The Dawning Light
Episode XXI: Under the Black Standard
In Mazindaran, the Black Standard was raised, and a gathering of believers moved toward a trial that would test everything.
The Dawning Light
Episode XXI: Under the Black Standard
In the same month that the Báb was struck in Tabríz and Bahá’u’lláh was attacked with His companions at Níyálá, Mullá Husayn returned to Mashhad. He was due to leave for Karbilá seven days later with whomever he chose. Prince Hamzih Mírzá offered him money for the road. He sent it back with a message: spend it on the poor. ‘Abdu’l-‘Alí Khán offered to cover the expenses of his entire party. Mullá Husayn accepted only two things, a sword and a horse.
His house was under siege, but by devotion. Crowds pressed against the doors begging to follow him. Mothers brought their sons. Sisters brought their brothers. They implored him, in tears, to accept them as offerings on the altar of sacrifice.
Then a messenger arrived from the Báb bearing a green turban and a new name: Siyyid ‘Alí. The message was direct. “Adorn your head with My green turban, the emblem of My lineage, and, with the Black Standard unfurled before you, hasten to the Jazíriy-i-Khadrá, and lend your assistance to My beloved Quddús.”
Mullá Husayn obeyed at once. A farsang from Mashhad, he hoisted the Black Standard, placed the Báb’s turban on his head, assembled his companions, mounted his steed, and gave the signal to march. Two hundred and two followed him. That day was the nineteenth of Sha’bán, 1264. In village after village they proclaimed the new Day and gathered those who responded. In Nishápúr, Haji ‘Abdu’l-Majíd, the father of Badí, owner of the finest turquoise mine in the region, forsook every honor his native town had given him and pledged his loyalty. In the village of Miyamay, thirty inhabitants declared their faith and joined the company. All but one of them would die at Shaykh Tabarsí.
At Chashmih-‘Alí, near Dámghán, on the highroad to Mázindarán, Mullá Husayn halted. He encamped beneath a great tree beside a running stream. “We stand at the parting of the ways,” he told his companions. “We shall await His decree as to which direction we should take.” Toward the end of the month of Shavval, a fierce gale struck and tore down a large branch. Mullá Husayn read the sign aloud: “The tree of the sovereignty of Muhammad Sháh has, by the will of God, been uprooted and hurled to the ground.” Three days later, a messenger on his way to Mashhad arrived from Tihrán and confirmed it. The king was dead.
The following day the company set out for Mázindarán. As they left, Mullá Husayn pointed toward the road ahead. “This is the way that leads to our Karbilá. Whoever is unprepared for the great trials that lie before us, let him now repair to his home and give up the journey.” He repeated that warning several times. Near Savád-Kúh, he stated it plainly: “I, together with seventy-two of my companions, shall suffer death for the sake of the Well-Beloved. Whoso is unable to renounce the world, let him now at this very moment depart, for later on he will be unable to escape.” Twenty turned back.
The news of their approach to Barfurúsh alarmed the Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’. The growing popularity of Mullá Husayn, the circumstances of his departure from Mashhad, the Black Standard that waved before him, and above all the number, discipline, and enthusiasm of his companions, all of it kindled the implacable hatred of that mujtahid. He sent the crier to summon every soul in Barfurúsh to the masjid for a sermon of such momentous consequence that no loyal adherent of Islám could afford to ignore it.
An immense crowd of men and women thronged the masjid. They watched him ascend the pulpit, fling his turban to the ground, tear open the neck of his shirt, and cry out: “Awake, for our enemies stand at our very doors, ready to wipe out all that we cherish as pure and holy in Islám! Should we fail to resist them, none will be left to survive their onslaught.” He told them how Mullá Husayn had once come alone and attended his classes, had ignored him with disdain, and had flung him a challenge even while Muhammad Sháh still sat upon his throne. What excesses, he demanded, would this man not commit now that the protecting hand of the Sháh had been withdrawn? “It is the duty of all the inhabitants of Barfurúsh, both young and old, both men and women, to arm themselves against these contemptible wreckers of Islám, and by every means in their power to resist their onset. Tomorrow, at the hour of dawn, let all of you arise and march out to exterminate their forces.”
The entire congregation rose in response. They armed themselves with every weapon they could find or devise, and at break of day they poured out of Barfurúsh to face the enemy.
But Mullá Husayn had already given the opposite command. After offering his morning prayer, he told his companions to discard all their possessions. “Leave behind all your belongings,” he urged them, “and content yourselves only with your steeds and swords, that all may witness your renunciation of all earthly things, and may realise that this little band of God’s chosen companions has no desire to safeguard its own property, much less to covet the property of others.” They obeyed at once. The father of Badí was the first. He threw aside his satchel, which held a considerable amount of turquoise brought from his father’s mine, undoubtedly his most treasured possession, and clung instead to the desire of his leader.
A farsang from Barfurúsh, the road closed. A multitude fully equipped with arms and ammunition blocked their way. Curses fell from every mouth. The companions made as if to draw their swords. “Not yet,” Mullá Husayn commanded. “Not until the aggressor forces us to protect ourselves must our swords leave their scabbards.” Before the words had died, gunfire answered. Six companions were hurled to the ground. One of the fallen cried out: “Beloved leader, we have risen and followed you with no desire except to sacrifice ourselves in the path of the Cause we have embraced. Allow us to defend ourselves, and suffer us not to fall so disgracefully a victim to the fire of the enemy.” “The time is not yet come,” Mullá Husayn replied. “The number is as yet incomplete.” Then a bullet pierced the breast of a siyyid from Yazd who had walked the entire way from Mashhad to stand with him, one of his staunchest supporters.
At the sight of that man fallen dead at his feet, Mullá Husayn raised his eyes to heaven and prayed: “Behold, O God, my God, the plight of Thy chosen companions, and witness the welcome which these people have accorded Thy loved ones. Thou knowest that we cherish no other desire than to guide them to the way of Truth. Thou hast Thyself commanded us to defend our lives against the assaults of the enemy. Faithful to Thy command, I now arise with my companions to resist the attack which they have launched against us.”
He unsheathed his sword, spurred his horse into the midst of the enemy, and pursued the man who had fired the killing shot. The assailant fled behind a tree and lifted his musket as a shield. Mullá Husayn rode straight at him. With a single stroke, he cut through the trunk of the tree, the barrel of the musket, and the body of his adversary. The force of that stroke confounded the enemy and paralyzed their efforts. All fled in panic.
What followed next was told by Qambar-‘Alí, who was the only man able to keep up. Mullá Husayn threw himself headlong upon his enemies, striking down each man who dared assail him. Unmindful of the bullets raining upon him, he forced his way through their ranks and rode straight for Barfurúsh. He circled the residence of the Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’ three times and cried out: “Let that contemptible coward, who has incited the inhabitants of this town to wage holy warfare against us and has ignominiously concealed himself behind the walls of his house, emerge from his inglorious retreat. Let him, by his example, demonstrate the sincerity of his appeal and the righteousness of his cause. Has he forgotten that he who preaches a holy war must needs himself march at the head of his followers?”
His voice drowned the clamor of the multitude. The inhabitants of Barfurúsh surrendered. The cry rose: “Peace, peace!” At that same moment the rest of his companions came galloping in from every direction, shouting “Yá Sáhibu’z-Zamán!”, a cry that struck dismay into every heart. Each companion approached Mullá Husayn and kissed his stirrups. He sat erect upon his horse, unhurt.
To the crowd gathered around him, he spoke: “O followers of the Prophet of God, and shí’ahs of the imáms of His Faith! Why have you risen against us? Why deem the shedding of our blood an act meritorious in the sight of God? Did we ever repudiate the truth of your Faith? Is this the hospitality which the Apostle of God has enjoined His followers to accord to both the faithful and the infidel?” He reminded them that he alone, with no weapon but his sword, had faced their rain of bullets and emerged unscathed. Both his person and his horse had escaped unhurt. Except for a slight scratch on his face, they had been powerless to wound him. “God has protected me,” he said, “and willed to establish in your eyes the ascendancy of His Faith.”
Immediately after, Mullá Husayn proceeded to the caravanserai of Sabzih-Maydán. He dismounted and stood at the entrance, waiting for his companions. When they had gathered inside, he sent for bread and water. The men returned empty-handed. Neither bread from the baker nor water from the square could be found.
Mullá Husayn ordered the gates shut. He gathered his companions and asked them to remain with him until sunset. As evening approached, he asked who among them would be willing to renounce his life, climb to the roof, and sound the adhán. A youth rose gladly. No sooner had the opening words of “Alláh-u-Akbar” dropped from his lips than a bullet struck him dead. “Let another one among you arise,” Mullá Husayn urged, “and, with the selfsame renunciation, proceed with the prayer which that youth was unable to finish.” A second youth sprang to his feet. He had uttered no more than “I bear witness that Muhammad is the Apostle of God” when another bullet struck him down. A third youth attempted to finish the prayer. As he was approaching the end, uttering the words “There is no God but God,” he, too, fell.
Then Mullá Husayn threw open the gate. He leaped on horseback, gave the signal, and led the charge into the Sabzih-Maydán. By evening the entire crowd had vanished. The Maydán, which hours before had overflowed with a seething mass of opponents, was deserted. Bestrewn with the bodies of the slain, it bore witness to what had happened there.
That victory brought the nobles and chiefs of the people to him on foot, pleading for mercy. “God is our witness,” they said, “that we harbour no intention but that of establishing peace and reconciliation between us.” Mullá Husayn dismounted and invited them into the caravanserai. “We, unlike the people of this town, know how to receive the stranger in our midst,” he said, and ordered tea. They told him the Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’ alone was responsible. They urged him to leave for Ámul the next day while the town was calm. Mullá Husayn, though hinting at their insincerity, consented. Abbás-Qulí Khán-i-Laríjání and Haji Mustafa Khán rose together and, swearing on the Qur’án they had brought with them, declared they would treat his party as guests that night and send Khusraw-i-Qádí-Kalá’í with a hundred horsemen to escort them safely through Shír-Gáh. “The malediction of God and His Prophets be upon us,” they added, “both in this world and in the next, if we ever allow the slightest injury to be inflicted upon you and your party.”
That same night, the Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’ summoned Khusraw in secret. He ordered that at whatever place and time Khusraw chose, the entire property of the party should be seized and every man put to death. Even Khusraw recoiled. “Are these not the followers of Islám?” he said. “Have not these same people preferred to sacrifice three of their companions rather than leave unfinished the call to prayer they had raised? How could we, who cherish such designs and perpetrate such acts, be regarded as worthy of that name?” The Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’ was unmoved. “Slay them,” he said, pointing with his finger to his neck, “and be not afraid. I hold myself responsible for your act. I will, on the Day of Judgment, be answerable to God in your name.”
At sunrise, Qambar-‘Alí raised the cry: “Mount your steeds, O heroes of God!” The party set out. Khusraw and his horsemen marched in formation around them, a detachment in front, the rest on both flanks and behind, with Khusraw himself riding abreast of Mullá Husayn in the center. They were to reach Shír-Gáh by noon. Two hours after sunrise, Khusraw turned them into the forest.
As soon as they had entered it, he gave the signal. His men threw themselves upon the companions, seized their property, killed a number, among them the brother of Mullá Sadiq, and captured the rest. The cry of agony reached Mullá Husayn, who halted and dismounted. “The hour of midday is long past,” he told Khusraw. “We still have not attained our destination. I refuse to proceed further with you; I can dispense with your guidance and company and that of your men.” He turned to Qambar-‘Alí and asked for his prayer-mat. He began his ablutions. While he was still washing, Khusraw sent an attendant to demand his sword and his horse. Mullá Husayn gave no reply and continued toward prayer.
Then Mírzá Muhammad-Taqíy-i-Juvayní, a man of literary gifts and fearless courage, went to the attendant preparing the qulayn and asked to carry it to Khusraw himself. The request was granted. Mírzá Muhammad-Taqí bent as if to kindle the fire. Then he thrust his hand into Khusraw’s robe, drew the dagger hidden there, and plunged it to the hilt into his body.
Mullá Husayn was still at prayer when the cry of “Yá Sáhibu’z-Zamán!” rose again. The companions struck down the treacherous escort. Only the attendant who had prepared the qulayn survived, terrified, he fell at Mullá Husayn’s feet and begged for his life. He was given Khusraw’s bejeweled qulayn and sent back to Barfurúsh with a message for Abbás-Qulí Khán: “Tell him how faithfully Khusraw discharged his mission. That false miscreant foolishly imagined that my mission had come to an end, that both my sword and my horse had fulfilled their function. Little did he know that their work had but just begun, that until the services which they can render are entirely accomplished, neither his power nor the power of any man beside him can wrest them from me.”
At dawn Mullá Husayn gathered them again. “We are approaching our Karbilá,” he said, “our ultimate destination.” He set out on foot. He ordered his companions to leave behind everything, even the belongings of Khusraw and his men, and carry nothing but swords and horses. “It behoves you to arrive at that hallowed spot in a state of complete detachment, wholly sanctified from all that pertains to this world.”
He had walked the distance of a maydán when he reached the shrine of Shaykh Tabarsí. The Shaykh had been a transmitter of the traditions of the imáms, and his burial-place was visited by the people of the neighborhood. Mullá Husayn recited a verse of the Qur’án: “O my Lord, bless Thou my arrival at this place, for Thou alone canst vouchsafe such blessings.”
The guardian of the shrine had dreamed, the night before, that the Imám Husayn had arrived there with no fewer than seventy-two warriors and a great company, and that they engaged in the most heroic of battles, triumphing in every encounter. When Mullá Husayn appeared, the guardian recognized him at once as the hero he had seen in his vision. He threw himself at his feet and kissed them. Mullá Husayn invited him to sit, heard his story, and assured him: “All that you have witnessed will come to pass. Those glorious scenes will again be enacted before your eyes.” That servant threw in his lot with the defenders and fell a martyr within the walls.
On the very day of their arrival, the fourteenth of Dhi’l-Qádih, Mullá Husayn gave Mírzá Muhammad-Báqir the preliminary instructions for the design of the fort. Toward evening, horsemen burst from the forest. “We are of the inhabitants of Qádí-Kalá!” they shouted. “We come to avenge the blood of Khusraw. Not until we have put you all to the sword shall we be satisfied.” Besieged again, the companions drew their swords. The cry of “Yá Sáhibu’z-Zamán!” they raised was so tremendous that the horsemen vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. Mírzá Muhammad-Taqíy-i-Juvayní had, at his own request, assumed command of that encounter.
Fearing a return, he pursued the attackers until they reached a village they thought was Qádí-Kalá. The men fled. But in the darkness and confusion, the mother of Nazar Khán, the village’s owner, was inadvertently killed. When the outcries of the women revealed the mistake, Mírzá Muhammad-Taqí halted his companions at once. “We did not intend to molest either the men or the women of this village,” he said. “Our sole purpose was to curb the violence of the people of Qádí-Kalá, who were about to put us all to death.”
Nazar Khán, who had hidden in his house, was moved by the sincerity of the regret. He came forward. He asked to be introduced to Mullá Husayn. At dawn, he arrived at the shrine and found Mullá Husayn leading the congregational prayer. Such was the rapture on his countenance that Nazar Khán felt an irresistible impulse to join the worshippers and repeat the very prayers falling from their lips. When Mullá Husayn was told of his loss, he spoke with the deepest sympathy. “God knows that our sole intention was to protect our lives rather than disturb the peace of the neighbourhood.” Nazar Khán replied: “Afflict not your heart. Would that a hundred sons had been given me, all of whom I would have joyously placed at your feet and offered as a sacrifice to the Sáhibu’z-Zamán!” He pledged his loyalty on the spot and went back for provisions.
Under constant harassment from the neighboring villages, driven by the Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’s instigations, the companions built the fort. Every attack ended in failure. When the work was complete, Mullá Husayn undertook whatever preparations he could for the siege that was coming.
Then Shaykh Abú-Turáb arrived with news that changed everything. Bahá’u’lláh had reached Nazar Khán’s village and had sent word: every companion was to be His guest that night, and He Himself would join them that afternoon.
Mírzá Muhammad-i-Furúghí, who was present, remembered what followed. Mullá Husayn was seized with a joy that defied description. He rushed to his companions and ordered them to prepare. He himself joined them in sweeping the approaches to the shrine and sprinkling water on the path. He attended to every detail of the welcome in person. When Bahá’u’lláh appeared with Nazar Khán, Mullá Husayn ran forward, embraced Him, and led Him to the place of honor. “We were too blind in those days,” Mírzá Muhammad-i-Furúghí later said, “to recognise the glory of Him whom our leader had introduced with such reverence and love into our midst. What Mullá Husayn had perceived, our dull vision was as yet unable to recognise. He was so lost in admiration that he was utterly oblivious of us all. His soul was so wrapt in contemplation of that countenance that we who were awaiting his permission to be seated were kept standing a long time beside him.” It was Bahá’u’lláh Himself who finally told them to sit.
Bahá’u’lláh inspected the fort and expressed His satisfaction. In His conversation with Mullá Husayn, He explained in detail whatever was vital to the welfare and safety of the companions. Then He named the one thing the fort still lacked. “The one thing this fort and company require is the presence of Quddús. His association with this company would render it complete and perfect.” He instructed Mullá Husayn to send Mullá Mihdíy-i-Khú’í with six companions to Sarí and demand that Mírzá Muhammad-Taqí surrender Quddús. “The fear of God and the dread of His punishment will prompt him to surrender unhesitatingly his captive.”
Before He departed, Bahá’u’lláh spoke to them all: “If it be His will, We shall once again visit you at this same spot, and shall lend you Our assistance. You have been chosen of God to be the vanguard of His host and the establishers of His Faith. His host verily will conquer. Whatever may befall, victory is yours, a victory which is complete and certain.” Then He committed them to God and left with Nazar Khán and Shaykh Abú-Turáb, departing by way of Núr toward Tihrán.
The message to Sarí worked as Bahá’u’lláh had said it would. Mírzá Muhammad-Taqí, the mujtahid who held Quddús, surrendered without resistance. “I have regarded him only as an honoured guest in my house,” he insisted. “He is at liberty to do as he desires.”
Before Quddús arrived, Mullá Husayn gathered the companions and told them how they must receive him. They were to show him the reverence they would show the Báb Himself. “As to myself,” he said, “you must consider me as his lowly servant. You should bear him such loyalty that if he were to command you to take my life, you would unhesitatingly obey. If you waver or hesitate, you will have shown your disloyalty to your Faith.”
Quddús came at night. The moment word of his approach reached the fort, Mullá Husayn sprang to his feet. He gathered about a hundred companions, placed two candles in each man’s hands, and lit them himself. The darkness of the night was dispelled by the radiance those hearts carried as they marched into the forest of Mázindarán. Their eyes found the face they had longed to see. They pressed around his steed, and with every mark of devotion paid their tribute. Still holding their candles, they followed him on foot. As the company wound through the forest toward the fort, they raised a hymn: “Holy, holy, the Lord our God, the Lord of the angels and the spirit!” Mullá Husayn lifted the refrain, and the entire company responded, until the forest of Mázindarán echoed with it.
They reached the shrine. Quddús dismounted, leaned against it, and spoke: “The Baqíyyatu’lláh will be best for you if ye are of those who believe.” Then he turned to Mullá Husayn and asked about Bahá’u’lláh.
Mullá Husayn was ordered to count the assembled companions. One by one he passed them through the gate. Three hundred and twelve. He was entering the fort to report the total when a youth came running on foot from Barfurúsh, seized the hem of his garment, and begged to be enrolled. His wish was granted. When Quddús heard the number, three hundred and thirteen, he said: “Whatever the tongue of the Prophet of God has spoken concerning the promised One must needs be fulfilled, that thereby His testimony may be complete.”
Every morning and every afternoon, Quddús summoned Mullá Husayn and the leading companions and had the writings of the Báb recited. Seated in the Maydán, the open square beside the fort, surrounded by his devoted friends, he listened, commented, and occasionally was heard to say: “My soul is wedded to Thy mention! Remembrance of Thee is the stay and solace of my life!” Neither bullets nor fire could break his regularity. He continued writing, praying, and rousing the defenders even under the most distressing bombardment. “With somewhat of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and lives and fruits, will We surely prove you,” he recited from the Qur’án, and then explained: “These words were originally revealed with reference to Job. In this day, however, they are applicable to us. Such will be the measure of our calamity that none but he who has been endowed with constancy and patience will be able to survive them.”
The Sa’ídu’l-‘Ulamá’, enraged that the fort still stood and that relief still reached it, addressed a burning appeal to Násiri’d-Dín Sháh, who had just ascended the throne. “The standard of revolt has been raised by the contemptible sect of the Bábís,” he wrote. “This wretched band has dared to strike at the very foundations of the authority with which your Imperial Majesty has been invested. They have built themselves a fort, and in that massive stronghold they have entrenched themselves, ready to direct a campaign against you. You stand at the threshold of your reign. What greater triumph could signalise the inauguration of your rule than to extirpate this hateful creed?”
The young Sháh, inexperienced in the affairs of state, referred the matter to his officers. Haji Mustafa Khán-i-Turkamán dismissed the defenders as unworthy of concern, a handful of untrained, frail-bodied students. He proposed that his brother, ‘Abdu’lláh Khán-i-Turkamán, be given authority to crush them, and predicted it would take no more than two days. The Sháh consented and sent his farmán with a royal badge.
Within a short time, ‘Abdu’lláh Khán had raised an army of about twelve thousand men, composed largely of the Usanlu, the Afghán, and the Kudar communities, and stationed them at the village of Afra, on the height above the fort. He cut off the daily bread. Soon he cut off the water.
Quddús forbade his companions to go out for water. At sunset, as he viewed the army from the terrace of the fort with Mullá Husayn beside him, Rasúl-i-Bahnimírí complained: “Our bread has been intercepted. What will befall us if water should likewise be denied us?” Quddús answered: “God willing, this very night a downpour of rain will overtake our opponents, followed by a heavy snowfall, which will assist us to repulse their contemplated assault.”
That night, a torrential rain overwhelmed the section of the army nearest the fort. Much of their ammunition was ruined. Water gathered within the walls, enough for the besieged for a long time to come. The following night brought a snowfall such as the neighborhood had never seen, even in the depth of winter.
On the evening before the fifth of Muharram, 1265, Quddús paced the approaches to the gate with calm serenity. “Praise be to God,” he said, “who has graciously answered our prayer and caused both rain and snow to fall upon our enemies; a fall that has brought desolation into their camp and refreshment into our fort.”
Two hours after sunrise, Quddús mounted his steed. Mullá Husayn rode beside him, with three other companions flanking them. Behind them the entire company followed on foot. As soon as they emerged from the gate, the cry of “Yá Sáhibu’z-Zamán!” pealed out, a cry that shook the forest and scattered the enemy in ambush among its trees. Within forty-five minutes, the army was broken. ‘Abdu’lláh Khán-i-Turkamán, with two of his officers, Habíbu’lláh Khán-i-Afghán and Núru’lláh Khán-i-Afghán, and four hundred and thirty of his men, were dead.
Mullá Husayn was still pressing the pursuit when the voice of Siyyid ‘Abdu’l-‘Azím-i-Khú’í rang out, summoning him back on behalf of Quddús. “We have repulsed the assailants,” Quddús told him. “We need not carry further the punishment. Our purpose is to protect ourselves that we may be able to continue our labours for the regeneration of men. We have no intention whatever of causing unnecessary harm to anyone.” The companions were again commanded to take nothing but swords and horses. Not one of them had been killed. Only a man named Qulí, who had ridden in advance of Quddús, was badly wounded.
Nineteen days later, Prince Mihdí-Qulí Mírzá advanced toward the fort at the head of a new army and encamped first at Shír-Gáh, then at Vas-Kas. He sent a messenger to learn Mullá Husayn’s purpose. Mullá Husayn’s reply was plain: “We utterly disclaim any intention either of subverting the foundations of the monarchy or of usurping the authority of Násiri’d-Dín Sháh. Our Cause concerns the revelation of the promised Qá’im and is primarily associated with the interests of the ecclesiastical order of this country.” He asked that the ‘ulamás of Sarí and Barfurúsh be summoned, that the Qur’án decide the case, and that the prince himself pronounce the verdict. The messenger wept. He promised the meeting within three days.
It never happened.
Three days after, the prince launched his attack. Three regiments of infantry, several regiments of cavalry, positioned on the heights above the fort. Before dawn, in darkness, snow, and mud, the gate opened. At the signal, “Mount your steeds, O heroes of God!”, Quddús rode toward Vas-Kas with Mullá Husayn and two hundred and two companions behind him. Mullá Husayn forced his way through the gate of the prince’s stronghold and burst into his private apartments. The prince threw himself from a back window into the moat and fled barefoot into the night. Two other princes of royal blood fell in the fighting. In the rooms they found coffers filled with gold and silver. They did not touch them. They found the prince’s prison. Mullá Yúsúf-i-Ardibílí, who had been captured on his way to the fort and was languishing among the prisoners, called out and interceded for his fellow captives. All were released.
Then the battle turned. Mullá Husayn was watching the enemy when an innumerable host charged from both sides. All rose and cried “Yá Sáhibu’z-Zamán!” Mullá Husayn spurred his horse one way, Quddús and the companions another. The detachment chasing Mullá Husayn broke off and joined forces with the rest, surrounding Quddús. At a given moment, they discharged a thousand bullets at once, the sound of it heard ten farsangs away. One struck Quddús in the mouth, knocking out several of his teeth and wounding both tongue and throat.
Mullá Husayn reached him at a run. The sight of blood pouring from his leader’s mouth struck him with fear. He raised his hands in horror. Quddús stopped him. He placed his own sword in Mullá Husayn’s hand and sent him back into the fight. With a hundred and ten companions, wielding the sword of Quddús in one hand and the captured sword of the prince in the other, Mullá Husayn broke the army again. Within thirty minutes, every regiment was in flight.
Back at the fort, Quddús wrote to those who wept over his wound: “We should submit to whatever is the will of God. We should stand firm and steadfast in the hour of trial. The stone of the infidel broke the teeth of the Prophet of God; mine have fallen as a result of the bullet of the enemy. Though my body be afflicted, my soul is immersed in gladness. My gratitude to God knows no bounds. If you love me, suffer not that this joy be obscured by the sight of your lamentations.”
In the beginning of that same month, Bahá’u’lláh had set out from Núr for the fort with several companions, among them Haji Mírzá Jání, Mullá Báqir, one of the Letters of the Living, and His brother Mírzá Yahyá. He wished to press straight through and arrive by night, knowing that strict orders against any help reaching the fort had been in force since ‘Abdu’lláh Khán’s command. Guards were posted everywhere. But His companions urged Him to halt and rest. He knew the risk. He yielded. They stopped at a lonely house beside the road. After supper they all slept. He alone remained awake.
In the night, the enemy’s agents informed the local guards. The party was seized. “The matter has been misrepresented in your eyes,” Bahá’u’lláh told the guards. “I would advise you to act in a manner that will cause you eventually no regret.” As they were led toward Ámul, and as they approached a river, Bahá’u’lláh signaled to His companions, who rode at some distance from the guards, to cast their manuscripts into the water.
At Ámul’s masjid, the acting governor summoned the ‘ulamás and the leading siyyids of the town. When he saw Bahá’u’lláh, he recognized Him at once and deeply regretted the orders he had given. But the crowd filled the masjid, and retreat was impossible. Bahá’u’lláh answered every question directly. Then the ‘ulamás found a manuscript in the possession of one of His companions, writings of the Báb. The chief divine read a few lines, laid it aside, and declared to the assembly: “These people, who advance such extravagant claims, have, in this very sentence, betrayed their ignorance of the most rudimentary rules of orthography.” Bahá’u’lláh replied: “Esteemed and learned divine, these words which you criticise are not the words of the Báb. They have been uttered by no less a personage than the Imám ‘Alí, the Commander of the Faithful, in his reply to Kumayl-ibn-i-Ziyad.”
The mujtahid fell silent. A siyyid shouted that this proved Bahá’u’lláh Himself was a Bábí and a leading expounder of the sect. He demanded death. The crowd seconded him. The acting governor, cornered, ordered the rods.
The first bound for punishment was Mullá Báqir. “I am only a groom of Bahá’u’lláh,” he urged. Bahá’u’lláh interceded and freed him. Haji Mírzá Jání was next. “He is a mere tradesman whom I regard as My guest,” Bahá’u’lláh said. “I am responsible for any charges brought against him.” Mírzá Yahyá was bound. Bahá’u’lláh declared him His attendant. Then He said: “None of these men are guilty of any crime. If you insist on inflicting your punishment, I offer Myself as a willing Victim of your chastisement.”
He alone received the bastinado. What the Báb had suffered five months earlier in Tabríz, Bahá’u’lláh now suffered in the masjid of Ámul.
The acting governor still tried to shield Him. He secretly ordered his men to open a passage through the wall of the room where the captives were held and to transfer Bahá’u’lláh to his own home. He was conducting Him through the street when a siyyid sprang forward with a club. The acting governor threw himself between them. “He adjured him by the Prophet of God” to stay his hand. “What!” the siyyid shouted. “How dare you release a man who is the sworn enemy of the Faith of our fathers?” A crowd of ruffians gathered, howling. Despite the tumult, the attendants brought Bahá’u’lláh safely to the governor’s house.
The governor later returned from the fort. What he had seen of the defenders had changed him. He rebuked the people of Ámul. “For what reason have these miserable wretches chosen to treat so disrespectfully a guest whose hands are tied and who has not been given the chance to defend himself?” He went to Bahá’u’lláh and apologized. He served Him with devotion. He arranged the safe departure of Bahá’u’lláh and His companions for Tihrán.
Bahá’u’lláh had meant to stand with the defenders of Shaykh Tabarsí. He was turned back by the very forces that tried to stop Him. But the fort would go on toward siege and martyrdom. He would go on toward other prisons, other blows, and a longer work that these sacrifices were already serving. The three hundred and thirteen held their ground. Their moat was dug, their dead were buried, and the promise Bahá’u’lláh had spoken over them still held: “Whatever may befall, victory is yours, a victory which is complete and certain.” The next army was already assembling in the forest.