The Dawning Light
Episode VI: Secrets of Tihran
A man who had walked out of that house in Shíráz feeling that the entire world could rise against him and he would stand alone, that man now walked north, city by city, carrying the most dangerous message in Persia.
Not a whisper. Not a hint. A direct challenge: a new Book had appeared. It was divinely inspired. It bore the tone and language of the Qur’án itself. And to anyone who doubted it, Mullá Husayn flung the words in the open: produce one like it, if you are men of truth.
This is the road from Shíráz to Tihrán. And at the end of it, something waited that Mullá Husayn did not yet fully understand.
He arrived in Isfahán and established himself in the madrisih of Ním-Ávard. People there remembered him. On his previous visit he had been the favoured messenger of Siyyid Kázim, sent to the eminent mujtahid Hájí Siyyid Muhammad-Báqir. He had won that formidable scholar’s support for the cause of Shaykh Ahmad. No one among the Siyyid’s disciples had dared oppose him then.
Now he was back, not defending a school, but proclaiming a Cause.
The old mujtahid was dead. His son, Hájí Siyyid Asadu’lláh, had just returned from Najaf and occupied his father’s seat. Hájí Muhammad-Ibráhím-i-Kalbásí, the other great authority, had fallen seriously ill and lay on the verge of death. Into that vacuum of weakened clerical power, Mullá Husayn spoke with a force that alarmed everyone around him.
The late mujtahid’s disciples panicked. They ran to the son. “Mullá Husayn was able, in the course of his last visit, to win the support of your illustrious father,” they warned. “No one among the Siyyid’s helpless disciples dared to oppose him. He now comes as the upholder of a still more formidable opponent and is pleading His Cause with still greater vehemence and vigour.” They described the new Book. They quoted the challenge. They warned that if nothing was done, all of Isfahán would fall.
Hájí Siyyid Asadu’lláh refused to move. “What am I to say?” he answered. “Do you not yourselves admit that Mullá Husayn has, by his eloquence and the cogency of his argument, silenced a man no less great than my illustrious father? How can I, then, who am so inferior to him in merit and knowledge, presume to challenge what he has already approved?” He told them to examine the claims for themselves. If satisfied, well and good. If not, observe silence, and do not risk discrediting the fair name of the Faith.
That did not satisfy them. They carried the alarm to the ailing Kalbásí. In lurid and exaggerated language, they described the threat. Kalbásí cut them short.
“Hold your peace. Mullá Husayn is not the person to be duped by anyone, nor can he fall a victim to dangerous heresies. If your contention be true, if Mullá Husayn has indeed espoused a new Faith, it is unquestionably your first obligation to enquire dispassionately into the character of his teachings, and to refrain from denouncing him without previous and careful scrutiny.”
That severe rebuke shattered their confidence. In despair they appealed to Manúchihr Khán, the Mu’tamídu’d-Dawlih, the governor of Isfahán, a man of judicious temper who told them plainly that these matters fell within the jurisdiction of the clergy, not the state. He warned them to abstain from mischief and to cease disturbing the peace of the messenger.
Their hopes collapsed. Mullá Husayn was free to continue his work.
And the first person in all of Isfahán to accept the Cause was not a grand divine. Not a scholar. Not a merchant or a notable.
A sifter of wheat.
As soon as the call reached his ears, he accepted it without reservation. He served Mullá Husayn with devotion, and through that close association became a passionate advocate. A few years later, when news of the siege at Shaykh Tabarsí reached Isfahán, he could not sit still. He seized his sieve, leapt to his feet, and ran through the bazaars in a state of blazing excitement. His friends called after him: “Why leave so hurriedly?” He answered without slowing down: “I have risen to join the glorious company of the defenders of the fort of Shaykh Tabarsí! With this sieve which I carry with me, I intend to sift the people in every city through which I pass. Whomsoever I find ready to espouse the Cause I have embraced, I will ask to join me and hasten forthwith to the field of martyrdom.”
A man who made his living separating grain from chaff. And now he ran through the streets with the same instrument, declaring he would sift whole cities to find souls ready to die for what he believed. The Báb Himself later honoured him in the Persian Bayán: of all the inhabitants of that great seat of learning, only one person, a sifter of wheat, was found to recognise the Truth.
Among the few other believers in Isfahán were several siyyids of note, Mírzá Muhammad-‘Alíy-i-Nahrí, whose daughter would later be joined in marriage with the Most Great Branch, his brother Mírzá Hádí, and Mírzá Muhammad-Ridáy-i-Pá-Qal’iyí. But the conversion that cracked open the deepest door was that of Mullá Sádiq-i-Khurásání, a man who had been living in Isfahán for five years on the instructions of Siyyid Kázim, preparing the way for exactly this hour.
As soon as Mullá Sádiq heard that Mullá Husayn had arrived, he went to him. They met at night, in the home of Mírzá Muhammad-‘Alíy-i-Nahrí. Mullá Sádiq asked him to divulge the name of the One who claimed to be the promised Manifestation. Mullá Husayn refused. “To enquire about that name and to divulge it are alike forbidden.”
“Would it, then, be possible,” Mullá Sádiq pressed, “for me, even as the Letters of the Living, to seek independently the grace of the All-Merciful and, through prayer, to discover His identity?”
“The door of His grace is never closed before the face of him who seeks to find Him.”
Mullá Sádiq left the room immediately. He asked his host for the privacy of a chamber where he could be alone. And there, in the silence of that house, a face returned to him, a face he had seen many times in Karbilá. A young Man, standing at the entrance of the shrine of the Imám Husayn, with His face bathed in tears. That same countenance reappeared now in his vision. The same features. An expression of joy beyond anything he could describe. The Youth smiled. Mullá Sádiq moved toward Him, ready to throw himself at His feet, and the figure vanished.
He ran from the room. He found Mullá Husayn, who received him with transport and confirmed what his heart had already grasped. But he warned him: “Declare not your vision to anyone. The time for it has not yet arrived. You have reaped the fruit of your patient waiting in Isfahán.” Then he gave him his mission: proceed to Kirmán and deliver the Message to Hájí Mírzá Karím Khán. From there, travel to Shíráz. “I hope to join you in Shíráz and share with you the blessings of a joyous reunion with our Beloved.”
From Isfahán the road continued north. In Káshán, the first believer was Hájí Mírzá Jání, a merchant of note. But not everyone who loved Mullá Husayn could follow him. Among his friends in that city was Siyyid ‘Abdu’l-Báqí, a well-known Shaykhí divine, intimately associated with him since the days in Najaf and Karbilá. The Siyyid heard the Message, and could not bring himself to sacrifice rank and leadership for it.
In Qum, the soil was not yet ready. The seeds Mullá Husayn planted there would not germinate for years, until Bahá’u’lláh’s exile to Baghdád, when Hájí Mírzá Músá of Qum embraced the Faith, journeyed to Baghdád, and eventually gave his life in the path he had chosen.
Then came Tihrán. The city named in advance.
Mullá Husayn lodged in a room at the madrisih of Mírzá Sálih, better known as the madrisih of Pay-i-Minar. His routine in the capital was austere and solitary. Each day he left his room early in the morning and returned only an hour after sunset. Each night he re-entered quietly, alone, closed the door behind him, and remained in the privacy of his cell until dawn.
His first approach was to Hájí Mírzá Muhammad-i-Khurásání, the leader of the Shaykhí community in Tihrán and an instructor at the same madrisih. The response cut cleanly and bitterly. “We had cherished the hope,” the man told him, “that after the death of Siyyid Kázim you would strive to promote the best interests of the Shaykhí community and would deliver it from the obscurity into which it has sunk. You seem, however, to have betrayed its cause. You have shattered our fondest expectations. If you persist in disseminating these subversive doctrines, you will eventually extinguish the remnants of the Shaykhís in this city.”
Mullá Husayn answered calmly. He had no intention of prolonging his stay in Tihrán. His aim was in no way to abase or suppress the teachings of Shaykh Ahmad and Siyyid Kázim.
But someone else was listening.
Mullá Muhammad-i-Mu’allim, a native of Núr in the province of Mázindarán, was a passionate admirer of Shaykh Ahmad and Siyyid Kázim. He was one of the favoured disciples of Hájí Mírzá Muhammad, and lived in the same school. His room adjoined his teacher’s. On the day that Hájí Mírzá Muhammad received Mullá Husayn, Mullá Muhammad overheard their conversation from beginning to end.
He was deeply struck by the ardour, the fluency, and the learning of that youthful stranger. And he was stunned by the evasions, the arrogance, and the contemptuous behaviour of his own teacher. That day he felt himself pulled powerfully toward Mullá Husayn. He burned with resentment at the treatment the messenger had received. But he said nothing. He concealed his feelings and pretended to ignore what he had heard.
At midnight, he could not wait any longer. He went to Mullá Husayn’s room, knocked on his door, and found him awake, seated beside his lamp. Mullá Husayn received him with affection, spoke with extreme courtesy and tenderness. Mullá Muhammad began to unburden his heart, and as he spoke, tears flowed from his eyes that he could not repress.
“I can now see,” Mullá Husayn told him, “the reason why I have chosen to dwell in this place. Your teacher has contemptuously rejected this Message and despised its Author. My hope is that his pupil may, unlike his master, recognise its truth.” Then he asked: “What is your name, and which city is your home?”
“My name is Mullá Muhammad, and my surname Mu’allim. My home is Núr, in the province of Mázindarán.”
Then came the questions, each one more intent than the last.
“Tell me, is there today among the family of the late Mírzá Buzurg-i-Núrí, who was so renowned for his character, his charm, and artistic and intellectual attainments, anyone who has proved himself capable of maintaining the high traditions of that illustrious house?”
“Yes. Among his sons now living, one has distinguished Himself by the very traits which characterised His father. By His virtuous life, His high attainments, His loving-kindness and liberality, He has proved Himself a noble descendant of a noble father.”
“What is His occupation?”
“He cheers the disconsolate and feeds the hungry.”
“What of His rank and position?”
“He has none, apart from befriending the poor and the stranger.”
“What is His name?”
“Husayn-‘Alí.”
“In which of the scripts of His father does He excel?”
“His favourite script is shikastih-nasta’líq.”
“How does He spend His time?”
“He roams the woods and delights in the beauties of the countryside.”
“What is His age?”
“Eight and twenty.”
With every answer, Mullá Husayn’s eagerness grew. His face beamed with satisfaction and joy.
“I presume you often meet Him?”
“I frequently visit His home.”
“Will you deliver into His hands a trust from me?”
“Most assuredly.”
He gave Mullá Muhammad a scroll wrapped in a piece of cloth. He asked him to hand it to Bahá’u’lláh the next day at the hour of dawn. “Should He deign to answer me,” he added, “will you be kind enough to acquaint me with His reply?”
At break of day, Mullá Muhammad approached the house.
At the gate he met Mírzá Músá, Bahá’u’lláh’s brother. He told him the purpose of his visit. Mírzá Músá went inside and soon reappeared with a message of welcome. Mullá Muhammad was ushered into the presence.
He presented the scroll to Mírzá Músá, who laid it before Bahá’u’lláh. Bahá’u’lláh bade them both be seated.
He unfolded the scroll. He glanced at its contents. And He began to read aloud.
Mullá Muhammad sat enraptured by the sound of that voice and the sweetness of its melody. Bahá’u’lláh had read a single page when He turned to His brother.
“Músá, what have you to say? Verily I say, whoso believes in the Qur’án and recognises its Divine origin, and yet hesitates, though it be for a moment, to admit that these soul-stirring words are endowed with the same regenerating power, has most assuredly erred in his judgment and has strayed far from the path of justice.”
He spoke no more. He dismissed Mullá Muhammad from His presence. And He charged him to take back to Mullá Husayn, as a gift from Him, a loaf of Russian sugar and a package of tea, together with the expression of His appreciation and love.
No display. No claim. No public announcement. Only a judgment delivered in a single sentence, after a single page, with the calm of a man who recognised exactly what He held in His hands. And then, a loaf of sugar and a package of tea.
Mullá Muhammad returned to the madrisih. He delivered the gift and the message.
What happened next astonished him. Mullá Husayn, a man who feared no scholar, no governor, no city, started to his feet. He received the gift with bowed head. He kissed it fervently. He took Mullá Muhammad in his arms. He kissed his eyes.
“My dearly beloved friend!” he said. “I pray that even as you have rejoiced my heart, God may grant you eternal felicity and fill your heart with imperishable gladness.”
Mullá Muhammad could only stare. What could be the nature of the bond that united these two souls? What could have kindled so fierce a fellowship in their hearts? Why should a man in whose sight the pomp and circumstance of royalty were the merest trifle show such gladness at so small an offering?
He could not unravel the mystery. He was not meant to. Not yet.
In Tihrán, Mullá Husayn had found the hidden secret the Báb had promised him on the road, the secret that, when made manifest, would turn the earth to paradise. And the secret had answered him with one page, one judgment, and a gift of sugar and tea.
A few days later, Mullá Husayn left for Khurásán.
As he said farewell to Mullá Muhammad, his words carried the weight of prophecy and the urgency of a warning:
“Breathe not to anyone what you have heard and witnessed. Let this be a secret hidden within your breast. Divulge not His name, for they who envy His position will arise to harm Him. In your moments of meditation, pray that the Almighty may protect Him, that, through Him, He may exalt the downtrodden, enrich the poor, and redeem the fallen.”
Then he said: “The secret of things is concealed from our eyes. Ours is the duty to raise the call of the New Day and to proclaim this Divine Message unto all people.”
And then the aftershock:
“Many a soul will, in this city, shed his blood in this path. That blood will water the Tree of God, will cause it to flourish, and to overshadow all mankind.”
Mullá Husayn entered Tihrán carrying a message. He left it carrying a secret that would one day overshadow the earth, and a warning that the earth would bleed first.