Tahirih Qurratu’l-`Ayn
Táhirih – Memorials of the Faithful, Abdul-Baha
A
woman chaste and holy, a sign and token of surpassing beauty, a burning
brand of the love of God, a lamp of His bestowal, was Jináb-i-Táhirih.
She was called Umm-Salmá; she was the daughter of Ḥájí Mullá Ṣáliḥ, a
mujtahid of Qazvín, and her paternal uncle was Mullá Taqí, the
Imám-Jum’ih or leader of prayers in the cathedral mosque of that city.
They married her to Mullá Muḥammad, the son of Mullá Taqí, and she gave
birth to three children, two sons and a daughter; all three were bereft
of the grace that encompassed their mother, and all failed to recognize
the truth of the Cause.
When
she was still a child her father selected a teacher for her and she
studied various branches of knowledge and the arts, achieving remarkable
ability in literary pursuits. Such was the degree of her scholarship
and attainments that her father would often express his regret, saying,
“Would that she had been a boy, for he would have shed illumination upon
my household, and would have succeeded me!”
One
day she was a guest in the home of Mullá Javád, a cousin on her
mother’s side, and there in her cousin’s library she came upon some of
the writings of Shaykh Aḥmad-i-Ahsá’í. Delighted with what he had to
say, Táhirih asked to borrow the writings and take them home. Mullá
Javád violently objected, telling her: “Your father is an enemy of the
Twin Luminous Lights, Shaykh Aḥmad and Siyyid Kázim. If he should even
dream that any words of those two great beings, any fragrance from the
garden of those realities, had come your way, he would make an attempt
against my life, and you too would become the target of his wrath.”
Táhirih answered: “For a long time now, I have thirsted after this; I
have yearned for these explanations, these inner truths. Give me
whatever you have of these books. Never mind if it angers my father.”
Accordingly, Mullá Javád sent over the writings of the Shaykh and the
Siyyid.
One
night, Táhirih sought out her father in his library, and began to speak
of Shaykh Aḥmad’s teachings. The very moment he learned that his
daughter knew of the Shaykhí doctrines, Mullá Ṣáliḥ’s denunciations rang
out, and he cried: “Javád has made you a lost soul!” Táhirih answered,
“The late Shaykh was a true scholar of God, and I have learned an
infinity of spiritual truths from reading his books. Furthermore, he
bases whatever he says on the traditions of the Holy Imáms. You call
yourself a mystic knower and a man of God, you consider your respected
uncle to be a scholar as well, and most pious—yet in neither of you do I
find a trace of those qualities!”
For
some time, she carried on heated discussions with her father, debating
such questions as the Resurrection and the Day of Judgment, the
Night-Ascent of Muḥammad to Heaven, the Promise and the Threat, and the
Advent of the Promised One. Lacking arguments, her father would resort
to curses and abuse. Then one night, in support of her contention,
Táhirih quoted a holy tradition from the Imám Ja’far-i-Ṣádiq; and since
it confirmed what she was saying, her father burst out laughing, mocking
the tradition. Táhirih said, “Oh my father, these are the words of the
Holy Imám. How can you mock and deny them?”
From
that time on, she ceased to debate and contend with her father.
Meanwhile she entered into secret correspondence with Siyyid Kázim,
regarding the solution of complex theological problems, and thus it came
about that the Siyyid conferred on her the name “Solace of the Eyes”
(Qurratu’l-‘Ayn); as for the title Táhirih (“The Pure One”), it was
first associated with her in Badasht, and was subsequently approved by
the Báb, and recorded in Tablets.
Táhirih
had caught fire. She set out for Karbilá, hoping to meet Siyyid Kázim,
but she arrived too late: ten days before she reached that city, he
passed away. Not long before his death the Siyyid had shared with his
disciples the good news that the promised Advent was at hand. “Go
forth,” he repeatedly told them, “and seek out your Lord.” Thus the most
distinguished of his followers gathered for retirement and prayer, for
fasts and vigils, in the Masjid-i-Kúfih, while some awaited the Advent
in Karbilá. Among these was Táhirih, fasting by day, practicing
religious disciplines, and spending the night in vigils, and chanting
prayers. One night when it was getting along toward dawn she laid her
head on her pillow, lost all awareness of this earthly life, and dreamed
a dream; in her vision a youth, a Siyyid, wearing a black cloak and a
green turban, appeared to her in the heavens; he was standing in the
air, reciting verses and praying with his hands upraised. At once, she
memorized one of those verses, and wrote it down in her notebook when
she awoke. After the Báb had declared His mission, and His first book,
“The Best of Stories,” was circulated, Táhirih was reading a section of
the text one day, and she came upon that same verse, which she had noted
down from the dream. Instantly offering thanks, she fell to her knees
and bowed her forehead to the ground, convinced that the Báb’s message
was truth.
This
good news reached her in Karbilá and she at once began to teach. She
translated and expounded “The Best of Stories,” also writing in Persian
and Arabic, composing odes and lyrics, and humbly practicing her
devotions, performing even those that were optional and supernumerary.
When the evil ‘ulamás in Karbilá got wind of all this, and learned that a
woman was summoning the people to a new religion and had already
influenced a considerable number, they went to the Governor and lodged a
complaint. Their charges, to be brief, led to violent attacks on
Táhirih, and sufferings, which she accepted and for which she offered
praise and thanks. When the authorities came hunting for her they first
assaulted Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá, mistaking her for Táhirih. As soon, however, as
they heard that Táhirih had been arrested they let Shams go—for Táhirih
had sent a message to the Governor saying, “I am at your disposal. Do
not harm any other.”
The
Governor set guards over her house and shut her away, writing Baghdád
for instructions as to how he should proceed. For three months, she
lived in a state of siege, completely isolated, with the guards
surrounding her house. Since the local authorities had still received no
reply from Baghdád, Táhirih referred her case to the Governor, saying:
“No word has come from either Baghdád or Constantinople. Accordingly, we
will ourselves proceed to Baghdád and await the answer there.” The
Governor gave her leave to go, and she set out, accompanied by
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá and the Leaf of Paradise (the sister of Mullá Ḥusayn) and
her mother. In Baghdád she stayed first in the house of Shaykh Muḥammad,
the distinguished father of Áqá Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá. But so great was the
press of people around her that she transferred her residence to another
quarter, engaged night and day in spreading the Faith, and freely
associated with the inhabitants of Baghdád. She thus became celebrated
throughout the city and there was a great uproar.
Táhirih
also maintained a correspondence with the ‘ulamás of Kazímayn; she
presented them with unanswerable proofs, and when one or another
appeared before her she offered him convincing arguments. Finally she
sent a message to the Shí’ih divines, saying to them: “If you are not
satisfied with these conclusive proofs, I challenge you to a trial by
ordeal.” Then there was a great outcry from the divines, and the
Governor was obliged to send Táhirih and her women companions to the
house of Ibn-i-Álúsí, who was muftí of Baghdád. Here she remained about
three months, waiting for word and directions from Constantinople.
Ibn-i-Álúsí would engage her in learned dialogues, questions would be
asked and answers given, and he would not deny what she had to say.
On
a certain day the muftí related one of his dreams, and asked her to
tell him what it meant. He said: “In my dream I saw the Shí’ih ‘ulamás
arriving at the holy tomb of Imám Ḥusayn, the Prince of Martyrs. They
took away the barrier that encloses the tomb, and they broke open the
resplendent grave, so that the immaculate body lay revealed to their
gaze. They sought to take up the holy form, but I cast myself down on
the corpse and I warded them off.” Táhirih answered: “This is the
meaning of your dream: you are about to deliver me from the hands of the
Shí’ih divines.” “I too had interpreted it thus,” said Ibn-i-Álúsí.
Since
he had discovered that she was well versed in learned questions and in
sacred commentaries and Texts, the two often carried on debates; she
would speak on such themes as the Day of Resurrection, the Balance, and
the Ṣiraṭ, and he would not turn away.
Then
came a night when the father of Ibn-i-Álúsí called at the house of his
son. He had a meeting with Táhirih and abruptly, without asking a single
question, began to curse, mock and revile her. Embarrassed at his
father’s behavior, Ibn-i-Álúsí apologized. Then he said: “The answer has
come from Constantinople. The King has commanded that you be set free,
but only on condition that you leave his realms. Go then, tomorrow, make
your preparations for the journey, and hasten away from this land.”
Accordingly
Táhirih, with her women companions, left the muftí’s house, saw to
arranging for their travel gear, and went out of Baghdád. When they left
the city, a number of Arab believers, carrying arms, walked along
beside their convoy. Among the escort were Shaykh Sulṭán, Shaykh
Muḥammad and his distinguished son Muḥammad-Muṣṭafá, and Shaykh Ṣáliḥ,
and these were mounted. It was Shaykh Muḥammad who defrayed the expenses
of the journey.
When
they reached Kirmansháh the women alighted at one house, the men at
another, and the inhabitants arrived in a continuous stream to seek
information as to the new Faith. Here as elsewhere the ‘ulamás were soon
in a state of frenzy and they commanded that the newcomers be expelled.
As a result the kad-khudá or chief officer of that quarter, with a band
of people, laid siege to the house where Táhirih was, and sacked it.
Then they placed Táhirih and her companions in an uncovered howdah and
carried them from the town to an open field, where they put the captives
out. The drivers then took their animals and returned to the city. The
victims were left on the bare ground, with no food, no shelter, and no
means of traveling on.
Táhirih
at once wrote a letter to the prince of that territory, in which she
told him: “O thou just Governor! We were guests in your city. Is this
the way you treat your guests?” When her letter was brought to the
Governor of Kirmansháh he said: “I knew nothing of this injustice. This
mischief was kindled by the divines.” He immediately commanded the
kad-khudá to return all the travelers’ belongings. That official duly
surrendered the stolen goods, the drivers with their animals came back
out of the city, the travelers took their places and resumed the
journey.
They
arrived in Hamadán and here their stay was a happy one. The most
illustrious ladies of that city, even the princesses, would come to
visit, seeking the benefits of Táhirih’s teaching. In Hamadán she
dismissed a part of her escort and sent them back to Baghdád, while she
brought some of them, including Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá and Shaykh-Ṣáliḥ, along
with her to Qazvín.
As
they traveled, some riders advanced to meet them, kinsmen of Táhirih’s
from Qazvín, and they wished to lead her away alone, unescorted by the
others, to her father’s house. Táhirih refused, saying: “These are in my
company.” In this way they entered Qazvín. Táhirih proceeded to her
father’s house, while the Arabs who had formed her escort alighted at a
caravanserai. Táhirih soon left her father and went to live with her
brother, and there the great ladies of the city would come to visit her;
all this until the murder of Mullá Taqí, when every Bábí in Qazvín was
taken prisoner. Some were sent to Ṭihrán and then returned to Qazvín and
martyred.
Mullá
Taqí’s murder came about in this way: One day, when that besotted
tyrant had mounted his pulpit, he began to mock and revile the great
Shaykh Aḥmad-i-Ahsá’í. Shamelessly, grossly, screaming obscenities, he
cried out: “That Shaykh is the one who has kindled this fire of evil,
and subjected the whole world to this ordeal!” There was an inquirer in
the audience, a native of Shíráz. He found the taunts, jeers and
indecencies to be more than he could bear. Under cover of darkness he
betook himself to the mosque, plunged a spearhead between the lips of
Mullá Taqí and fled. The next morning they arrested the defenseless
believers and thereupon subjected them to agonizing torture, though all
were innocent and knew nothing of what had come to pass. There was never
any question of investigating the case; the believers repeatedly
declared their innocence but no one paid them any heed. When a few days
had passed the killer gave himself up; he confessed to the authorities,
informing them that he had committed the murder because Mullá Taqí had
vilified Shaykh Aḥmad. “I deliver myself into your hands,” he told them,
“so that you will set these innocent people free.” They arrested him as
well, put him in the stocks, chained him, and sent him in chains, along
with the others, to Ṭihrán.
Once
there he observed that despite his confession, the others were not
released. By night, he made his escape from the prison and went to the
house of Riḍá Khán—that rare and precious man, that star-sacrifice among
the lovers of God—the son of Muḥammad Khán, Master of the Horse to
Muḥammad Sháh. He stayed there for a time, after which he and Riḍá Khán
secretly rode away to the Fort of Shaykh Tabarsí in Mázindarán. Muḥammad
Khán sent riders after them to track them down, but try as they might,
no one could find them. Those two horsemen got to the Fort of Tabarsí,
where both of them won a martyr’s death. As for the other friends who
were in the prison at Ṭihrán, some of these were returned to Qazvín and
they too suffered martyrdom.
One
day the administrator of finance, Mírzá Sháfí, called in the murderer
and addressed him, saying: “Jináb, do you belong to a dervish order, or
do you follow the Law? If you are a follower of the Law, why did you
deal that learned mujtahid a cruel, a fatal blow in the mouth? If you
are a dervish and follow the Path, one of the rules of the Path is to
harm no man. How, then, could you slaughter that zealous divine?” “Sir,”
he replied, “besides the Law, and besides the Path, we also have the
Truth. It was in serving the Truth that I paid him for his deed.”
These
things would take place before the reality of this Cause was revealed
and all was made plain. For in those days no one knew that the
Manifestation of the Báb would culminate in the Manifestation of the
Blessed Beauty and that the law of retaliation would be done away with,
and the foundation-principle of the Law of God would be this, that “It
is better for you to be killed than to kill”; that discord and
contention would cease, and the rule of war and butchery would fall
away. In those days, that sort of thing would happen. But praised be
God, with the advent of the Blessed Beauty such a splendor of harmony
and peace shone forth, such a spirit of meekness and long-suffering,
that when in Yazd men, women and children were made the targets of enemy
fire or were put to the sword, when the leaders and the evil ‘ulamás
and their followers joined together and unitedly assaulted those
defenseless victims and spilled out their blood—hacking at and rending
apart the bodies of chaste women, with their daggers slashing the
throats of children they had orphaned, then setting the torn and mangled
limbs on fire—not one of the friends of God lifted a hand against them.
Indeed, among those martyrs, those real companions of the ones who
died, long gone, at Karbilá—was a man who, when he saw the drawn sword
flashing over him, thrust sugar candy into his murderer’s mouth and
cried, “With a sweet taste on your lips, put me to death—for you bring
me martyrdom, my dearest wish!”
Let
us return to our theme. After the murder of her impious uncle, Mullá
Taqí, in Qazvín, Táhirih fell into dire straits. She was a prisoner and
heavy of heart, grieving over the painful events that had come to pass.
She was watched on every side, by attendants, guards, the farráshes, and
her foes. While she languished thus, Bahá’u’lláh dispatched
Hádíy-i-Qazvíní, husband of the celebrated Khátún-Ján, from the capital,
and they managed, by a stratagem, to free her from that embroilment and
got her to Ṭihrán in the night. She alighted at the mansion of
Bahá’u’lláh and was lodged in an upper apartment.
When
word of this spread throughout Ṭihrán, the Government hunted for her
high and low; nevertheless, the friends kept arriving to see her, in a
steady stream, and Táhirih, seated behind a curtain, would converse with
them. One day the great Siyyid Yaḥyá, surnamed Vahíd, was present
there. As he sat without, Táhirih listened to him from behind the veil. I
was then a child, and was sitting on her lap. With eloquence and
fervor, Vahíd was discoursing on the signs and verses that bore witness
to the advent of the new Manifestation. She suddenly interrupted him
and, raising her voice, vehemently declared: “O Yaḥyá! Let deeds, not
words, testify to thy faith, if thou art a man of true learning. Cease
idly repeating the traditions of the past, for the day of service, of
steadfast action, is come. Now is the time to show forth the true signs
of God, to rend asunder the veils of idle fancy, to promote the Word of
God, and to sacrifice ourselves in His path. Let deeds, not words, be
our adorning!”
The
Blessed Beauty made elaborate arrangements for Táhirih’s journey to
Badasht and sent her off with an equipage and retinue. His own party
left for that region some days afterward.
In
Badasht, there was a great open field. Through its center a stream
flowed, and to its right, left, and rear there were three gardens, the
envy of Paradise. One of those gardens was assigned to Quddús, but this
was kept a secret. Another was set apart for Táhirih, and in a third was
raised the pavilion of Bahá’u’lláh. On the field amidst the three
gardens, the believers pitched their tents. Evenings, Bahá’u’lláh,
Quddús and Táhirih would come together. In those days the fact that the
Báb was the Qá’im had not yet been proclaimed; it was the Blessed
Beauty, with Quddús, Who arranged for the proclamation of a universal
Advent and the abrogation and repudiation of the ancient laws.
Then
one day, and there was a wisdom in it, Bahá’u’lláh fell ill; that is,
the indisposition was to serve a vital purpose. On a sudden, in the
sight of all, Quddús came out of his garden, and entered the pavilion of
Bahá’u’lláh. But Táhirih sent him a message, to say that their Host
being ill, Quddús should visit her garden instead. His answer was: “This
garden is preferable. Come, then, to this one.” Táhirih, with her face
unveiled, stepped from her garden, advancing to the pavilion of
Bahá’u’lláh; and as she came, she shouted aloud these words: “The
Trumpet is sounding! The great Trump is blown! The universal Advent is
now proclaimed!” The believers gathered in that tent were panic struck,
and each one asked himself, “How can the Law be abrogated? How is it
that this woman stands here without her veil?”
“Read
the Súrih of the Inevitable,” said Bahá’u’lláh; and the reader began:
“When the Day that must come shall have come suddenly... Day that shall
abase! Day that shall exalt!...” and thus was the new Dispensation
announced and the great Resurrection made manifest. At the start, those
who were present fled away, and some forsook their Faith, while some
fell a prey to suspicion and doubt, and a number, after wavering,
returned to the presence of Bahá’u’lláh. The Conference of Badasht broke
up, but the universal Advent had been proclaimed.
Afterward,
Quddús hastened away to the Fort of Tabarsí and the Blessed Beauty,
with provisions and equipment, journeyed to Níyálá, having the intention
of going on from there by night, making His way through the enemy
encampment and entering the Fort. But Mírzá Taqí, the Governor of Ámul,
got word of this, and with seven hundred riflemen arrived in Níyálá.
Surrounding the village by night, he sent Bahá’u’lláh with eleven riders
back to Ámul, and those calamities and tribulations, told of before,
came to pass.
As
for Táhirih, after the breakup at Badasht she was captured, and the
oppressors sent her back under guard to Ṭihrán. There she was imprisoned
in the house of Maḥmúd Khán, the Kalántar. But she was aflame,
enamored, restless, and could not be still. The ladies of Ṭihrán, on one
pretext or another, crowded to see and listen to her. It happened that
there was a celebration at the Mayor’s house for the marriage of his
son; a nuptial banquet was prepared, and the house adorned. The flower
of Tihran’s ladies were invited, the princesses, the wives of vazírs and
other great. A splendid wedding it was, with instrumental music and
vocal melodies—by day and night the lute, the bells and songs. Then
Táhirih began to speak; and so bewitched were the great ladies that they
forsook the cithern and the drum and all the pleasures of the wedding
feast, to crowd about Táhirih and listen to the sweet words of her
mouth.
Thus
she remained, a helpless captive. Then came the attempt on the life of
the Sháh; a farmán was issued; she was sentenced to death. Saying she
was summoned to the Prime Minister’s, they arrived to lead her away from
the Kalántar’s house. She bathed her face and hands, arrayed herself in
a costly dress, and scented with attar of roses she came out of the
house.
They
brought her into a garden, where the headsmen waited; but these wavered
and then refused to end her life. A slave was found, far gone in
drunkenness; besotted, vicious, black of heart. And he strangled
Táhirih. He forced a scarf between her lips and rammed it down her
throat. Then they lifted up her unsullied body and flung it in a well,
there in the garden, and over it threw down earth and stones. But
Táhirih rejoiced; she had heard with a light heart the tidings of her
martyrdom; she set her eyes on the supernal Kingdom and offered up her
life.
Salutations be unto her, and praise. Holy be her dust, as the tiers of light come down on it from Heaven.
