The Musk-Black Pen

A retelling based on Memorials of the Faithful by 'Abdu'l-Bahá. Words in quotation marks are as preserved in that book and its notes.

Some of Mishkín-Qalam's calligraphs were written so that the letters took the shape of birds. When E. G. Browne was in Persia, he was told that these pieces would be eagerly sought after by Persians of all classes, were it not that every one of them bore the same signature, a couplet in which the penman named himself. A note in Memorials of the Faithful translates it:

Lord of calligraphy, my banner goes before; But to Bahá'u'lláh, a bondsman at the door, Naught else I am, Mishkín-Qalam.

The word for door, the note adds, is a play on words that brings the name of the Báb into the verse beside the name of Bahá'u'lláh.

Mishk is musk, and Mishkín-Qalam means either the musk-scented pen or the jet-black pen. "He wielded a musk-black pen," 'Abdu'l-Bahá wrote of him, "and his brows shone with faith."

He was the leading calligrapher of Persia, well known to all the great, and held a special position among the court ministers of Tihrán. He was famed throughout Asia Minor, where his pen was the wonder of all calligraphers, because he was adept at every style.

He first heard of the Cause of God in Isfahán, and he set out to find Bahá'u'lláh. He crossed great distances, over mountains, deserts and sea, until he came to Adrianople and attained His presence. By then, 'Abdu'l-Bahá says, he was "reeling to and fro like a drunkard in his love for God," and his longing was so intense that his mind seemed to wander. He spent some time under the sheltering grace of Bahá'u'lláh, and every day new blessings were showered on him. Meanwhile he went on with his calligraphy. He wrote out the Most Great Name, Yá Bahá'u'l-Abhá, O Thou Glory of the All-Glorious, with marvellous skill and in many different forms, and sent the pages everywhere.

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He was then directed to Constantinople, and set out with Jináb-i-Sayyáh. At first the leading Persians and Turks of that city received him with every honour, and "were captivated by his jet black, calligraphic art." But he began boldly and eloquently to teach the Faith, and the Persian ambassador went to the Sultán's ministers. "This man is an agitator," he told them, "sent here by Bahá'u'lláh to stir up trouble and make mischief in this Great City."

In fact, 'Abdu'l-Bahá writes, that mild and submissive man "was occupied solely with his calligraphy and his worship of God." He was seeking to reconcile the followers of different faiths, not to drive them further apart. He was "a refuge to the hapless and a horn of plenty to the poor," and he invited all comers to the oneness of humankind.

But the ambassador had long-standing ties with the ministers. He had people make their way into gatherings and spread false charges against the believers, and spies surrounded Mishkín-Qalam and reported to the Prime Minister that he was a troublemaker, a rebel and a criminal. He was jailed and sent to Gallipoli, where, 'Abdu'l-Bahá writes, "he joined our own company of victims." From there he was sent to Cyprus, and Bahá'u'lláh and His companions to the prison of 'Akká. Mishkín-Qalam was held in the citadel at Famagusta, a captive there "from the year 85 till 94."

When Cyprus passed out of Turkish hands he was freed, and he went to his Well-Beloved in 'Akká. There, under the grace of Bahá'u'lláh, he went on producing his calligraphs and sending them about. He was always joyous of spirit, 'Abdu'l-Bahá remembered, "like a candle burning its life away," and a consolation to all the believers.

After the ascension of Bahá'u'lláh he remained firm in the Covenant. He stood before those who violated it "like a brandished sword," and would never go half way with them.

He travelled afterwards to India and spent some time there, making fresh efforts every day. When 'Abdu'l-Bahá learned that he was growing helpless, He sent for him at once, and he came back to the Most Great Prison, to the joy of the believers.

"He was at all times my close companion," 'Abdu'l-Bahá wrote. He had amazing verve and intense love, and was believing, confident, serene, detached from the world, "a peerless companion, a wit." He was always smiling, "spirit personified, love embodied."

Had he not been in love with the Blessed Beauty, 'Abdu'l-Bahá wrote, every worldly pleasure could have been his; wherever he went, his many calligraphic styles were a substantial capital. "But he was hopelessly enamored of man's one true Love, and thus he was free of all those other bonds, and could float and soar in the spirit's endless sky."

He passed away while 'Abdu'l-Bahá was absent, leaving, in the Master's words, "this darksome, narrow world" for the land of lights.

This is a retelling. For the fuller account, see Memorials of the Faithful by 'Abdu'l-Bahá.

'Abdu'l-Bahá. (1915). *Memorials of the Faithful*. Bahá'í Publishing Trust.