Episode V: From Dusk to Divinity

Two hours and eleven minutes after sunset, in a small house in Shíráz, a young man who had spent forty days fasting in a mosque and months searching across Persia sat watching his Host write. The pen moved without pause. The voice rose and fell. And when it was done, the searcher tried to stand, and could barely walk.

That is where this episode arrives. But to understand what broke open in that room, you have to know what failed first.

When Siyyid Kázim died, his enemies moved immediately. They had been waiting. His disciples grieved. And on the first day of Muharram, in the year 1260 A.H., Mullá Husayn returned to Karbilá carrying the proof of his successful mission to Isfahán and repeating Siyyid Kázim’s final charge.

For three days he received mourners, a steady stream of disciples coming to pay their respects to the one they regarded as the leading representative of their departed teacher. Then he summoned the most trusted among them and asked them directly: what were the last wishes of Siyyid Kázim?

They answered clearly enough. Repeatedly and emphatically, the Siyyid had told them to quit their homes, scatter far and wide, purge their hearts, and dedicate themselves to the quest of the Promised One. “He told us that the Object of our quest was now revealed,” they said. “The veils that intervened between you and Him are such as only you can remove by your devoted search.”

“Why, then,” Mullá Husayn replied, “have you chosen to tarry in Karbilá? Why is it that you have not dispersed, and arisen to carry out his earnest plea?”

Their answer was worse than evasion. It was surrender dressed as loyalty. “We acknowledge our failure,” they said. “To your greatness we all bear witness. Such is our confidence in you, that if you claim to be the promised One, we shall all readily and unquestionably submit.”

They were offering him a throne he had no right to sit on. And Mullá Husayn recoiled.

“God forbid!” he exclaimed. “Far be it from His glory that I, who am but dust, should be compared to Him who is the Lord of Lords!”

He did not wait for them to reconsider. He rose from his seat and went directly to Mírzá Hasan-i-Gawhar, to Mírzá Muhít, and to other prominent figures among the disciples. To each one he delivered the parting message. To each one he pressed the urgency of the search. From each one he received evasive and unworthy answers. “Our enemies are many and powerful,” one said. “We must remain in this city and guard the vacant seat of our departed chief.” Another insisted it was his duty to care for the children the Siyyid had left behind. Respectable reasons. Fatal timing. Mullá Husayn recognized the poverty of their resolve, spoke to them no more, and withdrew.

Then he went into discipline.

He left Karbilá by night with his brother Muhammad-Hasan and his nephew Muhammad-Báqir and arrived at the Masjid-i-Kúfih, where he spent forty days in retirement and prayer. His brother fasted alongside him. His nephew attended to their daily needs and joined them in devotion when he could.

After a few days, their solitude was broken. Mullá ‘Alíy-i-Bastámí arrived with twelve companions. Many regarded Mullá ‘Alí as Mullá Husayn’s equal in learning. Some considered him superior. He tried several times to ask Mullá Husayn where he intended to go after the retreat. Each time, he found him so absorbed in devotion that he could not bring himself to speak. So Mullá ‘Alí, too, entered a forty-day retreat. All his companions followed his example, except three who served as their attendants.

When the forty days ended, Mullá Husayn departed immediately. He visited the shrine at Najaf and then pressed on to Búshihr, on the Persian Gulf. There, for the first time, he inhaled the fragrance of the One he sought, the lingering presence of a young Merchant who had lived in that city as a humble citizen, whose devotions had saturated its atmosphere. But he could not stay. Drawn as if by a magnet pulling him irresistibly northward, he went on to Shíráz.

At the gate of that city, he instructed his brother and nephew to go ahead to the Masjid-i-Ilkháni and wait for him there. He hoped, God willing, to join them for evening prayer.

A few hours before sunset, still outside the gate, his eyes fell upon a Youth of radiant countenance who wore a green turban. The Youth advanced toward him, greeted him with a smile of loving welcome, and embraced him with the tenderness of an intimate and lifelong friend. Mullá Husayn assumed at first that this must be a disciple of Siyyid Kázim who had heard of his arrival and come out to welcome him.

The Youth extended a warm invitation to visit His home and rest after the journey. Mullá Husayn tried to excuse himself. His companions had already arranged for his stay and were waiting at the Masjid-i-Ilkháni. “Commit them to the care of God,” the Youth replied. “He will surely protect and watch over them.”

Mullá Husayn followed. As they walked, the Youth’s gait, the charm of His voice, the dignity of His bearing deepened the impression of that unexpected meeting.

They arrived at a house of modest appearance. The Youth knocked. An Ethiopian servant opened the door. And then the Host spoke the words that pierced Mullá Husayn’s soul before he had even crossed the threshold: “Enter therein in peace, secure.”

The words came with power and majesty. They were Qur’anic. And standing at the entrance of the first house he would enter in Shíráz, a city whose atmosphere had already made an indescribable impression on him, Mullá Husayn felt their weight. Might not this visit, he thought, draw him nearer to the Object of his quest?

Inside, the Host led him to His chamber. He ordered a ewer of water brought and washed the dust of travel from Mullá Husayn’s hands, poured the water over them Himself, despite his guest’s protest. He gave him a refreshing drink. Then He asked for the samovar and prepared tea with His own hands.

Overwhelmed by these acts of extreme kindness, Mullá Husayn rose to leave. “The time for evening prayer is approaching,” he said. “I have promised my friends to join them at the Masjid-i-Ilkháni.” The Host replied with calm courtesy: “You must surely have made the hour of your return conditional upon the will and pleasure of God. It seems that His will has decreed otherwise. You need have no fear of having broken your pledge.”

His dignity and self-assurance silenced Mullá Husayn. He stayed. They prepared for prayer. The Host stood beside him. And whilst praying, Mullá Husayn unburdened his soul, both from the mystery of this interview and the accumulated strain of his search. He breathed this prayer: “I have striven with all my soul, O my God, and until now have failed to find Thy promised Messenger. I testify that Thy word faileth not, and that Thy promise is sure.”

That night was the eve of the fifth of Jamádiyu’l-Avval, in the year 1260 A.H.

About an hour after sunset, the questioning began. “Whom, after Siyyid Kázim, do you regard as his successor and your leader?”

Mullá Husayn answered with the story of the search, the Siyyid’s dying command, his own journey to Persia, his unfinished quest.

“Has your teacher given you any detailed indications as to the distinguishing features of the promised One?”

“Yes. He is of a pure lineage, is of illustrious descent, and of the seed of Fatimih. As to His age, He is more than twenty and less than thirty. He is endowed with innate knowledge. He is of medium height, abstains from smoking, and is free from bodily deficiency.”

The Youth paused. Then, with vibrant voice, He declared: “Behold, all these signs are manifest in Me!”

He considered each sign separately and demonstrated that each was applicable to His own person.

Mullá Husayn did not surrender at a sentence. He was greatly surprised. He objected, politely but with force, invoking the vastness of knowledge that Siyyid Kázim had attributed to the Promised One: “My own knowledge is but a drop compared with that with which He has been endowed. All my attainments are but a speck of dust in the face of the immensity of His knowledge.”

No sooner had those words left his lips than he was seized with fear and remorse, the sudden recognition that he had weighed this claim by his own deficient standards. He bitterly reproved himself. He vowed that if his Host raised the subject again, he would answer with the utmost humility.

He had set two private tests before leaving on his quest. The first was a treatise he had written himself, dense with the hidden teachings of Shaykh Ahmad and Siyyid Kázim. Whoever could unravel its mysteries would earn his attention. The second was harder: a spontaneous commentary on the Súrih of Joseph, in a style beyond prevailing standards. Siyyid Kázim had already told him, in private, that this commentary was beyond his own capacity. “He, that great One, who comes after me will, unasked, reveal it for you. That commentary will constitute one of the weightiest testimonies of His truth.”

The Youth spoke again: “Observe attentively. Might not the Person intended by Siyyid Kázim be none other than I?”

Mullá Husayn presented his treatise. “Will you read this book of mine and look at its pages with indulgent eyes? I pray you to overlook my weaknesses and failings.”

The Youth opened the book. He glanced at certain passages. He closed it. And within minutes, with characteristic vigour and charm, He unravelled all its mysteries and resolved all its problems. Then He went further, expounding truths that could be found neither in the traditions of the Imáms nor in the writings of Shaykh Ahmad and Siyyid Kázim. These truths seemed endowed with refreshing vividness and power.

Then came the rebuke, delivered not with anger but with the authority of One who stood on ground Mullá Husayn had not yet recognized: “Had you not been My guest, your position would indeed have been a grievous one. The all-encompassing grace of God has saved you. It is for God to test His servants, and not for His servants to judge Him in accordance with their deficient standards.”

And then: “Now is the time to reveal the commentary on the Súrih of Joseph.”

He took up His pen. With incredible rapidity He revealed the entire Súrih of Mulk, the first chapter of the Qayyúmu’l-Asmá’. The gentle intonation of His voice accompanied His writing. Not for one moment did He interrupt the flow of the verses that streamed from His pen. Not once did He pause until the Súrih was finished.

Mullá Husayn sat enraptured by the magic of that voice and the sweeping force of that revelation.

At last, reluctantly, he arose to leave. The Host smiled. “If you leave in such a state,” He said, “whoever sees you will assuredly say: ‘This poor youth has lost his mind.’”

The clock registered two hours and eleven minutes after sunset.

“This night,” He declared, “this very hour will, in the days to come, be celebrated as one of the greatest and most significant of all festivals. Render thanks to God for having graciously assisted you to attain your heart’s desire, and for having quaffed from the sealed wine of His utterance.”

At the third hour after sunset, the Ethiopian servant reappeared and spread before them the choicest food. That holy repast refreshed body and soul alike. Mullá Husayn marvelled at the manners and devotion of the servant, whose very life seemed transformed by the regenerating influence of his Master.

Then sleep departed entirely. Mullá Husayn sat spellbound by the voice of his Host, oblivious of time and of those who waited for him. The Báb chanted through the night, His voice swelling as He revealed verses of the Qayyúmu’l-Asmá’, then acquiring subtle, ethereal harmonies as He uttered the prayers He was revealing. At the end of each invocation He repeated: “Far from the glory of thy Lord, the All-Glorious, be that which His creatures affirm of Him! And peace be upon His Messengers! And praise be to God, the Lord of all beings!”

Suddenly the call of the muezzin, summoning the faithful to morning prayer, broke the spell. Mullá Husayn had been listening from an hour after sunset until dawn.

Then the Báb spoke the words that named the hour, the mission, and the man.

“O thou who art the first to believe in Me! Verily I say, I am the Báb, the Gate of God, and thou art the Bábu’l-Báb, the gate of that Gate. Eighteen souls must, in the beginning, spontaneously and of their own accord, accept Me and recognise the truth of My Revelation. Unwarned and uninvited, each of these must seek independently to find Me.”

Until that number was complete, Mullá Husayn was to keep the secret. He was to teach in the Masjid-i-Ilkháni and pray there, and the Báb Himself would join him in congregational prayer. His attitude must betray nothing. When the eighteen were gathered and the missions assigned, they would depart. The Báb for Mecca with His chosen companion. Mullá Husayn northward toward a hidden secret in Tihrán.

This revelation, so suddenly and impetuously thrust upon him, came as a thunderbolt which, for a time, seemed to have benumbed his faculties. He was blinded by its dazzling splendour and overwhelmed by its crushing force. Excitement, joy, awe, and wonder stirred the depths of his soul. But the predominant feeling was strength.

How feeble and impotent he had felt before. How dejected and timid. He could neither write nor walk, so tremulous were his hands and feet. Now, however, the knowledge of that Revelation had galvanised his being. He felt possessed of such courage and power that were the world, all its peoples and its potentates, to rise against him, he would, alone and undaunted, withstand their onslaught. The universe seemed but a handful of dust in his grasp. He felt himself the Voice of Gabriel personified, calling unto all mankind: “Awake, for lo! the morning Light has broken. Arise, for His Cause is made manifest. The portal of His grace is open wide; enter therein, O peoples of the world! For He who is your promised One is come!”

He left that house and joined his brother and nephew at the Masjid-i-Ilkháni, where a large number of followers of Shaykh Ahmad had already gathered. Faithful to the directions of his newly found Beloved, he began at once to organise classes and perform devotions. A vast concourse gathered around him. Ecclesiastical dignitaries and city officials came to visit. They marvelled at the spirit his lectures revealed, unaware that the Source from which his knowledge flowed was the very One whose advent most of them were eagerly awaiting.

During those days, the Báb summoned him repeatedly. At night the Ethiopian servant would come to the mosque bearing a message of loving welcome. Every visit lasted from evening until dawn. Mullá Husayn sat at His feet, fascinated by the charm of His utterance, oblivious of the world. How rapidly those precious hours flew by. How eagerly he looked forward to evening. How reluctantly he watched the dawn return.

Then, one night, the Báb told him: “Tomorrow thirteen of your companions will arrive. To each of them extend the utmost loving-kindness. Leave them not to themselves, for they have dedicated their lives to the quest of their Beloved. Pray to God that He may graciously enable them to walk securely in that path which is finer than a hair and keener than a sword.”

That same morning, at sunrise, Mullá ‘Alíy-i-Bastámí arrived at the Masjid-i-Ilkháni with the same number of companions as the Báb had named. Mullá Husayn received them, provided for their comfort, and said nothing.

A few days later, Mullá ‘Alí could no longer restrain himself. He spoke as the representative of them all. “You know well how great is our confidence in you,” he said. “We have forsaken our homes and gone forth in search of our promised Beloved. You were the first to set us this noble example. We have followed you to this place, ready to acknowledge whomsoever you accept. How is it that we now see you teaching the people and conducting their prayers with the utmost tranquility? Those evidences of agitation and expectancy seem to have vanished from your countenance. Tell us, we beseech you, the reason.”

Mullá Husayn did not answer directly. He said instead: “Your companions may naturally attribute my peace to the ascendancy I seem to have acquired in this city. The truth is far from that. The world, with all its pomp and seductions, can never lure away this Husayn of Bushruyih from his Beloved. Ever since the beginning of this enterprise, I have vowed to seal, with my life-blood, my own destiny. I yearn not for the things of this world.” Then he offered them a single, oblique question. Might it not be that God, in His mercy, had unlocked the Gate of His grace before Mullá Husayn’s face, and, wishing to conceal this fact, had bidden him engage in such pursuits?

Those words pierced. Mullá ‘Alí perceived their meaning at once. With tearful eyes he entreated Mullá Husayn to reveal the identity of the One who had turned his agitation into peace. “I adjure you,” he pleaded, “to bestow upon me a portion of that holy draught which the Hand of mercy has given you to drink.”

“Beseech me not,” Mullá Husayn replied. “Let your trust be in Him, for He will surely guide your steps, and appease the tumult of your heart.”

Mullá ‘Alí ran to his companions and told them everything. Ablaze with the fire of that exchange, they immediately dispersed into the seclusion of their cells. They fasted. They prayed. They kept vigils. On the third night of his retirement, a light appeared before Mullá ‘Alí while he was wrapped in prayer. He followed it, and it led him to his promised Beloved. At that very hour, in the mid-watches of the night, he arose, threw open the door of his chamber, and ran to Mullá Husayn. He threw himself into his arms.

That morning, at break of day, Mullá Husayn and Mullá ‘Alí went together to the Báb’s house. At the entrance they met the Ethiopian servant, who recognized them and said: “Ere break of day, I was summoned to the presence of my Master, who instructed me to open the door of the house and to stand expectant at its threshold. ‘Two guests,’ He said, ‘are to arrive early this morning. Extend to them in My name a warm welcome. Say to them from Me: ‘Enter therein in the name of God.’’”

The Báb had known. Before they knocked, He had already sent for them.

One by one the others came. Some in sleep, some in waking, some whilst praying, some in contemplation. Each by his own unaided effort found the Promised One. Seventeen Letters of the Living were enrolled.

Then the Báb told Mullá Husayn: “Seventeen Letters have thus far enlisted under the standard of the Faith of God. There remains one more to complete the number. Tomorrow night the remaining Letter will arrive.”

The next evening, as the Báb and Mullá Husayn were returning to His home, a youth appeared, dishevelled and travel-stained. He approached Mullá Husayn, embraced him, and asked whether he had attained his goal. Mullá Husayn tried to calm him, promising to explain later. But the youth refused to wait. Fixing his gaze upon the Báb, he said: “Why seek you to hide Him from me? I can recognise Him by His gait. I confidently testify that none besides Him, whether in the East or in the West, can claim to be the Truth. None other can manifest the power and majesty that radiate from His holy person.”

That was Quddús. He was twenty-two years old, a descendant of the Imám Hasan through his mother, born in Barfurúsh. In the final years of Siyyid Kázim’s life, he had enrolled as a disciple and always took the lowliest seat, always departed first, always observed silence. Siyyid Kázim used to say that certain ones among his disciples, though they occupied the lowliest seats, were so exalted in the sight of God that he himself felt unworthy to rank among their servants.

When Mullá Husayn reported the encounter, the Báb was not surprised. “Marvel not at his strange behaviour,” He said. “We have in the world of the spirit been communing with that youth. We know him already. We indeed awaited his coming. Go to him and summon him forthwith to Our presence.”

And there was one more, the only Letter of the Living who never came to Shíráz in person. Táhirih, having learned that her sister’s husband Mírzá Muhammad-‘Alí was departing from Qazvín, entrusted him with a sealed letter to be delivered to the Promised One she said he was certain to meet. With it she sent a message: “The effulgence of Thy face flashed forth, and the rays of Thy visage arose on high. Then speak the word, ‘Am I not your Lord?’ and ‘Thou art, Thou art!’ we will all reply.”

The Báb received her letter and declared her one of the Letters of the Living.

That completed the number. Eighteen souls, each, by independent search, arriving at the same recognition.

Now came the deployment.

The Báb summoned the Letters of the Living and addressed them together. “O My beloved friends! You are the bearers of the name of God in this Day. You have been chosen as the repositories of His mystery. It behoves each one of you to manifest the attributes of God, and to exemplify by your deeds and words the signs of His righteousness, His power and glory.” He spoke of Jesus sending forth His disciples. He spoke of the Day that was to come, whose newly born babe would surpass the wisest men of this age. He told them to scatter throughout the land, and with steadfast feet and sanctified hearts prepare the way. “Arise in His name,” He said, “put your trust wholly in Him, and be assured of ultimate victory.”

To each He assigned his own native province as his field of labour. He directed them to refrain from specific references to His own name and person. Their task was to raise the cry that the Gate of God had been opened, that the proof was irrefutable, that the testimony was complete.

Then He turned to Mullá ‘Alíy-i-Bastámí alone and told him to proceed directly to Najaf and Karbilá. He alluded to the severe trials ahead. “You are the first to leave the House of God,” He said, “and the first to suffer for His sake. If you be slain in His path, remember that great will be your reward.”

To Mullá Husayn, as the hour of his departure approached, He gave the most particular instructions. He was not to accompany the Báb on His pilgrimage to Mecca. Instead his steps were to be directed northward, through Isfahán, Káshán, Qum, and Tihrán. About that capital He spoke one promise sharp enough to haunt the entire road: “A secret lies hidden in that city. When made manifest, it shall turn the earth into paradise. My hope is that you may partake of its grace and recognise its splendour.” From Tihrán, Mullá Husayn was to continue to Khurásán, and from there return to await the Báb’s summons. “Be assured,” He told him, “that the high mission for which you have been created will, in its entirety, be accomplished by you.”

Fourteen Letters of the Living departed Shíráz at the hour of dawn, each resolved to carry out, in its entirety, the task with which he had been entrusted.

The house in Shíráz remained small. The horizon did not.

By the time the last of them departed, the first believers were already on the road, carrying a message that most of Persia could not yet imagine and many would soon hate. One would be the first to suffer. One carried a secret toward Tihrán whose disclosure would, in time, overshadow the whole earth. One had recognized the Promised One by a sealed letter and a line of surrender. One had recognized Him by nothing more than His gait.

And one had walked into that modest house unable to write, unable to walk, trembling with the strain of a search that had consumed him, and walked out at dawn feeling that if the entire world rose against him, he could stand alone.

The morning Light had broken. The Gate was open. And the first feet were already moving.