Episode VIII: The Eastern Summons

“Not until I receive your letter from Khurásán shall I be ready to set out from this city on My pilgrimage to Hijaz.”

That is the condition. The Báb will not leave Shíráz until a report comes back from the east. His entire pilgrimage, the journey to the holiest ground in Islam, waits on the word of one man.

But before sending Mullá Husayn out, the Báb first gave every Letter of the Living a quiet and enormous command. Each believer’s name was to be recorded separately, sealed in a letter, and sent to His maternal uncle, Hájí Mírzá Siyyid ‘Alí, in Shíráz, who would deliver those names to the Báb Himself. He would then classify them into eighteen sets of nineteen names each. Each set would constitute one váhid. All those names, together with the first váhid, His own name and the eighteen Letters of the Living, would constitute the number of Kull-i-Shay’. And of every one of those believers He would make mention in the Tablet of God, so that “the Beloved of our hearts may, in the Day when He shall have ascended the throne of glory, confer His inestimable blessings, and declare them the dwellers of His Paradise.”

A community counted before the world had learned to reckon with it. Names sealed and forwarded while the authorities slept.

Then the Báb turned to Mullá Husayn with a more specific charge. He was to send a written report, not only on the progress of his teaching in Khurásán, but on his earlier activities in Isfahán and Tihrán. He was to name those who accepted the Faith and those who rejected it. And until that letter arrived, the Báb would not move.

So Mullá Husayn went east carrying more than a teaching mission. He carried a trust on which the next stage of the Revelation depended.

He arrived in Khurásán refreshed and fortified by his encounter with Bahá’u’lláh, and the effect showed at once. The regenerating power the Báb had invested in him at their parting erupted into open, astonishing results.

The first man won to the Faith in Khurásán was Mírzá Ahmad-i-Azghandí, the most learned, the wisest, and the most eminent among the ‘ulamás of the entire province. In whatever gathering he appeared, no matter how great the number or representative the character of the divines present, he alone was invariably the chief speaker. His learning would have been formidable by itself. But the high traits of his character and his extreme devoutness had ennobled a reputation already built on erudition, ability, and wisdom.

That was the first convert. Not a marginal hearer. Not a passing enthusiast. The foremost religious authority in the province.

The second was Mullá Ahmad-i-Mu’allim, who had served in Karbilá as the instructor of the children of Siyyid Kázim himself, a man trained at the very source the shaykhí community revered. The third was Mullá Shaykh ‘Alí, whom the Báb later surnamed Azím. The fourth was Mullá Mírzá Muhammad-i-Furúghí, whose learning was unsurpassed except by that of Mírzá Ahmad-i-Azghandí.

No one else among the ecclesiastical leaders of Khurásán exercised sufficient authority or possessed the necessary knowledge to challenge the arguments of Mullá Husayn. He had not swept through the province converting the credulous. He had broken through the highest wall of scholarship first.

Then the road narrowed into Mashhad, and another figure rose into view.

Mírzá Muhammad Báqir-i-Qá’iní had established his residence in that city for the remaining years of his life. When the love of the Báb seized him, it seized him completely. No one could resist its force or belittle its influence. His fearlessness, his unsparing energy, his unswerving loyalty, and the integrity of his life made him the terror of his enemies and a source of inspiration to his friends.

And he did not simply believe. He served. He placed his home at the disposal of Mullá Husayn. He arranged separate interviews between him and the ‘ulamás of Mashhad. He labored to remove every obstacle that might impede the progress of the Faith, untiring in his efforts, undeviating in his purpose, inexhaustible in his energy. His home, situated in Bálá-Khiyabán in the city of Mashhad, became so identified with the Cause that it is still known by the name of Bábíyyih. Whoever enters it cannot escape the accusation of being a Bábí.

He continued that labor until the last hour of his life. He fell a martyr at the fort of Shaykh Tabarsí. In his last days, after the tragic death of Mullá Husayn, Quddús bade him assume the leadership of the heroic defenders of that fort. He acquitted himself gloriously of the task.

That is what Mullá Husayn found in Khurásán: not just willing ears, but men whose weight could hold the Cause upright under any storm.

Once he had won such allies, he sat down and wrote.

The letter was heavy with more than local success. He described at length his sojourn in Isfahán and Káshán. He recounted his experience with Bahá’u’lláh. He referred to Bahá’u’lláh’s departure for Mázindarán. He related the events of Núr. He reported the success of his own efforts in Khurásán. And he enclosed a list of names, every soul whose steadfastness and sincerity he had tested and confirmed.

He sent the letter by way of Yazd, through the trustworthy partners of the Báb’s maternal uncle who were at that time residing in Tabas.

That letter reached the Báb on the night preceding the twenty-seventh day of Ramadán, a night held in great reverence by all the sects of Islam, regarded by many as rivalling in sacredness the Laylatu’l-Qadr itself, the night which, in the words of the Qur’án, “excelleth a thousand months.”

The only companion of the Báb when that letter arrived was Quddús. He shared a number of its passages with him.

What happened next was witnessed by the Báb’s maternal uncle and later described by him to Mírzá Ahmad. That night, he said, he saw such evidences of joy and gladness on the faces of the Báb and of Quddús as he was unable to describe. Again and again, in those days, the Báb exultingly repeated the same words: “How marvellous, how exceedingly marvellous, is that which has occurred between the months of Jamádi and Rajab!” As He read the letter, He turned to Quddús, showed him certain passages, and explained the reason for His joyous surprise. The uncle, for his part, remained completely unaware of what that explanation meant.

The mystery pressed on Mírzá Ahmad. He could not let it rest. Not until he met Mullá Husayn in Shíráz was he able to satisfy his curiosity. He repeated to him the uncle’s account. Mullá Husayn smiled and said how well he remembered that between the months of Jamádi and Rajab he had chanced to be in Tihrán. He gave no further explanation. He contented himself with that single, brief remark.

But it was enough. Mírzá Ahmad was now convinced that in the city of Tihrán there lay hidden a Mystery which, when revealed to the world, would bring unspeakable joy to the hearts of both the Báb and Quddús.

That is the chapter’s true turn. Khurásán had yielded formidable believers. But the letter carried something greater than local victory.

The references to Bahá’u’lláh’s immediate response to the Divine Message, to the vigorous campaign He had boldly initiated in Núr, and to the marvellous success attending His efforts, these cheered and gladdened the Báb and reinforced His confidence in the ultimate victory of His Cause. He felt assured that if He were to fall suddenly a victim to the tyranny of His foes and depart from this world, the Cause He had revealed would live. It would, under Bahá’u’lláh’s direction, continue to develop and flourish and yield eventually its choicest fruit. The master-hand of Bahá’u’lláh would steer its course. The pervading influence of His love would establish it in the hearts of men.

That conviction fortified His spirit and filled Him with hope. From that moment, His fears of the imminence of peril or danger entirely forsook Him.

The road to Khurásán had brought Him not ease, but certainty. Phoenix-like, He welcomed with joy the fire of adversity, and gloried in the glow and heat of its flame.