A Handful of Flour: Bahíyyih Khánum's Tihrán Childhood

Among the many tributes preserved in the slim volume *Bahíyyih Khánum: The Greatest Holy Leaf* is the long passage Shoghi Effendi composed in 1932, in the days following her passing, to honour the eldest daughter of Bahá'u'lláh and the spiritual mother of the Bahá'í community across the world.

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In that tribute the Guardian recalls — drawing on conversations he had had with her own lips during his childhood — the moment in 1852 when the wealth of the Núrí family was destroyed. Bahá'u'lláh had been seized in connection with the attempt of two unbalanced Bábí youths on the life of the Sháh. He had been thrown into the underground prison of the Síyáh-Chál. The state's response had been to confiscate, in a single afternoon of looting, the family's house, lands, and movable wealth.

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Shoghi Effendi's sentence is precise.

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> Her parents had so suddenly lost their earthly possessions that > within the space of a single day, from being the privileged > member of one of the wealthiest families of Tihrán, she had > sunk to the state of a sufferer from unconcealed poverty.

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Bahíyyih was eight years old.

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The Guardian sets the next image as carefully as a painter:

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> Her illustrious mother, the famed Navváb, was constrained to > place in the palm of her daughter's hand a handful of flour and > to induce her to accept it as a substitute for her daily bread.

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Navváb — Ásíyih Khánum, the mother — had no other food. The servants had fled. The kitchens had been emptied. The neighbours had crossed the street to avoid the gate. What remained was a small reserve of dry flour. She did not give it. She *placed* it, gently, into her child's open hand. She did not sob over the deprivation. She held the moment as though it were dignified.

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The detail tells us, in two sentences, much of what the long ministry of Bahíyyih Khánum would later be made of. The mother who placed the flour with her own hand had taught her daughter that what is given in love does not become small however small its quantity. The child who accepted the handful that day would, in the years to come, distribute food to thousands of refugees in wartime Haifa, comfort countless orphans across two continents, and become the central figure of a household that, by then, had no possessions but had everything that mattered.

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The Guardian preserved the moment because he understood it. The foundations of his great-aunt's later life as the Greatest Holy Leaf had been laid, in part, on a Tihrán afternoon when an exhausted mother gently placed dry flour into a little girl's hand and called it bread.

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*Paraphrased from Bahíyyih Khánum: The Greatest Holy Leaf (Bahá'í World Centre); Section III.6, Shoghi Effendi's tribute. Public domain text from Project Gutenberg eBook #19242. See original for full text.*

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