazindaran. With
him went his young son Habíbu’llah.
This was the first time that Habíbu’llah was going with his father on a
teaching trip and he did not quite realize what he should be prepared for.
That day they travelled from morning till a few hours after sunset before
they came to a place where they could rest and have some food. But the
people of the village did not prove hospitable, and the weary travellers had
to spend the night in a stable where the ceiling leaked. They had great
difficulty in keeping dry until day dawned and they were able to go on their
way.
This introduction to their journey came rather unexpectedly to the
young man, but he was soon put through an ordeal which was far more
trying. Having arrived at another village on their way,

they joined the men who had gathered for prayer in the mosque. When the
prayer was over, the villagers recognized Sína as a descendant of the
Prophet from his green turban, and came to pay their respects to him. Then
they noticed that his son wore a hat and his head was not shaved. This,
they thought, was quite unbecoming to the son of such a respectable person
and, as they could not find a barber to attend to Habíbu’llah, they very
kindly cut his hair off with a pair of scissors, as close to the skull as
possible. Having done him this favour, they also provided the young man
with a huge turban under which poor Habíbu’llah could hardly keep his
head up.
Another place in which they had to stay was a very dirty inn where they
were attacked by hundreds of lice. When they eventually arrived at the
home of some friends and were able to change their clothing and take a
rest, Habíbu’llah, musing over the last few days, observed: “No wonder my
elder brother is not very keen on these teaching trips!” Sína laughed out
loud. “Yes,” he said, “it can be a little uncomfortable at times.”
Habíbu’llah shared quite a number of other adventures with his father
on his first teaching trip. Once, when they were going to visit the Baha’ís
who lived in villages scattered in the heart of the forests of Mazindaran,
they were caught in one of the heavy showers which are common in those
parts and which are quickly followed by floods. Although they were soaked
through, they decided not to enter the first village they came to as they
knew no one there, but to go on to the next village where they had Baha ’í
friends.
Unfortunately, their guide lost his way in the forest as night set in, and
the floods made it impossible for them to go any farther. They could not
think of staying in the forest till morning because of wild animals; besides,
their clothes were wet and the night was bitterly cold. To add to their
distress, Sína, who was far from well after the rigours of the journey, had a
sudden attack of paralysis which affected his tongue and he was unable to
speak any more.
Habíbu’llah and the guide decided that there was nothing for them to do
but to try and go back to the village they had passed by earlier in the
evening. In order to get to this village, however, they were obliged to go up
a steep hill which had become so slippery from the rain that the horses they
rode on could not climb it.

Habíbu’llah then remembered something he had read about one of the
kings of Persia who had been faced with a similar difficulty. The king had
ordered that the hoofs of the horses be wrapped up in felt cloth so that they
would not slip back. So now Habíbu’llah threw their cloaks and other
pieces of clothing under the feet of the horses in turn, until they reached the
top of the hill.
Covered with mud and shivering with cold, the three men managed to
find their way to the village they had been reluctant to enter before. To
their surprise, they were received very kindly and taken into a house
where a man and several women immediately kindled a large fire and
started to dry their clothes.
The womenfolk showed great concern over Sína who lay unconscious
all this while and one old woman, in particular, could not dry her tears as
she sat beside the helpless patient. It seemed like a miracle when, halfway
through the night, Sína began to recover from his illness and found that he
could use his tongue again. The first words he uttered were in praise and
gratitude to God that he had once more been permitted to suffer hardship
in the path of service to His Cause. Then he turned to the old woman who
had kept faithful watch by his bedside and who now seemed eager to talk
to him, but he could not understand what she said as she spoke in a
colloquial dialect. In the morning, the woman brought a translator who
explained to Sína that she had dreamed of him and his son three nights
before. She had seen him lying there unconscious in her dream, just as she
had now seen him in reality. “Who are you?” she enquired of Sína, “and
what are you doing in this forest?” He told her that he had come to see a
friend in the next village. His friend and fellow-believer proved to be the
old woman’s grandson and, after a little more conversation, Sína found out
that the woman herself was a Baha ’í, as was every inhabitant of the village
in which they were staying! All the men of the village, with the exception of
one, were out farming on the hills some distance away while the women
stayed behind to do the work at home.
As soon as he was able to stand on his feet again, Sína and his son
moved on to visit Baha’ís in other villages. On one occasion, as they were
preparing to leave a village, Habíbu’llah twisted his ankle badly and they
were obliged to stay there for another three

days till he could walk again. This little incident was quite significant, for
when they arrived at their next destination, they found that the two
brothers at whose house they were hoping to stay had been seized and
taken to prison three days before because they were Baha’ís. Had Sína and
his son been there at the time, they too would have been taken to prison.
Travelling with his father was anything but uneventful, Habíbu’llah
decided, and some of the events which took place seemed quite incredible.
One day, having just arrived at a village on their way back from
Mazindaran, they were going to the home of one of the Baha’ís when they
met a notable of the place who was standing in front of his house. The
gentleman invited them to go in and, on being told that they were expected
elsewhere, started to follow them himself. Some of Sína’s friends who had
come out to welcome him asked this man why he was following Sína . “I do
not know myself,” he said. “All I do know is that I want to be with this
Siyyid,* whoever he is.” “But this Siyyid is a Baha’í,” they told him as they
approached their destination. “In that case,” the man answered, “I wish to
be a Baha’í too.” He then stepped into the house with Sína to hear about his
new Faith! Strange as the incident was, the man’s faith was genuine and he
remained a staunch believer for the rest of his life.
This person was one of many people who were attracted by Sína ’s
radiant personality during his travels around Persia. There was the
headman of a village in the province of Khurasan, for instance, who met
Sína years before this trip to Mazindaran. On that occasion, Sína was
teaching the Faith in one of the towns of Khurasan when a great commotion
was raised by some fanatical Muslims and there was danger of his being
killed. The governor of the place, who knew a little about the Faith,
hurriedly sent Sína with some soldiers to a village outside the boundaries
of the town. These soldiers treated Sína like a criminal and told the
headman of the village to beware of him because he was a Babí. As soon as
the soldiers left, however, the man threw himself at the feet of Sína and
said: “I can see you are no criminal. Tell me, I beg you, what a Babí is.”
Sína, who was too weak to talk to him after the hardships he had endured

*
Descendant of the Prophet Muhammad.
that day, took a book out of his pocket and handed it to his host. The man
stayed up that night to finish reading the book and became a convinced
Baha’í before Sína left his village.
Sína would often recall the teaching trips they used to make when he
was a young man. Things were far more difficult for a Baha ’í teacher in
those days, he would tell his son. There was fear of persecution in every
town and village, and going from place to place in itself was far from easy.
One day, as Sína and Habíbu’llah were travelling on mules in Mazindaran,
Sína pointed out a place to his son and said: “In my younger days, when we
travelled on foot all the time, a companion with whom I was journeying this
way sat down here from sheer exhaustion and could go no farther.”
Habíbu’llah realized that, difficult though teaching trips still were, they
were nothing like they used to be.

Firesides
More than forty men—Baha’ís and others who had come to investigate
the Faith—were gathered in the home of Nayyir and Sína when a crowd of
two hundred ruffians, bent on murder and destruction, were heard
approaching the house.
The two brothers lived in one of the poorest quarters of Tihran where
the rough population of the city could be found, and where the Baha’ís were
in constant danger of being attacked by their enemies. But no fear of
danger to themselves ever stopped Nayyir and Sína from teaching the
Cause. When they were too old and ill to travel from place to place to
spread the new Message, they held regular meetings in their humble home
twice a week. These ‘firesides’, as they are termed today, were never to be
forgotten by those who attended them. More than forty or fifty people
would gather each time to hear Nayyir and Sína expound the teachings of
Baha’u’llah, and a great number of people owed their faith to the untiring
efforts of these two men. Even those who did not embrace the Cause went
away from these meetings as friends of the Baha ’ís and admirers of the
hosts.
But the inhabitants of the district in which the two brothers lived were
not going to tolerate their meetings forever and, when

encouraged by the clergy, they decided to do away with their Baha’í
neighbours once and for all. One night when they knew there was a
meeting, two hundred of them joined together and, yelling and cursing at
the top of their voices, came to kill anyone they might find at the gathering.
When the noise of the crowd was heard in the street, the two brothers
begged their guests to try and save their lives, for there was no doubt about
the intention of the mob outside. Among the guests at the meeting that
night, there were twelve soldiers who belonged to the artillery. They had
been coming to investigate the Faith for the past few weeks and already
knew something about the Baha’ís and their beliefs. When they saw the
danger that threatened the people in the house, these soldiers opened the
door and came out into the street. The sight of a group of strong-looking
soldiers coming out of the house they were about to attack worked like
magic on the rough crowd. All they had expected to find at the meeting
were some helpless unarmed men who would be easy victims. They had
not dreamed of confronting soldiers prepared to defend themselves. The
effect of what they now saw was so great that they slowly retreated.
The twelve soldiers, quite pleased with the impression they had made,
accepted an invitation to stay in the district every night for some time.
They slept, two by two, in the houses of Baha ’ís who lived near Nayyir and
Sína, and the ‘firesides’ went on as usual.
The ruffians attempted another attack hoping, no doubt, that there
would be no more soldiers around. This time, however, our soldier friends
decided to give the crowd a demonstration of a proper military attack!
Drawing out their swords, they rushed forward together just as the mob
entered the street. The result was a great commotion among their
cowardly enemies who took to their heels and fled the place—all but one
who, being slower than the others, was captured by the valiant soldiers!
The wretched man, seeing Sína standing at the door of his house, caught
hold of his sash and begged for mercy. Sína assured him that there was no
intention of doing him any harm, but the man would not let go of the sash
till Sína had vowed that he would be under his personal protection. Such
were the conditions under which the early believers held their ‘firesides’.

Raised from the dead
Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní* was being tortured in the streets of Ardikan. He was
one of the most famous Baha’ís of the village, and the fanatical people had
long been thirsty for his blood. Now they attacked him with crude
weapons: knives, sticks, chains and stones. Even the women and children
were eager to take part in killing a Baha’í, for this was considered to be the
surest way of gaining admission into paradise.
They beat him and tore his flesh until he could no longer stand on his
feet. Then they tied a rope to his feet and dragged him to the house of the
mujtahid. “This is not the way I asked you to bring him here,” said the
religious dignitary, “but now that you have already killed him, throw his
body into the moat.”
But the people were not yet through with ‘Abdu’l-Qaní. They dragged
him into the streets once more and, while some went to get firewood and
paraffin to burn his body, others kicked him and threw stones and spat on
him. Someone even brought a saw and started cutting off his leg.
All of a sudden, a new man rushed upon the scene waving an envelope
in his hand and swearing at the top of his voice. “Shameless people,” he
cried, “you are killing a man whose death-warrant has not yet been signed
by our religious leaders. I have here in my hand a telegram instructing me
to see into this matter.” Saying this, he took out a chain from his pocket and
drove the crowd away from their victim. He then called for someone to
take up the body of ‘Abdu’l-Qaní and carry it to his home, but none of those
who heard him came forward.
The ruthless crowd was ready to pounce on its prey once more when a
man who happened to pass that way recognized ‘Abdu’l-Qaní and
immediately offered to carry him on his shoulders. This man was a thief
who had once broken into the house of ‘Abdu’l-Qaní’s sister and, having
been caught, was going to be tortured by the orders of the governor when
‘Abdu’l-Qaní intervened and saved him from this punishment.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní’s body was a mass of raw flesh and blood when it

*
Mulla is a title given to Muslim priests.
was laid down in front of his family. One of his legs had been sawed half
through and one eye hung out on his face. Yet he was still breathing, and his
wife rushed out to find a doctor. None of the doctors she went to, however,
had the courage to go to see ‘Abdu’l-Qaní or even dared to write a
prescription for him. Besides, they were sure that he was a dying man and
that nothing they did could possibly save his life. So ‘Abdu’l-Qaní’s wife and
elder son took upon themselves to tend to his wounds and use whatever
treatment they considered best. Their untiring efforts were rewarded and
‘Abdu’l-Qaní lived, though it was a long time before they could even change
the bloodstained and shredded clothes which he had on.
When the people of Ardikan came to know that ‘Abdu’l-Qaní was still
alive, they looked upon it as a true miracle. They said that God had raised
him up to life again after they had seen him die, and these same people who
had almost killed him now came to beg for a piece of his bloodstained
clothes so that they could keep it as a sacred relic.

The wolf and the lamb
Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní of Ardikan, who was a well-known and much
respected priest before he became a Baha ’í, was still clothed in the
garments of the Muslim clergy when Ardishír, a young Zoroastrian, was
taken to his house to hear about the new Faith.
The Zoroastrians of Persia, having suffered all forms of insults and
indignations at the hands of the Muslims, especially dreaded meeting with
any of the clergymen of Islam as this group never failed to poison the life of
a Zoroastrian whenever they set eyes on one of them. Ardishír, therefore,
had grave misgivings when he found his host to be dressed in the robes of
the dreaded enemy. But he was soon to find out that this man was entirely
different from any Muslim priest he had yet seen or heard of.
As soon as the young guest arrived at the threshold of his room, ‘Abdu’l-
Qaní rose to his feet in respect and courteously offered him a seat beside
himself. He then proceeded to pour out a glass of tea for him with his own
hands. The young man was greatly astonished. He could not imagine that
it could be possible for a

Muslim priest to undergo such transformation even if he had become a
Baha’í. Not only did the Muslims treat Zoroastrians with great contempt,
but it was impossible for them to permit a Zoroastrian to drink out of a
glass used in their own home. All Zoroastrians were considered as unclean
and no Muslim would dream of using a receptacle defiled by them.
The greatest surprise came for Ardishír when, after he had finished
drinking the tea, his host deliberately filled the same glass again, without
pouring out what was left inside, and began to drink from it. Then, turning
to the young Zoroastrian, he remarked: “You must have heard how, in the
days of the advent of the Promised Lord, the lamb and the wolf will drink
from the same stream and graze in the same meadow. Do you still doubt
that we are living in that Day?”
*****
The following story has been recounted by another Zoroastrian who
met ‘Abdu’l-Qaní:
When I was a young man I was a very staunch Zoroastrian. I faithfully
believed in all the ideas that had been handed down to us by our
forefathers and never questioned the truth of our beliefs. I felt quite
certain that all other religions were false, but I particularly disliked Islam
because of the way we were treated by its followers. They continually
insulted us and confronted us with every form of malice. If a poor
Zoroastrian who had brought fruit to sell in the market was seen to ride his
donkey on the street, even a small Muslim child was permitted to hit him
with stones and sticks, because it was considered an insult to Islam if a
Zoroastrian or a Jew rode, instead of humbly walking past a Muslim. And if
one of us was sitting on a doorstep, he was obliged to stand up in respect
when a Muslim clergyman went by. Once, when an invalid Zoroastrian was
riding on his donkey to go to a doctor, he happened to meet the priest of
that district. Though unable to dismount, he saluted the clergyman with
great reverence but instead of answering his greeting, the priest pulled him
down from his mount and, using the reins of the donkey, gave the sick man
a severe beating.
We could be identified by the clothes we were obliged to wear, and
were looked upon as unclean heathens who should not be

permitted to associate with the Muslim population. We were even
forbidden to build houses that were better or higher than those of our
Muslim neighbours.
Notwithstanding the treatment that was meted out to us, life was much
easier for Zoroastrians and Jews than it was for those who were known as
Babís. I was quite sure that these people did not believe in the Prophet
Muhammad by the way they were persecuted by the Muslims, and I
therefore had great sympathy for them. One day I saw a cobbler who
belonged to this new Faith being killed on the street. He was attacked with
stones, bricks, chopping knives and any other weapon people could get
hold of as they rushed to the scene. The man’s flesh was cut to pieces
before my eyes, and his corpse was set on fire.
I later came to know a few of the Baha ’ís and, to my utter astonishment
and great disappointment, found that they believed Muhammad was a
Messenger of God! “How can you believe in a prophet whose followers
treat you like this?” I asked one of them in amazement. “You cannot always
judge a Prophet by what His followers do,” the Baha’í told me. “But how
can you say a man is a true prophet,” I objected, “if those who profess his
religion can behave in this way?” “What the Muslims are doing today,” I
was told, “only proves that they have completely forgotten the teachings of
the Founder of their Faith, for if the truth of a Messenger of God depends on
the behaviour of those who name themselves after Him, then we should
disbelieve in all the past Prophets alike.” I realized that there was truth in
what he said, but nothing could reconcile me to Islam and its Founder.
Some time before this, I had read a book which I greatly admired as it
was written against Muhammad and his religion. I had not dared to tell
anyone about this book before, but I now felt that I could discuss it with my
Baha’í friends. They were very patient with me, but always managed to
refute the arguments given in the book and prove them to be entirely false.
Though I would not be drawn to Islam, I found that I was attracted to the
Baha’ís themselves. “Never mind about Muhammad and his teachings,” I
said at last, “tell me something about the teachings of Baha ’u’llah.” I was
given The Hidden Words to read. This little book captured my heart
immediately and I began to read other Writings of

Baha’u’llah. In time, I came to believe that the Author of these Writings
must have truly been inspired by God. But while reading the Writings of
Baha’u’llah, I one day came across a tribute He had paid to Muhammad as a
divine Messenger and this was something I could not tolerate. “I have no
difficulty in accepting Baha’u’llah as a Messenger of God,” I told the Baha’ís
one day, “but I can never be convinced that Muhammad was a Prophet too.”
My prejudice against the Muslims was so intense that in the end I
decided to go so far as to forsake Baha ’u’llah and His Cause, rather than
accept the Prophet of Islam. It was then that I came to meet Mulla ‘Abdu’l-
Qaní. “Why do you find it so difficult to recognize Muhammad as a true
Prophet?” He asked me, and there followed a long discussion. He told me
that the teachings brought by the Messenger of God could be likened to the
life-giving waters of a pure lake. But, as days go by, the clear water in the
lake is polluted by those who make use of it. Some dip their buckets into it,
others their hands, and yet others their soiled garments. In time, the water
changes its colour and smell and loses its life-giving power. Indeed, to
drink that water then becomes the cause of disease. “This is why,” ‘Abdu’l-
Qaní continued, “God sends a Messenger to purify His religion from time to
time and make it a source of spiritual life to the world once more, after
people have misused and corrupted it to suit their own desires.” “But how
can I be sure,” I asked him, “that the teachings of Muhammad were good
and profitable when he brought them?” “There is only one way of finding
out,” said ‘Abdu’l-Qaní. “You must forget your prejudice, lay aside all the
ideas you find prevalent among the Muslims today, and read the teachings
of Muhammad as given in the Qur’an.” “I cannot read Arabic,” I told him,
“and the Qur’an has not been translated into Persian.” “If you are sincere in
your search after Truth, and wish to know what is written in the Qur’an,”
‘Abdu’l-Qaní told me, “I am prepared to read it with you.”
I began to study the Qur’an with Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní every day. It took
me two years to go through it, but by that time my heart was completely
won over by the Prophet of Islam. I then had no further difficulty in
becoming a Baha’í, much to the disappointment of my Muslim neighbours.

Persecutions in Yazd
In the fierce heat of the noonday sun, thousands of people had gathered
in the public square of Yazd, while others were engaged in killing the
Baha’ís and pillaging their homes in every district of the town. The Baha’ís
had been taken unawares and had nowhere to flee to. Their wives and
children were trying to hide in cellars, wells, ditches and waterways, half
dead with fear as they listened to the horrible curses and unearthly cries
around them.
Suddenly the killing stopped and everyone hurried to the governor’s
fort. Word had been brought to the religious dignitary of the town that the
governor had given refuge to Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní in his own fort and, furious
at the news, the clergyman had called upon all devout Muslims to surround
the place and be prepared to attack it if the governor did not hand ‘Abdu’l-
Qaní over to them.
Thousands of men rushed to the scene and surrounded the fort from
every side, while the women crowded on to the rooftops around, mingling
their screams and cries with the shouting and cursing of the men below.
The governor, fearful of the influence of the clergy and the power of the
masses, hastened to assure them that ‘Abdu’l-Qaní had not entered the fort.
Although he pleaded for hours, the mob would not believe him and he was
obliged to beg for the help of the clergy themselves.
This incident, which held the attention of the inhabitants of Yazd from
noon to sunset, brought relief to many Baha ’ís who would have otherwise
been butchered to death that day.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní and some of the members of his family were, in fact, in the
home of some English friends when news was brought to them of what was
happening outside. The hosts immediately asked ‘Abdu’l-Qaní to leave the
house as they were afraid of what might happen to themselves if people
came to know that the human quarry they were after was to be found in
their home. ‘Abdu’l-Qaní, a frail man of seventy at that time, assured his
hosts that he would not let any harm come to them. He asked to be
permitted to stay there until there was reason to believe that people
suspected where he was. Then, he promised, he would willingly leave the
house to be killed on the street so that no harm might come to his

hosts. The hosts were reluctant to listen to his pleading. “Why should you
choose a religion,” said the lady of the house, “for which you have to suffer
insults and persecutions wherever you go?” “Have you forgotten the days
of Peter and Paul?” replied ‘Abdu’l-Qaní, “Was this not how the early
disciples of Christ were treated by the people of their day?”
‘Abdu’l-Qaní sat behind the front door, ready to leave the house as soon
as he heard a crowd approaching. At sunset the loud cries of a gang of men
were heard coming that way. ‘Abdu’l-Qaní said farewell to his children,
thanked his hosts for letting them stay there, and prepared to go out. The
noise in the street, however, grew less as the crowd passed by the alley
without entering it.
Once more ‘Abdu’l-Qaní sat down to wait. The sorrow of his own family
and the anxiety of his hosts now knew no bounds. Soon the roaring of a
great multitude of people was heard approaching. This time the numbers
were so many, and the noise and commotion they made was so great, that
the very earth trembled as they entered the alley and came near the house.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní hurriedly opened the door and stepped outside. To his great
surprise, the crowd went to another door close by and broke it down with a
few kicks. This house belonged to another Baha’í and the mob, not finding
him at home, looted the place and left.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní’s English friends refused to have anything more to do with
him. The old man, accompanied by his son-in-law who insisted on going
with him, left in the hope of escaping from the town before the night was
over. Fortunately, no one recognized them in the dark and they were able
to make their way out of Yazd.
Being old and feeble, ‘Abdu’l-Qaní could not walk very fast and the
summer nights were short. Would they be able to find their way to a
shelter before daybreak? As the first glimmerings of dawn appeared on the
horizon, they recognized the outlines of one of the hamlets near by. The
younger man hurried on in front to see if he could persuade a Zoroastrian
he knew in that place to take them into his house. This man, though willing
to help, was afraid to let them enter his own home. He took them to a
walled garden a little away from his place, where there was no shelter from
the hot sun, but where he hoped they might remain unobserved that day.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní and his son-in-law were left in that garden, without

food or water, to live through fourteen hours of scorching sunshine. At
night, almost dead from lack of water and food, they received a little
nourishment from two men who were sent by the owner of the garden with
a message asking them to leave the hamlet while it was still dark. This they
found impossible to do. Not only was ‘Abdu’l-Qaní too weak to undertake
another journey on foot, but they could think of nowhere to go. In the end
they persuaded their friend to let them stay on.
‘Abdu’l-Qaní survived the torment of the blazing sun during those long
summer days and the agony of sleeping on the rough ploughed land at
night. He lived in that garden for thirty-nine days! Neither hunger and
thirst, nor the persecutions and tortures he suffered at the hands of his
enemies could dampen his enthusiasm for the Faith he loved so well. He
lived through all those ordeals and died a natural death years later, serving
the Cause to the end of his life.

A noble son
Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní had a son of fifteen, named ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq, who was
with him in the house of his English friends on that fateful day in Yazd.
‘Abdu’l-Khaliq was loved by all who knew him. Even their hosts who were
so worried for their own safety would not let ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq leave their
house with his father that night. The next morning an English doctor who
was concerned about the boy’s safety took him to his own home where he
hoped to keep him until the trouble in Yazd was over.
Later in the day, however, the doctor received a message from the
governor that made him change his mind. The message was brought by the
English minister in Yazd and it warned the foreigners in that town not to
permit any Baha’ís to enter their houses, as he, the governor, could not be
responsible for the evil consequences if the Muslims found them hiding
Baha’ís in their homes. “Even if you suspect your own servant to belong to
this Faith,” the governor had said, “you must throw him out onto the
streets.”
The doctor was very worried, and the clergyman who had brought the
message asked ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq if he would be prepared to denounce the
Founders of his Faith in order to safeguard his own

life. “Never!” was ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq’s immediate reply, “I would much rather be
killed.” “In that case,” said his host reluctantly, “I am afraid I cannot keep
you here any longer, as my own safety is now endangered.” ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq
was given some money to have with him in case of need, and sent away
from the house that night. Not knowing of any place he could go, the boy
started to walk away from the town. He trembled with fear as he thought of
the coming daylight when he might be recognized by someone on the road.
But even if he were not, he thought, where could he go? Who would be
prepared to give him refuge in his home in the villages around Yazd, or even
give him food and water, when every stranger was suspected of being a
Baha’í who was running away from the town?
Suddenly his foot caught onto a wire and he fell down. He was
immediately discovered by some workmen who were sleeping close by.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here this time of night?” they asked
him. ‘Abdu’l Khaliq said he was on his way to do an errand for the English
doctor. “You lie!” they told him. “You are one of those Babís who are trying
to escape.” ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq would not deny it and prepared himself to die.
The workmen, however, did not kill him. They let him stay there for the
night and go on his way in the morning. But they took from him the ring
which his father had taken off his own finger and slipped into ‘Abdu’l-
Khaliq’s hand when he was saying goodbye to his son. In the morning the
generous boy gave the workmen some of his money too, before he set off
into the wilderness.
When he had gone some distance from the place, one of the workmen
caught up with him and said: “I can arrange for you to hide in the house of
my master. How much can you give me to take to him?” ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq
gave him most of the sum he had in his pocket. “This is all I can afford,” he
said. The man told him to sit down and wait for his return.
‘Abdu’l-Khaliq sat down on some rocks and waited for a long time. The
sun was getting hotter every minute and the boy wondered how much
longer he could bear it. After some agonizing hours, he realized that the
workman had no intention of coming back, so he got up to continue his
weary journey.
He soon met with a Zoroastrian who, seeing the state of the poor

boy in that heat, enquired where he was going. ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq, hoping that
the man might help him, said: “I am trying to escape from the town, but
have nowhere to go. Do you know of anywhere?” But the Zoroastrian
offered no help and left him to go on his way.
By now ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq felt he would die of thirst if he could not find
some water to drink. An old, kindly man who met him at this time saved
his life by giving him a few gherkins. Then, after questioning the boy and
getting to know of his distress, he took him to his home in the nearby
village.
The old man had to go into town that same day and, scarcely had he
entered the place, when he heard the town-crier’s warning to the people of
Yazd and its surroundings. “The revered dignitaries of Yazd have decreed,”
the man cried out, “that anyone who dares to give refuge to a Babí, either in
this town or the villages around it, will have his property confiscated and
his house razed to the ground!”
The poor man hurried back to his village trembling with fear and
begged ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq to leave his home. “Let me stay for this one night,”
begged the boy, “and I will go in the morning.” The old man woke him up at
dawn and told him to hide in some ruins close by. ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq gave him
the rest of the money he had and took refuge among the ruins.
Once again the boy found himself in the scorching heat without water or
food. As the hours went by and his thirst increased, he felt sure he could
not bear this any longer. Any death, he thought, would be better than being
roasted under the merciless desert sun. Even if he were to be killed by a
savage mob, it would at least be quicker than dying in this way. He decided
to go back to Yazd, and be prepared to meet his fate.
in Yazd, ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq’s grief-stricken mother did not have a minute’s
peace. She had seen her aged husband and her son-in-law walk out into
streets which teemed with men bent on spilling their blood. No news of
them had reached her, and she wondered whether they were still alive or
had been cut to pieces by their ruthless enemies. She had hoped that her
young son, ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq, would be safe in the English doctor’s house, but
now she knew that he too had been turned out into the streets. “How could
you have the heart,” she told the doctor, “to send away an innocent boy
who had

put his trust in you and taken refuge under your roof? Why could you not
have let him be killed here so that I might, at least, have buried his body and
wept over his grave? Now I must die a hundred deaths every day, not
knowing what tortures he has suffered and where his poor body lies.”
The doctor was greatly moved by her terrible grief and wished he could
give her some news of her son, but no one knew where ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq had
gone and what had become of him. Then, after two days of anxiety, the
doctor saw ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq stumble into his hospital more dead than alive.
He was so glad to see the boy that he overcame the fear that people might
have seen him entering the hospital. He made sure that the boy was given
the attention he needed, then hurried to give the good news to ‘Abdu’l-
Khaliq’s mother.
When ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq recovered from the effects of the hardships he had
endured, his friend the doctor thought of taking him to one of the religious
dignitaries of Yazd and getting a statement from the clergyman to say that
‘Abdu’l-Khaliq was not a Baha’í and should not be molested, but the
courageous boy would not think of it. He had had a taste of what a Baha ’í’s
life could be like, yet he chose to remain loyal to his Faith.

Prophecies fulfilled
From his studies of the Zoroastrian Scriptures, Mulla Bahram * had come
to believe that the time for the appearance of that great Messenger foretold
in the Holy Books was at hand. He questioned everyone who arrived at his
village about the news of the outside world, hoping that something might
reach his ears which would help him to recognize the signs of the advent of
the Promised One. But a long time passed and he heard nothing of
importance.
One day a neighbour of his who had just come back from the town told
him that a Babí was killed in Yazd that day. “What is a Babí?” asked Mulla
Bahram. His neighbour was not sure, but recounted what he himself had
heard about them. “They are

*
He was not a Muslim priest, though he was known as Mulla Bahram.
people,” he said, “who become yellow in the face through acquiring too
much knowledge.” This made little sense to Mulla Bahram, and soon other
matters occupied his mind and he did not give much thought to what he
had heard.
Some time later when Mulla Bahram was working in Tihran, he was one
day discussing religion with a friend whom he hoped to interest in the
Zoroastrian Faith. Among the proofs which he mentioned concerning the
Revelation of Zoroaster were the miracles He performed and the
persecutions He and His disciples endured for the sake of His Cause.
“Suffering persecutions is no proof,” said his friend. “Only a few years ago
eighty Babís were killed for their Faith in a single day here in one of the
squares of Tihran, while everybody knows that there is no truth in what
they believe.”
This was the second time Mulla Bahram heard of the Baha ’ís and how
they were being persecuted. The third time was in Kashan, where he was
working with a man whom he had come to love and admire. This friend
one day received a letter which he opened in the presence of Mulla Bahram.
The contents of that letter brought such grief to his heart that he could not
conceal his feelings, and Mulla Bahram begged to know of the reason for
this great sorrow. His friend was reluctant to talk about it at first but,
realizing that he could trust Mulla Bahram with a secret, decided to tell
him. Two of the notables of Isfahan, he said, who were known for their
gentleness and the saintly life they led were, nevertheless, cruelly martyred
because they were Baha ’ís. Mulla Bahram was greatly touched by what he
heard. He also realized now that his own friend, whom he had believed to
be a Zoroastrian, was a member of this new Faith.
Mulla Bahram could no longer ignore the Cause which had been brought
to his attention from time to time through the martyrdom of its followers.
His investigation, which started that very day, aroused his deep interest in
the new Faith, but he had to leave for his native village near Yazd before he
was fully convinced of the truth of the Cause.
In Yazd, Mulla Bahram knew a family who bought beetroots from him
whenever he took a donkey-load to sell in the town. On one of these
occasions he was invited to go in and meet a friend of the

household. This friend was Malmírí, a famous Baha’í teacher whose death-
warrant had been signed by one of the religious dignitaries of Yazd, and
who was now living in concealment in the basement of the house of one of
his fellow-believers.
Malmírí’s enemies were searching for him in the town and its
surroundings, but even at a time like this he would not give up teaching the
Faith if an opportunity presented itself. His host had told him about the
young Zoroastrian who brought beetroots to the door and who seemed to
be an intelligent and sincere person, and it was arranged that he should be
invited in to meet Malmírí one day.
Mulla Bahram came day after day to hear about the Cause. He would
listen with tears streaming down his face as Malmírí explained to him how
the prophecies of the Holy Books had all been fulfilled and the Promise of
the ages had been revealed. “This is no time for tears,” Malmírí told him. “I
am giving you the glad tidings of a Revelation which will bring untold
blessings to mankind and establish the Kingdom of God on earth.” But
Mulla Bahram was stirred by emotions beyond his control as he recognized
the greatness of the Day in which he lived.
These were the circumstances under which Mulla Bahram, one of the
first Zoroastrians to embrace the Cause in Yazd, came to be confirmed in
his new Faith.

The journey to Yazd
Mulla Bahram was on his way to Yazd. He was travelling alone; the way
was long and dreary, and for miles there was nothing to be seen but barren
desert land. Yet Mulla Bahram was glad to have a donkey to ride on, for the
journey by foot would have been infinitely more difficult. As it was, he
would be on the road for many days. Mulla Bahram wondered how the
news of his return would be received by the people in his village. Less than
a year before he had been forced to leave the place to save his life, for two
of the religious dignitaries of Yazd who had long opposed the Baha ’í Faith
and persecuted the believers had suddenly died, and rumour was spread
that Mulla Bahram had brought about their deaths by means of witchcraft.

As one of the first Zoroastrians to embrace the Faith in Yazd, Mulla
Bahram had already made a number of enemies among Zoroastrians and
Muslims alike because of the fearless manner in which he expounded the
Cause and for being responsible for attracting many to the new Faith. It
was therefore decided that he and some other well-known Baha’ís whose
lives were endangered by the sudden death of the religious dignitaries
should not remain in Yazd to confront the wrath of the fanatical mob.
Mulla Bahram had travelled to India where he had succeeded in
teaching the Cause to some of the Zoroastrians before he received a
message from Baha’u’llah to go back to Persia. So here he was on his way
to Yazd, with all his capital and worldly belongings packed in the saddle on
his donkey’s back.
As Mulla Bahram contemplated the events of the past, and wondered
about those of the future, he little realized the kind of adventure in which
he was about to participate. This adventure he shared with two thieves
who set upon him and, having asked him to dismount from his donkey, took
possession of all he had. They even took the clothes he wore, leaving him
scarcely enough with which to cover himself.
Though unprepared for this new experience, Mulla Bahram resigned
himself to the Will of God and resumed his journey on foot. He had gone
quite a distance when the sound of angry voices reached him from behind.
Looking back, he saw the two thieves engaged in a fierce quarrel. He
immediately retraced his steps to enquire about the cause of the trouble
and found that the two could not agree on how to share his belongings
between them. “Gentlemen”, said Mulla Bahram, “I beg you to stop
quarrelling as I happen to know the exact price of each of these articles and,
with your permission, will divide them between you in such a way that you
will each get a fair share.”
The idea appealed to the thieves and Mulla Bahram divided his
belongings between the two, to the satisfaction of both. The last two
objects which remained to be divided were the donkey and the empty
saddle. “Gentlemen,” said Mulla Bahram, “I find it absolutely impossible to
be just in sharing these two things. Whichever of you gets the saddle will
evidently be the loser, so I suggest that in order to solve the problem, you
let me have these

in return for my services.”
The thieves thought the suggestion very wise, and generously permitted
Mulla Bahram to put the saddle on the donkey and ride the rest of the
journey to Yazd.

Bahrám’s companion
One night Mulla Bahram dreamed that two dignified gentlemen had
come to see him. From their green turbans he could tell they were
descendants of the Prophet Muhammad and, as they crossed his threshold,
they spoke to him and said: “We are Nayyir and Sína .” Mulla Bahram was
out working on his farm the next morning when Nayyir and Sína arrived at
the village. They had escaped the perils of Isfahan and, having failed to find
a safe place to stay in Yazd, had come to take refuge with Mulla Bahram for
a while until they could move on again.
In answer to their knock, Mulla Bahram’s wife opened the door. She
was a very fanatical Zoroastrian who could not tolerate people of other
Faiths whom her husband was in the habit of befriending since he had
become a Baha’í himself. In fact, she had little sympathy or tolerance
towards her own husband now that he had chosen to change his former
religious beliefs, and she missed no opportunity to show her resentment by
making life as difficult as she possibly could for him. She now had one
quick look at the two visitors and slammed the door in their faces. She
would have nothing to do with people who wore turbans—green turbans,
at that! “This is not Bahram’s house,” she shouted at them, guessing who
they had come to see.
Nayyir and Sína turned away with a heavy heart, wondering where they
could go. As they were walking through the village on their way back,
Mulla Bahram, who was coming home, happened to pass by and recognized
them as the two men he had seen in his dream. Going up to them, he asked:
“Are you Nayyir and Sína?” “We are,” said the astonished brothers. “Are
you Mulla Bahram?” Mulla Bahram embraced them tenderly, welcomed
them to his village and took them home. The two brothers, however,
knowing that they would not be welcomed by the lady of the house,
wondered

whether they should accept the hospitality. Mulla Bahram, in the
meantime, did not take long in finding out how his wife had treated his
distinguished guests. He had, by now, come to the end of his patience with
her rude behaviour and, losing his temper completely, took her by the hand
and showed her to the door, telling her to go back to her father’s house.
Later on Mulla Bahram’s friends tried hard to bring a reconciliation
between the husband and wife, but Mulla Bahram would not be induced to
put up with her any more. After some time, however, a letter received from
‘Abdu’l-Baha, which began: “O Bahram,* astronomers say that Mars is a
quarrelsome and hot-tempered star …”, softened the heart of Mulla Bahram
and he permitted his wife to return to his house. She, however, was not
prepared to change her ways, and her attitude remained hostile towards all
Baha’ís up to the very last day of her life.
In one of His beautiful prayers, ‘Abdul-Baha makes mention of her,
asking God’s blessings and forgiveness for “this dear handmaiden of Thine,
Bahram’s companion ….”

The story of ‘Abbás-Ábád
The persecution of Baha’ís in Yazd had reached its climax. Eighty-four
people were dragged into the streets and tortured to death. Dozens of
houses were looted and the womenfolk were left to mourn their husbands,
sons and brothers among the ruins which had been their homes. The
children, unable to grasp the full significance of the horrible events which
took place around them, clung desperately to their helpless mothers,
knowing that they would never see their fathers again.
The savage murderers, drunk with the blood they had spilt on the
streets of Yazd, were now hunting for other victims. The roads round the
town were well guarded so that no one who was known as a Baha’í could
hope to escape from Yazd. But in the town itself, there were some brave
souls who were prepared to sacrifice their

*
Bahram means Mars. In several of His letters to individuals, ‘Abdul-Baha makes
this type of intimate remark.
own safety in order to hide those of their fellow-believers whose lives were
especially in danger.
The news of the massacre in the town quickly spread to the villages
around, and the Baha’ís living there knew that they would not be spared.
Soon hundreds of wild fanatics, banded together, were moving towards
those villages where there were Baha ’ís. Others joined them as they went
from village to village, bringing untold suffering upon many, many homes.
In the small village of ‘Abbas-Abad where many of the inhabitants were
Baha’ís, there was a strange fear of expectation as they went about their
daily work. Then suddenly: “They are coming!” rang like a death-cry
through the village street and echoed from house to house.
This village has a special story to tell—one that will always stand as a
witness to the shameless plottings of Prince Jalalu’d-Dawlih, the governor
of Yazd. The prince, who had previously been responsible for the
martyrdom of a number of Baha ’ís, had afterwards pretended to be sorry
for what he had done and had begun to show kindness to the believers.
Among those towards whom he professed friendship at this time was Mulla
Bahram, whom he would often go to visit on his farm. Mulla Bahram had
profound knowledge of agriculture and very good taste in laying out
gardens and fields. The prince, therefore, decided to make use of him. He
bought a large extent of wasteland at a very low price and asked Mulla
Bahram to turn it into agricultural land for him. Mulla Bahram was very
reluctant to give up his own prosperous farm and take on such a difficult
job, but the prince gave him no peace until he had promised to do so.
Jalalu’d-Dawlih called his new estate ‘Abbas-Abad. To the Muslims he
said this was in honour of the Muslim martyr, ‘Abbas; to the Baha’ís he said
that he had chosen ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s name* so that it might bring a blessing on
his land.
Mulla Bahram sold all his own property and went to live with his family
on this barren piece of land. With him went several other families, people
whom he had chosen from among his Baha ’í and Zoroastrian friends to help
him in his work on the prince’s estate.

*
‘Abdu’l-Baha, meaning “Servant of the Glory”, is a title which the Master used.
His name was ‘Abbas.
Together they toiled ceaselessly until they had built houses, ploughed the
fields, prepared the water ducts and sown the crop. Mulla Bahram spent
every penny he had on ‘Abbas-Abad, and in return he was given some
signed documents stating that the prince would pay him and his men their
full dues as soon as the new crop was sold.
The harvest was ready when news reached ‘Abbas-Abad that fresh
persecution of Baha’ís had started in Yazd. Mulla Bahram and his friends
knew that they were trapped in the prince’s village and had no way of
escape. First, one of their young men who had gone to buy sheep from a
neighbouring farm was killed, then a message was received from Jalalu’d-
Dawlih ordering Mulla Bahram to return all the signed documents in his
possession. Mulla Bahram refused to do this as these papers were all that
he and his men had received in return for the capital and hard work that
they had put into building up the new estate. The prince’s messengers,
however, were ordered not to come back without the documents. They
gave Mulla Bahram a severe beating which impaired his eyesight to the end
of his life, and took away the papers by force.
Having lost all his life’s savings in this way, Mulla Bahram now
wondered where he and his friends could take their families so as to escape
being massacred by the bloodthirsty mob that was already on its way to
‘Abbas-Abad. There was nowhere they could go.
“They are coming!” cried someone through the village, and the helpless
inhabitants bolted their front doors, hoping to keep the murderers off for a
few more minutes. What scenes of sorrow must have taken place behind
those closed doors as parents clasped their terrified children to themselves,
praying God that the little ones might be spared! The noise of the crowd as
it approached the village was enough to strike terror, into the bravest
heart. Then someone arrived with a message: “The eminent priests who
have come to this village have ordered that all the inhabitants should come
out into the street! Everybody has to obey this order men, women and
children!” They were not going to trouble themselves with breaking down
the doors.
Mulla Bahram stepped out alone, telling everybody else to stay in their
homes. As he started to walk towards the savage crowd, a few of his
friends could not bear to see him go alone and they, too,

followed at a distance.
Thousands of people had gathered to attack the villagers, most of them
carrying spades and other farming tools, though there was also a group of
forty gunmen among them. Walking at the head of this crowd were three
Muslim priests, one of whom recognized Mulla Bahram as he approached.
This priest had had various dealings with Mulla Bahram in the past and had
become one of his admirers. Now, watching him walk towards his would-
be murderers, the priest’s heart was touched and, turning to the crowd, he
said; “These Zoroastrians who live in ‘Abbas-Abad are, according to the
explicit laws of our religion, under the protection of Islam and no one is
permitted to molest them. Tell me, is there anyone here who can bring
forward a complaint against Mulla Bahram and his friends?” The priest
was not the only one who was moved at the sight of Mulla Bahram.
Another man stepped forward and said; “I have heard of the goodness and
generosity of this man who stands before us. When there were four
hundred poor Muslim labourers working in this village, he showed them
every kindness. He saw to it that none of them ever went hungry, and if he
heard they were in need of food he would bring them whatever he had in
his own house. When he had no bread to give, he would give away dried
fruit or vegetables. Not once did he refuse to help our fellow-believers.”
The priest made the most of this: “Now that there is no one here who can
complain against Mulla Bahram,” he said, “let us go away and leave him and
his friends in peace.” These words, however, had little effect on the savage
mob. They had come a long distance, getting more and more excited as
they approached the village, and they were not prepared to see their
helpless victims suddenly snatched away from them now. The priest had
found it much easier to spur them on to killing and pillage in the first place.
His words were received in tense silence, and not one man made a move to
obey him.
Fortunately, the head of the group of gunmen who had joined the crowd
on their way to the village was prepared to side with the priest. “Did you
not hear what our religious dignitary said?” he shouted to the crowd.
“What are you waiting for?” Let us go!” No one moved. “Here, boys,” he
called out to his men. “See if you cannot send away these people.” No
sooner had the men raised

their guns, than the crowd began to move away.
This incident was so extraordinary that for days the inhabitants of
‘Abbas-Abad could hardly believe it had really happened. But their
difficulties were far from being over. Prince Jalalu’d-Dawlih now gave
orders that they should leave his estate at once. “Where are we to go?” they
asked. “We are surrounded by enemies who will kill us on the roads, and
even if we escape them, no one will give us refuge either in Yazd or in the
villages around.”
Mulla Bahram wrote three letters to the prince asking for his help, but
he would not reply. Feeling responsible for the safety of his friends and
their families, Mulla Bahram wrote a fourth time, entreating the prince and
adjuring him by the life of his own children to take pity on these people
who had served him so faithfully and issue an order that they should not be
harmed when they left the safety of their homes. This time, Jalalu’d-Dawlih
signed a statement to say that the inhabitants of ‘Abbas-Abad were not to
be molested when they left his estate.
Such was the story of the village which Mulla Bahram and his friends
built for the governor of Yazd.

The flight to Káshán
There was a knock on the door. Mulla Bahram wondered who it could
be at such an unusual hour of the night. Was there some new danger
threatening his life? Had his enemies come to know he was staying here?
Mulla Bahram, who had barely escaped with his life from ‘Abbas-Abad,
had arrived in this village three days before and only a few of his close
friends knew of his whereabouts. This midnight knock on the door
reminded him of the many dangers which surrounded his life so long as he
remained in the vicinity of Yazd. On the other hand, it was almost
impossible to leave. All the roads were well guarded for miles around, and
no one as famous a Baha’í as Mulla Bahram could hope to escape.
The knock was repeated—a gentle knock it was, not loud and
aggressive. “It may be a friend,” thought Mulla Bahram as he rose to open
the door. But he could have never guessed who it was that

had come to see him at such a time. It was his old friend with whom he had
worked in Kashan many years ago, and who had been the first person to tell
him of the Baha’í Faith. This friend, being convinced that Mulla Bahram
would, sooner or later, fall into the hands of his enemies if he stayed in Yazd,
had set out on foot to find him and help him escape to Kashan. He now
recounted to Mulla Bahram the circumstances of the last cruel martyrdom
that had taken place only some hours before, and begged him to come away
from Yazd. A few Muslims, Mulla Bahram was told, had recognized a Baha’í
in the hills outside the town and, having cut off his head, they had placed it
in a box, covered it with fresh leaves, and sent it to his wife as a gift of fruit.
Arrangements were made for Mulla Bahram to leave that same night.
They found a friend who knew the countryside very well and was prepared
to take him as far as another village without getting close to any of the
roads and footpaths in the dark. Yet another friend took him through the
wilderness to a place outside the boundaries of Yazd, from where Mulla
Bahram could make his way to Kashan and comparative safety.

A father’s grief
Among the many hardships which had to be endured by the early
Baha’ís were the difficulties they came across in burying their dead. They
were seldom permitted to use cemeteries belonging to other religions, nor
was it easy for them to purchase land to be used as a Baha’í cemetery.
Many a time the buried bodies of Baha’ís were dug up by fanatical crowds
and burned or disgraced in public, so that when a Baha’í lost a dear friend
or a close relative, he not only grieved because of his loss, but also because
he could not be sure that the body of his loved one would escape the
assaults of a savage mob.
Mulla Bahram, who received his full share of the sufferings which were
meted out in those days to all who professed the new Faith, lost a fourteen-
year-old daughter after he became a Baha ’í. To add to his great sorrow,
neither would the Zoroastrian priests allow the body to be taken to their
tower of silence, nor would the Muslim

clergy let it be buried in their cemetery. Mulla Bahram wondered what was
to become of his beloved child. After two days of great anxiety, an
influential Zoroastrian friend who had some knowledge of Mulla Bahram’s
religious beliefs persuaded the Zoroastrian priests to permit the body to be
taken to the tower of silence.
Mulla Bahram paid the priests, as was the custom, in the presence of
hundreds of people who had gathered to see the last rites performed before
the body was taken away. His Zoroastrian friend, seeing that Mulla Bahram
was giving the priests more than their due, rebuked him saying: “You will
only make them more greedy, and they will not be content with what the
poor can afford.” The grief-stricken father replied in a voice loud enough
for the priests to hear: “Only a part of what I am giving is their due. The
rest is a gift from me because they let me keep my precious child with me
for two more days.” His words were not without effect on his hearers. One
of the priests was deeply touched. He later investigated the Faith and
became a devoted Baha ’í.

The honoured guest
One day, when Mulla Bahram was living in Tihran, he received news
that his cousin had been taken to prison in Yazd because he had buried his
infant child according to Baha ’í laws. The Zoroastrian priests had
complained to the authorities saying that this man had rejected the sacred
religious obligations of his own people, and had buried his child in
accordance with heretical rites. They insisted that he should be punished,
and the governor had had him chained and taken to prison.
On receiving the sad news, Mulla Bahram set out to see a high official in
the government who could help remedy this great injustice. The person he
went to visit was surrounded by a number of distinguished guests when
Mulla Bahram arrived. One of these guests, seeing a man enter the gates
dressed in the clothes of a Zoroastrian, ordered the guard to throw out “this
dog of an infidel”. The host, however, caught sight of Mulla Bahram and
hurried out to receive him in person. He accompanied him into the room
and asked Mulla Bahram to occupy his own seat. When his guest declined
to do this, he insisted and would

not be content until Mulla Bahram had sat in the seat of honour. As the high
official himself was still standing, all the other guests remained standing
too. Everyone was amazed at the respect and homage paid to this unknown
visitor. “The respect I pay you, Mulla Bahram,” said his host, “is your due,
for it is not often that one comes across a person who will not accept money
when it is offered him.” Mulla Bahram now rose and begged his host to take
a seat, then he went on to tell him why he had come. The high official
immediately called for his secretary and dictated a telegram to be sent to
the governor of Yazd, ordering him to release Mulla Bahram’s cousin
without further delay. The wording of this message was so harsh and
insulting that Mulla Bahram politely requested that it be put in milder
language. “Write it out yourself,” Mulla Bahram’s host told him, “and I will
sign it and send it.”
His errand accomplished, Mulla Bahram rose to go and the host
courteously accompanied him to the door. The reason for this great
honour shown to Mulla Bahram by such a high official, who would not
normally dream of receiving a common man from a Zoroastrian
background into his house, remained a mystery to many who were present
in that gathering, but a few of the host’s close friends might have been told
the facts of the story:
This high official had been in debt at one time and unable to pay in cash.
The person to whom he owed the money was not a man who could be put
off, so it was agreed that he should be given a mansion with extensive
grounds to meet the debt. The two parties, however, could not come to an
agreement about the value of this property; nor could they trust each other
to bring an expert to price it. Whomsoever one of them suggested, the
other would promptly reject, knowing that he would be bribed to value the
property in favour of the person who had chosen him.
At last the two men decided that they would ask the famous Zoroastrian
merchant for whom Mulla Bahram was working at that time to send his
own man to value the property. The merchant sent Mulla Bahram who had
expert knowledge on such matters, and who did all the merchant’s own
selling and buying of property.
The very first day Mulla Bahram went to see the mansion, he was met
by the high official who owned it. The gentleman was waiting in his
carriage at the entrance to the grounds and asked

Mulla Bahram to go for a drive with him. On the way he handed Mulla
Bahram a cheque for a sum which exceeded the total amount Mulla Bahram
received for six years’ wages! “What is this?” Mulla Bahram enquired. “This
mansion,” said the gentleman, “should pay back the debt I owe. I want you
to value it in a way that will enable me to do this.” Mulla Bahram said:
“Please keep this cheque for the time being, and we shall see about it later.”
The actual value of the property happened to be more than the owner
had hoped for and, after the matter was settled and the debt paid, the high
official met Mulla Bahram again and offered him a cheque for a larger sum
than that which he was prepared to give before. Mulla Bahram thanked
him and said: “I cannot receive any money from you as I am employed by
another man from whom I receive a salary. It was he who asked me to
value your mansion, and I did this as part of my daily job.”
At a time when the giving and taking of bribes was considered as a
normal procedure and everyone, from the Prime Minister to the poorest
labourer, expected to give or take bribes, Mulla Bahram’s honesty and
integrity of character was so unusual that it had justly merited the respect
and admiration of the high official.
Note: A few of these stories which bear little or no direct relationship to the
Baha’í Faith are included in the book because they give a picture of life in those
days.

Hitting the mark
The famous merchant for whom Mulla Bahram worked in Tihran was
much concerned about a very large debt which the chieftains of the
Turkaman tribe had owed him for a long time. They took no notice of
letters and messages which were sent to their desert home, and it was not
easy to reach them in any other way. These people were not only difficult
to get to, but were often very dangerous to encounter, especially when they
were met in their own desert surroundings. There they ruled supreme,
unconcerned about the laws which a prince or governor was able to
enforce in some faraway city. In fact, the word of a man who could ride
well and hit his mark with a bullet carried far more weight with

these tribesmen than any orders issued by a delicate nobleman with high-
sounding titles.
The merchant, after giving the matter great thought, chose Mulla
Bahram from among all his employees and servants to go to the Turkaman
desert and collect his debts. Fortunately for Mulla Bahram, he was an
accomplished horseman and expert in handling a gun.
Mulla Bahram decided to take only one other person with him on his
dangerous mission. This was another Baha’í, a close friend of his who also
worked for the noted merchant. Together they chose two of the best
horses from their master’s stable, took enough food to last for a few days
and armed themselves in preparation for any dangers they might
encounter.
Nothing of importance took place until they were within a day’s ride
from the desert. There they had their first warning of the perils that lay
ahead. At a shabby-looking inn by the wayside they met a band of highway
robbers who used the inn as their meeting place and kept close watch over
all the passengers who came that way. If any were suspected of carrying
money or valuables, they would be followed after they had left the inn.
There were few, if any, among the passengers who had come this way with
anything worth robbing who could boast of having escaped the notorious
gang of thieves.
When Mulla Bahram and his friend arrived, the robbers were practising
shooting out in the open. They were trying to hit the marks on a piece of
cardboard they had set at some distance, and were not having much
success. Mulla Bahram, tired after the long day’s journey, sat down to
watch the gang, but his friend had other plans for him. “This gentleman,”
he told the men standing around, “is quite good with his gun, and he would
not mind joining you in your sport if you have no objections.” “None at all,”
they assured him, and Mulla Bahram was invited to take a turn. Mulla
Bahram had no wish to do so, but as they were insistent, he asked: “Which
of the marks would you like me to hit?” The men smiled at each other as
their leader said: “Try the bottom one on the left.” The mark was promptly
hit. “Surely, this was a coincidence!” they exclaimed. “Let us see you hit the
top one on the right.” Mulla Bahram took aim and hit the mark without any
difficulty. There was great excitement, but a few of the men still doubted if
he would have as much luck with the remaining marks on the cardboard.
To

assure them, Mulla Bahram hit every single one!
This kind of marksmanship was by no means common, even among the
tribesmen, and Mulla Bahram’s fame followed him wherever he went. The
little incident at the inn saved him and his friend many unpleasant
encounters while travelling in the desert. He was looked upon with
reverence and awe as he moved among the tribesmen, and he had no
difficulty in collecting his master’s debts. The chieftains ordered several
horses to be loaded with the merchandise they were expected to send to
the merchant, and added many gifts as well.

Change of fortune
Prince Jalalu’d-Dawlih, the governor of Yazd, during whose rule the
Baha’ís underwent terrible persecutions, was hated by the Muslims
themselves. He was notorious for his insatiable greed and his extreme
cruelty which induced him to murder some of his victims with his own
hands. No one could be safe from the machinations of this cunning man so
long as he was in power. The time came, however, when the oppressed
people of Yazd could no longer endure life under the tyrant. They sent
repeated complaints about him to the capital; in the end he lost his position
and was called to Tihran in disgrace.
The new Shah was not on good terms with Jalalu’d-Dawlih, and this
encouraged people both in Yazd and in Tihran to come forward with many
charges against him, insisting that he should appear in court. One of his
most powerful creditors was the rich and influential Zoroastrian merchant
for whom Mulla Bahram was working in Tihran. This man now received a
message from the high authorities in the country advising him to demand
all that was his due from Jalalu’d-Dawlih and accept no excuses
whatsoever.
The merchant decided to go to the prince in person, but knowing that
Jalalu’d-Dawlih was capable of every crime, he asked Mulla Bahram and a
servant to arm themselves and escort him to the prince’s mansion outside
the city. Jalalu’d-Dawlih came out to greet his guest in person and began
speaking in his usual flattering language, but the merchant knew him too
well by now and was

determined not to listen to his cunning speech. He told the armed servant
he had brought with him to stay outside the door, while he and Mulla
Bahram followed the prince inside.
Jalalu’d-Dawlih, seeing Mulla Bahram enter with his employer,
mentioned that he would like to speak to the merchant in private, but the
latter would not be left alone with the prince. He said that he had no
secrets from Mulla Bahram and would like him to be present during their
talks. Jalalu’d-Dawlih was obliged to endure the great humiliation of
having Mulla Bahram, whom he had robbed of all his capital and treated
with savage cruelty, present at such a time to be a witness to his disgrace.
The prince was finally taken to court and forced to face the many
charges brought against him. He lost all his property, much of his vast
lands and estates going to the Zoroastrian merchant. Among these was the
village of ‘Abbas-Abad which had been built by the toil and capital of Mulla
Bahram.
It is strange that, when the day for Jalalu’d-Dawlih’s trial had been fixed,
the person he dreaded most was Mulla Bahram. He sent a message to some
of the Baha’ís in Tihran entreating them to persuade Mulla Bahram not to
appear in court, and promising to pay back all the money he owed him.
Mulla Bahram, fearing that the prince might come back to power and start
persecuting his fellow-believers once more, did not complain against him.
But the promise was not kept, and only a very small part of Mulla Bahram’s
capital was eventually paid back to him.

Giving to the end
The life of Mulla Bahram was an inspiration to many who knew him. So
great was the devotion and respect he had inspired in the heart of his
employer during the many years he worked for him that the famous
Zoroastrian merchant came to mention the name of Mulla Bahram among
the saints he named during his daily prayers!
When Mulla Bahram was an old man, he was going home late from a
Baha’í meeting one night. He had come a long way on foot; it was snowing
and the weather was bitterly cold. His son, who

had come out to meet him, was helping him along when they came across a
beggar shivering and moaning from the cold. The man had no clothing
except an old pair of pants and a sack which he had put over his head and
shoulders. Mulla Bahram stopped the beggar and told his son to stay with
him until he came back. Then he went behind a wall, took off his warm
gown and trousers and brought them for the man.
As he wrapped his ‘aba* round himself, Mulla Bahram told his son:
“When I arrived here from Yazd, I, too, was dressed like this beggar.”

The Jewish physician
Hakím Aqa Janí† hurried along the narrow lanes of Hamadan to the
house of Muhammad-Baqir who, carrying a lantern to light the way, ran on
in front. Muhammad-Baqir’s wife lay desperately ill, shaken with
convulsions and crying out in pain. She had been suffering with fever when
the Jewish physician, Hakím Aqa Jan, was called in to see her earlier that
evening, and he had given her a few pills to take, saying that she would
soon feel better. She had scarcely taken the pills, however, when her
condition grew worse and she was seized with severe pains and
convulsions.
Hurrying to her bedside now, Hakím Aqa Jan had one look at his patient
and the blood drained out of his face. He immediately realized what had
happened: instead of the quinine pills he intended to give her, he had
handed out strychnine. Not only was the patient now in danger of losing
her life, but so was he himself. Indeed, knowing the hatred which the
Muslims bore towards his people, Hakím Aqa Jan wondered if the
consequences of such a mistake on his part might not affect his family and
the whole Jewish population of Hamadan. He trembled at the thought and
scarcely heard the question Muhammad-Baqir was asking. The latter,
sensing the state of the doctor’s mind, asked the reason for his extreme
anxiety. “I have made a mistake in giving the pills,” confessed Hakím Aqa
Jan. “Anyone can make a mistake,” said Muhammad-Baqir. “You did not do
this on purpose, and even if the patient

*
Cloak or mantle.
†
Hakím means physician.
should die, no one will blame you for it.”
Hakím Aqa Jan could not believe his ears. Was it indeed a Muslim who
spoke thus to him, a Jew? But there was no time to dwell on such mysteries
when his patient needed all his attention. He rushed out of the house to the
nearest drug shop and, having purchased some medicine with which he
hoped he might be able to save her life, hurried back to sit with his patient
through the night. After agonizing hours of suspense in which he did every
possible thing within his power to save her, he was at last relieved to see
that the danger had passed and that she would live.
During all this time, the gracious courtesy and the kindness with which
he had been received in the home of Muhammad-Baqir greatly affected and
somewhat puzzled the physician. He had had many dealings with Muslims
before and was familiar with the way they treated Jews, especially under
such unfavourable conditions. The more he thought about it, the more he
wondered at the unusual behaviour of this household.
Later, he mustered enough courage to ask Muhammad-Baqir about his
religious beliefs. “I belong to a new Faith,” was Muhammad-Baqir’s reply, “I
am a Baha’í.” Hakím Aqa Jan was immediately interested to know about
this new Faith and, after a period of investigation, became an ardent
follower himself.
He was the first Jew to embrace the Cause in Hamadan, and although he
did not live more than a few years after becoming a Baha’í, he was able to
bring a great number of other Jews into the Faith before he passed away.

Teaching in Hamadán
One of the first individuals to be given the new Message by Hakím Aqa
Jan, and who responded to the call of Baha ’u’llah, was no less a personage
than his own father—a famous rabbi of the Jewish community of Hamadan.
After his father had embraced the Cause, Hakím Aqa Jan decided to address
the whole of the Jewish congregation gathered one day in the synagogue, in
the hope that they, too, would prove receptive to the Message.

The Jews in Hamadan all knew Hakím Aqa Jan. They had grown to love
and respect him as the symbol of Jewish virtues in their community. But
when he spoke to them from the pulpit, telling them of his belief in the
Cause of Baha’u’llah and calling upon them to investigate the new Faith,
they threw him out of the synagogue and called him a blasphemer.
Hakím Aqa Jan was not disheartened by their attitude, and soon many of
those who had heard his sincere appeal in the synagogue sought him out
privately and asked about his beliefs. In the course of that year, though
surrounded by opposition from many sides, forty Jews embraced the Faith
in Hamadan. Among them was the learned Hají Mihdí* who became an
ardent teacher of the Cause and spent the rest of his life serving the Faith.
His knowledge of the Bible and the Qur’an amazed everyone, and a great
number of Jews, Christians and Muslims who heard him quote these Holy
Books and refer to the prophecies in them concerning the advent of the Bab
and Baha’u’llah were convinced of the truth of Their Cause.
At one time Hají Mihdí was teaching a number of Jews and Christians
who were also attending the discourses of a well-known Christian
missionary in Hamadan—Mr. Holmes. One of these men challenged Mr.
Holmes to meet Hají Mihdí and discuss the Holy Bible with him. The
missionary accepted the challenge, and meetings were arranged where a
number of people—Jews, Christians, Muslims and Baha’ís—gathered twice
a week to hear Mr. Holmes and Hají Mihdí discuss various passages from
the Bible. It was agreed from the beginning that a record of the discussions
should be kept each time. Both Mr. Holmes and Hají Mihdí were to sign
these papers at the end of the meeting.
These discussions, which went on for two years, gradually took the form
of an exposition of Bible prophecies on the Baha ’í Faith. Those who were
present marvelled at the extent of the knowledge and insight of Hají Mihdí
as he quoted verse after verse from the Old and New Testaments and
expounded the meanings. Even the Christian missionary was often heard
to exclaim with admiration: “Hají Mihdí knows the Bible so well

*
Hají is one who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
that you would think he had written it himself!” The records which were
kept of these meetings were later gathered in the form of a book and
published for the benefit of others.
Hají Mihdí’s teaching activities were soon to attract the enmity of
fanatical people among the members of all religions, and many were the
sufferings which befell him at the hands of these people. But once in a
while the outcome of the plots carefully planned against him and his fellow-
believers would not be to the complete satisfaction of their foes. The
following is an example of one such incident:
The rabbis of the Jews in Hamadan complained to the governor, saying
that some of the members of their community had left the congregation
and become a disgrace to the Jewish people because they were guilty of
unforgivable conduct. They gave him a list of those who had become
Baha’ís, foremost among whom was Hají Mihdí, and asked him to punish
them. The governor, however, appointed a day when the Jews who had
complained, and those whose names they had given, should all gather in his
presence so that he could hear both parties. The Jews decided that an old
rabbi, who was considered to be the most experienced among them, should
be the only one to address the governor because the others might be
indiscreet in their speech.
As soon as the Jews and Baha ’ís had arrived and taken their seats, the
governor, turning to the Jews, enquired about their complaint. Everyone
kept quiet while the wise rabbi spoke: “Your honour,” he said, “these
people do not adhere to the laws of the Torah. They break the Sabbath by
touching fire and doing business, but worse than that, they eat what is
filthy and unclean.” “What filth have they eaten?” the curious governor
enquired.” “The meat and cheese the Muslims sell …” began the rabbi, but
he did not get any further with the list he had in mind. “What!” exclaimed
the furious governor, “have you come here to tell me that although you live
in a Muslim country, you consider our food as filth?” Then, turning to his
servants, he cried, “Beat these people and throw them out of my sight—and
let me never set eyes on them again!”

The difficult crossing
Taqí Khan had a dear friend to whom he longed to talk about his Faith,
but his friend, Ishraq, was a very strict Muslim who would not tolerate any
mention of the Baha’ís or their religion which he considered to be sheer
heresy. So prejudiced was he against the new Faith that, had he known his
friend Taqí Khan to be a Baha’í, he would have broken off his friendship
with him and refused to see him any more. Even when Taqí Khan, once in a
while and with extreme caution, made some reference to the Cause, Ishraq
would be so upset that he would stop talking to his friend. Taqí Khan,
however, drawn by his devotion to Ishraq, would do everything in his
power to regain his goodwill and all would be well between them until,
unable to restrain himself, Taqí Khan would refer to the subject again.
This went on for some time, but the friendship between the two men
grew despite the repeated separations which took place. Taqí Khan, whose
shop was far from where Ishraq worked, moved into a new place in order
to be close to his friend and they spent much of their time together. Having
by now lost all hope of being able to talk to Ishraq about the Baha’í Faith
himself, Taqí Khan decided to introduce him to a fellow-believer who might
prove to be more fortunate in approaching the subject with him. The one
he chose for Ishraq to meet was Adíb, a distinguished and learned Baha’í
who had been a noted Muslim clergyman before, and whose turban and
cloak—signs of knowledge and authority as far as religious matters were
concerned—made a good impression on Ishraq when he first went to see
him with Taqí Khan. It was Adíb’s personal behaviour and genuine
kindness, however, which won Ishraq’s great admiration and moved him to
ask, before they rose to go, whether he might be permitted to repeat the
visit. Adíb assured him that he would always be welcomed in his house and
that it would not be necessary for him to make any special appointment
beforehand.
Encouraged by Adíb’s invitation, Ishraq decided to call upon him one
day in Ramadan* when he happened to be in that neighbour-

*
Month of the fast.
hood. He found the door of the house open and, on knocking, heard Adíb’s
voice inviting him to walk in. Upon entering the room, however, he was
horrified to see the revered personage he had come to visit sitting with
three young men who seemed to be his guests, drinking tea in the sacred
month of the fast! Ishraq was so upset by this that he could not conceal his
feelings and reproached Adíb saying: “One would think that someone like
you should be able to set a better example than this for the youth to follow.
If you, with your position and knowledge, refuse to keep the fast, what can
be expected from the younger generation? Do you not realize the great
harm you are doing to our religion?” “If you will sit down,” Adíb replied
with great dignity, “I may be able to give you a good reason why my guests
and I are not fasting.” But Ishraq was too upset to listen to any reasons.
“Even if you, yourself, have a legitimate reason for not being able to observe
the fast,” he told Adíb, “you can have no excuse for encouraging others to
disrespect the month of Ramadan.” “But I may not be a Muslim at all,”
protested Adíb, “and may not believe in observing the fast in this particular
month.” Ishraq was so infuriated by this remark that he left Adíb’s house
immediately, and would not stay to hear another word. Neither would he
have anything more to do with his friend Taqí Khan, who had introduced
him to someone whom he considered to be a disloyal Muslim priest.
But Taqí Khan would not forsake his friend, knowing that Ishraq’s
sincere love for his religion was his greatest virtue even if he did become
tactless and intolerant at times. He also realized that Ishraq’s attachment
to Islam would, in itself, become the means of his recognizing the One
promised in the holy Scriptures of that Faith—if he could only be
persuaded to forget his prejudice against the Baha’ís long enough to see
what they had to say!
Taqí Khan’s patience was rewarded when he, after quite a long time,
succeeded in making Ishraq realize that the Qur’an condemned blind
intolerance and taught that the true Muslim should investigate every claim
before denouncing it as false. As soon as Ishraq was prepared to enquire
about the teachings of the Baha ’í Faith, Taqí Khan knew that the most
difficult stage had been passed, and that his friend would come to see the
truth of the new Cause.
Adíb, the person Ishraq had been instinctively drawn to, helped

him a great deal when he started to investigate the Faith; but it was not an
easy matter for a person as prejudiced as Ishraq to become a Baha’í.
Fortunately, his devotion to Islam was greater than all his prejudices, and it
was this loyalty to his own religion which led him to accept the fulfilment of
its prophecies.
It is recorded in the Traditions of Islam that, when the Promised One
appears, men will be called upon to cross a bridge which is narrower than a
hair and sharper than a sword. Ishraq, and many others like him, must
have often thought of this famous tradition as they prayed God to help
them not to falter on the dangerous path which leads to the knowledge of
the new Revelation.

Father and son
When Ishraq became a Baha’í, his father, who was a very strict Muslim,
forbade him to enter his house any more, refused to call him his son and
made no provision for him in his will. He, moreover, moved his residence
from Tihran to Qum so that he would never set eyes on his son again.
Ishraq received no news from this parents for a full year, after which he
happened to hear from an acquaintance who had arrived from Qum that his
mother was seriously ill. Longing to see her once more, he wrote a letter to
his mother begging her to ask his father’s permission that he might pay her
a visit. She replied a few days later to say that she had succeeded in
obtaining his father’s permission only after hours of begging and weeping,
but on one condition—that he denounce all forms of false beliefs and
accept the true precepts of Islam before entering his father’s house.
Ishraq immediately set out for Qum and, having arrived at his parents’
home, was met by his father who told him that he could not see his mother
until he renounced all false beliefs and ungodly practices. Ishraq was
prepared for this. “May the wrath of the Almighty, His prophets, His saints,
His angels and chosen ones,” he said, “rest upon those who come with false
claims and all who follow the path of the ungodly.” Ishraq’s father was
delighted. Having embraced his son and kissed his face, he conducted him
to his mother.

That evening Ishraq’s father took him to hear the lecture of Mulla
Mahmud, one of the well-known divines of Qum who was famed for his
learning and for whom everyone had great respect. Mulla Mahmud gave a
lecture in the mosque on religious matters every evening. Later he sat
down with some of his close followers in a pleasant spot to smoke the
hubble-bubble, sip tea and discuss different topics.
Ishraq’s father decided that his son should accompany him to Mulla
Mahmud’s lecture every evening and also join the circle of the mulla’s
followers in listening to his discussions after the lecture. Ishraq attended
the lectures and listened to the discussions, taking in much more than his
father realized.
It was a habit with Mulla Mahmud that he would always end his lectures
by mentioning some sad event pertaining to the martyrs of Karbila and
weeping over the tragedy, while his audience followed his example and
wept also. One evening, he finished his speech by relating how the first
person who made the pilgrimage to the shrine of the martyr Imam Husayn
greeted the holy Imam three successive times but received no answer. “For
how could the martyred Husayn reply,” wailed Mulla Mahmud, “when his
blessed head was severed from his body.” Here the mulla wept, the
audience beat their breasts and wept and the lecture came to an end.
Another evening, the mulla rounded off his lecture by saying that the
blessed head of Imam Husayn, though severed from the body, recited
verses from the Qur’an on three successive occasions. Ishraq’s father was
greatly pleased with the mention of this miracle and said: “It is strange that
these misled Babís dare to say they do not accept miracles when the head
of our holy Imam has shown forth such wonderful signs.” On the way home
that evening he especially commended the mulla and asked Ishraq to pay
great attention to all that he said so as to benefit by his vast knowledge.
A few evenings later when the mulla sat down with his chosen circle of
disciples after the lecture to sip tea and smoke his pipe, Ishraq politely
enquired if he might ask a question. Having received the mulla’s
permission, he said: “Is it true that it is incumbent upon every true Muslim
to greet whomever he meets, but that it is only an act of merit to reply to
the greeting?” The mulla said: “No, my son, it is exactly the opposite.
Greeting a person is a worthy act,

but to answer a greeting is incumbent upon every true Muslim.”
Ishraq put a second question to the mulla after some days: “Is reading
the Qur’an an act of obligation,” he asked, “or is it an act of merit?” The
mulla replied that it was not obligatory but a worthy thing to do. Ishraq’s
father was sadly disappointed in his son. “Why do you ask questions that
even an illiterate Muslim knows,” he said. “You should be asking for the
explanation of important and difficult problems.” “I am not sure,” replied
Ishraq, “that the questions I ask will not help to unravel an important
problem, for I cannot see how the head of Imam Husayn, whom we all
know as a perfect Muslim, should recite the Qur’an on three successive
occasions and yet fail to answer the greetings of a pilgrim who repeated his
greetings three times, when every Muslim knows that reciting the Qur’an is
only an act of merit, whereas the reply to a person’s greeting is incumbent
upon every believer.”
A hush fell upon the gathering and everyone wondered what answer the
mulla would give. Mulla Mahmud, shaking with fury, snatched the pipe
from his mouth and cried: “Shameless fool! What right have you to
interfere in such matters!” Then, turning to Ishraq’s father he said: “Your
son is not only impudent and rude, but I can also see that he is a Babí, for
the Babís always try to belittle the divines and religious dignitaries in the
eyes of others. I do not doubt that you yourself are a Muslim, but you may
be sure that your son has renounced the true Faith of God.” Ishraq’s father
said: “It is true that my son associated with this group for a short while, but
he renounced all those who have come with false claims and cursed those
who have strayed away from the path of God before I let him enter my
house.” Mulla Mahmud smiled mockingly. “I did not know you could be so
simple,” he said. “Your son has denounced those who have made false
claims because he is convinced that the Bab is a true Prophet, and when he
curses those who leave the path of God, it is you and me he curses. I now
warn you,” he added, “that if you do not send your son away from Qum
immediately, I will carry out what I consider to be my duty.” Having said
this, Mulla Mahmud left the gathering, while the others assured Ishraq’s
father that the mulla would sign his son’s death-warrant if he should
happen to set eyes on him again.
On the way home that evening no word passed between father

and son, but on the morrow, as Ishraq prepared to leave, his father said:
“Son, guard your tongue. Do not mention all you have to say in the presence
of everyone.”
Ishraq’s visit to Qum and his short discussion with Mulla Mahmud gave
him an excuse to communicate with his father. Through his letters he was
able to arouse his father’s curiosity concerning the new Faith he had
embraced, so much so that he one day received an invitation to go back to
Qum and stay with his father for a few days so as to be able to discuss his
beliefs at length. But this was to be a secret visit; no one was to know of his
arrival in Qum and he was not to leave the house at any time.
During Ishraq’s second visit to Qum his father grew very interested in
the Cause and expressed the desire to be introduced to other Baha’ís. It
happened that a well-known Baha’í teacher from Tihran was about to pay a
visit to Qum. Ishraq went to see this teacher in Tihran and asked him to
meet his father. Some days later Ishraq received a very touching letter
from his father, thanking him for having guided him to the Cause and
saying that Ishraq was now the father and he the son.
Ishraq also had a sister in Tihran who had been forbidden by their
father and her husband to have anything to do with him. Now that their
father had accepted the Cause, he wrote to her to go and find out how her
brother was faring and whether he was in need of anything, so as to give
her an excuse to visit Ishraq. Ishraq, on the other hand, received a letter
from his father begging him to see that his sister was not deprived from the
Message of the New Day. In this manner the brother and sister were
brought together once again, although they still had to conceal their
meeting from the knowledge of her fanatical husband.
Ishraq’s sister, unaware of the fact that her father had already accepted
the Cause, grew to be interested in her brother’s beliefs and in time
expressed her desire to become a Baha ’í on condition that their father
should never come to know about it. Ishraq then showed her the letter
their father had sent him some time before, requesting him to give the
Message of the new Faith to his sister. Her joy at the news was unbounded,
so was her father’s joy when he was informed that she, too, had embraced
the Cause.
The mother of Ishraq did not become a believer herself, but

showed no opposition to the Faith. The only one in the family who could
not be reconciled to the Cause was Ishraq’s brother-in-law. No sooner did
he realize that his wife had also accepted the new Faith, than he
disappeared altogether and it was only years later that the family came to
know of his whereabouts.

A plan that worked
Aqa Kamal lived with his elder brother in Kirmanshah. Their father,
who had recently died, had left them a heritage, but Aqa Kamal’s brother,
being a strict fanatical Muslim, threatened to confiscate everything because
Aqa Kamal had become a Baha ’í. The clergy, too, had warned Aqa Kamal
that if he were seen moving about with Baha’ís they would know that he
was a follower of Baha’u’llah, and could therefore claim no share in his
father’s wealth. This made it extremely difficult for Aqa Kamal to meet
with his fellow-believers, especially as he and his brother lived in the same
house.
Ishraq, who had just arrived from Tihran and was not yet known to the
people of Kirmanshah, thought of a plan by which he might be able to help
Aqa Kamal. He asked Aqa Kamal to invite him and another Baha’í, who was
also from a different part of the country, to go to his house for dinner one
day so that they could meet Aqa Kamal’s brother. He was warned that the
brother would refuse to listen to him if he were suspected of being a Baha ’í,
and Ishraq promised to be very careful.
There were a number of other guests at the home of Aqa Kamal that
day, among them a bespectacled young man whom Aqa Kamal’s brother
treated with marked reverence. Ishraq could tell from the tone of his
speech and the choice of his words that he was a clergyman, though the
recent orders of the Shah* forbade the priests to wear their traditional ‘aba
and turban.
They had been in the house for some time, and had touched upon the
usual topics of the day, when the friend who had come with Ishraq turned
to him and said: “Tell us, Mr. Ishraq do you in Tihran

*
There was a new dynasty in power after World War I.
come across the Baha’ís too?” “Indeed we do!” replied Ishraq. “They are
very active in teaching their Faith. What is more, once you start listening to
what they have to say, you wonder what to tell them in reply. I, myself, am
one of their many victims and I have not yet been able to refute their
arguments.” He then explained what the Baha’ís said, and some of the
proofs they gave in support of their beliefs. “Now you see what I mean,” he
concluded. “If only we could find a way of proving them to be wrong, they
would not be able to influence people so much. I wish I could meet
someone who could arm us with proper arguments by which to silence
these Baha’ís.”
One of the guests turned to the bespectacled gentleman present and
said: “I am sure Mr. Sadr will be able to help you.” Mr. Sadr himself was
not so sure as he now listened to Ishraq explain in some detail the beliefs of
the Baha’ís and the answers they gave to the objections raised against their
Faith. He could think of nothing to say. On the other hand, an interest had
been roused and everyone was waiting for him to speak. “In order to give
you a satisfactory answer,” he said at last, “I must refer to certain books and
make a study of the subject, but I know of a noted religious dignitary who
has an answer to every problem and can refute the false arguments of these
infidels with a few sentences.” “Would it be possible for me to have the
honour of being introduced to this distinguished divine?” enquired Ishraq.
“Yes indeed,” replied Mr. Sadr. “He is usually at home in the evenings.” “As
I shall be soon leaving for Tihran,” said Ishraq, “and this matter is of great
importance to me, do you think you could take me to him now?” The other
men said that they, too, would be interested to hear the learned divine on
this subject and asked Mr. Sadr to take them all to see him. Aqa Kamal
alone thought it unwise to go, and found an excuse to stay behind.
The men waited outside the house while Mr. Sadr went in to inform the
religious dignitary of their arrival. After they had waited for a long time, a
servant appeared and asked them to go in. They were ushered into a large
room where an elderly person occupied the seat of honour. He sat on a
thick cushion with a pile of books by his side. After the usual greetings
were exchanged, Ishraq put his problem forward. The dignified personage
repeated the current

arguments brought against the Baha’í Faith, and Ishraq politely informed
him of the answers which the believers gave to such statements. The
religious dignitary had apparently never heard the other side of the
argument before, and this kept him silent for some time; then he said with
grave authority: “It is a sin to talk to these infidels. No true Muslim should
ever go near them.” “Would not the Baha’ís then say,” Ishraq calmly
suggested, “that the clergy forbid people to talk to us because they are
unable to refute our arguments? I beg you, sir, to give me at least one sound
proof that can be produced as an unchallenged evidence against the claims
of these people.” “I have told you what you should do,” said the eminent
divine. “Stop talking to them!”
Aqa Kamal’s brother, who had listened attentively to all the discussions,
lost his patience at this point. “I have come to the conclusion,” he boldly
told the religious dignitary, “that you have no answer to give the Baha ’ís,
and that my brother is not such a fool after all.” Taking Ishraq by the hand,
he said: “Come, let us go, for I have at last understood the truth of the
matter.”
Aqa Kamal, in the meantime, waited at home and wondered what would
be the outcome of this meeting with the religious divine. His highest hopes,
however, could not exceed the joy that awaited him. His brother, coming
home from that fruitful meeting, embraced him tenderly and begged for his
forgiveness. “I have wronged you in every way,” he said, “but our guest
from Tihran has opened my eyes and I can see that you are right in your
beliefs. I, too, am now prepared to join you!”

Brothers at last
It may be difficult for some people to realize today what barriers of hate
and prejudice existed between the people of different religions at the time
when the early Baha’ís were striving to bring love and unity among them.
The Muslims shunned the members of every other religion, regarding them
as infidels and referring to them as “unclean dogs”. Minority groups were
forced to wear clothes which identified them as “unbelievers” so that
devout Muslims might not be defiled by taking food or drink from their
hands. The Jews,

Christians and Zoroastrians, on their part, thoroughly hated all Muslims;
neither would they have anything to do with each other. They were all
convinced that anyone who did not believe in their own particular religion
was an enemy of God and had sided with the devil.
It was interesting to see at this time the miracle that was taking place
within the Baha’í community, whose members came from all these
different backgrounds. Ishraq recounts a touching incident which took
place in Rasht when he was there on a teaching trip. He had been talking to
a fanatical Muslim who gradually became interested in the new Faith and
started investigating it very seriously. The man had many questions to ask,
and was satisfied with the answers Ishraq gave him. Then one evening, as
he sat in a Baha’í gathering and listened to the words of Baha’u’llah, it
seemed as though a veil was suddenly removed from his eyes and he could
see the beautiful Truth which lay at the heart of the new Message. He was
overcome with emotion and, unable to restrain himself, went over to a man
who had been a well-known Zoroastrian before he became a Baha’í, and
embraced him as a long-lost brother. As his eyes filled with tears, he told
the story of his relationship with this man. “We both work in the same
bazaar,” he said, “and our offices are not far from each other. I hated to be
so near a ‘heathen’ whom I knew had been a Zoroastrian before, and was
now a Baha’í. One day, I saw the man who brought tea for us take a tray
into the office of this gentleman. I was so furious that I got hold of the man
and beat him till my own arms began to ache. I warned him that if I ever
saw him serving tea to the ‘heathen’ again, I would kill him; then I went into
the man’s tea-shop and, seeing that he had not put aside the glass out of
which the ‘infidel’ had drunk his tea, I broke every single glass in the shop
and paid for new ones to be bought so that Muslim customers could drink
their tea out of clean glasses not polluted by the touch of unbelievers. And
now,” he added with great feeling as he finished recounting the incident, “I
wish to beg our host to bring a single glass of tea so that this brother of
mine can drink half of it, and permit me to have the honour of drinking the
rest.”

The journey of the mystic
Vujdaní was a mystic at heart. He longed to reach that stage of inner
peace and tranquility so foreign to most people engaged in the affairs of
this world. His mother came from the aristocracy, and life offered him
opportunities which other young men would have willingly seized, but
Vujdaní was not interested in the posts which his influential relatives could
give him. He was a seeker after Truth and longed to attain a state of
spiritual satisfaction.
One day, as he entered a mosque to offer his prayers, he saw a
clergyman giving a lecture out in the courtyard of the mosque. He joined
the small audience and listened to a fascinating discourse on detachment.
The speaker made such an impression on Vujdaní that he followed him to
his house after the lecture and begged the clergyman to accept him as a
disciple. To his surprise, the clergyman told him that no individual should
blindly follow another and that those priests who posed as guides for
others to follow were nothing more than hypocrites. Every man, he said,
should investigate truth for himself. This was a strange saying for a
clergyman, but Vujdaní took it as a sign of the man’s humility.
He continued to attend the clergyman’s lectures in the courtyard of the
mosque every day and became more and more attracted to the man and his
ideas. The views advanced in these daily lectures were quite different from
the standard ideas of the clergy, and Vujdaní found much to occupy his
thoughts when he left the mosque each day.
But the lectures in the mosque came to an abrupt end and, when
Vujdaní enquired about the reason, he was told that the clergyman had
been forbidden to enter the mosque any more as he was found to be a Babí!
Vujdaní was very sad. He had heard people talk of the dreadful Babís since
he was a child and he hated them. “O God!” he prayed, “What have I done to
deserve this? Why have I, after all my longing to attain Thy good pleasure,
been attracted to an accursed infidel!”
After that Vujdaní decided to study theology, hoping that this would
lead him to some acceptable truth which would satisfy his searching mind
and bring peace to his yearning heart. He shaved his head, put on a turban
and retired to the secluded life of a

madrasih.* But he did not stay there very long. He found the atmosphere
stifling and his associates narrow-minded and prejudiced. He left his
studies of theology, completely disillusioned, but the spirit of search still
drove him on.
He now spent much time in prayer and meditation. He fasted and lived
the life of a fakir, giving up all the pleasures of the flesh. One day, as he was
passing through the market place on his way to the mosque, his eyes fell on
an old dervish who sat in front of a small shop. Vujdaní had seen many
dervishes in his days but none had attracted him like this man. He was
spotlessly clean; his loose gown which came down to his ankles, his beard
and long, combed-out hair that fell over his shoulders were immaculately
kept. But there was something more about this dervish—some kind of
spiritual force which could not be defined. Vujdaní felt this so strongly that
he stood in front of the shop, unable to tear himself away, though not
knowing how to start a conversation with the dervish. The shopkeeper
enquired what he wanted, so he bought a couple of match boxes and moved
on. After the prayers in the mosque he hurried back, but the dervish had
gone.
Vujdaní returned to his room and passed the night in prayer. The next
morning, unable to put away the thought of the spiritual man he had seen,
he set out to find him. He was sure that his meeting with this dervish was a
direct answer to his prayers asking God for help in his search after Truth.
This conviction was strengthened when he found the dervish and fell under
the spell of his words. He then begged to be taught a verse which he could
repeat in his meditations in order to attain the Truth. “My son,” said the
dervish, “do not believe what is said about the power of dervishes. They
have become as worldly and corrupt as other people.” Vujdaní, however,
felt a strange respect for this man and would not leave him. He came to live
close to the dervish and felt his life undergoing a gradual change as the
days went by. The dervish, much to his surprise, encouraged him to
forsake the life of seclusion, to wear ordinary clothes again and start
earning a living and leading a normal life.
Vujdaní’s relatives were happy to see the change in him. He was

*
Theological college.
offered a post by his cousin, the governor of Malayir, and went to live away
from the dervish. But he still looked up to him as his spiritual guide and
teacher, and considered himself a dervish at heart though he did not dress
in the garb of that sect.
Vujdaní continued with daily prayers and meditations as encouraged by
his teacher, but the materialistic life around him began to weigh down his
spirit once more and he longed for the companionship of kindred souls. It
was about this time in his life that he was introduced to Ustad ‘Alí—a man
of rare spiritual qualities—and became an intimate friend of his. The two
spent much time together praying, studying and discussing mystical works
and religious writings. Once, when they were talking about the lives of
God’s Messengers on earth, Vujdaní said with great feeling: “How
unfortunate we are that we do not live in the days of any of the Messengers
and Prophets of God. We are deprived of the direct grace which flows
through them and heals the spiritual ills of the soul.” Ustad ‘Alí could no
more withhold the secret he had from his friend. “We are living at the
dawn of a great Age,” he said. “This is the time foretold by all the
Messengers of old. This is the Day they all longed to witness, for the
Promised One has appeared in our lifetime!” Vujdaní’s reaction to this
news was extraordinary. He prostrated himself to the ground in sheer
gratitude and praise to the Almighty, and accepted the advent of the
Promised One without the least hesitation. This, he felt, was what his eager
soul had been reaching out for all these years. He was filled with such
ecstasy that he could not control his emotions. He begged his friend to tell
him where he could attain the presence of the Promised One as he wished
to set out to visit Him without delay. Ustad ‘Alí tried to calm him, and
explained that it would not be wise to start speaking to people about the
subject. Vujdaní could not understand. “Why should this knowledge be
withheld from people who are already waiting and praying for the advent
of the Promised One?” he asked. Ustad ‘Alí assured him that he would come
to know in time.
Vujdaní was so exhilarated by the wonderful news he had heard that
every one noticed the change that had come over him. He sang praises of
God wherever he went, and paid no attention to those of his acquaintances
who accused him of having reached this happy

state through forbidden liquor during Ramadan.
The next time he met his friend, Ustad ‘Alí recounted to him the story of
the young Herald who had come as a forerunner to the Promised One. He
spoke of His saintly life, of the inner knowledge with which He was
endowed and which had not been acquired from the schools of men, of His
meekness and cruel martyrdom. Vujdaní listened with rapt attention. He
grieved that he had remained unaware of these happenings and had been
deprived of the privilege of beholding the face of the Prophet of God. Ustad
‘Alí consoled him saying that the Promised one Himself was still on earth.
Having accepted the advent of the Promised Messenger of God,
Vujdaní’s faith was now put to a severe test—a test which shook him to the
core of his being. Several days had elapsed since his conversation with his
friend, when he suddenly realized that Ustad ‘Alí was, in fact, a Babí! So
great was this test that Vujdaní could not endure it. He forsook his friend
and left that town altogether. “O God, my God!” he cried in his anguish, “I
have sought Thee day and night. I have prayed that Thou might lead my
steps and guide me to the right path, and yet I find myself thrown into the
company of Babís once again. Why must Thou punish me in this way?”
Vujdaní was out walking in the countryside with a group of friends one
day, when he decided to renounce the world once more and set out to seek
traces of the true Beloved, wherever his steps might lead him. Three of his
friends said they would go with him, but the rigours of the journey proved
too severe for them and, one by one, they left him to wander on alone.
Vujdaní gave them his clothes and, dressed in the long gown of a dervish,
he journeyed from village to village and town to town. But neither the
turbanned mullas, nor the dishevelled dervishes he met on his way could
help him in his search. He trained himself to subdue the ego and endure
every form of humiliation. Carrying a begging bowl as he went along, he
chanted prayers and recited verses from Hafiz* weeping at his separation
from the true Beloved:
Oh come! and touch mine eyes, of thy sweet grace,
For I am blind to all but to thy face.

*
The great Persian mystic poet.
His sincerity touched peoples’ hearts as he moved among them. Many
looked on him as a holy man and asked for his blessings. But he was not
interested in fame or honour and did not stay long in one place. In time, he
gave away even his dervish gown to one who needed it, and was left with
an undergarment and a piece of skin which he threw over his shoulders
when he travelled and used as a mat when he lay down to rest.
After many days he found himself close to the town where his friend
and master, the old dervish, lived. He was filled with a great longing to see
his teacher once more and set his steps towards the town. He was hoping
to arrive after dark, so that his many friends and relatives there would not
recognize him, but the gates of the town were closed for the night when he
reached them and he had to wait till the morning. He need not have been
concerned about being recognized in town, for he was so changed since he
left the place that a friend of his looked him straight in the face the next day
and passed without the slightest trace of recognition.
Only his old teacher knew him. Vujdaní’s eyes filled with tears as he
looked on the dear face of the dervish once more. He recalled how often his
teacher was wont to say: “A weary body and a broken heart is all we can
offer at the threshold of the Beloved.” A weary body and a broken heart—
this was all that Vujdaní now had to offer. Would he find peace at last?
“Tell me, my son,” said the dervish, looking on him with his calm, serene
eyes, “have you, in your many wanderings and travels, come across anyone
who could guide you to the Truth you were seeking?” “Nowhere, dear
Master,” answered Vujdaní, “did I find what I set out to seek, except among
a group of people who are known as Babís!” There was a slight pause, then
his teacher spoke: “You have reached the end of your journey,” he said, “for
I take God as my witness that the Promised One has indeed appeared. All
the Messengers of God and His Prophets, all the saints and sages of bygone
days have sung the praises of this Day. Blessed are we who have lived to
see it!”
This meeting with the dervish dispelled all the doubts Vujdaní had
about the Babís and their religion. As he sat listening to his old teacher’s
discourse, he learned much about the new Faith. The veil was lifted from
his eyes and he began to see and understand.

“How strange,” he thought, “how very strange are God’s ways. I have
been running away from the Truth, but God, in His mercy, has offered it to
me again and again!” His heart was now filled with a peace he had longed
to attain: his many trials and sufferings were forgotten.

Vujdání and the Mullá
Vujdaní peeped into the tent and quickly drew away. “This is no place
for me,” he decided, “even if I find no other shelter for the night.” The tent
was full of mullas and clergymen of every description. Their white, green
and blue turbans of various sizes denoted their backgrounds and positions.
At the head of the gathering sat the most distinguished of them all, with his
huge turban set beside him on the floor.
Vujdaní had seen the tent from afar and thought perhaps a group of
dervishes were gathered there for their chants, but he was in no way
prepared to confront a crowd of clergymen—the sworn enemies of his
Faith. It was far too risky.
But the owner of the tent—none other than the imposing mulla
occupying the seat of honour—had seen him and called out for him to
enter. “Please join us,” he said. “I can see you are a stranger in these parts
and we should be honoured if you would grace our gathering with your
presence.” The invitation was too gracious to be refused and Vujdaní
reluctantly entered the tent.
As the evening advanced, he found himself much affected by the
kindness of his host. One or two of the other priests clearly showed that
they resented his presence in their midst, but the host did everything in his
power to make him feel welcomed.
Later on Vujdaní learned that his friend, the mulla, had a son who was
causing him great concern. “He is behaving in a very peculiar way,”
explained the mulla, “and no one knows what is the matter with him. In the
beginning he used to disappear into the wilderness a few days each month;
now he sits at home all the time but will not talk to anyone. He does not
even answer when his own little child speaks to him. I am beginning to
wonder,” added the mulla, “whether he has reached a state of spiritual
enlightenment

which makes him despise the things of this world.” Vujdaní was touched by
the father’s concern but could tell by the symptoms described to him that
the young man was far from any spiritual attainment. “The love of God
which is the source of our spiritual life,” he told the mulla, “brings joy to the
heart and creates love towards our fellow-men. It does not make us despise
His creation.”
The mulla took Vujdaní to his house to see his son. The young man, who
was in bed when they entered his room, immediately turned his back on
them and pulled the bedclothes over his head. His father entreated him to
speak to them. “This gentleman who has come to see you,” the mulla told
his son, “is a wise man who has travelled far and gained much experience.
Tell him your trouble, I beseech you, for he may be able to offer help.” But
the young man buried himself deeper in his quilt and would have nothing
to do with them. Vujdaní shook his head. “If your son were a seeker after
spiritual matters, and a lover in search of the true Beloved,” he said to the
mulla, “he would not be running away from everyone, for the seeker
‘abideth in every land and dwelleth in every region. In every face, he
seeketh the beauty of the Friend; in every country he looketh for the
Beloved. He joineth every company, and seeketh fellowship with every
soul, that haply in some mind he may uncover the secret of the Friend, or in
some face he may behold the beauty of the Loved One.’”
The words which Vujdaní quoted were from The Seven Valleys of
Baha’u’llah. They made such an impression on the mulla that he forgot his
son and, turning to Vujdaní, entreated him saying: “Will you not guide me
to the spiritual heights you, yourself, have attained? I can see that I have a
great deal to learn from you.” Vujdaní had no wish to tell him about the
Baha’í Faith. “There is nothing for me to teach you,” he said, “for I, too, am
but a humble seeker.” The mulla pleaded once more, but Vujdaní was
determined not to be drawn into a conversation on the subject. He had had
enough experiences with the Muslim clergy before.
They sat down to sip the tea which had been brought in, and the mulla,
sad at heart, picked up a book and recited one of the beautiful prayers of
Imam ‘Alí. Vujdaní, too, affected by the mood of his host, closed his eyes
and chanted from the prayers of Baha’u’llah:

O Thou in separation from Whom hearts and souls have melted, and by
the fire of Whose love the whole world hath been set aflame! I implore
Thee by Thy Name through which Thou hast subdued the whole
creation, not to withhold from me that which is with Thee, O Thou
Who rulest over all men! Thou seest, O my Lord, this stranger
hastening to his most exalted home beneath the canopy of Thy majesty
and within the precincts of Thy mercy; and this transgressor seeking
the ocean of Thy forgiveness; and this lowly one the court of Thy glory;
and this poor creature the orient of Thy wealth. Thine is the authority
to command whatsoever Thou wiliest. I bear witness that Thou art to
be praised in Thy doings, and to be obeyed in Thy behests, and to
remain unconstrained in Thy bidding.*
When he stopped, the mulla begged him to go on and listened with tears
in his eyes as Vujdaní chanted the following:
O Thou the Desire of the world and the Beloved of the nations! Thou
seest me turning toward Thee, and rid of all attachment to any one
save Thee, and clinging to Thy cord, through whose movement the
whole creation hath been stirred up. I am Thy servant, O my Lord, and
the son of Thy servant. Behold me standing ready to do Thy will and
Thy desire, and wishing naught else except Thy good pleasure. I
implore Thee by the Ocean of Thy mercy and the Daystar of Thy grace
to do with Thy servant as Thou willest and pleasest. By Thy might
which is far above all mention and praise! Whatsoever is revealed by
Thee is the desire of my heart and the beloved of my soul. †
The mulla slowly repeated the last sentence to himself; then he said:
“These prayers are not the words of our holy Imams, and yet, they are
empowered with such potency that I know they are not the words of an
ordinary man. Who is the Author?” Vujdaní pretended not to know. “I was
taught these prayers,” he said, “by my teacher, an old dervish, who told me
to repeat them often, as they are a means of purifying the soul.”

*
The Kitáb-i-Aqdas, pp. 93–4.
†
ibid., pp. 92–3.
The mulla rose up and said: “Let us go back to the tent.” On the way, as
they turned a bend in the road, they could see the golden dome of one of
the most sacred shrines of Islam. Here the mulla stopped and, taking
Vujdaní by the hand, he said: “I swear by this sacred shrine that for more
than a month I have been earnestly praying for divine guidance. Day after
day, I have entreated God for help, and I have no doubt that He, in His
mercy, has sent you to me. I entreat you not to deprive me of whatever you
possess.”
Vujdaní could no more deny the mulla what he so sincerely begged
for—nor could he have found a more attentive ear.

The road to Hamadán
Hamadan is one of the coldest regions of Persia. The roads to the town
were often snowbound for months during the wintertime, and people who
travelled alone ran the added risk of meeting with hungry wolves on the
way. Notwithstanding these dangers, Vujdaní set out to reach Hamadan on
horseback one winter.
It was getting dark, and Vujdaní was hurrying to reach a village where
he could spend the night, when two horsemen caught up with him and
robbed him of all he had, leaving him to struggle along barefooted in the
snow. He reached the village with great difficulty and was given shelter for
the night; but he had to leave the next day in the bitter cold, without shoes
or proper clothing. He was half dead when he came across a small mud hut.
A woman lived there with her son, but Vujdaní was so frozen with cold that
he entered without permission and crept under their kursí. * The woman
looked on with great concern, never doubting that he was insane, for no
one in his right mind would come out almost naked in that cold. As soon as
Vujdaní could speak, he explained to her what had happened. “I know the
thieves who took your things,” the woman told him, but she was not eager
to give their names. After much persuasion, however, she told him the
name of one of the thieves and gave him directions about getting to the
village

*
A low, square wooden table over which a large quilt is spread. Under the kursí is placed a
brazier of charcoal fire covered with ashes. People sit on mattresses round the kursí and
lean against cushions, their legs stretched under the kursí and covered with the quilt.
where the man lived.
Vujdaní was determined to find the thief, so he set out once more in the
snow and did not stop till he had reached the village. There he went
straight to the village headman, explained about the robbery, and gave the
name of the thief. The headman ordered a number of horses to be brought
out from the stable so that he could see whether Vujdaní would recognize
the robber’s horse. Vujdaní identified it without difficultly, but the thief
would not admit having taken anything from the stranger, so the matter
was referred to the village priest. Now the priest was not going to let down
a neighbour and shower his favours on a stranger who had just arrived
half-naked from nowhere, so after receiving a bribe from the thief in front
of Vujdaní’s own eyes, he asked the man to take an oath saying that he was
not guilty of the theft. But the robber was not prepared to take such an
oath, which made matters a little complicated. A solution was finally
suggested by the helpful priest. The robber, he said, could give Vujdaní a
donkey and an old rifle instead of his horse and clothing! Vujdaní realized
there was nothing he could do and wisely took whatever was given him.
The donkey turned out to be blind in one eye and so old and feeble that
no one could ride it. Vujdaní swung the rifle on his shoulder and plodded
along behind the donkey to the next village where he put up the beast for
sale. He was so eager to get rid of it that he sold it to the very first
customer who came along. Much to his disappointment, the man returned
the donkey in a few minutes and took his money back. Another man came
forward and offered less than half what the first customer had given, but
Vujdaní did not refuse him. He took the money—a large handful of copper
coins—tied it in his garment with a piece of string, and set out from the
village. He had never missed his pocket so much, for the heavy lump of
coins knocking against his legs as he walked did not make the journey any
easier for him.
He arrived at the next stop tired and chilled to the bone, but he was
delighted to find someone who would let him spend the night under a little
kursí for the price of one copper coin. Unfortunately, his happiness was
short-lived for he soon realized he was not the only paying guest. One by
one the others came, paid their coin and crowded round the kursí till there
was no space to move. Vujdaní stayed in that stuffy atmosphere till he
could endure it no longer. He then got up and prepared to leave, but once
outside, he saw that it would be impossible

to start on his journey till daybreak. He was wondering what he could do
and where he could spend the rest of the night, when a feeble light through
the cracks of a door caught his attention. It was a place by the wayside and
he decided to knock and see if they would let him in.
As it turned out the place was a small inn. Two men sat gambling in one
corner, and a third man was smoking his opium a little farther away. The
innkeeper was eager to oblige. He made some fresh tea for Vujdaní, and
brought the red-hot charcoal brazier close for him to warm his hands.
After the three other customers had left, the innkeeper brought out his
book of Hafiz and attempted to read parts of it for Vujdaní, but Vujdaní,
who loved the poems of Hafiz, could not bear to hear them read so crudely.
He managed to take over the reading himself, and charmed the innkeeper
with his beautiful recitation. The innkeeper’s helper now joined them and
he too sat enraptured at the feet of the visitor.
Vujdaní, in the meantime, had drifted into a world of his own. The
mystical poems of Hafiz, mingled with his own thoughts, helped to make
him forget the innkeepers altogether. After a while, he put down the poems
and started to chant some of the prayers of Baha’u’llah, completely
unaware of the impression they had on the two men who heard them for
the first time.
When at last he came to himself, Vujdaní found the innkeepers eager to
know about his beliefs. He sat talking to them for the rest of the night,
explaining the message of the new Cause. By dawn, both men were
confirmed Baha’ís!
Vujdaní stayed with his new friends for one more day, after which he
walked to the next village where there were a number of Baha ’ís. His
fellow-believers gave him a warm welcome. They clothed him and made
him rest for a few days before they would let him travel on to Hamadan.

The essence of dates
There was a large gathering of noblemen, religious dignitaries, scholars
and men of letters in the presence of the Crown Prince in Tabríz. The
prince took pleasure in meeting these people from time

to time and listening to their discourses and debates. A variety of subjects
were discussed, and some of the poets recited pieces of poetry they had
composed. Varqa, whose poetry was much admired by the prince, was
always a welcome guest while he was living in Tabríz. The prince would
often request him to recite some of his latest compositions, and shower his
praises and favours on him. But Varqa always kept his peace when there
were discussions taking place in these gatherings, knowing the dangers in
which they might involve him.
This time, however, the priests had started abusing the Baha’ís in such a
childish and unreasonable way that Varqa thought it wise to put in a few
words. “The Baha’í teachers,” they were saying, “used to, at one time, feed
their unsuspecting guests with a certain kind of date which made them into
Baha’ís. Now that people have found out about this trick, the Baha ’ís
extract the essence of dates which their teachers then make into pills to be
used on those whom they want to make Baha’ís. They have a cunning way
of doing this,” the priests went on. “First, the teacher seats himself in such
a position as to face all those who are gathered in a room, then he charms
his hearers with a most fascinating speech so that everybody’s mouth is
opened wide with admiration. When this stage is reached, the Baha’í
teacher cleverly shoots out a pill from between his fingers into the mouth
of each of his audience who, having swallowed it, cannot help becoming a
Baha’í.”
It is difficult to tell what effect this kind of talk had on the prince’s
guests. Many of them, we know, were far too intelligent to believe such
nonsense, but one thing is quite clear: few people, no matter what their
position might have been in Persia at that time, would have dared to
displease the priests who ruled supreme, their authority unchallenged.
Even the Crown Prince had no desire to arouse their anger.
Varqa, alone, was determined to point out the shallowness of these
enemies of his Faith. In the silence which followed the unique piece of
information provided by the eminent priests, he asked permission of the
Crown Prince to say a few words. Having been granted the permission, he
told the gathering that he was surprised to hear anyone speak about the
essence of dates, for he could assure them that, although he himself had
knowledge of chemistry and

medicine, he had never heard of such a thing before. “Even if such an
essence did exist and was available in pill form,” he said, “is it not strange
that these Baha’í teachers we have been warned against, never make a
mistake in hitting their target? Or are we to assume that they have each
had years of training in marksmanship? And what are we to think of the
open-mouthed audience? How can they all be so ill-mannered—no matter
how interesting the talk—as to sit with mouths wide open all round the
room, and yet see nothing strange in it? And we are to believe that they
actually swallow the pills thrown into their mouths without being aware of
it!”
If the priests had anything more to add on the subject, they must have
felt it was not the right time and place to do so.

The dumb prisoner
“A Babí was brought in chains from Yazd today!” whispered one man to
another in Isfahan, and the rumour soon began to spread. The Baha’ís, who
were always eager for news of their fellow-believers, were among the first
to hear the rumour. They immediately tried to find out more about the new
arrival, but no one could give them the slightest information about their
fellow-believer’s identity. They did not know who he was, or to which part
of the prison he had been taken.
In the end, Sína, who had himself been released from the prison of
Isfahan only two days before, offered to go and find out from the jailer who
had become his friend.
Slowly and carefully he picked his way back through the narrow lanes
to the dismal prison. It was here that he and his brother, Nayyir, had spent
those long, never-ending days of suspense which ran into weeks and
months, living under the death sentence of the dreaded mujtahids of
Isfahan, not daring to hope that they would ever look upon the world
outside again or hear the laughter of their little children.
Those who passed Sína on the way must have been impressed by his
radiant, kindly face, and the neat green turban and sash which were the
signs of his holy lineage. If any had recognized him as the Baha’í who had
just been released from prison, they could

never have believed he was on his way to visit his jailer now.
The jailer was prepared to help Sína . “I can take you to the Babí you
want to see,” he said, “but let me tell you that it is no use trying to talk to
him. The man is deaf and dumb.” “Deaf and dumb!” thought Sína as he
followed the jailer, “I wonder who he can be.”
They passed into the dirtiest section of the prison which was reserved
for the worst types of criminals. Here, in a cell packed with people, Sína
caught sight of Varqa in chains and stocks. The two poets were old friends
and, of course, had much to tell each other. The astonished jailer and
prisoners standing around could not believe their eyes! They stared with
wonder at this holy Siyyid who had graced their cell with his presence and
worked a miracle in front of their very eyes. “The dumb man speaks!” they
said to each other excitedly. “The Siyyid has given him the power of speech
and hearing!”
No one, however, was as puzzled as Sína who was supposed to have
performed the miracle. “You see,” Varqa told him by way of explanation,
“they spoke to me in such insulting language on the way from Yazd that I
pretended not to hear them. It was quite convenient to be deaf and dumb
before you arrived!”

Varqá’s poem
Varqa was on a teaching trip in Yazd when he was arrested by the
orders of the governor, Jalalu’d-Dawlih, kept in prison for one year, and
then sent in chains and stocks to the prison in Isfahan. Here he made
friends with a nobleman who admired good poetry, and who kept in touch
with the literary circle which met in the city.
One day, Varqa’s friend received the copy of some poems composed by
various poets at one of their gatherings. This he showed to Varqa, who was
moved to add some beautiful verses of his own to those of the other poets.
The poem which Varqa wrote in the prison of Isfahan had far-reaching
effects. His friend was so affected by it that he asked about Varqa ’s
religious beliefs and eventually became a Baha ’í. It also worked the
following miracle:
The cruel Jalalu’d-Dawlih came to visit the prison in Isfahan. He

knew both Varqa and his friend the nobleman, so he walked towards them
with a sneer on his face. Looking at Varqa’s feet in stocks, he mockingly
remarked: “If you are a prophet, why don’t you work a miracle and let the
stocks fall off your feet?” “I have neither claimed to be a prophet,” replied
Varqa, “nor boasted of performing miracles.”
Jalalu’d-Dawlih moved on to the nobleman and took a paper from his
hand. It was a page of beautiful poetry, and he started to read it. He was
greatly impressed, especially with the one Varqa had written. “I did not
realize what a great poet we have here,” he remarked.
Before he left the prison, Jalalu’d-Dawlih ordered Varqa’s feet to be
removed from the stocks.

The prisoners in Zanján
It was Ramadan, the month of the fast, and people sat up late into the
night. In the smaller towns and villages of Persia, where life was
monotonous and nothing of great interest took place from year to year,
there was not much to occupy the long nights of Ramadan except making
the usual round of visits and reading the Qur’an.
The town of Zanjan, being one such place, was pleasantly surprised to
hear one day that a few Baha ’ís had been caught, chained and placed in a
cell for people to go and see behind the prison bars. The response from the
population was overwhelming. They came in dozens, wondering what
Baha’ís really looked like, and went away greatly disappointed to see that
they were ordinary human beings.
Among the visitors to the prison was a Muslim priest whose brother,
Mírza Husayn, had been arrested with other Baha’ís of Zanjan. The priest
had often told his brother that he would come to no good if he did not give
up his allegiance to the new Cause. Now he came to see if this
imprisonment had brought his brother to his senses and prepared him to
recant his Faith. Much to his surprise, he found Mírza Husayn steadfast in
his beliefs and ready to defend the Baha’í Cause no matter what the
consequences. When neither his exhortations nor his many threats
produced any result,

the priest left the prison in a rage, using the foulest language.
One of the other Baha ’ís had a visit from a few of his Muslim soldier
friends. These, unlike the priest, had come to console their friend in prison.
“We do not care what your religion is,” they said to him. “You are a friend
of ours, and we have come to tell you that if anyone decides to kill you, he
will have to deal with us first.”
Most of the clergy and members of the upper classes came late in the
evenings when they would sit in a large hall in the presence of the
governor, ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih, and talk to three of the prisoners who were
brought to the gathering in chains—Varqa, his twelve-year-old son
Ruhu’llah and Mírza Husayn. They came in large numbers, and when a few
left, there were always others to take their seats. Night after night they
assembled, hurling curses, insults and accusations at the Baha ’ís.
Sometimes a question would be asked, directed at Varqa who was known
among them for his learning, but he was seldom permitted to answer
without being interrupted by the clergy, for they were aware of the
influence he could exert on his audience. At times, Varqa would turn to his
son, Ruhu’llah, and ask him to answer on his behalf. Ruhu’llah charmed his
hearers. The governor was so amazed and impressed at the child’s
extraordinary eloquence, that he openly expressed his admiration. “This
child’s strange power of argument is a miracle in itself,” he said.
However much the clergy resented it, the prisoners, if given the chance
to speak, put to shame those who tried to belittle their Faith. Once an
arrogant priest said: “If you consider Baha’u’llah’s sayings as a proof of
prophethood, I too can bring words as beautiful as his.” “At the time of
Muhammad too,” replied Varqa, “there were those who made the same
claim. Neither were they, nor are you, able to accomplish such a task. But
even if you were capable of producing the beautiful sayings you boast of,
whose would you claim them to be?” “I would say they were my own
words, of course,” said the priest. “Here lies the difference,” said Varqa;
“Baha’u’llah claims that He has nothing to say of His own. All His sayings
He claims to be of God. Not only does He make such a stupendous claim,
but thousands of people from the different religious backgrounds of the
world have accepted His words as the words of God, and hundreds upon
hundreds of great scholars,

men of letters and religious dignitaries have laid down their lives as a proof
to the power of these words. Now tell me, can you too, after having
produced your wonderful works, claim that a single person will go so far as
to say you are the greatest clergyman alive?”
At another time the governor turned to Mírza Husayn and said: “You
claim that you have accepted the Baha’í Faith after long investigation, but
tell me how it is that you went to the Baha ’ís for your investigations. Were
there not enough learned Muslims for you to enquire from?” “If a person
wishes to find out about Islam,” said Mírza Husayn, “would you advise him
to go to a Christian clergyman?” The priests were furious with Mírza
Husayn’s answer. They rushed on him and gave him a sound beating. One
of the noblemen present drew out his sword to kill Mírza Husayn, but the
governor said: “This man must not be killed all at once. Leave him to me. I
shall have a limb cut off his body each day, and kill him at the end of a
week.”
Mírza Husayn, who came from a notable family of clergymen himself,
wore a turban at that time. The priests pulled off his headgear angrily,
saying that he had disgraced the turban by becoming a Baha’í. They
ordered the guards to put an old, dirty hat on his head and pull it over his
eyebrows to make him look ridiculous, so that they could make fun of him
during the rest of the evening.
As the gatherings in the presence of the governor of Zanjan went on
night after night, the clergy began to monopolize the conversation so that
the Baha’ís would not be given a chance to talk. If a question was asked, a
few of them would raise such a commotion as to make it impossible for the
prisoners to reply. Often a question would lead to a heated argument
among the clergy themselves, and this sometimes brought them close to
blows. The Baha’ís did not look forward to this stage because there was
always the danger that, once they had got into a fighting mood, the clergy
might band together and attack the Baha ’ís, blaming them for everything.
One night ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih was very annoyed with the continuous rows
the clergy were having among themselves. “You have come here to find out
what Varqa has to say,” he reminded them. “If you have questions to put to
him, you can ask them one by one, so that

he can answer you.” But the governor was no match for the clergy who
were determined to denounce Varqa as an infidel no matter what he
believed.
The impression Varqa and Ruhu’llah had made on the governor himself,
however, was so great that one night he said in all sincerity, and in the
presence of a number of people: “Varqa, I swear by the crown of His
Majesty and the soul of Amír Nizam that if you stop propagating this Faith, I
will obtain for you a proper title from the Shah, pay you a handsome salary
and make you my personal physician,* so that you may wish for nothing
more in life.” Great though his desire to help his prisoner, ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih
had, alas, no understanding of the heights of detachment Varqa had
climbed in his love for his Beloved. “Do you really think,” Varqa told him,
“that I would renounce the Messenger of God for the titles and riches this
world can offer?” “But you can dedicate your life to God’s Cause and serve
Islam,” said ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih. “This is what I am doing now,” explained
Varqa. “God’s eternal Faith is one. What I believe in is what all the
Messengers of God have taught. It is They Who have told us in the holy
Books to watch for the advent of the Promised One. If I, as a believer in God
and His holy Books, have come to recognize the Promised One we have
been waiting for, can I forsake Him and turn my back on Him for the sake of
material benefits?” “Denounce this Faith in front of others, at least,” begged
the governor, “even if you believe in it at heart.” “It would be impossible
for me to live the life of such a hypocrite,” replied Varqa. “Alas!” sighed
‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih. “You leave me no choice. I must send you and your son to
the capital to be dealt with by others there, but Mírza Husayn will be blown
from the mouth of a cannon here in Zanjan tomorrow.”
Varqa remained silent at the time, but he found an opportunity to have a
few words with the governor alone later on. “Do not stain your hands with
the blood of the Baha’ís,” he begged ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih. “Send Mírza Husayn
with us to the capital and let him, too, be dealt with by others who are
already steeped in blood.” ‘Ala’i’d-Dawlih listened to this request and
ordered that

*
Varqa had profound knowledge of medicine.
all three prisoners be sent in chains to the capital the next day.

The children
Tayyibih was five years old when she and her younger brother, Jamal,
were taken to see their father, Mírza Husayn, in prison one day. It was all
so strange to them. Why did their father have chains round his neck? Why
was he kept in such a dirty place, and why was everybody around him so
rude?
Tayyibih had heard older people say that her father would be sent to
Tihran, and this worried her more than anything else. “Is it true that they
will send you to Tihran?” she asked him. “Yes,” Mírza Husayn cheerfully
replied. “I am going to bring you a pretty dress from Tihran to wear on
Naw-Ruz!”* But Tayyibih would not be consoled. Her eyes filled with tears
as she threw her arms round her father’s neck. “Please don’t go away,
father,” she begged. “I don’t want a pretty dress.” She looked into his eyes
with such sweet sadness that her father’s heart was filled with anguish. He
realized that parting with his children was the severest test he had to
encounter, and prayed that God might give him the strength to remain
steadfast to the end. “You must go now,” he told Tayyibih and Jamal.
Taking a few copper coins from his pocket, he held them out to his
daughter, saying: “Take these and buy some sweets on the way home.” But
Tayyibih shook her little head. “Keep the money, father,” she said. “You
may need to buy something for yourself on the way to Tihran.” That was
the last time Tayyibih and Jamal saw their father before he was taken away
from Zanjan.
While Mírza Husayn suffered innumerable hardships in the prison of
Tihran, his children also had their full share of suffering to endure. One
day, a regiment of soldiers and artillerymen surrounded their house in
Zanjan. Tayyibih and Jamal clung to their mother, wondering if she, too,
would now be taken away from them. The soldiers had come by orders of
the governor and religious dignitaries of the town, and demanded that
every body in the house should come outside. The family of Mírza Husayn

*
New Year’s Day.
were not alone. They had given refuge in their house to a few homeless
Baha’í ladies, and now they all came out together, prepared for the worst.
But the soldiers did not seem intent on killing that day. They had come to
carry away all of Mírza Husayn’s valuable belongings, and then raze his
house to the ground.
The women and children looked on as the soldiers carried away
everything they had—not only the rich carpets, silverware, crystals and
other objects of value, but even the least significant articles, including the
dough which was kneaded for making bread.
After the looting was over, the soldiers set about demolishing the large
house. Doors, windows and walls—all came down amid the continuous
loud swearing and cursing. The Baha’í women and children were forced to
go round begging the neighbours for pickaxes and other tools needed for
the destruction of the house. By the time the soldiers had finished their
task, there was not a single wall left standing where the house had been.
Even the garden walls and the fruit trees in the orchard were savagely torn
down as an act of merit by those who hoped for the rewards of paradise
after having punished the infidels on earth.
Tayyibih and Jamal were now left with the ladies amid the ruins of their
house, with neither food nor means of keeping warm during the cold night.
They kept close to their mother, getting a little warmth from her body, and
trembled at the sound of every footstep. No friends or relatives dared to
come near them, and many who had professed friendship before, now
became avowed enemies.
As the night grew colder the ladies decided to take shelter in a sacred
shrine not far away, but the caretakers recognized them and would not let
them enter. On the way back Tayyibih and Jamal were secretly left with a
Baha’í, while the ladies themselves went to a Muslim friend and begged for
shelter for the night. Their friend consented to take them in if they would
leave her house before daylight.
After that, the ladies sat in the ruins of the house during the day, and
went to the home of their Muslim friend when it was completely dark and
there was little risk of being recognized on the streets. All day long, the
people of Zanjan gathered around to scorn and jeer at the Baha’í women
living among the ruins. “If your life in this world is no better than this,” said
one of the onlookers

mockingly, “what will your lot be like in the world to come?” “We are not
the first women to suffer in the Cause of God,” one of the Baha’ís replied.
“There have been women treated like us in every Dispensation. Our lot in
the next world will probably be like theirs.”
During those days of severe tribulations when their menfolk were
imprisoned and their homes plundered, when friends disowned them and
enemies did everything they could to add to their suffering, these women
showed such courage and steadfastness as to amaze everyone who saw or
heard of them.
Tayyibih and Jamal’s uncle, who was a Muslim clergyman, took the
children to his own home after a few days. He took care of them and
bought them new clothes, but Tayyibih could tell by the way he spoke to
the people around him that he was ashamed of her father. “He has
disgraced us,” he kept on repeating. “I can no more lift up my head in
public. Oh, that he had been guilty of theft, adultery, or even murder! But
the disgrace of having a Babí brother is more than I can bear.”
He also spoke of calling in a priest to “put the testament into the
children’s mouths”. By this he meant that Tayyibih and Jamal would be
asked to repeat in front of witnesses: “I testify that there is no god but God.
I testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of God,” thereby assuring
everyone that they were true Muslims. But Tayyibih, whose knowledge of
religious matters was limited, thought that he was planning some terrible
torture for her and Jamal. Her uncle’s house, with all the comfort it
provided, became a prison to the little girl. She thought of her dear father
with the chains round his neck, taken to the big city so far away; and she
thought of her mother sitting among the ruins of their beautiful home, with
none of her friends or relatives coming to see her any more.
One day she heard her uncle say again: “We must arrange to put the
testament into these children’s mouths as soon as possible. It cannot be
put off any longer. I shall have to inform a few of the clergy to witness it.”
Tayyibih was terribly frightened. She clasped her little brother to herself,
wondering how she could save him. There was no one she could turn to for
sympathy. Everybody in the house seemed to be on her uncle’s side.
Suddenly she had an idea. “Jamal,” she said to her brother, “if I tell you
something, you won’t say it to anyone, will you?” “No, I won’t,” the little
boy

promised. She looked around to make sure no one else was listening, then
whispered in his ear: “They are going to bring someone to put the
testament into our mouths!” “What is the testament?” Jamal asked
innocently. “It is something awful … horrible …” she said, not knowing how
to explain. “It is like a piece of fire they put in your mouth. They burn your
tongue with it!” Jamal looked into his sister’s eyes with sheer horror. But
he was also puzzled. “Why are they going to do it?” he asked. “What have
we done?” “We are Baha’ís,” Tayyibih explained simply, “and they don’t like
us.” Whatever this meant to the little boy, he had seen enough in his short
life to know that danger was never very far away. He clung to Tayyibih as
his only refuge. “What will we do?” he asked. “We are going to run away!”
his sister answered. “But you must not tell anyone. Promise you will not
tell anyone, or they will chain us like father.” Jamal promised.
Running away from their uncle’s house was easier said than done.
There were always people about—neighbours dropping in to visit the lady
of the house, servants coming and going in the yard. Tayyibih kept careful
watch and when the right moment came, she caught hold of her brother’s
hand and crept to the front door. Slowly she opened it and peeped outside.
There was no one she knew in the street. “Run, Jamal” she whispered, and
the two ran as fast as their little legs could take them.
As the cold night wind swept over the ruins of their house, Tayyibih and
Jamal pressed closer to their mother. She had already explained to them
what was meant by “putting the testament into their mouths” and they
knew that they would not be tortured if they went back to the comfort of
their uncle’s house, but they were glad they had come back to their mother,
even though she had nothing to give them now—except her love.

The child-martyr
Ruhu’llah, the child-martyr of the Baha’í Faith, was a prodigy. At the age
of twelve, his knowledge of the holy Scriptures, his powerful arguments in
defence of his beloved Faith in the presence of the dreaded religious
authorities of Persia, the beautiful poetry

he wrote and his sweet, saintly nature won him admirers everywhere he
went. Many of the noted enemies of the new Faith were charmed by his
eloquence, while others came to look upon him as a living miracle.
At the time when Ruhu’llah, his father and Mírza Husayn had been
arrested because of their beliefs and were being taken to Tihran in chains,
the soldiers in charge were so attracted by the charm of this child of twelve
that they wished to take the heavy chains from round his neck, but he
would not have it so. “I am quite happy with these chains,” he assured
them, “besides, you must be faithful to your trust. You were given orders to
take us to Tihran in chains, and it is your duty to obey those orders.” He
was never heard to complain of the discomforts of that long and arduous
journey, but seemed to derive great happiness from the many odes and
prayers he chanted to himself as they rode along.
In one of the villages where they stopped on their way, the priests and
notables ordered the Baha ’ís to be brought before them, especially as they
had heard that the famous Varqa was among the prisoners. Varqa, the
father of Ruhu’llah, was well-known throughout the country as a man of
outstanding literary merits and a fearless champion of the new Faith. He
spent much time in prayer and meditation, and longed to lay down his life
as a sacrifice for the Cause of God.
The priests started to question the prisoners, but soon found they were
no match for either Varqa or his twelve-year-old son, Ruhu’llah, who
astonished everyone with the courage he showed in the presence of the
religious divines. Unable to belittle the Baha ’í prisoners with arguments,
the priests tried to stir up mischief and get them killed. “When will this
land be purged of these infidels?” they wailed. “When will the Faith of
Islam be rid of its enemies?” Although there was a row of armed soldiers
standing as though ready for orders to shoot, and the prisoners had already
prepared themselves to die, nothing happened. The priests grew more
emphatic. “What are you waiting for?” they shouted. “Are you going to
tolerate these Babís* among you?” The armed soldiers and guards,
however, were determined to take the prisoners to the

*
See footnote on page 7.
capital alive, so no one paid much attention to the village priests.
While this was going on, the son-in-law of one of the officers came to
have a look at the prisoners. He was standing near the Baha’ís when the
officer and his friends decided to play a joke on him. They told two of the
guards to pretend they thought this man had become a Babí too. The
guards took up a chain and approached the young man with rough and
abusive language: “So now you have become a Babí too, have you, you son
of a …! Well, we’ll show you what we do with Babís!” The poor man was so
frightened that he lost his power of speech. He gave out a terrified cry and
fell down in a faint. Some people thought he had died of fright but he
opened his eyes after receiving much attention, though it was some time
before he could speak. “What happened to you?” they asked him. “Why
were you so afraid? We were only playing a joke on you.” “A joke!” he
exclaimed. “I nearly died of fright.” “Look at this child,” someone said,
pointing at Ruhu’llah. “He is not afraid.” “No,” confessed the man, looking
at Ruhu’llah with new eyes, “but then, he is a Babí!”
The priests, in the meantime, having lost hope of getting the prisoners
killed in their village, could do no more than wreak their vengeance on the
child-prisoner. They had noticed that his feet were not in stocks as those of
the other two, so they called the village carpenter and ordered him to
prepare a pair of stocks for Ruhu’llah, thereby adding considerably to his
suffering as he rode on horseback in the bitter cold and snow from Zanjan
to Tihran. Ruhu’llah did not complain. Nor could this incident dampen his
radiant spirit or discourage him from teaching the Cause to the soldiers
who were with them. As the difficult journey came to its close, a few of
these soldiers had secretly embraced the Faith of their prisoners.
In the prison of Tihran, the Baha’ís were treated with extreme cruelty.
There were four of them there, all chained together with a chain put round
their necks which was so heavy that it was difficult for the men to keep
their heads up. Ruhu’llah collapsed under its weight and two supports had
to be put under the chain on each side of him to keep him in a sitting
position.
There were about sixty other prisoners in that place—murderers and
thieves of every description—but none were treated as cruelly

as the Baha’ís. Five days later, two other Baha’ís were brought to the same
prison, but these men were not prepared to suffer for their Faith. They
denied having anything to do with the new Cause, hoping that they would
be set free. The jailer, however, was in no hurry to send them away. “As you
are not Babís,” he said, “you can sit with the crowd of thieves and
murderers.”
The prisoners were normally permitted to buy food with their own
money, but the Baha’ís had neither money with them, nor the means of
getting help from outside. When Varqa’s belongings, among them many
valuable handwritten books, were confiscated, he said to a friend: “I am
glad to think that every thing I possessed in this world was of the best
quality and worthy of being given in the path of God.” Now his enemies
begrudged him even the dry bread which was the normal ration of the
prison.
One of the prisoners, a rich man who was able to buy all he wished in
prison, came to know that the Baha’ís had no means of buying food and
were not often given the meager ration of bread which the other prisoners
received. His heart was touched and he thought of a plan by which he could
give them a good meal one day. He said he had made a vow to provide a
dinner for all the prisoners. When the food arrived, however, the guards
would not let the Baha’ís touch it. “You are not counted among the others,”
they said. But the host insisted that his vow included everybody present,
and that it would be useless if a single person were left out. He had later
said to a friend: “The fools did not realize that it was for the sake of those
few roses that I watered all the thorns.” A few days later he also gave away
three silver coins to each prisoner, so as to have an excuse to give some
money to the Baha’ís.
One day Varqa, who had many admirers among the influential circles of
the capital, received a message from a relative entreating him to write a
poem in praise of the Shah, so that it could be delivered to His Majesty and
a request be made for the release of the poet. Varqa would not hear of it.
“My pen has written praises of God and His divine Messenger,” he said.
“Am I to pollute it now by flattering a tyrant? Never! Let him do what he
wants with me; I am prepared for the worst.” But he sent a message to the
Shah requesting that he be brought face to face with the religious
dignitaries of the capital and be permitted to discuss his beliefs

with them in the presence of His Majesty. The message was given through
the powerful and bloodthirsty courtier, Hajibu’d-Dawlih, who had come to
see Varqa in prison in the hope that the prisoner would promise him a rich
bribe if he arranged for his release. But Varqa had no such intentions, and
Hajibu’d-Dawlih, having lost all hope of getting anything out of him, struck
Varqa on the head with his walking stick and left in a rage. This same man
came back once more, this time performing such a heinous crime as to put
to shame any ordinary murderer. The account of the incident is recorded
by Mírza Husayn who was chained with Varqa and Ruhu’llah in the prison.
The summary of a part of this chronicle is as follows:
“One night, when Ruhu’llah had fallen asleep under the chains, I saw his
father caress his face and whisper: ‘O God, is it possible that this sacrifice I
bring to Thee will be accepted in Thy sight?’ I was moved beyond words. I
sat up and wept for many hours, stirred by strange emotions, though no
one guessed how I passed that night …. In the morning I recounted to
Varqa something I had once heard from a very good Baha’í teacher. He had
said that if he knew there was any danger threatening his life, he would run
away from it as fast as he could, because God has created us for a purpose
and we have a duty to perform in this world. We should live and serve our
fellowmen. Varqa replied: ‘This is true, according to the standards of
reason; but in the realms of the spirit, each one of us has a different path to
tread.’
“… Hajibu’d-Dawlih entered the prison with a number of executioners
clad in their scarlet clothes, and gave orders that all the prisoners should be
chained to their places. No one knew what he had in mind and a terrible
fear seized everyone. Then the jailer came to us Baha’ís and said: ‘Come
with me. You are wanted in court.’ We got up to follow him, though we did
not believe what he said. ‘It is not necessary to put on your ‘abas, he told
us, but Ruhu’llah insisted on wearing his. As we came out into the prison
yard, we were surprised to see armed soldiers standing everywhere and
wondered if they had come to shoot us. The executioners too were
standing in a row, and Hajibu’d-Dawlih had a savage look in his eyes. But
there was not a sound from anyone, and the silence was terrifying. At last
Hajibu’d-Dawlih asked the jailer to open

the locks on our chains and send us two by two. The jailer’s hands were
trembling so badly that he could not open the locks, so another man
stepped forward and unlocked our chains. Varqa and Ruhu’llah were the
first to be taken away. They went through a door into a long passage
leading to another building, while we two were ordered to wait. We could
hear noises on the other side of the door, but it was impossible to tell what
was going on. After a while, someone came out into the prison yard to take
the bastinado.* We thought they were going to put Varqa’s feet in it and
beat him. I said: ‘I dread this beating. I hope they will cut my throat or
shoot me and get it over with quickly.’ The door opened again, and this time
the jailer came out carrying a bloody dagger which he took to the pond in
the yard and washed. One of the executioners next appeared with Varqa’s
clothes bundled under his arm. By this time we were in such a state of
inner turmoil that we could hardly believe we were seeing these things. It
seemed as though our minds refused to accept what our eyes could see.
The door opened once more and we two were summoned. As we got near
the door we heard strange noises and hurried talking, but nothing seemed
to make sense to us any more. We were about to enter through the door
when it was quickly closed again. We heard Hajibu’d-Dawlih say: ‘They can
wait till tomorrow.’ He then came hurrying out in a state of terrible anxiety
and utter confusion. He left his dagger in the hand of the jailer and rushed
away with the empty scabbard hanging from his waist.
“My friend and I were taken back to our cell where we found that even
the mat we sat on had been taken away in our absence. We sat on the
damp mud floor and wondered what had taken place behind that closed
door leading to the other building. If Varqa had been killed, then what had
happened to Ruhu’llah? We were so shocked by the experience and so
concerned about Ruhu’llah that we were incapable of speech. We sat from
the afternoon till midnight unable to utter a single word. Gradually some of
the guards gathered round us, laughing and mocking and discussing among
themselves how they were going to divide our

*
This instrument is a long piece of wood in the middle of which two ends of a short rope
are tied to form a loop. The feet of the victim are held firmly in this loop by rolling the
wood which is then held up by a man on either side while a third man applies a rod to the
soles.
clothes between them on the following day. I heard all these things, but
they made little impression on me. Later on I saw one of the jailers who
had shown us some kindness before. I caught hold of him and begged him
to tell me what had happened. I made him swear by the martyred saints of
Islam that he would tell me the truth as he had seen it take place. This is
what he recounted: ‘… Hajibu’d-Dawlih said to Varqa: “Which shall I kill
first, you or your son?” Varqa replied: “It makes no difference to me.” Then
Hajibu’d-Dawlih drew his dagger and thrust it into Varqa’s belly saying:
“How do you feel now?” Varqa’s words before he died were: “I am feeling
much better than you are. Praise be to God!” Hajibu’d-Dawlih ordered four
executioners to cut Varqa’s body into pieces. The sight of so much blood
was horrible to see. Ruhu’llah was watching all the time, overcome with
grief. He kept on repeating: “Father, father, take me with you!” Hajibu’d-
Dawlih came to him and said: “Don’t weep. I shall take you with me and
give you a proper salary. I shall ask the Shah to give you a position!” But
Ruhu’llah replied: “I want neither a salary from you, nor a position from
the Shah! I am going to join my father.” Hajibu’d-Dawlih asked for a piece
of rope, but no one could find any rope, so they brought the bastinado and
put Ruhu’llah’s neck in it. Two of the jailers lifted the bastinado from either
side and held it while Ruhu’llah gasped for breath. As soon as his body was
still, they put him down and Hajibu’d-Dawlih called for the two other
Baha’ís to be brought in. But just then, the child’s body made a sudden
movement, raised itself from the floor and fell several feet away. Then it
was still again. This incident shook Hajibu’d-Dawlih so badly that he did
not have the nerve to carry on with any more killings.’
“You can imagine how we felt after hearing the details of the martyrdom
of Varqa and Ruhu’llah. The picture came to life, and I could not put it out
of my mind. My heart would not be consoled, and I wept for my beloved
friends all through the night. Finally I fell asleep and had a dream. I saw
Ruhu’llah coming towards me, looking extremely happy. He said: ‘Did you
see how ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s promise came true?’ Ruhu’llah had often told me
with great pride that when he was saying farewell to ‘Abdu’l-Baha after
visiting Him in the Holy Land, the Master had patted him on the

shoulder and said: ‘If God so ordains … He will proclaim His Cause through
Ruhu’llah.’”
The martyrdom of Ruhu’llah, as well as his short but fruitful life, will
always be a means of proclaiming the greatness of the Cause of God. His
beautiful poetry and his exquisite handwriting remain with us, as well as
many incidents of his life which have been recorded by people who knew
him personally.
The following is a very free translation of part of a poem by Ruhu’llah in
which he asks for martyrdom:
From the cup of divine bounty give me to drink And rid me of sin and
weakness; For though my sins be great indeed, The mercy of my Lord is
greater still.
Welcome to thee, Sáqí* of the divine banquet! Come thou, refresh my
soul and make Me worthy of being sacrificed In the path of the Best-
Beloved.

Contacting the prisoners
Word had reached the Baha ’ís in Tihran that four of their fellow-
believers, among them Varqa and Ruhu’llah, had been brought in chains
from Zanjan and imprisoned in the capital. This was all the information
they could gather, and there was no way of finding out what had happened
to these friends and how they were faring in prison.
One day, a young man was taken to prison, accompanied by a very
angry father who had asked the authorities in charge to arrest him. The
father complained that his son was insolent and disobedient and insisted
that he had to be punished by being sent to prison.
The boy was kept in jail for three days, during which time he sat close to
the Baha’í prisoners and got to know them. “What have you done,” they
asked him, “to make your father so angry?” “I

*
Cupbearer.
wanted to go to my uncle in Hamadan,” he replied, “and my father would
not permit me to do so. In the end I decided to run away from home, but
my father found out about it and had me imprisoned.”
It was some time after the boy was released that the Baha ’ís in prison
came to know that both he and his father were fellow-believers who had
worked out this plan so that they could get some information about their
friends from Zanjan.
Unfortunately, the prison authorities kept close watch and no other
contact could be made with the Baha ’ís in prison for months to come. By
that time two of them, Varqa and Ruhu’llah, had been cruelly martyred,
while the other two had gone through unbelievable trials. The day after
their friends were killed, the jailers had asked the two remaining Baha ’í
prisoners for the clothes they wore, saying: “It is your turn to be killed
today. If you do not let us have your clothes, your executioners will get
them, though they belong to us by right for we have looked after you here
in prison.” The prisoners gave away all their outer clothing, including their
socks and shoes. But although they were taken out to be killed on three
successive days, something happened each time and their execution was
never carried out.
It was typical of these brave men that, when they were giving away
everything they had and preparing to die, the only thing they kept for
themselves was some rock sugar which they ate, saying: “This will give us a
little more blood, so that the executioner who cuts our throats will not say
the Baha’ís have any less blood than other people!”
It was not until four months later that a few of the Baha ’í women of
Tihran were able to bring them a little food and clothing from outside.

A strange incident
Varqa was in constant physical agony when he was taken in chains and
stocks from Zanjan to Tihran. He was a big-built person and had difficulty
in riding a horse which was loaded with packs on both sides; but more than
that, the stocks on his feet were so heavy

that they pulled his legs from the joints, and every movement of the horse
was a torture to bear. And this went on for many long hours day after day.
Some of the guards who accompanied them had become friendly with
the Baha’í prisoners after the first few days and it was already whispered
among them that the officer in charge had himself become a Baha’í. These
men were all willing to help Varqa by removing the packs placed on his
horse’s back and by tying his legs to the side of the horse to relieve the pull
from the heavy stocks, but there were one or two men who would not
permit this, saying that the prisoners should suffer as much as possible.
One of the guards was exceptionally cruel. He would whip Varqa’s
horse to make it gallop, and take pleasure in seeing the agony his prisoner
went through. Once the officer in charge said to him: “You are worse than
the tyrant who tortured the Muslim prisoners in the early days of Islam.”
“Oh no,” he replied, “These Babís are as bad as those early enemies of Islam,
and it is our duty to torture them. They think they are the saints and we
are the wicked ones, whereas it is the other way round.” Varqa was very
sad because of what this man said and, turning to him, he remarked: “May
the Lord judge between us!”
The guard said no more but galloped ahead towards a spring some
distance away. The rest saw him alight from his horse, drink some water,
and then start to smoke. But all of a sudden he doubled over and started
screaming with pain. No one knew what had happened to him. The pain in
his stomach became worse and it was with great difficulty that he was
taken to the nearest village. Varqa was extremely upset. Being a physician
himself, he immediately wrote out a prescription for the guard, but it was
too late, and the man died.
Varqa could not forgive himself for what he had said to the guard. He
was filled with remorse for having been so rash in calling upon God to
punish the man. He remembered with great sorrow the words of his
Master: “Should other peoples and nations be unfaithful to you show your
fidelity unto them, should they be unjust towards you show justice towards
them, should they keep aloof from you attract them to yourself, should they
show their enmity be friendly

towards them, should they poison your lives sweeten their souls, should
they inflict a wound upon you be a salve to their sores. Such are the
attributes of the sincere. Such are the attributes of the truthful.” Varqa
would not be consoled because he had neglected the command.

Blind hatred
Varqa’s mother-in-law was a rich, talented and accomplished woman.
She was also a sworn enemy of the Baha ’í Faith. So great was the hatred
she bore towards all its followers that when she heard Varqa and Ruhu’llah
had been killed because of their Faith, she gave a large banquet and called
in musicians to celebrate the occasion.
Some years before that she herself had tried to persuade a servant to
kill Varqa, promising him a very handsome reward. But the servant had,
unknown to her, already fallen under the spell of her son-in-law and
accepted his beliefs. He warned Varqa of the intentions of his mother-in-
law, and Varqa took the necessary precautions to save his life.
Having lost hope in bringing about his death herself, Varqa ’s mother-in-
law went to an influential mujtahid who was a relative of hers, informed
him that Varqa was a Baha ’í and asked for his death-warrant. The mujtahid
told her that he could not give the death sentence until he himself was
convinced that her son-in-law was an infidel. “I can give you ample proof,”
said the lady. “I shall bring you one of his own children who has been
taught by Varqa himself, and after you have seen this child you will have no
more doubts.”
Ruhu’llah, a child of eight or nine at that time, was brought to the
presence of the mujtahid and told to repeat one of the prayers his father
had taught him. Ruhu’llah stood up and said a long, beautiful prayer
revealed by Baha’u’llah. The mujtahid was touched beyond words.
Turning to the child’s grandmother, he said: “How dare you expect me to
sign the death-warrant of a man who has taught his son to pray to his
Creator in this way?”

Never at a loss
Ruhu’llah and his brother were walking in the streets of Zanjan one day
when a be-turbaned, awe-inspiring mujtahid came riding along on his
donkey. The mujtahid could tell by the clothes the boys were wearing that
they were not natives of Zanjan. “Whose children are you?” he asked them.
Ruhu’llah answered: “We are the sons of Varqa of Yazd.” “What is your
name?” the mujtahid enquired of the boy. “My name is Ruhu’llah,” the child
replied. “Oho! What a great name!” said the mujtahid. “This is the title of
His Holiness Jesus Christ who raised the dead!” “If you will ride a little
more slowly, sir,” was Ruhu’llah’s prompt reply, “I, too, will raise you from
the dead.” “You must be Babís!” growled the priest as he hastened along.

A brave soul
This is part of an account which comes to us from a fellow-prisoner of
Mulla Rida of Yazd:
“There were a number of us in the prison of Tihran. Mulla Rida and I ate
from the same bowl, and were chained together at night. I have never
known anyone like Mulla Rida. He was learned and wise, he was forbearing
and meek, his faith was unshakeable, his courage knew no limits and his
endurance under torture was almost superhuman.
“I had already heard strange accounts about the courage and
steadfastness which Mulla Rida had shown when he was being persecuted
by enemies of the Cause. Once, the religious dignitaries of Yazd had
sentenced him to be bastinadoed seven times in one day in seven different
places of the town, so that the different sections of the population might see
the punishment inflicted on a. Babí. Arriving at each place, Mulla Rida
would cheerfully spread his handkerchief on the ground and, taking off his
cloak, turban and socks, he would place them on the handkerchief; then he
would lie down on his back, pull his tunic over his head and, raising his feet
to receive the rods, he would say to his torturers: ‘You can set to work
now, gentlemen.’ His calmness infuriated the men, and

they applied the rods with all their might, hoping that he would cry out in
pain or beg for mercy. Not once did they hear him utter a sound. On one
occasion they had beaten him so severely that the onlookers thought he
must have died under the torture. To their surprise, when they pulled away
the garment from off his face, they found him engaged in cleaning his teeth!
No wonder people asked whether he was an ordinary human being, with
the same kind of flesh and bone as themselves.
“Years later, when Mulla Rida was an old man and imprisoned as a Babí,
one of the notables of Tihran saw him receive a severe lashing on his bare
back in the prison yard. He was so impressed by the serene manner in
which Mulla Rida received the savage treatment that he immediately
wanted to know about the Cause for which this dignified old man was
suffering. His investigations led him to accept the new Faith, and he often
told his friends that Mulla Rida’s calm behaviour under such cruel torture
did more to attract him to the Cause than any amount of arguments could
have done.
“After that lashing Mulla Rida’s back was terribly wounded, but when
one of his fellow-believers in the prison tried to express his sympathy,
Mulla Rida stopped him saying: ‘What do you think? When the jailer was
applying those lashes, I found myself in the presence of Baha’u’llah. I was
on top of the world and did not feel a thing!’
“At the time when Nasiri’d-Dín Shah was assassinated, the enemies of
the Cause started to put the blame on the Baha ’ís. It was a very dangerous
time for the believers and no one knew what would be the outcome of this
false accusation. Mulla Rida, who was out of prison at that time, happened
to be among the congregation in a mosque when the priest began to abuse
the Babís and accuse them of the assassination of the Shah. With complete
disregard for his own safety, Mulla Rida interrupted the priest before he
could arouse the people’s anger against the followers of the new Faith.
‘Hold your peace!’ he called out. ‘This has nothing to do with the Babís.
They would never do such a thing!’ The congregation stared at him in
surprise. ‘Why should you be defending the Babís?’ someone asked. ‘You
are not one of them, are you?’ ‘Of course I am!’ Mulla Rida boldly declared,
whereupon he was seized and sent to Tihran.

“The high official into whose presence he was conducted in Tihran
looked at Mulla Rida and said: ‘This old man is no Babí; let him go.’ But
Mulla Rida would be known as nothing else. ‘You are mistaken, your
Highness,’ he protested, ‘I am not only a Babí, but a Baha’í as well. In fact, I
have already been imprisoned a number of times because of my Faith, and
there are many people who can testify to the truth of what I say.’ What!’
said the astonished official. ‘Do you wish to be sent to prison again?’ ‘If it
be so decreed,’ replied Mulla Rida calmly, ‘I shall certainly accept it.’ This is
how Mulla Rida came to join the rest of us in the prison of Tihran.
“Nothing could stop Mulla Rida from telling others about the new Faith.
He taught people under the most difficult conditions and the fact that his
own life was endangered by it did not seem to matter to him. In prison he
spoke about the Cause to our fellow-prisoners. Many of them mocked us
and abused our Faith, but whenever I lost my patience, Mulla Rida would
say: ‘Why are you disturbed? This is how people have always reacted
towards the teachings of God’s Messengers.’
“We were eventually released from prison after sixteen months due to
the efforts of some of our women who had appealed to the new king, but
we were so weak from lack of food and fresh air that we could hardly walk.
On the day of our release we were taken to the house of an official where
our chains were taken off and we were told we could go to our homes.
Before we could leave that place, however, a clergyman happened to arrive
at the house of the official and, on being told about our case, expressed a
desire to meet us. We knew that this might prove a dangerous encounter
and excused ourselves saying that we were too weak to talk to anyone.
Mulla Rida alone rose up to go. ‘We cannot refuse to speak to him,’ he said.
We begged him not to go, but he would not listen to our entreaties. The
result of the discussions between Mulla Rida and that clergyman was that
Mulla Rida was sentenced to go back to the prison. When I heard this my
grief knew no bounds, and I begged to be permitted to go to prison instead
of him as he was very old and frail at that time and I knew that he could not
endure the rigours of that dreadful confinement much longer. Mulla Rida
would not hear of this and I watched him go with great sorrow, though he
himself showed no signs of sadness. He even joked to

us about going back to prison, and told us an amusing anecdote to make us
laugh before he left us.
“Mulla Rida passed away in prison ten days later. He had been starved
to death, we were told, but we knew that they could have never succeeded
in breaking his spirit.”

Prison life with Mullá Riḍá
It was a strange sight. There, beside the pond in the prison yard, two
men were busy helping the only Jewish prisoner in the place to take a bath.
One man was pouring water over him, while the other, an elderly person,
was scrubbing his back. Those who saw them wondered what sort of
people these two men were, who cared to show kindness to a Jew. Even the
Jew himself could not quite understand. Ever since he had been brought to
this prison, he had been despised and shunned by his fellow-prisoners, and
had received nothing but curses and blows from the jailers. Why should
these two men, utter strangers to him, be concerned with his needs?
The idea of helping the Jew to take a bath had come from Mulla Rida. He
had noticed how the man was being treated by everyone else, and had said
to his friend: “Do you realize how much more difficult life is for this poor
Jew than for the rest of the prisoners here? No one associates with him; no
one gives him anything. They all regard him as unclean and will not let him
step into their bath. If you will give me a hand, we can at least help him
have a good wash beside the pond in the yard outside.”
So they helped the Jew take a bath, and gave him their spare clothes to
wear.
At another time when Mulla Rida was imprisoned with a number of his
fellow-believers in Tihran, they had only one spare shirt between them.
This shirt was washed and handed round in turn.
One day, a young man who was guilty of theft was brought to the prison
and chained beside Mulla Rida. Mulla Rida noticed that this young man had
no shirt at all, so he asked for the spare one they had, to give to him. One of
his friends said to Mulla Rida: “You put on the clean shirt and let the young
man have the one you are wearing.” “How can I do such a thing?” said
Mulla Rida. “What

we give away to another man is like a gift we make to Baha’u’llah. Do you
expect me to give Him anything less than the best I have?”

A warm welcome
An old man got up to welcome the Baha ’ís as they stepped into the
prison in Tihran. “Greetings to you, Hají Iman!” he said. Hají Iman
recognized him as a thief with whom he had been imprisoned in this same
place some years before. “Greetings to you, my friend,” he replied. “You
are still here!” “Yes,” said the old man, “I have been here for seventeen
years now. But it is never the same without Baha’ís in the prison! I was so
happy to hear you were coming back.”
Some of the other prisoners, too, gathered around the new arrivals.
“How is ‘Ibn-i-Abhar?” they enquired, “and where is he now? He stayed
here with us for four years, and was like a father to us all. We have been
like orphans since he went away.” “The Baha’ís are all like ‘Ibn-i-Abhar,”
said the old man who had seen many come and go during his long years in
prison. “They bring blessings with them whenever they come here. May
they always continue to grace this prison with their presence.”
It was a simple, touching welcome by one who had no other friends in
the world.

Rebirth
Siyyid Muhammad sat in his room wrapped in deep thought. He had
heard people say that his friend, ‘Andalíb, had become a Babí. Though
Siyyid Muhammad doubted the rumour, he was, nevertheless, much
disturbed in his mind. Why should people think that ‘Andalíb, such a
learned and pious youth, would be deceived by the Babís? What could
possibly attract him to these enemies of God and of religion? But now that
this rumour had started, only ‘Andalíb himself could stop it by openly
denouncing the new Faith. Siyyid Muhammad waited till it was dark, then,
throwing his ‘aba over his head, made his way to the house of his friend.

“See that no one else is let in,” he told ‘Andalíb upon his arrival. “I have
an important matter to discuss with you.” ‘Andalíb spoke to his mother,
then, closing the door behind him, sat down on a small mattress opposite
Siyyid Muhammad.
The two young men had much in common. They were both well versed
in Islamic scriptures and, unlike most orthodox Muslims of their day, they
were also acquainted with the works of the great philosophers. But,
whereas ‘Andalíb was a writer and a poet, Siyyid Muhammad was studying
to become a mujtahid and succeed his uncle as one of the religious
dignitaries of Lahíjan. He came from an old family who had always trained
one of their sons to become a mujtahid. Siyyid Muhammad had been
chosen from childhood and given the necessary education to prepare him
for this position.
“Do you know what I have heard today?” said Siyyid Muhammad to his
friend in a voice which betrayed his inner agitation. ‘Andalíb knew what to
expect, but calmly enquired: “What have you heard?” Siyyid Muhammad
found it difficult to speak to his friend in connection with a religion he held
in such contempt, but he made the effort. “They say you have become a
Babí!” There was a long pause, then ‘Andalíb spoke: “Well,” he said,
“supposing what they say is true ….” “What!” cried his friend. “Have you
lost your sanity? Are you prepared to renounce this world and the next by
joining a group of infidels who are cursed by God and men alike?”
‘Andalíb wondered if it would be wise to speak of his new-found Faith.
He knew too well of the hatred Siyyid Muhammad bore towards the Babís,
as the Baha’ís were still called by their countrymen. He remembered how
Siyyid Muhammad would never take anything from the hand of someone
he suspected to belong to this group, much less would he enter the house of
a Babí or treat one of them as a friend. Yet ‘Andalíb could not doubt Siyyid
Muhammad’s sincerity. The fact that he had risked his own reputation by
coming to warn ‘Andalíb of the rumour he had heard proved that he was
indeed a true friend.
“I will tell you everything,” he told Siyyid Muhammad at length, “for I
see that you are the only real friend I have in Lahíjan and I cannot be any
less sincere in my friendship towards you. What you have heard is true,
but before you pass any judgement, you must make me a promise. If I have
strayed away from the right

path in my search for Truth, you must help me to turn back, but if I can
convince you that I have indeed found the Truth, then you too must accept
it. Give me your word!” Siyyid Muhammad accepted the challenge, fully
convinced that he could save his friend from the spell under which he had
fallen.
This was in Ramadan—the sacred month of the fast. For the next few
months the two friends met regularly. Siyyid Muhammad would go to
‘Andalíb after dark when there was little danger of being recognized on the
streets, and would come back to his room before dawn. In the beginning
Siyyid Muhammad, quite confident of his own knowledge, referred to
passages out of the Qur’an and recited innumerable traditions concerning
the advent of the Promised One. He mentioned all the signs given in the
holy Scriptures regarding the Resurrection and the Day of Judgement, and
brought forth every argument he could think of to refute the claims of the
Bab and Baha’u’llah.
‘Andalíb listened patiently, then calmly explained the true meanings of
the symbolic terms used in the holy Books. He referred to given dates and
proofs by which the truth of the Missions of both the Bab and Baha’u’llah
could be established, and pointed out how all the signs mentioned by the
Prophets of the past had already appeared.
Night after night, week after week, the two friends met. Siyyid
Muhammad was not convinced, but he was not so sure of his old ideas any
more. One evening ‘Andalíb, tired of discussions, unlocked his safe and
took out some of the Writings of the Bab and Baha’u’llah. Siyyid
Muhammad stayed up all night to read them and reluctantly rose to leave
in the morning.
All through that day, though he attended his lectures as usual, his mind
was on the Writings he had left behind in the home of ‘Andalíb and, as soon
as it was dark, he hurried back to the precious manuscripts. What he read
had a profound effect on him, yet so great had been his prejudice against
the Authors of these Writings, that even now he had doubts and could not
bring himself to admit the truth of their Cause. What was quite evident to
him, however, was that he no longer believed in the old standards he had
once unquestioningly accepted. He felt he was losing faith in everything.
“No wonder people are forbidden to associate with Babís,” he

thought. “These Babís can undermine all one’s cherished views on religion,
and one is left with nothing unless one accepts what they offer.” He decided
that he should not see ‘Andalíb any more.
So he stopped going to his friend’s house. Yet, however much he tried,
he could not rid himself of the thoughts which now tormented him day and
night. He started questioning the divines and religious dignitaries about
problems he had discussed with ‘Andalíb, but he found their views so
shallow and so prejudiced that he soon gave up all hopes of receiving
guidance from this group. He did not know where to turn and it seemed to
him that even God had forsaken him, for he could find no peace in prayer.
He would go out into the wastelands and forests outside Lahíjan to be alone
with his Creator, and there he would pray aloud and cry out and beg for
guidance until night set in and the thought of wild animals prowling about
sent him back to the town. People noticed the great change that had come
over him and whispered that he was in love. Some said that he had studied
too hard and read too many books; but none knew of the true reason for his
state of mind, or of his secret visits to ‘Andalíb.
In an attempt to forget all about his discussions with ‘Andalíb, Siyyid
Muhammad gathered together a group of his young friends and gave all his
spare time to entertainments and excursions in the country. One evening,
the young people were returning home after having spent the day out of
town and Siyyid Muhammad was walking alone, a little behind the others,
wrapped in thoughts he could not shake off despite the carefree life he
seemed to be leading. Suddenly his eyes fell on ‘Andalíb. Two months had
passed since the day the two friends had last met.
“What happened to your promise, Siyyid Muhammad?” asked ‘Andalíb.
“Was it not agreed between us that we would not give up our discussions
until one of us had convinced the other of the truth of his beliefs? If you
were to die this very night and, in the presence of the Most High, be called
upon to give an answer regarding this Cause, what would you have to say?
Could you say that you had truly investigated the new Faith and found it to
be false? Or would you say that you were afraid it might be true and ran
away?”
Siyyid Muhammad was shaken to the core of his being. He knew

that he could no longer go on deceiving himself, that he could have no peace
until he had found a solution to the problems which overwhelmed his soul.
Once more he shut himself up in his own room to study the signs of the
advent of the Promised One. He went through the holy Scriptures and the
works of the great religious scholars, and noted down sixty-one signs he
wished to discuss. Armed with these, he knocked again on the door of
‘Andalíb’s house.
The night sessions were resumed between the two young men and
continued for months. During this period, ‘Andalíb’s patience was sorely
tried, for Siyyid Muhammad would neither exhaust his arguments nor bring
himself to admit that there was truth in what his friend told him.
A full year went by from the day when Siyyid Muhammad, fearful for the
life of his friend, had come to warn him of the rumour he had heard. The
two friends were sitting in the same room where they had first started
their discussions, but a great change had come over them. A year before,
each of the young men was fully convinced that he could win his friend over
to his own Faith. Now, Siyyid Muhammad knew that ‘Andalíb’s faith could
never be shaken, while ‘Andalíb had come to the end of his patience with
his friend. “I am tired of you and your arguments,” he finally told Siyyid
Muhammad. “Go your way and leave me to mine, for I have stopped hoping
that you will see the Truth.” To his great surprise, Siyyid Muhammad
replied: “Must I confess my faith to you in words, or is it sufficient that I
believe in my heart?”
Great indeed was the joy that came at last to these two men whose
friendship had withstood such severe trials and established a bond
between them which could never be broken.

Tests
Siyyid Muhammad was nineteen years of age when he embraced the
new Cause, and it was not long before his faith was to be put to the test. His
faithful friend, ‘Andalíb, had warned him to be careful, and for a time he
contented himself with the study of whatever Writings of the Bab and
Baha’u’llah ‘Andalíb could give him, and with meeting an occasional Baha’í
visitor who passed through

Lahíjan. These visitors were a great source of inspiration to the believers in
the small towns and villages. They brought news of Baha’ís in other parts
of Persia or, better still, they sometimes carried a handwritten copy of a
letter recently received-from Baha’u’llah in the Holy Land.
One day, when Siyyid Muhammad was in the company of a group of his
acquaintances, ‘Andalíb entered the room and quietly placed a piece of
paper in his hand. It was a note saying that Samandar* had just arrived in
Lahíjan. Siyyid Muhammad immediately destroyed the note and rose to go.
He waited outside in the courtyard till ‘Andalíb could find an excuse to
follow him, and together they hurried to meet the new arrival.
The distinguished guest had been to the presence of Baha’u’llah, and
had brought a precious gift for Siyyid Muhammad—a letter addressed to
him and written in Baha’u’llah’s own handwriting. This letter set aflame
the fire which was kindled in the heart of Siyyid Muhammad, and burned
away the veils which had so far concealed the love he bore for his new-
found Faith. Nothing could keep him quiet any more. He started discussing
the new Cause with those whom he thought might be prepared to listen,
and succeeded in guiding a few receptive souls. But the risk he took was
great, and soon his very life was endangered by it.
Many of his friends warned him to refrain from propagating the new
Faith before he came to be denounced as a Babí, but their warnings went
unheeded, and Siyyid Muhammad soon found himself confronted with the
opposition of the entire body of the students of the madrasih where he was
studying theology and Islamic law, and where he, like many of his fellow-
students, was given one of the rooms around the large courtyard.
An incident which took place at this time helped to fan the flame of their
anger against Siyyid Muhammad. Some of those to whom he had given the
new Message had repeatedly insulted the Writings of the Bab and
Baha’u’llah, saying that no one in his sane mind would ever think that the
Authors of these works could be inspired. Siyyid Muhammad, wishing to
prove the utter ignorance and prejudice of these people, wrote down some
passages from different

*
Father of the Hand of the Cause of God, Mr. Samandarí.
parts of the Qur’an and, handing this to them, said: “Be fair, can you truly
say that these words are not inspired and that it is a sin to believe in the
Author of these verses?” So blind were they in their prejudice that they
scorned the sayings of their own Prophet and persisted in their ignorance
even when Siyyid Muhammad repeatedly warned them to open their eyes
and be fair in their judgement. At last, Siyyid Muhammad asked for a copy
of the Qur’an and pointed out the verses to them, but instead of shaming
them into silence, this incident served to heighten their anger and make
them sworn enemies of Siyyid Muhammad.
Gradually the atmosphere in the madrasih grew so tense that Siyyid
Muhammad decided to take away the sacred Writings he had in his room
and entrust them into the hands of one of the other believers in Lahíjan.
This friend advised him to leave the town before he came to any harm, but
nothing could be further from Siyyid Muhammad’s intentions. “If I go away
at this time,” he said, “people will say I was afraid to stand up for my
religion. Besides, I will lose the opportunity of teaching the Cause to my
own relatives. I must stay in Lahíjan no matter what may happen.”
Having delivered the Writings into safe hands, he went to spend the
night at home. His uncle, who had cared for him since childhood, and at
whose house he was staying, was very late in coming home that night.
Siyyid Muhammad was told that the Imam Jum‘ih, the chief of the divines of
the town, had sent for his uncle. Siyyid Muhammad knew what this meant,
but thought it unwise to mention anything about the subject to the
members of the household. The next morning, however, when he was
preparing to leave for the madrasih, his uncle stopped him saying: “Do not
bother to attend any further lectures. The knowledge you have so far
acquired is quite sufficient for all of us.” Siyyid Muhammad pretended not
to understand what he meant. “Why?” he asked. “What has happened?”
“You know perfectly well what has happened!” retorted his uncle. “You
have foolishly endangered your own life and brought disgrace upon our
name!” “It is easy for you to save your name from disgrace by breaking
relationships with me,” said Siyyid Muhammad, “but I cannot stay at home
like a coward.”
Upon leaving the house, Siyyid Muhammad directed his steps to the
residence of the Imam Jum‘ih. Two of his fellow-students were

there when he arrived, but the Imam Jum‘ih was the only one who returned
his salutations. After he was seated, the host ordered his servant to prepare
the hubble-bubble pipe and then, turning to Siyyid Muhammad, he said: “I
am about to leave the town on urgent business. I advise you not to go to the
madrasih till I come back.” “May I know the reason?” asked Siyyid
Muhammad. “The reason,” replied the Imam Jum‘ih, “is that there have
been certain rumours about you, and your fellow-students refuse to have
you disgrace the name of the madrasih in which they study. When I am
back again, I intend to clear your name of these false accusations, but for
the time being, you must keep away from the madrasih lest you endanger
your life. I have already spoken to your uncle and told him that you should
not be allowed to leave the house; I do not understand why you are so
utterly disregardful of your own safety.”
The hubble-bubble pipe was now brought in, and the Imam Jum‘ih
proceeded to smoke in silence. Then he passed the pipe to the man who sat
beside him who, in turn, smoked for a few minutes and passed it to his
friend. But when this person wished to give the pipe to Siyyid Muhammad,
the Imam Jum‘ih forbade him with a motion of his hand. This, in clear
terms, branded Siyyid Muhammad as a Babí who should not be permitted
to defile what was to be used by devout Muslims.
When the Imam Jum‘ih rose to leave, the three students went to attend a
lecture at the house of another mujtahid. The other two students, however,
would have nothing to do with Siyyid Muhammad and hurried on in front
so as not to be seen with him. The lesson had not yet started when Siyyid
Muhammad arrived and the mujtahid, their teacher, received him very
warmly, asking after his health and well-being. The discourse of the day
concerned the signs of the times referred to in the holy Books, and the
students found ample opportunity to direct their sarcastic remarks at
Siyyid Muhammad. To their astonishment Siyyid Muhammad too had a lot
to say about his views on the subject that day.
When the lesson was over, Siyyid Muhammad was invited to sit beside
the teacher and, no sooner was he seated than the mujtahid put his hand
into Siyyid Muhammad’s pocket to investigate its contents. Having found
nothing of interest there, he proceeded to search the folds of his turban.
After making sure that no papers

were hidden in his turban either, he turned to two of his students and
asked: “Where are the writings you spoke of?” “He must have left them in
his room,” one of them replied. Siyyid Muhammad, pretending to be utterly
unaware of what they were referring to, asked the mujtahid what it was
that he had expected to find on him. “These two men,” said the mujtahid,
“came to me and said that you had renounced the Faith of your illustrious
Ancestor, the Holy Prophet, and had joined the followers of the Bab and
Baha’u’llah. They said you were carrying their writings with you to read to
people in order to convert them to the new Faith, that you had already
succeeded in deceiving a great number and that if nothing were done to
stop you, half the population of Lahíjan would become Babís in no time. I
could not believe what they said, and I told them that a person as intelligent
and well-informed as yourself would never be deceived by these people. I
asked them to stop disgracing your name in this town, and warned them
that their foolish talk might become the cause of the murder of an innocent
descendant of the Prophet, but they would not be silenced. They said it was
my duty as a mujtahid to protect the interests of Islam and to make sure
that you did not mislead the people of Lahíjan. That is why I have searched
your pockets and turban. Now these men should be ashamed of the false
charges they have brought against you. Give me the key to your room so
that they can search that place too and see that you are hiding no secret
papers.” Siyyid Muhammad gave the key to his safe, saying that his room
was open as he expected two young boys who came to study with him.
The two children whom Siyyid Muhammad taught in his spare time, and
who were now awaiting his return in the madrasih, were Baha’í children
who had seen their teacher place some sacred Writings in his safe. They
did not know that he had already removed them from that place and taken
them to the home of another believer, so when they saw the men enter
Siyyid Muhammad’s room and go straight to this safe, they threw
themselves on the box and fought to keep the men away. As soon as one of
the boys would be pulled aside, the other would manage to throw himself
on the safe, and this further irritated the men who were already burning
with hatred towards Siyyid Muhammad. The two boys were eventually
held off and the safe was opened but, to everybody’s astonishment, it

was found to be empty. The joy of the two children can well be imagined,
but the men were so furious that they looted the room and took away
everything Siyyid Muhammad owned.
While this was taking place in the madrasih, the mujtahid was trying to
persuade Siyyid Muhammad to speak ill of the Bab and Baha’u’llah in the
presence of the assembled students. “Your fellow-students,” remarked the
mujtahid, “accuse you of having said that the Promised One has appeared.”
“There is a group of people,” Siyyid Muhammad replied, “who believe the
Promised One has come and, as students of religion, it is our duty to
investigate into the matter before we can either accept or deny the claim.”
“The falsehood of this claim has already been proven to me,” said the
mujtahid, “and it is for you to follow me in these matters.” “I would have
gladly followed you,” replied Siyyid Muhammad, “had it not been an
essential duty of every Muslim to investigate the claim of the Promised One
for himself.” The mujtahid was losing his patience. “You are accused of
being a Babí,” he said, “and I order you to denounce the names of the Bab
and Baha’u’llah, and curse their Faith in the presence of everyone here.” “Is
it you I must obey, or God?” asked Siyyid Muhammad. “Have I spoken
against the word of God?” cried the mujtahid. “God has forbidden us to
curse anyone,” Siyyid Muhammad reminded him, and recited the verse
given in the Qur’an. The mujtahid could no longer control his anger. “Will
you, or will you not, denounce these people, you dog?” he thundered. “I am
afraid,” said Siyyid Muhammad. The mujtahid calmed down. “Who are you
afraid of?” he asked. “Is it someone who is present in this gathering?” “It is
God I am afraid of,” was the reply. “I am now thoroughly convinced,” said
the furious mujtahid, “that you have renounced the Faith of your illustrious
Ancestor.” Then, calling his servant, he ordered him to take away Siyyid
Muhammad’s ‘aba and turban so that he might no more be clothed in the
honourable garments of a religious Muslim. As soon as the servant made a
move, however, Siyyid Muhammad called out: “Beware! If you so much as
take one step towards me, you will come to repent it.” The mujtahid was
suddenly seized with fear. “Stay where you are!” he told the servant. Then,
turning to Siyyid Muhammad, he quietly said: “Now that you have given up
the Faith of your holy Ancestor, you should put away the

clothes that belong to His religion.” “The Faith of my Ancestor,” replied
Siyyid Muhammad, “has nothing to do with my turban, which I can take off
myself. I was hoping that you would ask for my head!” Saying this, he took
off his ‘aba and turban, while his long, black hair now fell over his
shoulders. Then, in the silence which followed, he chanted the verses
written by one of the Imams when he was suffering persecutions at the
hands of his enemies. The effect of these beautiful verses, as well as the
deep, impressive tones in which they were chanted, was such that some of
those who heard him were moved to tears. As Siyyid Muhammad left that
gathering, a great joy took possession of his whole being, making him
utterly oblivious of the danger that threatened his life.
It was Siyyid Muhammad’s intention to keep away from his uncle’s
house lest his presence there should belittle his uncle’s reputation among
the inhabitants of Lahíjan, but his relatives insisted that he should stay with
them. His uncle, in the meantime, having heard of what had happened after
the lecture, had hurried to that place and reproached the mujtahid for his
behaviour towards his nephew. “Your deliberate persistence,” he told the
mujtahid, “has annoyed the young man and caused him to stand against
you. You have no reason to assume that he is a Babí when he, himself, has
made no such confession.”
Though he did not wish to admit it, however, Siyyid Muhammad’s uncle
was quite aware of the fact that unless his nephew openly denounced the
Babís and the Authors of their Faith, nothing could now save him from the
evil consequences of the rumours which were fast spreading throughout
the town and its surroundings. At the same time, realizing that neither
threats nor punishments could persuade Siyyid Muhammad to alter the
course he had chosen to take, he decided to approach him with kind words.
Arriving at his home, he spoke to his nephew in the presence of a few
close relatives who were all devoted to the young man. He reminded Siyyid
Muhammad of the hopes he cherished for his future and of the pains he had
taken in educating him since his childhood so that he might now become a
source of comfort to his ageing uncle and succeed to his title and position
after his death. He went on to speak of the jealousy of Siyyid Muhammad’s
fellow-students at the madrasih, how they had waited for an opportunity

to degrade him in the eyes of others, and how they had now found an
excuse by which they could disgrace his name and become the means of
causing his death. “All I ask of you,” he told Siyyid Muhammad, “is to make
it clear to those who are now present in this room that these rumours are
unfounded, by denouncing the Bab.”
Siyyid Muhammad knew what this meant. He was being asked to speak
ill of the Founders of his Faith, so that his relatives could act as witnesses
and take him to recant his faith in the presence of a different mujtahid
every day. He took out his sharp pen-knife and proceeded to open it. One
of the men quickly took it away from his hand. “What are you doing?” they
asked in astonishment. “I was about to cut out my tongue,” replied Siyyid
Muhammad, “for I could neither disobey my uncle nor could I bring myself
to curse anyone.”
The ladies of the house, who heard and saw what was going on in the
room from behind a curtain, could not bear to see Siyyid Muhammad
treated in this manner. “You will make him lose his mind altogether if you
go on like this,” they said to his uncle. “Is it not enough that he has to suffer
at the hands of his enemies outside? Can he not have peace in his own
home? Perhaps the Babís have given him some powerful drug which has
affected his mind and he cannot think clearly any more.”
Siyyid Muhammad’s uncle took his cue from these wise ladies. “My
nephew,” he told everyone, “has been drugged by the Babís and has become
mentally deranged. No one should aggravate his malady by speaking to
him about these infidels and their accursed religion.” These words, coming
from an influential religious dignitary, prevented Siyyid Muhammad from
being killed in Lahíjan.
His life, nevertheless, became more difficult every day. He was treated
like a leper wherever he went and devoted Muslims would not be defiled
by taking anything from his hand. ‘Andalíb, his faithful friend, had to leave
that town, and Siyyid Muhammad found himself gradually cut off from his
fellow-believers. He thirsted for news, and longed to meet with other
Baha’ís. In the end, deciding that he could not go on living in an
atmosphere which oppressed his soul on every side, he left his hometown,
his position and all his worldly belongings to seek a new life in Tihran.

A famous doctor
The story of the tests and trials which Siyyid Muhammad met with in
Tihran are too numerous to be recounted here. For a long time he was
looked upon with suspicion by friend and foe alike. That people should
come to suspect him as a Babí and shun his company was to be expected by
Siyyid Muhammad, but to be treated with indifference by his fellow-
believers was something which he had not anticipated and which caused
him much sorrow. The Baha’ís, on the other hand, could not be entirely
blamed for their conduct towards him. Being constantly persecuted by the
clergy, they were reluctant to welcome in their midst a stranger who
apparently belonged to this class and who might be posing as a fellow-
believer so that he could betray their names and numbers to their enemies.
The situation, in time, became so difficult for Siyyid Muhammad that,
had his faith been any less strong, he would not have been able to
persevere much longer. But he proved to be as unshakable as a mountain
in the face of the severe calamities which beset him in those days. His
desire to teach the Cause was so great that even when he had to go without
proper nourishment for several months, the little money he had was mostly
spent in buying tea and sugar and tobacco for the hubble-bubble pipe,* so
that he could invite people to his room in the evenings and prepare them to
receive the new Message.
Though his heart never wavered in those difficult days, his body grew
very weak. Many a time, as he lay ill with fever and starving in the corner
of his room with his old ‘aba as his only covering, he thought of what his
uncle had said to him as he was preparing to leave the comfort of his life in
Lahíjan and seek an unknown destiny in a strange city rather than give up
his new-found Faith. “I can see you,” his uncle had told him, “dying of
starvation and misery in the corner of a forsaken room, with not a friend
beside you.”
Yet Siyyid Muhammad’s life was not destined to end in this way. He was
to live and become rich and famous. He was to receive titles from the Shah
and be respected as one of the most well-known physicians of the capital.

*
Offering the hubble-bubble pipe to guests was the customary etiquette.
After enduring every kind of hardship in Tihran, Siyyid Muhammad’s
life gradually underwent a change. He was able to earn a living by teaching
private pupils who came to him in the evenings, while his days were
devoted to the study of medicine. Then, one day, he received a visit from a
Baha’í whom he had met in his own hometown. This friend, who had just
arrived in Tihran, introduced Siyyid Muhammad to the rest of the Baha’ís
there, and reproached them for having failed to see the difference between
a mischief-maker and a person who had sacrificed all he had for the sake of
his Faith. His association with the Baha’ís of Tihran was a turning point in
the life of Siyyid Muhammad. From then on, he took an active part in all
that the Baha’ís undertook in the capital. He was on the first Local Spiritual
Assembly in Persia, and a member of the Committee of the Tarbíyat School
which was the first Baha’í school established in that country.
But Siyyid Muhammad never forgot the days when he lay ill in an empty
room, with no one to care for him and no means of obtaining any food; and
years later, when he was a famous doctor, he also became known as a
friend of the poor. Not only did he give free treatment to the needy but he
also provided them with medicine and food. He came to be loved and
respected by all who knew him, and even some of those people who had
previously shunned his company because of his religion were now proud to
call him their friend.
There are people still living in Persia who remember the majestic figure
of Siyyid Muhammad, with the wonderful kind eyes that attracted so many
to him, walking through the streets on the way to visit a prince or a beggar,
to attend an official banquet or to cheer up his fellow-believers in prison.
They remember him standing by the baker’s shop, day after day during the
famine, distributing bread to the poor. They also remember how, when
there was an epidemic of typhoid in Tihran, people swore that no patient
died who had been visited by Siyyid Muhammad, such faith did they have in
his healing powers.
One day, as Siyyid Muhammad was walking through the market place,
his young son who was with him noticed how those whom they met on the
way, whether men or women, old people or young children, all greeted his
father as they passed him by. “Do you

know all these people?” he asked his father. “No, my son,” replied Siyyid
Muhammad. “Do you suppose everybody knows who you are?” enquired
the boy. “No, I do not think so,” was the answer. “Then how is it,” asked the
boy in surprise, “that everyone we meet greets you on the streets?” Siyyid
Muhammad smiled and said: “The reason, my son, is that I love everybody,
and they can probably feel it.”
Note: One or two points mentioned in this account come from a published talk
given by Siyyid Muhammad’s son, General Nuri’d-Dín ‘Ala’í, as well as from
incidents related to me by my grandmother, Siyyid Muhammad’s wife.—G.F.

Methods of teaching
‘Abdu’l-Baha once sent Siyyid Asadu’llah-i-Qumí to teach the Faith in
Qarabagh, a province of Caucasia, where there were no Baha’ís at that time.
The Master told him not to come away from Qarabagh until he had brought
at least one person into the Faith.
Siyyid Asadu’llah travelled throughout the length and breadth of
Qarabagh, going from town to town and village to village, but nowhere did
he find anyone to whom he could speak of the new Cause. The people of
Qarabagh were not only steeped in all kinds of superstitions, but were also
ignorant of the most basic principles of Islam, the Faith they professed.
Even the very name of the Prophet was unknown to most of them. Siyyid
Asadu’llah also noticed that the majority of the people in Qarabagh carried
daggers or knives with which they would confront anyone who dared to
displease them with his speech.
After travelling from place to place and failing to find any soul to whom
he could convey the Message of Baha’u’llah, Siyyid Asadu’llah lost all hope
of teaching in Qarabagh and reluctantly decided to leave the place. Having
made this decision, he sat down beside a running brook under the shade of
a tree and thought of having his lunch before leaving. He put his bread on a
handkerchief spread on the ground before him, washed a piece of cheese
and a bunch of grapes which he had purchased, and prepared to eat. But
his mind was not at rest and his thoughts dwelt upon his sad

disappointment in having failed to teach the Cause in Qarabagh. Above all,
he wondered how he could ever report this to ‘Abdu’l-Baha, recalling the
Master’s words that he should bring at least one person into the Faith
before leaving. A sense of utter misery gradually descended upon him and
tears flowed down his cheeks onto his long beard.
It was the hour of noon and no passer-by interrupted the quiet of the
lane, so Siyyid Asadu’llah wept freely, little realizing that he was being
watched by a shopkeeper from across the road. The shopkeeper, Mashhadí
‘Abdil by name, was touched by the state in which he saw Siyyid Asadu’llah
and, coming forward, enquired about the cause of his sorrow. This
question, coming from an utter stranger, only helped to increase Siyyid
Asadu’llah’s tears and he could give no reply. Mashhadí ‘Abdil was greatly
moved. He begged Siyyid Asadu’llah to confide in him, vowing to do all in
his power to remove the burden which weighed so heavily on his heart. To
this Siyyid Asadu’llah sadly replied: “It is not easy to remove the cause of
my sorrow, and I do not see how anyone can help me in solving my
difficulty.” Mashhadí ‘Abdil said: “I am a man of honour and I pledge my
word that I will do anything I can to help you. Are you in need of money?
Do you have a debt to pay? Or perhaps you have an enemy? Confide in me
and have no fear.” At last Siyyid Asadu’llah, impressed by the man’s
sincerity, said: “What I have to say cannot be told here in the street.”
Mashhadí ‘Abdil immediately conducted Siyyid Asadu’llah to his dwelling
place and there, in the privacy of his home, he was very gradually given the
Message of the New Day and told why Siyyid Asadu’llah was so sad at the
thought of leaving Qarabagh that afternoon.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil was pure of heart and versed in the Qur’an and
Traditions, so he did not have much difficulty in accepting the Truth. But
no sooner had he believed in the new Faith than he thought of publicly
announcing the advent of the Promised One to all the people in Qarabagh.
In vain did Siyyid Asadu’llah warn him against the consequences of such an
act. In vain did he beg him to search for receptive souls before delivering
the Message. “I know my countrymen,” said Mashhadí ‘Abdil. “They are all
simple people who will not fail to see the Truth. I have no doubt

that they will willingly accept the Promised One when they hear of His
advent.”
Siyyid Asadu’llah, having lost all hope of persuading Mashhadí ‘Abdil to
take a wiser course of action, requested him to refrain from making
mention of his new-found Faith for at least two days during which time he
could be instructed in the teachings and given sufficient proofs by which to
satisfy others of the truth of the new Cause.
In the course of these two days Siyyid Asadu’llah taught Mashhadí ‘Abdil
the history and teachings of the Faith, pointed out to him logical proofs by
which he could establish the truth of the Cause, and referred to certain
passages to be found in the Qur’an and Traditions concerning the Twin
Messengers Who had appeared. On the third day he bade farewell to
Mashhadí ‘Abdil and left Qarabagh after having warned his friend once
more that the manner in which he had chosen to bring the message of the
new Faith to the attention of the people in his town was unwise and would
not achieve the required result.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, however, was full of confidence. He decided to
announce the advent of the new Age on the following market day when a
great crowd from the villages around, as well as from the town itself,
gathered in a large square to sell their goods or purchase their
requirements for the week.
The appointed day arrived and Mashhadí ‘Abdil climbed onto a raised
platform in the middle of the square where all could see him. He called
aloud upon the crowd to draw near and, as he was a well-known person in
the town, many people immediately gathered round him to hear what he
had to say. Mashhadí ‘Abdil called again and again until all left their work
and came to hear him. “I testify that there is no god but God,” commenced
Mashhadí ‘Abdil. “I testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of God and
that ‘Alí, the Commander of the Faithful, is the Guardian of the Cause of
God.” He then recited a poem in praise of the Prophet and Imams, after
which he added: “I bring you the glad tidings that the Promised One has
appeared out of Shíraz ….” He could get no further, for the first blow from
the crowd knocked him down unconscious.
When Mashhadí ‘Abdil opened his eyes he found that he was lying in a
strange place and could not move a limb. His audience

had not spared him in any way, beating him until they thought he was dead.
Some relatives had then tied him to a horse and secretly brought him to a
safe hiding place outside the town, leaving only a close friend to stay with
him until he regained consciousness.
As soon as he could gather his thoughts, Mashhadí ‘Abdil realized what
had happened and remembered the repeated warnings of Siyyid
Asadu’llah. He now understood the wisdom of his teacher’s words and
decided to accept the advice he had given. Turning to the faithful friend
who now sat beside him, he asked what had happened to him and why he
was lying in that strange place. His friend reminded him of his speech in
the market place but Mashhadí ‘Abdil denied the whole incident saying: “It
is impossible that I should have said such a thing. How can you accuse me
of such foolish conduct?” His friend, thinking that he had either lost his
memory or that a momentary madness had come over him in the market
square, made no further reference to the incident.
When Mashhadí ‘Abdil was eventually able to go back to his work, this
friend sat in his shop for a few days and whispered to all who passed by to
make no mention of what had happened in the presence of Mashhadí
‘Abdil, for he had not been in his right mind when he spoke to the crowd
and had now forgotten all about the incident.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, in the meantime, grown wiser through his sad
experience, tried to follow the instructions of Siyyid Asadu’llah and
searched for pure souls to whom he could deliver the Message which the
multitude had rejected. It was not long before he could confide in a friend,
and then in a few others. Gradually a small group of believers was formed
who would gather very secretly to hold meetings and discuss the Cause. It
was not possible for them, however, to conceal their Faith indefinitely, and
it was whispered around that Mashhadí ‘Abdil had indeed become a Babí
and was secretly engaged in converting others to the new Faith.
This rumour was one day brought to the attention of Hasan Big, a man
renowned for his boldness of manner and known to draw his dagger on the
slightest pretext. He, moreover, belonged to a well-known and influential
tribe whom none cared to displease. After being informed that Mashhadí
‘Abdil had become a Babí, Hasan Big was also told that those who accepted
this new Faith

denied the existence of God and denounced the Prophet and Imams,
mentioning their names in disrespect. Hasan Big was so enraged by what
he heard that he immediately set out to find Mashhadí ‘Abdil.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil was sitting in his shop as usual when the figure of
Hasan Big, with drawn dagger, appeared in the doorway. “Is it true,
Mashhadí ‘Abdil,” he thundered, “that you are a Babí and have no respect
for the Prophet and our Imams?” Mashhadí ‘Abdil had no doubt but that
the hour of his death was at hand, yet he somehow managed to persuade
Hasan Big to sit down and hear what he had to say. He told him that the
Baha’ís believed in God and the Prophet Muhammad, and had the greatest
respect for all the Imams. He then went on to tell him more about the Faith
and, to his surprise, Hasan Big listened with great interest.
One hour passed, then two, and still Mashhadí ‘Abdil spoke and Hasan
Big listened. Three hours passed. Hasan Big, who had come to Mashhadí
‘Abdil with a drawn dagger that morning, rose to go at noon firmly
convinced of the truth of the new Cause.
Having accepted the Faith, he now drew his dagger once more and
stepped into the market. “Hear me O people!” he called. “Hear what I have
to say! Mashhadí ‘Abdil is in truth a Babí, so are a few others ….” He
proceeded to name them one by one. “What is more, I myself have today
accepted the new Faith, and I solemnly swear that anyone who dares to
insult Mashhadí ‘Abdil or any other fellow-believer of mine will feel the
point of my dagger!”
No one dared to provoke the displeasure of Hasan Big, and so at last the
Baha’ís in Qarabagh were able to confess their Faith and bring it to the
attention of others.
Note: The two sons of Mashhadí ‘Abdil’s trusted friend, who had stayed with
him and nursed him after the beating he had received, both became Baha’ís.

The Bahá’í Centre
When the Baha’ís in Qarabagh were, at long last, able to meet without
fear of persecution, and a number of other people were enquiring about
their Faith, they decided they needed a proper

Centre for their gatherings. The few places they could find, however, were
either unsuitable for the purpose or much more expensive than they could
afford.
There was one place, in particular, which they all thought would make
an ideal Baha’í Centre. It was a beautiful building which was going up in a
very good locality—but, of course, they would never be able to afford it.
Dadash ‘Amu, a renowned gambler, was building this place as a gambling
house and hoped to make a fortune out of it. The Baha’ís had no hope of
ever getting the building unless a real miracle should happen.
The miracle, strangely enough, did take place. Dadash ‘Amu became a
Baha’í before the building was finished, and he donated it as the first Baha’í
Centre in Qarabagh.

“You are right!”
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, who was known as a Baha’í wherever he went in
Qarabagh, happened to be walking in a small village one day when a man
stopped him saying: “Come with me to the mosque, if you dare, so that the
priest can refute your arguments in front of all the villagers, and stop poor,
simple folk from listening to you.”
Mashhadí ‘Abdil followed the man to a large mosque packed with
people. No sooner had they gone through the door, when Mashhadí ‘Abdil’s
companion called to the priest and said: “I have brought you a Babí!”
Mashhadí ‘Abdil wondered what kind of a response such a revelation would
evoke. To his surprise, the mulla, who sat high on top of the pulpit with a
huge turban on his head, started to finger his rosary and repeat: “Praised
be God, praised be God, praised be God ….” This went on for so long that
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, losing his patience, decided to disregard the rules of
etiquette and be the first to speak. “May I have the honour of knowing your
name, reverend priest?” he said in Turkish, the native tongue of the
villagers. The mulla paused, then gave a nervous cough and said: “My
name is Mulla Usup.” Mashhadí ‘Abdil could immediately tell from his
accent and his mispronunciation of the name ‘Yusuf’ that the man was one
of those illiterate charlatans who sometimes came over from Persia and
pretended to be a

clergyman in these far off places in order to get free board and lodging for a
few months, and gather money from the simple villagers. “I am quite
relieved at finding out who you are,” said Mashhadí ‘Abdil, and the
charlatan, realizing that he could not fool the newcomer, said in his own
native tongue: “For the love of God, do not give me away in front of these
people.” “I shall not give you away,” replied Mashhadí ‘Abdil, speaking in
Persian too, so that none of the others could understand, “but you must
promise to agree with all I say.” “I promise,” said the charlatan.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, addressing the mulla in Turkish this time, so that the
congregation could follow their conversation, said: “I have been telling
these people that the Muslims are expecting the coming of a great Teacher;
am I right or wrong?” “You are right!” was the prompt reply. “I tell them
that when this great Teacher appears, the Muslims themselves may be the
first to denounce Him and start persecuting Him; am I right?” The
turbaned head nodded several times in agreement. “I have also told them,”
went on Mashhadí ‘Abdil, “that according to the definite prophecies
recorded in the holy Scriptures of Islam, the worst enemies of the Promised
One will he the Muslim clergymen; am I right or wrong?” “You are right,
you are right!” proclaimed the sage from the pulpit.
Mashhadí ‘Abdil, now turning to the man who had brought him to the
mosque, said: “Do you see how your honoured priest agrees with all I say?”
The man could only stare in open-mouthed astonishment as Mashhadí
‘Abdil rose to leave the place.

An illiterate teacher and his learned pupil
A group of learned divines stopped at the shop of a poor, illiterate man
to nail the shoe of one of the donkeys on which they rode. These
dignitaries of Islam were on their way to visit a sacred shrine which lay
beyond the gates of Tihran, and which they were in the habit of visiting on
Fridays.
But this Friday was to be different from other days, for among those
who entered the blacksmith’s shop was Abu’l-Fadl, who was to become one
of the greatest scholars of the Baha’í world, and the man who attended to
the donkey’s shoe was the one who was

destined to rend asunder the veils of tradition which so enveloped the mind
of Abu’l-Fadl as to prevent him from investigating the new Cause.
“Is it true, O learned divine,” asked the blacksmith of Abu’l-Fadl as he
worked on the donkey’s shoe, “that it is recorded in our traditions that
every raindrop is brought down to earth by an angel from the sky?” “Yes,”
replied Abu’l-Fadl, “it is true.”
The blacksmith went on with his work. He picked up a nail and
hammered it into place. Then he said: “I have heard that, according to our
traditions, no angel ever enters a house where there is a dog. Is there
indeed such a tradition?” “There is,” replied Abu’l-Fadl. The blacksmith
hammered in the last nail and said: “I presume that no raindrops ever fall
in a place where there is a dog.”
Abu’l-Fadl felt hot with shame and embarrassment as he realized that
an illiterate man had had to point out to him the obvious conclusion to be
derived from the two well-known traditions. As he left the shop and joined
his learned companions, one of them said: “The man you were talking to is
a Babí.”
That same evening Abu’l-Fadl began investigating the new Faith.

The final proof
When Abu’l-Fadl started to investigate the Baha’í Faith, he had many
questions to ask concerning problems which perplexed him but, being
endowed with justice, he was prepared to accept the logical answers given
him, even though the Baha’ís he first came in touch with were far less
learned than he was.
While still engaged in studying the Faith, Abu’l-Fadl one day found
himself discussing the new Cause in the house of a famous religious
dignitary where a few other people were also present. The important
clergyman, proud of his own position, attacked the Faith and tried to
belittle it in the eyes of his guests, while Abu’l-Fadl, producing the fruit of
his own investigations, gave convincing answers he himself had received to
similar arguments. He expressed his views with such enthusiasm and
sincerity that his host thought him to be a Baha’í.
Unable to refute the learned arguments of Abu’l-Fadl, the religious

dignitary tried to frighten him into silence. “Listen to me, Abu’l-Fadl!” he
said in an authoritative voice. “There is one way of proving truth from
falsehood and that is by producing a miracle. If you are convinced of the
truth of this Cause, bring us a miracle to prove it, or else I shall myself
perform a miracle to convince you of its falsehood!” “I am greatly indebted
to you for what you say,” Abu’l-Fadl eagerly replied, “for you have offered to
solve my difficultly. I have, in accordance with my obligation as a Muslim,
started to investigate this Faith and am now finding it extremely difficult to
denounce it as false though I am not completely convinced of its truth and
am not, therefore, in a position to produce a miracle to prove this. It is my
religious duty to continue my search until I arrive at some definite
conclusion and satisfy myself of its truth or falsehood. Now you offer to put
an end to my strenuous efforts by producing a miracle which will
immediately prove the falsehood of this Cause! I shall indeed be indebted
to you for the rest of my life.”
The poor clergyman had not anticipated this turn of affairs. He got up
immediately and prepared to leave the gathering. Abu’l-Fadl caught hold of
the hem of his garment and entreated him to stay. “Why are you leaving
us?” he said. “Pray do not go until you have shown us the miracle!” But the
religious dignitary, mumbling something to the effect that there was
another man in town who could perform miracles, hurried away to take
refuge in the section of the house reserved for the womenfolk.

Abu’l-Faḍl at home
One of Abu’l-Fadl’s many friends and admirers has recounted the
following:
“I was in Samarqand when Abu’l-Fadl came to that town and, being
eager to serve such a noble personage, I arranged to stay in the same house
with him. To my dismay, I found that he would not let me do anything for
him, but insisted that he, himself, should wait on me. He said: ‘You must
promise me two things: First, that you never try to do any work for me,
and second, that you never, never touch my penknife!’
“Each morning, after having said his prayers, Abu’l-Fadl would

light the charcoal fire, bring the samovar to boil and prepare the tea. He
would then bring everything into the room and serve the breakfast, after
which I would go to my office and he would sit down to write or study. I
said to him: ‘How can I sit idle here while you do all the work?’ He smiled
and said: ‘I am the one who benefits by this arrangement because I get a
chance to serve one of the servants of Baha’u’llah.’
“One day, when Abu’l-Fadl had gone out of the room to light the
samovar, I saw his penknife lying on his table. I looked at it and wondered
why he had told me not to touch it. I picked it up and tried the blade which
was so sharp that it immediately cut my finger. I quickly put the penknife
down, wrapped my handkerchief round my bleeding finger and sat in my
place.
“When Abu’l-Fadl came in, he gave me one look and burst out laughing.
‘Did I not warn you against that penknife?’ he said.”
*****
Many of Abu’l-Fadl’s friends, who were aware of the vast extent of his
knowledge, were always eager to go to him with questions on various
subjects. Abu’l-Fadl graciously received such people in the afternoons but
his mornings were set aside for writing and study.
At one time, when he was staying in the Holy Land, a group of Western
ladies, with whom he could not communicate very well as he did not speak
their language, would go to his room every morning and take up much of
his time. One day, however, when the ladies knocked on his door, they
received no reply. They knocked a second time, and there was still no
reply. They knew that Abu’l-Fadl was in, so they knocked again and again.
At last they heard his voice from within: “Abu’l-Fadl is not here!” he
sweetly announced in English. The ladies burst out laughing, and he, too,
joined in their laughter.
We do not know the end of the story, but hope that the scholar was left
in peace to attend to his work in the mornings.

The “Bahá’í Mullá”
The fame of Abu’l-Fadl spread in Hamadan where he had been staying
for some time. The ignorant people spoke of him as the

mulla of the Baha’ís, and the governor of the town, hoping that he was as
rich as a Muslim mulla, arrested him in the name of a Baha’í.
The dozen men who were sent to bring Abu’l-Fadl from his home were
very disappointed to see that there was nothing they could loot in the
single room occupied by this “Baha’í mulla”. All his belongings, which were
a few articles of clothing and some books and papers, were gathered up and
taken away with him.
Abu’l-Fadl was imprisoned in the house of the chief constable of
Hamadan. During the two weeks he was there he taught the Baha’í Faith to
his guard, who became a devoted believer, while the chief constable
himself, who often listened to Abu’l-Fadl’s discourse with his guard from an
adjoining room, became a great friend of the Cause and an ardent admirer
of his prisoner.
After a fortnight, the chief constable reported to the governor, assuring
him that Abu’l-Fadl was quite a harmless person and, what was more
important to the governor, that he did not have a penny to his name. He
was therefore permitted to leave the prison on condition that he should
also leave Hamadan.
The guard who was taught by Abu’l-Fadl during his imprisonment took
the new Message to the people of his own village where a strong Baha’í
community was established.

A unique servant
Abu’l-Fadl, who had dedicated his time and talents to the service of the
Faith he loved so well, became extremely depressed after the passing of
Baha’u’llah, so much so that he spent much time alone in sorrow,
wondering what would now become of the Cause of Baha’u’llah and who
would guide His followers.
After some time he received a letter from ‘Abdu’l-Baha, calling upon him
to rise up once more to serve the Cause of his Beloved and not to be
disheartened because Baha’u’llah had left this earth, for He would always
watch over His Faith and protect it. ‘Abdu’l-Baha explained how the Cause
of God, far from weakening, grew in strength and flourished after the
passing of His Messengers because the people of the world could not often
recognize the Messenger of God while He was with them on

earth and it was only after He had left them that they came to see the signs
of His greatness.
This letter from the Master filled Abu’l-Fadl with fresh zeal and he came
out of his retreat, never again to leave the field of service. But it was after
he had gone to the Holy Land and visited ‘Abdu’l-Baha in person that he
realized what a mighty stronghold Baha’u’llah had built to protect His
Cause when He appointed His beloved Son as the Centre of His Covenant to
whom all His followers should turn for guidance.
Abu’l-Fadl lost his heart completely to ‘Abdul-Baha. After a stay of ten
months in the Holy Land, he was filled with such devotion for the Master
that he sang the praises of ‘Abdu’l-Baha wherever he went. He told of the
Master’s flowing love towards both friends and enemies. He recounted
how, in the poorest quarters of Acre and the remotest corners of the prison,
men and women who were deprived of all the bounties of life listened for
His footsteps and derived blessing from the sunshine of His presence. He
spoke of ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s king-like majesty and of His great humility; of His
knowledge, His patience and generosity; of His sweetness and His
wonderful humour.
An American lady, who met Abu’l-Fadl while he was in America and
heard him talk of ‘Abdu’l-Baha, has said: “One day, after I had listened to
Abu’l-Fadl speak of the Master, I went to him and said: ‘I cannot imagine
anyone to be more learned, more pure and loving than yourself, yet you are
always telling us of ‘Abdu’l-Baha. What must He be like who has created
such admiration in your heart!’ Abu’l-Fadl looked at me and said: ‘No one
can befittingly describe Him. If you ever meet ‘Abdu’l-Baha, you will see
that I am not fit to be His servant!’ I often thought of these words until the
time when the Master came to America and I had the privilege of meeting
Him myself. Only then did I realize what Abu’l-Fadl had meant.”

The murder in ‘Ishqábád
Hají Muhammad-Rida was passing through the market place in
‘Ishqabad when he was attacked by two ruffians and killed on the

spot. Over five hundred people stood by and watched him being stabbed—
not once but thirty-two times!
Most of those who saw Muhammad-Rida being martyred that day
belonged to the Shí‘ah* population of ‘Ishqabad who had plotted against the
Baha’ís for a long time, hoping that they could start persecutions here as in
Persia. They had singled out Muhammad-Rida, who was much loved and
respected among the Baha’ís, as their first victim.
The government of the Tsar was quick in seizing the two murderers and
taking them to prison where they were to await their trial, yet so fierce was
the hatred of the merchants in the market place that none of the Baha’ís
dared to go near the corpse of their fellow-believer and it lay on the road
for several hours. A brave young man eventually came forward and, amid
the jeers, the ridicule and curses of the people around him, lifted the body
onto his own shoulders and carried it to a place of safety from where it was
secretly taken away in the dead of night and buried out of town.
The Shí‘ahs, in the meantime, threatened to kill twenty-four other
Baha’ís. They sent messages to Persia asking the clergy for their support
and spread rumours that the Russian Government had no jurisdiction over
the Muslims in ‘Ishqabad as they were Persian citizens. The majority of the
ignorant and fanatical people among them were stirred up by a few
malicious enemies of the Cause who spread the usual false reports about
the Baha’ís and their beliefs, and made every attempt to keep ablaze the
fervour of religious hatred until they had rid themselves of the Baha’ís in
‘Ishqabad.
The Baha’ís showed extraordinary courage as they went about their
business in the town, but by the second day after the martyrdom of
Muhammad-Rida, when a number of ruffians had armed themselves and
were preparing to attack other Baha’ís, it became evident that they should
seek protection from the government. A few of them, whose lives were in
immediate danger, went to see the governor. He received them with
kindness and listened to their appeal. After they had explained the
situation to him, the governor said: “I have been told that Hají Muhammad-

*
A sect of Islam.
Rida, being a Baha’í, has cursed the Imams of the Muslims, and the two
men, unable to bear the insult, have stabbed him in their anger. Is it true
that Baha’ís have no respect for the leaders of Islam?” “We have been living
among you for a number of years,” the Baha’ís replied, “and we have many
Christian friends in this country. You should ask them whether they have
ever heard us utter a disrespectful word about the religious leaders of
Islam, for if we were to speak ill of the Imams in front of Muslims, would we
not speak more freely in the presence of Christians who do not believe in
them?” They then explained that this was a trick which had been used in
Persia for many years, as it was one of the easiest ways of instigating a
fanatical mob against the Baha’ís. Now that the people of Persia were
getting to know that Baha’ís respect the leaders of all religions, the enemies
of the Faith were trying out this trick in ‘Ishqabad.
The next day brought a change in the atmosphere of the town. The
government authorities started investigations, and many of the Christians
who were well aware of the cruelties being inflicted on the Baha’ís by the
Muslim population came forward to throw light on the true situation. A
number of the enemies of the new Faith, afraid of the consequences, fled
the town. Some of the chief instigators of the plot against the Baha’ís were
found and imprisoned, while others took refuge in Persia from where,
backed by some of the clergy, they sent threatening messages to the Baha’ís
in ‘Ishqabad and spread rumours of how this or that great personage was
being sent from Persia to take the Baha’ís of ‘Ishqabad (mostly Persian
citizens) in chains to their own country. Various measures were taken by
the Muslims to frighten the Baha’ís and force them to leave ‘Ishqabad, but
the Baha’ís put their trust in God and stayed, though they did not know
what was to happen to them from day to day.
At last, the preliminary investigations being finished in ‘Ishqabad, the
governor’s report was sent to the capital and instructions arrived in due
course. There was to be a military trial which meant that the decisions of
the court would be final and no appeals could be made. Even the Tsar
himself was not able to change the decisions of a military court. This
information immediately spread throughout the town and every heart was
filled with fear, as no one could tell what the outcome of this trial would be.

About one hundred and fifty people were summoned to attend the
court, and the day of the trial saw a commotion the like of which was
seldom seen in ‘Ishqabad. The trial lasted for three days, while the
atmosphere of the court grew more and more tense with each passing
hour, until the feeling of suspended doom spread over the entire
population of the town.
The decision of the judges had not yet been announced, when an
irresponsible person left the courtroom and told a friend that the Muslim
prisoners were to be set free. This information immediately spread in the
market place, and the Muslims came out of their shops and houses to
celebrate the occasion. They gathered in groups to welcome the prisoners,
and inflicted untold suffering on the Baha’ís they came across. But within
an hour, when the true verdict of the judges was announced, their joy was
turned to grief. The two murderers of Hají Muhammad-Rida had been
sentenced to be hanged. The clergyman who had denounced the Baha’ís
from the pulpit and encouraged the mob to rise against them had received
life imprisonment in Siberia; three of the men who had plotted against the
Baha’ís were to be imprisoned in Siberia for fifteen years; and a fourth man
was sentenced to one year and four months in prison, after which he was to
leave Russia. The governor residing in ‘Ishqabad, however, was given the
right to reduce the severity of these sentences if he so wished. Only two of
those who had been arrested were found to be innocent and set free.
As soon as the court adjourned, the prisoners sent messages to their
relatives entreating them to ask the Baha’ís to intervene on their behalf and
beg the governor to reduce their sentences. A delegation of the Muslims
came to plead with the Baha’ís, who generously responded and promised to
do what they could.
Abu’l-Fadl, who was in ‘Ishqabad at the time, and another well-known
Baha’í, both of whom had seen the governor after the martyrdom of Hají
Muhammad-Rida to ask protection for the Baha’ís, set out to visit him once
more. The governor was deeply moved when he heard that the Baha’ís had
sent them to make a plea on behalf of their oppressors. “If a Baha’í had
killed a Muslim in ‘Ishqabad,” he said, “would not all the Baha’ís in Persia
have been massacred by now? Yet you are prepared to forgive these
murderers and ask me to reduce their punishment! Greatly though I
admire

your sentiments,” he added, “I can promise you nothing at present.”
The next day, however, it was made known to the people of the town
that the governor had shortened the terms of the imprisonments in Siberia,
though he had shown no mercy towards the two who had murdered
Muhammad-Rida, and the day for their hanging had already been fixed.
As the appointed day approached, the murderers were brought out to
erect their own gallows outside the prison and to dig a deep pit under it
with their own hands. It was a pitiful sight, and many hearts were
saddened at the thought of the terrible death which awaited the wretched
men. The fatal day saw hundreds of curious people gathered outside the
prison to watch the awful event. The gallows were surrounded by a ring of
soldiers and precautions were taken to control the mob, but there were
many eyes that flashed with anger and lips that muttered curses against the
Baha’ís, whom they blamed for what was about to befall the two Muslims.
A priest performed the last religious rites and the hangman had put the
loops round the necks of the victims, when a voice suddenly broke through
the deathlike silence which had descended on the crowd. An order had
been received from the governor and was being read aloud. The people of
‘Ishqabad were thereby informed that, as the Baha’ís themselves had
appealed to the governor and begged him to spare the lives of the two men
who had murdered their friend and fellow-believer, the governor, having
decided to honour this noble act, had changed the death sentence to fifteen
years of imprisonment in Siberia.
For the first time in the history of the Baha’í Faith, the relentless
persecutors of its followers had been taken to court and had received
punishment for their crimes.

Meetings in Ṭihrán
The arrival of a pilgrim from the Holy Land* has always been a

*
Baha’u’llah was exiled to the Holy Land, where He lived to the end of His life.
His remains were laid to rest near Acre. The remains of His Herald, the Bab,
were buried on Mount Carmel, across the bay from Acre. ‘Abdul-Baha, Who had
gone into exile with His Father, remained in the Holy Land after Baha’u’llah
passed away.
great event for the Baha’ís in Persia. From early morning till late at night
the pilgrim is surrounded by eager friends who long to hear every single
item of news and to listen to all the wonderful experiences their fellow-
believer has had during his pilgrimage. Meetings are held where crowds of
Baha’ís gather from far and near to meet the blessed pilgrim who brings
them tidings from the Holy Land.
This is true even today when dozens of pilgrims go back to Persia every
year. One can imagine what it must have been like in the days of
Baha’u’llah and ‘Abdu’l-Baha when only a few fortunate ones could have
the privilege of visiting the Holy Land and carrying back with them news of
the Beloved to hundreds of expectant lovers throughout Persia. But the
Baha’ís there have never been permitted by the authorities to hold
meetings or even gather freely in private homes to meet with each other.
In the days of Baha’u’llah and the Master restrictions were far more severe,
and the least indiscretion on the part of the Baha’ís brought about all forms
of persecutions.
At such a time, a very distinguished teacher of the Faith, Mírza Mahmud-
i-Furughí, arrived in Tihran after a long stay with ‘Abdu’l-Baha. The news
of his arrival immediately spread among the believers who, in their
eagerness to receive news about the Master, forgot all caution and gathered
in large numbers to meet Furughí. Every little thing he had seen or heard
during his pilgrimage was of interest to his friends, but more than this, he
had brought them wonderful, inspiring messages from the Master Himself.
These were like the breath of life to those who heard them; it filled them
with fresh zeal and courage to serve the Cause and bring happiness to the
heart of their beloved Master. The gatherings grew in size; no price
seemed too great to pay for the joy of hearing the messages of ‘Abdu’l-Baha.
The enemies of the Cause, who were always on the alert, were now
filled with rage to see the boldness with which the Baha’ís gathered to hear
a pilgrim from the Holy Land. They lost no time in bringing this to the
attention of Prince Kamran Mírza,* the viceroy, filling him, no doubt, with
grave forebodings regarding the intentions of the Baha’ís. Kamran Mírza
immediately asked

*
‘Mírza’ at the end of a name is a title given to the descendants of the Qajar
dynasty.
some of his servants to seek further information about the meetings. These
men managed to find out where the Baha’ís were gathering on a certain day
and followed them to a secluded garden so as to ascertain their numbers.
They had no difficulty in doing this because they had merely to count the
pairs of shoes which had been removed at the entrance to the meeting
place. There were almost nine hundred pairs!
This news was quite sufficient to cause Kamran Mírza the greatest
anxiety. Could the Baha’ís be plotting against the government? Were they
planning to overthrow their enemies? He decided to send for Furughí and
find out from him in person. Furughí received the message calmly but the
rest of the Baha’ís were greatly concerned. Many of them begged him not
to go, for they anticipated great danger awaiting him in the house of
Kamran Mírza. Furughí, however, knew no fear and set out to visit the
viceroy. One of the Baha’ís, Khammar by name, who was known for his
courage and who was, moreover, famous for the wild and reckless life he
had led before his recent conversion to the Faith, accompanied Furughí and
walked on in front holding the bridle of his horse.
At the gate of the viceroy’s mansion, Furughí was told that Kamran
Mírza was very busy and could not meet him till the following day. He went
back on the morrow and received the same message: the prince was busy
with urgent matters and could not see him that day. Furughí would not be
put off, and one of his friends remarked:
Hunters have always chased their prey, There’s nothing strange in
that, ’Tis fun to see the prey, for once, Chasing the dreaded hunter!
Furughí went back a third time, accompanied by the faithful Khammar.
This time the prince received him, exclaiming: “What a fearless fellow you
are!”
Furughí’s outward appearance in itself was enough to persuade anyone
of his utter lack of fear. Clothed in the robes of a scholar, he had a pleasing
countenance, and a thick black beard. His piercing eyes could flash fire at
times, and his voice, if raised, could arouse fear in any heart.

Kamran Mírza received him with courtesy. He ordered a carpet to be
spread for them in the garden and a tray of lettuce to be served with sour-
sweet syrup, according to the Persian custom. Then, turning to Furughí, he
said: “Tell me, are you really a Babí?” “I am no Babí,” was the reply, “I am a
Baha’í, so were my father and my mother.” This was the introduction to a
long discussion on the Faith. Once, when Kamran Mírza referred to
Baha’u’llah in a disrespectful manner, Furughí’s eyes flashed with anger.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he told the prince, “to mention the
name of the Messenger of God in this rude manner.” Then, reaching out for
the knife which had been brought for the lettuce, he cried: “Give me that
knife so that I may cut my throat and let you drink the blood of a Baha’í for
which you are thirsting.” His words had a profound effect and the prince
took care not to hurt his feelings any more.
Kamran Mírza eventually brought up the subject of the large gathering
of Baha’ís which had come to his knowledge, and expressed his concern lest
the Baha’ís should cause disturbances in the country. “Our meetings are
held to prevent mischief,” Furughí answered him, “for we have all types of
people in this Faith and unless they are always reminded about the
teachings of Baha’u’llah, and their duties as peaceful and loyal citizens of
the country in which they live, we cannot be sure that some misinformed
individual will not become the cause of disturbance in the land. This did
happen once in the early days of the Faith when a young Babí who was
ignorant of the teachings of the Bab made an attempt on the life of His
Majesty the Shah. But such behaviour has never been repeated among us
for the Baha’ís are continually reminded in our meetings that, according to
the teachings of Baha’u’llah, they should be obedient to the government
and respect the authorities of the land. We are doing you a great service by
holding these meetings.” Furughí’s words produced the desired effect. “I
did not know of your intention,” said Kamran Mírza . “Now that I am
reassured, you can hold as many meetings as you like.”
Furughí rose to go and take the wonderful news to the believers. As he
was walking towards the garden gate, a figure stepped out in front of him
from behind a tree. It was Khammar. “What on earth were you hiding here
for?” asked Furughí in surprise. “I was not

sure what Kamran Mírza had in mind for you,” said Khammar, “so I was
aiming at him with my pistol to be prepared in case he wished to harm you.”
Then, as an after thought, he enquired: “Do you think God would have
forgiven me if I had shot Kamran Mírza under the circumstances?” “To tell
you the truth,” replied Furughí, “I do not know, but I promise to get you the
answer from ‘Abdu’l-Baha.”
‘Abdu’l-Baha’s answer was given in a very interesting way, but that in
itself is another story. We will end this one by saying that the Baha’ís, when
they heard about Furughí’s visit with Kamran .Mírza, needed no further
encouragement for their meetings. For once, at least, they could gather to
hear a pilgrim from the Holy Land with the full permission of the
authorities.

The miracle
Among the people to whom the Baha’ís of Badkubih* had spoken of the
Faith, there was a man who said he had but one difficulty in accepting the
Cause. He agreed with all that his Baha’í friends told him and could not find
a single fault with what they believed in. All he needed to make him a
confirmed Baha’í, he said, was to see a miracle performed before his eyes.
The Baha’ís, of course, did not know what to do with him. No amount of
reasoning seemed to do any good. “I know all you say is true,” he would tell
them, “but I must see a miracle with my own eyes before my heart can be
truly satisfied.”
It happened that Furughí, the famous Baha’í teacher, was visiting the
friends of Badkubih at that time, and he was told about this man. “Bring
him to meet me some day,” said Furughí, “and we shall see what can be
done.” The Baha’ís hoped that Furughí, whose dynamic personality and
powerful voice never failed to impress those who came face to face with
him, would be able to make their friend listen to reason, so they arranged
for someone to conduct him to Furughí’s home.
When the two visitors arrived, they found Furughí engaged in his daily
devotions and, not wishing to disturb him, they sat down quietly while
their host, unaware of their presence in the room, continued with his
prayer. The sincerity with which he prayed was

*
Persian name for Baku.
very touching. He was the essence of humility as he prostrated himself on
the floor, while tears streamed down his face as he lifted it up in adoration.
Sometimes he would chant the verses in his rich, loud voice, and sometimes
the words could be hardly heard as he murmured them softly to himself.
It was a long time before Furughí finished his prayers and turned round
to see his visitors. One of them he already knew; fixing his piercing eyes on
the other, he said: “Are you the person who wants to see a miracle?” “No …
no, sir,” stammered the man in reply. “I … I don’t want to see any miracles.”
“Then what is your difficulty in accepting the Cause of Baha’u’llah?”
demanded Furughí. “Nothing, sir,” was the prompt answer. “I am quite
convinced of the truth of this Faith, and consider myself a Baha’í from this
day on.”
The friend who had brought this man to meet Furughí could not believe
his ears. Was not this the same man who had repeatedly expressed that
nothing but a miracle performed before his own eyes could satisfy him?
Was it not the same man whom all the Baha’ís in Badkubih had failed to
convince with every logical argument they could think of? He could hardly
wait until they had left Furughí’s home and were out on the street alone.
“What happened to you?” he then asked his friend. “Why did you suddenly
lose all your interest in miracles?” “To tell you the truth,” was the answer,
“I had no doubt that the holy personage I saw could perform any miracle he
chose and I did not dare displease him by asking for a demonstration ….
Besides, I was so impressed by the manner in which he prayed that I could
ask for no other proof concerning the truth of this Cause.”

The challenge from the pulpit
The people of Yazd, instigated by their fanatical priests, have shown
great enmity towards the Baha’ís, and have been responsible for the
martyrdom of many believers.
One day an influential religious dignitary of this town told the
congregation who had gathered to hear his sermon in the mosque that the
Baha’ís had succeeded in misleading only the most simple and ignorant
people to their Faith; they never dared approach people

like himself, as they knew very well that they could not refute the
arguments of the learned and would be put to shame.
The Baha’ís in Yazd did not know what to do with this mujtahid,
especially as he continued to challenge them publicly from his pulpit in the
mosque. In the end, they decided to write to Tihran and ask for help from
their fellow-believers in the capital. When Furughí heard of this, he longed
to set out for Yazd and confront the mujtahid in front of his own
supporters. This was a task after his own heart, he thought, but ‘Abdu’l-
Baha had already asked him to go to Khurasan, and someone else would
have to be sent to Yazd.
Furughí was on the point of leaving for Khurasan, and had already
packed the saddle on his mule when a telegram was handed to him. It was
from the Master, instructing Furughí to go to Khurasan, via Yazd! He
immediately wrote a letter to the Baha’ís of Yazd telling them that he was
on his way to meet the mujtahid.
One of the Baha’ís of Yazd, who knew the governor of the town, thought
it wise to inform him of the situation before Furughí’s arrival so that he
might know what was going on. The governor was quite disturbed at the
news and begged the Baha’í to write to Furughí asking him to ignore the
mujtahid’s challenge and keep away from such a dangerous interview.
Furughí, however, having received ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s blessings on his journey
to Yazd, was not going to be put off by anyone else. He wrote back a most
remarkable reply to his Baha’í friend in Yazd, parts of which ran as follows:
“It is impossible for me to forgo this meeting with the mujtahid, and I
am quite prepared for the consequences. I shall neither state my
knowledge of any other Baha’í in Yazd, nor do I seek help from its governor.
I shall go straight to the door of the mosque and, if anyone should ask me
who I am and where I come from, I shall say that I have dropped out of the
sky and have an errand to do with the mujtahid …. Should the mujtahid be
prepared to listen to logical and intelligent argument, I shall reason with
him, but if he wishes me to prove my Faith by other means, I shall ask him
to climb with me to the top of the minaret, from where we can both drop
down to see which one of us will be able to descend unharmed; or I shall
have fire kindled in the middle of the town square and, taking the mujtahid
by the hand, I shall lead him into the blazing conflagration to see which of
us can come out untouched by the flames ….”

This letter was shown to the governor who was astonished at Furughí’s
astounding faith, and greatly admired his fearless spirit. “I shall send two
of my servants,” he said, “to meet this man outside Yazd and conduct him
safely to my own house; then we shall see what can be done about this
meeting with the mujtahid.”
Furughí arrived in Yazd as the guest of the governor. After his arrival,
the governor himself wrote to the mujtahid stating that, as he had publicly
challenged the Baha’ís to send someone to talk to him about their Faith, a
learned and fearless Baha’í had been sent to meet him from Tihran with the
permission of the government authorities. The governor also enclosed in
his letter to the mujtahid the interesting communication which had been
received from Furughí, written on his way to Yazd. The mujtahid
immediately replied to say that he was not well enough to meet Furughí,
and would be grateful if the governor himself would give him some
satisfactory answer.
Furughí stayed on in Yazd for a few days to see if the mujtahid would
pluck up courage to meet him, but the religious dignitary pretended to be
ill, even when the governor sent him a second message after some days.
Furughí then asked his fellow-believers to arrange a large meeting to which
every Baha’í in Yazd could bring a non-Baha’í friend. When they were all
assembled, Furughí spoke to them about the Cause, and then told them how
the mujtahid, who had repeatedly challenged the Baha’ís from his pulpit,
had now refused to see him. He asked those who were present at that
gathering to inform others of the truth of the matter, so that they would not
listen to the mujtahid any more, should he ever dare to repeat his
challenge.

Furúghí’s turn
“Have you ever been beaten for the sake of the Cause?” ‘Abdu’l-Baha
asked Furughí one day. “Not yet, my Master,” Furughí replied. “You know
that His Holiness the Bab and Baha’u’llah were both beaten,” the Master
told him, “and, I, too, have had my share.” Furughí knew that his turn was
soon to come.
It was not long after this that, going back to Persia, Furughí was

asked to perform a Baha’í marriage in Abadih, a place near Shíraz. The
mullas of Abadih immediately complained to the governor. “The Baha’ís,”
they said, “have now grown so bold as to perform their marriage ceremony
in accordance with new customs which are against the laws of Islam! Such
insolence cannot be endured. Unless the governor makes sure that they are
punished at once, we ourselves will have to see to the matter.”
The governor, fearing lest great mischief be stirred up by the fanatics,
sent two of his servants to bring Furughí to his presence. A large crowd of
people immediately gathered in the streets and on the rooftops, armed
with sticks and stones, hoping for an excuse to attack this famous Baha’í
teacher. But as Furughí was accompanied by the governor’s servants, none
dared to raise his hand against him until he happened to pass by a
madrasih where religious dignitaries taught theology and Islamic law.
Here, one of the divines suddenly sprang forward and, taking hold of
Furughí’s beard with one hand, struck him on the head and face with the
other. “What are you waiting for, you cowards?” he cried to those standing
around. The crowd needed no further encouragement; they attacked
Furughí from all sides, those standing on the rooftops throwing dust and
ashes on his head. But before they could do him any serious injury, he was
rescued from the mob by a group of armed soldiers who conducted him to
the governor.
Now it happened that while Furughí was in Tihran, he had visited the
Prime Minister and, having charmed him with his eloquent and impressive
manner of speech, had then told him of the many enemies he was
confronted with wherever he travelled in Persia. “The only thing which can
save me from their hands,” he had told the Prime Minister, “is a letter
signed by your Highness, instructing the government officials to protect me
from the machinations of my enemies in different parts of the country.”
The Prime Minister had given him the letter he had asked for and Furughí
now showed it to the governor of Abadih.
The governor, however, had limited powers when opposed by the
clergy, so he advised Furughí to leave the town immediately and sent two
of his horsemen to accompany him to a nearby village. As they were
passing the gate which led out of the town, a woman who had come to
know that Furughí would be taken that way threw

a heap of ashes on him from overhead. Although she did not know it, this
woman saved his life by what she did, for the ashes blinded the eyes of two
fanatical mullas who were waiting behind the gate to shoot Furughí as he
passed by. These two men later visited Furughí in the village and, after long
discussions, were both impressed with Furughí’s arguments and gradually
became convinced of the truth of the Cause.
The beating which Furughí received at the hands of the mob in Abadih
was but the beginning of many other hardships he was to endure for the
sake of the Cause. But he bore them all with great courage, and delighted in
the fact that he, too, was at last called upon to suffer calamities in the path
of his Beloved. Once, when he was badly wounded by a couple of young
men who were sent to shoot him in his room, his friends found him covered
with blood, but extremely happy and chanting the words of Baha’u’llah: “If
thine aim be to cherish thy life, approach not our court; but if sacrifice be
thy heart’s desire, come and let others come with thee. For such is the way
of Faith, if in thy heart thou seekest reunion with Baha; shouldst thou
refuse to tread this path, why trouble us? Begone!”

The magician
Furughí seemed to be leading a charmed life. Despite the many dangers
he had been through, and the various attempts made on his life, he was still
going about teaching the Faith after forty years.
Quite a few people had been bribed to kill this famous Baha’í at one time
or another, but he had somehow managed to escape them on every
occasion. Once, when he was staying at his native village, a seditious
mujtahid succeeded in exciting his whole congregation against Furughí.
News had been brought of how a Baha’í had been killed in another place,
and the mujtahid, climbing onto the pulpit and throwing down his turban
as a sign of indignation, cried out to the assembled villagers: “Is there no
manhood to be found in this place? Have you not heard how those valiant
defenders of Islam have torn the accursed Babí to pieces? Where is your
courage? Where is your zeal for your religion? How long are you going to

tolerate these infidels in your midst? How long will you cowards sit back
and watch that dog of a Babí misleading people in your own village?” He
went on and on until he obtained the desired result and his congregation
swore they would tear Furughí apart, limb from limb.
As the howling, bloodthirsty mob rushed towards Furughí’s house like
an angry flood let suddenly loose, people swore he was doomed to die this
time. Providence, however, had decreed otherwise, and before the savage
crowd could reach its destination, another mujtahid, just as influential as
the first, appeared on the scene. “Do you realize what you are doing, foolish
people?” he shouted. “This man you have come to kill is no ordinary Babí .
He has many friends among the high officials of the country, and even the
Prime Minister himself is ready to support him. If anything should happen
to him, not one of you will be able to escape with your life!” The immediate
danger facing them in this world seemed more real to the disappointed
crowd than the delights of paradise promised by the first mujtahid if they
succeeded in killing the Babí, so they reluctantly dispersed to their homes,
and left Furughí to go about unmolested.
On another occasion, Furughí’s desperate enemies decided to enlist the
help of a notorious gangster named Siyyid Hasan who was the leader of a
group of criminals and was feared by all in the neighbourhood. “God will
forgive every sin you have committed in your lifetime,” they assured Siyyid
Hasan, “if you will undertake the meritorious act of killing this Babí
teacher.” Siyyid Hasan, determined to win the pleasures of the next world
as well as this, set about to do some careful planning. When everything was
ready, he sent one of his men to fetch Furughí from his home after sunset
and bring him to a place outside the village.
Furughí himself opened the door. “Come out at once!” the man ordered
him. “Siyyid Hasan has sent for you.” Furughí knew what this meant, but
without raising any objection asked: “Could you please wait a minute while
I fetch my cloak and walking stick?” “Of course not!” the man rudely
replied. “Come immediately as you are.” He had hardly finished his
sentence when a great noise and commotion started in the street. Two of
Siyyid Hasan’s other men, who had just arrived on horseback to join their
friend, were

being thrown off their seats by their horses which seemed to have suddenly
gone wild. The animals neighed excitedly, kicked and reared in a most
frightful manner, and their riders had great difficulty in landing on the
ground unharmed. The men were utterly baffled by what had happened, as
the horses had always been very tame and there was nothing to be seen in
the street which could possibly throw them into such a state.
In the meantime, Furughí, having quietly put on his cloak and taken his
walking stick, was standing at the door, ready to leave. Seeing him, the men
were suddenly full of apprehension. “You can work magic!” they cried.
“What did you do to our horses to make them go wild? We have never
known them to behave like this before.”
Furughí, when given the chance, could always charm his hearers and
these men who had come to take him to his doom were no exceptions.
Having now subdued their horses, they rode on in front to warn their
leader about Furughí’s unknown powers, while the victim followed at some
distance. By the time he had reached the rendezvous, his would-be
murderer was feeling the effects of a very exaggerated account of the kind
of magic the famous Babí was capable of performing. Siyyid Hasan was in
no hurry to harm him, and Furughí had ample time to talk to, and win over,
the feared gangster.
Calling one of his men to him, Siyyid Hasan said: “I want you to escort
this respectable gentleman back to his house where his family may be
anxious about his safety.” “Thank you,” said Furughí, and wisely added:
“but it is really not necessary for me to trouble anyone here to take me
home. I am quite sure I shall be able to find my way alone.”

Two princes
Prince Husayn-Qulí Mírza, the great-grandson of Fath-‘Alí Shah of
Persia, accepted the Baha’í Cause in his youth and became one of its
staunch supporters for the rest of his life. He was a man of noble character,
extremely courteous and gentle in his manner, with a touching humility
which was felt by rich and poor alike. He was loved by all; people used to
say that they could find no fault in the

prince except that he was a Baha’í. There were many, too, who were
attracted to the Faith by the life he led and because of the love and respect
they had for him.
His house was open to all people, and whenever Baha’í meetings were
held there, a great number of non-Baha’ís would always attend. On one
such occasion, when every seat in the room was occupied and there was no
more space to sit on the carpet, a new guest arrived. The prince, who was
himself standing, immediately took off his valuable cloak and spread it on
the floor for the newcomer to sit on. This gesture of his so impressed the
man that he was led to investigate the Cause, and became a believer.
One day one of the Baha’ís who had urgent work to attend to asked the
prince if he would see that a load of hay was taken for his stable. The
prince himself accompanied the man who was to take the hay and, having
arrived at the house of his friend, found that the load had to be carried up a
steep flight of steps to be placed in the loft. The man who had brought the
hay refused to take it up all those steps. The prince calmly asked him to put
the load on his own back and carried it up himself. It happened that the
lady of the house, who had never had any sympathy for the Cause or the
Baha’ís, was watching the incident from behind a curtain. She was so
overwhelmed by what the prince did that her whole attitude changed and
she later came to embrace the Cause.
Of the many people who became interested in the Faith through the
admirable qualities of the prince, was a man who had been a notorious
thief and earned his living by waylaying people on the highways. After
having embraced the Cause, this man one day happened to recognize
among the Baha’ís at a meeting one of those people whom he had once
robbed of all his belongings. With tears in his eyes, he went forward to
kneel at the feet of the one whom he had wronged and, having first
introduced himself, asked his forgiveness and begged him to accept a small
sum of money which was all he owned at the time. His fellow-believer
embraced him lovingly and refused the money, assuring him that he was
willing to forget the whole incident.
*****
The son of prince Husayn-Qulí Mírza, Mihdí-Qulí Mírza, was also a
wonderful Baha’í. He went through severe tests and diffi-

culties during his lifetime, but his spirit was never broken and nothing
could shake his great faith in the Cause.
One day he was brought the terrible news that his lovely young
daughter, who had been married only a few months before, had suddenly
died in the clinic of a Jewish lady doctor. Mihdí-Qulí Mírza, hurrying to the
place, found that the doctor had been careless in giving an injection, and
that his daughter had died within a few minutes.
The news of this tragedy spread very swiftly through the town, and a
great crowd of people gathered round the clinic shouting for revenge
because a Jewish doctor had killed a Muslim woman. Mihdí-Qulí Mírza
hurriedly climbed onto the terrace and called aloud for all to listen.
As soon as the people in the street had stopped their cries, he told them
that they need not think of revenge as the young woman who had died was
his daughter, and he knew for sure that she was not a Muslim; that the
deceased herself, her father, her mother and her husband were all Baha’ís.
There was no further excuse left for the crowd to harass the doctor, so they
gradually dispersed.
The doctor herself, however, offered to pay the prince a large sum of
money, but he shook his head. “Keep the money,” he said, “I have forgiven
you your mistake.”
Later on certain government officials, threatening to punish the Jewish
doctor, found ample excuse for extracting money from her. When the
prince heard of this, he gave her a signed statement in which he mentioned
that, as a follower of the Baha’í Faith, he did not believe in revenge; he had
forgiven her the mistake she had made and bore her no grudge; he did not
wish the matter to be pursued any further.
This document was signed and sealed by the prince himself, his wife
and his son-in-law. No one who read it could find an excuse for persecuting
the doctor any more.

Names of the main characters in the book
‘Abdu’l-Khaliq (son of Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaní)
Abu’l-Fadl-i-Gulpayganí
‘Andalíb, Mírza ‘Alí-Ashraf
Furughí, Mírza Mahmud
Aqa Kamal
Habíbu’llah (son of Sína)
Hají Mihdíy-i-Arjumand-i-Hamadaní
Hají Muhammad-Riday-i-Isfahaní
Hakím Aqa Jan-i-Hamadaní
Husayn-Qulí Mírzay-i-Mawzun
Ishraq, Aqa ‘Abdu’l-Karím
Malmírí, Hají Muhammad-Tahir
Mashhadí ‘Abdil-i-Qarabaghí
Mihdí-Qulí Mírzay-i-Mawzun
Mírza Husayn-i-Zanjaní
Mulla ‘Abdu’l-Qaníy-i-Ardikaní
Mulla Bahram-i-Akhtar-Khavarí
Mulla Riday-i-Muhammad-Abadíy-i-Yazdí
Na‘ím, Aqa Muhammad
Nayyir, Siyyid Mahmud
Ruhu’llah-i-Varqa
Sína, Hají Siyyid Isma‘íl
Siyyid Asadu’llah-i-Qumí
Siyyid Muhammad-i-‘Ala’í, Nazimu’l-Hukama (father of the Hand of the
Cause of God, General Shu‘a‘u’llah ‘Ala’í)
Tayyibih and Jamal (children of Mírza Husayn)
Varqa, Mírza ‘Alí-Muhammad (father of the Hand of the Cause of God, Mr.
Valiyu’llah Varqa)
Vujdaní, Mírza Yusuf-Khan-i-Thabit

اختر نصًّا ثانيًا لقراءته بالتوازي — ترجمةً، أو أيّ نصٍّ آخر.