The Chosen Highway/‘Akká
CHAPTER V ‘Akká[edit]
We had embarked so hurriedly that we had been unable to provide for the voyage—a few loaves and a little cheese, brought by one of the friends, was all the food we had for those indescribable days.
A dear friend of the family, Jináb-i-Muníb, was taken seriously ill. When the boat stopped at Smyrna, Sarkár-i-Aqá (‘Abdu’l-Bahá) and Mírzá Músá carried him ashore, and took him to a hospital. The Master bought a melon and some grapes; returning with the refreshing fruit for him—He found that he had died. Arrangements were made with the director of the hospital for a simple funeral. The Master chanted some prayers, then, heartsore, came back to the boat.
Arrived at Alexandria, again came that spectre, the rumour of our immediate separation.
The friends, though prostrated by sickness, worn out by the wretchedness of the voyage, and crushed by this repeated blow, determined to refuse submission. One friend, in his dire distress, jumped into the sea, but was saved.
Bahá’u’lláh and the Master cheered us. "Why did you jump into the sea? Did you wish to give a banquet to the fishes?" asked Bahá’u’lláh.
Nabíl, the historian, and another of the Bahá’ís, were in the prison near the port at Alexandria. In their chains they stood, gazing out of the small windows. To their amazement they saw Bahá’u’lláh and the Master standing amongst the friends on the deck of our boat.
The prisoners succeeded in attracting the attention of one of our servants, who very cautiously went to them and heard them say: "We were brought here a week ago, we know not to what fate we are destined."
Thence we proceeded to Haifa.
[Page 66]
There was no place in which we could lie down in that vessel. There were also some Tartar passengers in the boat. To be near them was very uncomfortable; they were dirty beyond description.
Our lack of food had reduced us to a seriously weak state of health.
At length we arrived at Haifa, where we had to be carried ashore in chairs. Here we remained for a few hours. Now we embarked again for the last bit of our sea journey. The heat of that month of July was overpowering. We were put into a sailing boat. There being no wind, and no shelter from the burning rays of the sun, we spent eight hours of positive misery, and at last we had reached ‘Akká, the end of our journey.
The landing at this place was achieved with much difficulty; the ladies of our party were carried ashore.
All the townspeople had assembled to see the arrival of the prisoners. Having been told that we were infidels, criminals, and sowers of sedition, the attitude of the crowd was threatening. Their yelling of curses and execrations filled us with fresh misery. We were terrified of the unknown! We knew not what the fate of our party, the friends and ourselves would be.
We were taken to the old fortress of ‘Akká, where we were crowded together. There was no air; a small quantity of very bad coarse bread was provided; we were unable to get fresh water to drink; our sufferings were not diminished. Then an epidemic of typhoid broke out. Nearly all became ill.
The Master appealed to the Governor, but he was at first very little inclined to relax the strict rules, which he had been directed to enforce.
The Mufti had read to the people in the Mosque a Farmán full of false accusations.
We were described as enemies of God, and as the worst kind of criminals. The people were exhorted to shun these vile malefactors; this naturally caused the attitude of intense hatred and bitter antagonism with which we were regarded.
After a while the Governor was persuaded by the Master to allow a little money instead of the uneatable rations which had been allotted to us; he also permitted one of the servitors, Mírzá Ja‘far, to go into the town, accompanied by a soldier,
[Page 67]
‘AKKÁ[edit]
to buy food. By this our condition was considerably bettered. Bahá’u’lláh and His family were imprisoned in three little rooms, up many steps, for two years.
During this time Dr. Petro, a Greek, became a friend, and having been able to make investigations, he assured the Governor that these prisoners, far from being vile criminals, were high-minded persons and innocent of all harm.
So closely were we watched that we had been in ‘Akká six or seven months without being able to get into touch with Mírzá ‘Abdu’l-Ahad, a devoted Bábí disciple, who had been sent by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá to ‘Akká some time before our arrival, and had opened a shop.
So great would his danger have been, had his connexion with the Bahá’ís been suspected, that the strictest caution was absolutely necessary.
Having heard a rumour that the Beloved Ones had been sent to ‘Akká, a friend, Abu’l-Qasim Khán, and his wife, made that long and dangerous journey from Persia in order to find out the truth. Arrived in ‘Akká they met Mírzá ‘Abdu’l-Ahad. He, fearing lest his secret should be disclosed, hurriedly hid the pair behind stacks of boxes at the back of his shop.
The news of their arrival was, with much difficulty, conveyed to Bahá’u’lláh. He sent them back to Persia, after a stay of only three days, so grave was the risk. These friends accordingly left ‘Akká. They had not even seen Bahá’u’lláh, but they were able to carry the news back to Persia that the Beloved Ones were really imprisoned in this desolate place.
The first Persian friends to telegraph to ‘Akká were the "King of the Martyred" and his brother, "The Beloved of the Martyred." The help they succeeded in sending was much needed, as we were past the end of our resources. Little by little the news of our whereabouts filtered through to the other friends in Persia. Shaykh Salmán’s self-constituted mission was to carry news from Bahá’u’lláh to Persia, and to bring back letters to Him.
Many were the difficult and dangerous journeys made, mostly on foot.
Shaykh Salmán it was who, when he was arrested at Aleppo,
bearing a most important supplication from a friend in Persia
[Page 68]
to Bahá’u’lláh, wondering how he could prevent the enemy finding it, knowing the dire consequences of its falling into their hands, swallowed it.
It was this devoted and resourceful friend who was entrusted with the significant mission of bringing Munírih Khánum from Isfahán to ‘Akká, she who was to become the wife of Sarkár-i-Aqá (‘Abdu’l-Bahá) the Master, and my much-loved sister.
When Nabíl, the historian, came to ‘Akká he was unable to get into the city. He lived for some time in the cave of Elijah on Mount Carmel. Thence he used to walk (about ten miles) to a place beyond the wall of the fortress. From this point he could see the windows of those three little rooms of our prison; here he would wait and watch for the rare and much-coveted happiness of seeing the hand of Bahá’u’lláh waving from the small middle window.
Meanwhile the war between Russia and Turkey was in progress. More barrack room was required for the soldiers. Bahá’u’lláh protested against the friends being crowded in with the soldiers. By that time the Governor had become friendly and consented to allow the family to leave the fortress, and live in a little house which a Christian merchant had let to us.
How we rejoiced in our liberty, restricted though it was. Only three times had we been permitted to go out, for even an hour, from the prison barracks during the whole of that first two years.
How tired we were of those three little rooms!
During the period of the sojourn in Baghdád, Bahíyyíh Khánum, the Greatest Holy Leaf, was her mother’s loving helper, working always beyond her strength, in the various household tasks. No childish pleasures or companions were hers. Always with eyes on her mother, alert to spare her any fatigue, she rejoiced beyond measure when she could minister in any way to her or her illustrious father.
[Page 69]
’AKKÁ[edit]
"My mother," she said, "sometimes gave lessons to my brother ‘Abbás; at other times Mírzá Músá would teach Him, and on some occasions he would be taught by His father."
"And your lessons?" I asked.
"But I never had any time for studies," she said, in a tone which spoke volumes of absolute self-effacement, and this is the keynote of her whole life, no thought of her unselfishness entered her mind.
Her thoughtfulness and consideration for all who came near her; the countless acts of never-failing kindness, were, in her eyes, all to be taken as a matter of course. Her one joy was to devote every moment of her existence to being of use to her mother and father, to whom she was passionately attached. This loving service was extended, as He grew older, to her brother ‘Abbás, Sarkár-i-Áqá, and these three were her being's end and aim.
Her life was spent in prayer to God and service to her loved ones, from the time when, as a small child of six, she cowered in the dark house alone with the tiny Purest Branch, a baby of two, in her little arms, listening in terror to the yells of the infuriated, cruel mob, not knowing if they were murdering her father, or whether they had seized her mother and the little eight-year-old ‘Abbás.
After those terrible days in Tihrán, and the not less terrible journey to Baghdad, during the sojourn in this city, she grew into a beautiful girl, very much like her lovely mother in grace of body and character, a gentle, slender maiden with large, grey-blue eyes, golden-brown hair, and warm, ivory-coloured skin. Her sense of humour was keen and her intelligence remarkable.
As she grew up, she implored her father to allow her to remain unmarried, that she might the better devote herself to her three dearly loved ones.
And so it was.
An old man, a friend of Bahá’u’lláh, told me that He once said to him: "I know no man worthy to marry such purity as my daughter."
I said, "Khánum must have been very lovely?"
"I have been told so; naturally, I never saw her."