Episode XIV: Road to a Darker Prison

His guards offered to disobey the state for Him. Then they offered to let Him walk free. He refused both.

On the road toward Qum, the escort confessed what their orders actually said. They had been strictly forbidden to let Him enter the city. They had been told to keep Him away from the Haram-i-Ma’súmih, that inviolable sanctuary where even notorious criminals were immune from arrest. But by now the guards no longer cared about their orders. If He wished it, they said, they would take Him straight through the streets of Qum and into the shrine itself.

The Báb refused. “The heart of the true believer is the throne of God,” He told them. “He who is the ark of salvation and the Almighty’s impregnable stronghold is now journeying with you through this wilderness.” He would take the open country. Qum was an unholy city. The immaculate one whose remains lay interred within that shrine, her brother, her illustrious ancestors, they bewailed the plight of these people. Its inhabitants honoured holiness with their lips while disgracing it by their deeds.

That refusal carried such authority that had He turned away at any moment and walked into the desert, not one of His guards would have felt perturbed. Not one would have pursued Him.

They skirted the northern edge of Qum and stopped at the village of Qumrud, which was owned by a relative of Muhammad Big. Its people belonged to the sect of the ‘Alíyu’lláhí. The headman invited the Báb to stay. He accepted. The warmth and spontaneity of those simple villagers moved Him. Before He left, He invoked God’s blessings on them and cheered their hearts with His assurance and love.

Two days of marching brought the company to the fortress of Kinár-Gird, six farsangs south of Tihrán, on the eighth day after Naw-Rúz. The capital was one day away. They planned to reach it the next morning.

Then a messenger arrived from Tihrán carrying a written order from Hají Mírzá Áqásí. Muhammad Big was commanded to turn aside immediately to the village of Kulayn, a village that belonged to the Grand Vizier himself, and pitch a tent there for the Báb until further instructions came.

So on the ninth day after Naw-Rúz, the eleventh of Rabí’u’th-Thání, 1263, a tent that had served Áqásí on his own visits to Kulayn was erected for the Báb on the slopes of a hill, amid orchards, meadows, and the steady sound of running water. The peacefulness of that place, the richness of its vegetation, and the murmur of its streams pleased Him. Two days later, Siyyid Husayn-i-Yazdí, Siyyid Hasan, Mullá ‘Abdu’l-Karím, and Shaykh Hasan-i-Zunúzí joined Him and lodged near His tent.

Then, on the twelfth day after Naw-Rúz, two men arrived from Tihrán: Mullá Mihdíy-i-Khú’í and Mullá Muhammad-Mihdíy-i-Kandí. The latter had been closely associated with Bahá’u’lláh in Tihrán. He carried from Him a sealed letter and gifts.

The effect was immediate. The Báb’s face glowed with joy. He overwhelmed the bearer with gratitude. That message, received at an hour of uncertainty and suspense, imparted solace and strength. It dispelled the gloom that had settled on His heart and imbued His soul with the certainty of victory. The sadness that had deepened since the days of His arrest began to lift. The tears of anguish that had streamed from His eyes since Shíráz, the cry of “Beloved, My Well-Beloved” that He had uttered in His bitter grief and loneliness, gave way to thanksgiving, hope, and triumph. That exultation never left His face until the disaster at Shaykh Tabarsí brought grief again.

Then came the night that Mullá ‘Abdu’l-Karím would later recount.

He and his companions were asleep near the Báb’s tent when the trampling of horsemen woke them. The tent was empty. The guards had gone out searching and failed to find Him. Panic spread. Muhammad Big alone refused it. “Why feel disturbed?” he said. “Are not His magnanimity and nobleness of soul sufficiently established in your eyes to convince you that He will never, for the sake of His own safety, consent to involve others in embarrassment? He, no doubt, must have retired, in the silence of this moonlit night, to a place where He can seek undisturbed communion with God. He will unquestionably return. He will never desert us.”

In his eagerness to reassure the others, Muhammad Big set out on foot along the road that led toward Tihrán. Mullá ‘Abdu’l-Karím and his companions followed. Behind them, the rest of the guards came riding on horseback. They had covered about a maydán when, in the dim light of early dawn, they saw a lone figure coming toward them from the direction of the capital.

“Did you believe Me to have escaped?” the Báb said as He approached Muhammad Big.

“Far be it from me to entertain such thoughts,” was the instant reply. Muhammad Big flung himself at the Báb’s feet.

No one dared ask what had happened. A look of confidence had settled over that face. His words were invested with a power none of them had heard before. A feeling of profound reverence wrapped their very souls. Whatever had passed in those hours between the moonlit hillside and the road to Tihrán, it silenced every question.

For a fortnight the Báb stayed at Kulayn. Then a letter arrived that ended the pause. Muhammad Sháh himself had written: “Much as we desire to meet you, we find ourself unable, in view of our immediate departure from our capital, to receive you befittingly in Tihrán. We have signified our desire that you be conducted to Máh-Kú, and have issued the necessary instructions to ‘Alí Khán, the warden of the castle, to treat you with respect and consideration. It is our hope and intention to summon you to this place upon our return to the seat of our government.”

The courtesy of that letter barely disguised the fear behind it. Hají Mírzá Áqásí had finally succeeded in persuading the Sháh not to meet the Báb. The Grand Vizier was terrified that a single audience would destroy his own position and overthrow him from power. He held no personal malice. He simply could not risk letting the king hear what the Prisoner might say. So he won his point. The Báb was turned away from the capital and sent north toward a mountain prison in Ádhirbayján.

By that act, the Grand Vizier withheld from his sovereign the one encounter that might have changed everything, for the throne, for the country, and for the empire that was already declining under his own extravagance and misrule. He could not see it. He had the example of Sa’d-i-Ma’adh, who through devotion to the Cause of Muhammad had attained a station revered by rulers for centuries afterward. He had the warning of Buzurg-Mihr, the ablest administrator in Persia’s history, who was thrown into a pit and wept until he lost his sight. Neither precedent touched him. Within two years Áqásí’s properties were confiscated by the state. He was stripped of rank and expelled from Tihrán in disgrace. He died in Karbilá, bereft of hope, consumed by poverty and disease.

The Báb was ordered to proceed to Tabríz. The same escort under Muhammad Big attended Him. He chose Siyyid Husayn-i-Yazdí as His companion and Siyyid Hasan as His attendant. He refused to spend on Himself the funds the government provided for the journey. Every allowance the state gave, He bestowed on the poor. For His own needs He used only the money He had earned as a merchant in Búshihr and Shíráz.

Orders had been given to avoid the towns. But the road kept slipping out of official control. At the village of Síyáh-Dihán, believers from Qazvín came out to meet Him. One of them was Mullá Iskandar, who had been delegated by Hujjat to investigate the Báb’s Cause. The Báb commissioned him to deliver a message to Sulaymán Khán-i-Afshár, a great admirer of the late Siyyid Kázim: “He whose virtues the late siyyid unceasingly extolled, and to the approach of whose Revelation he continually alluded, is now revealed. I am that promised One. Arise and deliver Me from the hand of the oppressor.”

Within three days that message reached Sulaymán Khán. He failed to respond.

But Hujjat responded. Though incarcerated in Tihrán, he heard the Báb’s appeal and acted. He instructed the believers of his native city to collect the necessary forces, to proceed with caution, and at the right moment to seize and carry the Báb to whatever place He desired. They were joined by believers from Qazvín and Tihrán. Together they overtook the guards at midnight and found them fast asleep. They approached the Báb and begged Him to flee.

“The mountains of Ádhirbayján too have their claims,” He answered, and lovingly advised them to abandon their plan and return to their homes.

At the gate of Tabríz, Muhammad Big could no longer contain what the journey had done to him. He sought the Báb’s presence with tears in his eyes. “The journey from Isfahán has been long and arduous,” he said. “I have failed to do my duty and to serve You as I ought. I crave Your forgiveness, and pray You to vouchsafe me Your blessings.”

“Be assured,” the Báb replied, “I account you a member of My fold. They who embrace My Cause will eternally bless and glorify you, will extol your conduct and exalt your name.”

The rest of the guards followed their chief. They implored His blessing, kissed His feet, and with tears bade Him farewell. To each, the Báb expressed His gratitude and assured them of His prayers. Then, reluctantly, they delivered Him into the hands of the governor of Tabríz, the heir to the throne of Muhammad Sháh. Afterward, to everyone they met, those guards recounted with awe and admiration the things they had seen and heard. By their testimony they helped spread the knowledge of a Revelation they had been sent to suppress.

The believers of Tabríz had all set out to meet Him. The officials refused to let them draw near. But one young believer could not be held back. He ran barefoot through the gate of the city and half a farsang out from Tabríz, desperate to look upon his Beloved. When he reached the horsemen advancing ahead of the Báb, he seized the hem of one guard’s garment and kissed his stirrups. “Ye are the companions of my Well-Beloved,” he cried through his tears. “I cherish you as the apple of my eye.”

They were amazed. They let him through. The moment his eyes fell on the Báb, a cry of exultation broke from his lips. He fell on his face and wept. The Báb dismounted from His horse, put His arms around the young man, wiped away his tears, and soothed the agitation of his heart. Of all the believers of Tabríz, that youth alone succeeded in offering his homage and being blessed by the touch of the Báb’s hand.

After that, concealment was impossible. A tumultuous crowd gathered to witness His entry into the city. Some were driven by curiosity. Others wanted to test the wild reports. Still others were believers who had come to pledge their loyalty. As He walked along the streets, acclamations rose on every side. Most who saw His face greeted Him with the shout of “Alláh-u-Akbar.” Others glorified and cheered Him. Some invoked the blessings of God. Some kissed the dust of His footsteps.

The authorities answered the only way they knew. A crier was sent through the streets: “Whosoever shall make any attempt to approach the Siyyid-i-Báb, or seek to meet him, all his possessions shall forthwith be seized and he himself condemned to perpetual imprisonment.”

It made no difference. The Báb was conducted to one of the chief houses of Tabríz and confined there. A detachment of the Nasírí regiment stood guard at the entrance. Except for Siyyid Husayn and his brother, neither the public nor His followers were permitted to meet Him. The same regiment, recruited from the inhabitants of Khamsíh and honoured with special distinction, would later be chosen to discharge the volley that caused His death.

The next day, Hají Muhammad-Taqíy-i-Milání, a noted merchant, ventured with Hají ‘Alí-‘Askar to visit the Báb. Friends warned them that they risked confiscation of everything they owned and imprisonment for life. They went anyway. At the door they were arrested. But Siyyid Hasan, coming out at that moment from the Báb’s presence, intervened. “I am commanded by the Siyyid-i-Báb to convey to you this message,” he declared. “‘Suffer these visitors to enter, inasmuch as I Myself have invited them to meet Me.’”

The guards fell silent. The two merchants were ushered into His presence. The Báb greeted them: “These miserable wretches who watch at the gate of My house have been destined by Me as a protection against the inrush of the multitude who throng around the house. They are powerless to prevent those whom I desire to meet from attaining My presence.”

For two hours they stayed with Him. Before they left, He entrusted Hají ‘Alí-‘Askar with two cornelian ringstones and instructed him to have carved on them two verses He had given, to have them mounted and brought back. He assured them that whenever they wished to return, no one would hinder them.

Hají ‘Alí-‘Askar would later testify that he visited the Báb several more times without meeting the slightest opposition from the guards. Years earlier, when he had travelled with Mullá Husayn from Shíráz to Mashhad, through Yazd, Tabas, Bushrúyih, and Turbat, and mourned that he had missed the chance to meet the Báb, Mullá Husayn had told him: “Grieve not. The Almighty is no doubt able to compensate you in Tabríz for the loss you have sustained in Shíráz. Not once, but seven times, can He enable you to partake of the joy of His presence.”

On Hají ‘Alí-‘Askar’s seventh visit to the Báb in Tabríz, the Báb spoke: “Praise be to God, who has enabled you to complete the number of your visits and who has extended to you His loving protection.”

The state sent Him north to bury His influence in a mountain prison. Every mile of that journey spread the thing it was meant to contain. Guards offered to defy their orders. A prisoner refused His own rescue. A barefoot youth ran out from the city gate. Armed men kissed the feet of the man they were delivering into captivity. A crier’s threat only proved how deeply the city had already been stirred.

And the regiment that stood watch at the door of His confinement would, in the end, be the one to fire.