The Gift of the Purest Branch

A retelling for children, based on the account of Mírzá Mihdí in Bahá'í Chronicles.

High above a grey stone prison, a young man walked back and forth along the rooftop, his lips moving softly in prayer. Below him, behind thick walls and a deep moat, sat the prison-city of 'Akká. And inside those walls lived his beloved father — Bahá'u'lláh.

The young man's name was Mírzá Mihdí. He was the youngest son of Bahá'u'lláh, and he was the little brother of 'Abdu'l-Bahá and Bahíyyih Khánum. Bahá'u'lláh loved him so dearly that He gave him a special name: the Purest Branch.

Mírzá Mihdí had not always lived behind prison walls. When he was very small, his family had been forced to leave their home in Persia, sent far away from everything they knew. Mihdí had been too sick to travel with them, and he had to stay behind with relatives — apart from his parents for years and years. But at last he had found his way back to them, and from that day on he never left his father's side again. Through one long, hard journey after another, he stayed close to Bahá'u'lláh, until the whole family was brought to this prison by the sea.

Life in the prison was hard. There was little food, little clean water, and much sickness. Hardest of all was how cut off they were from the world. People who loved Bahá'u'lláh would travel for weeks and weeks, all the way from Persia, just hoping to see Him. But the prison gates stayed shut against them. Some of them, after such a long journey, could only stand far away beyond the moat and gaze up at the barracks, hoping to catch a single glimpse of His face at a window. Then, with aching hearts, they had to turn around and go home again, never having reached Him at all.

Imagine how that felt — to come so far, and be turned away at the very last step.

Through all of it, Mírzá Mihdí stayed gentle and brave. Even though he was still young, the other prisoners leaned on him; he was called "a pillar of strength." He was kind, and patient, and dignified, and people said he was very much like his older brother 'Abdu'l-Bahá. Best of all, he had a special task: he helped his father by carefully copying out the holy words that Bahá'u'lláh revealed. Mihdí had beautiful handwriting, and many pages he wrote with his own hand have been kept safe to this very day.

Which brings us back to that summer evening on the rooftop.

Mihdí loved to pace there in the cool of the evening, praying. On this night, his heart was so full of God that he forgot to watch his step. In the rooftop floor there was an open skylight — a hazard he knew well. But lost in prayer, he did not see it. He fell through the opening and crashed onto a wooden crate below, and he was hurt very badly.

A doctor came, but there was nothing the doctor could do. Mírzá Mihdí knew he was dying.

Now, you might think that in his last hours, a dying young man would ask for something to make himself more comfortable. But Mihdí did not. As he lay there, he turned his last wish into a gift. He asked his father, Bahá'u'lláh, for one thing only: that his death might be accepted as a sacrifice — so that the harsh prison rules might be loosened, and the people who had traveled so far to see Bahá'u'lláh might finally be allowed to reach Him.

Think about that. With his very last breath, Mihdí was not thinking about himself at all. He was thinking about all those weary travelers turned away at the gate. He gave up his own life so that others might come close to his father.

The next day, Mírzá Mihdí passed away. His family's sorrow was very deep. Outside in the prison courtyard, 'Abdu'l-Bahá kept watch beside a tent, heartbroken for his little brother. Bahá'u'lláh, too, grieved for His son. And around the time Mihdí was laid to rest, the ground itself shook with an earthquake, felt for many miles around. Later, Bahá'u'lláh wrote words to His son that I think you will never forget:

"When thou wast laid to rest in the earth, the earth itself trembled in its longing to meet thee."

And here is the most wonderful part. Mihdí's wish came true.

Four months after he died, the prison doors that had been shut for so long were finally opened wider. The exiles were allowed to leave the cramped barracks and live in the town, where — at last — they could welcome visitors. All those people who had once been turned away could now come and sit in the presence of Bahá'u'lláh. The Purest Branch had given them that gift.

Many, many years later, Mírzá Mihdí's resting place was carefully moved to a beautiful garden on the slopes of Mount Carmel, near where his sister Bahíyyih Khánum and his mother were laid to rest. Shoghi Effendi himself helped carry him there and scattered flowers over the spot.

Mírzá Mihdí teaches us something quiet and very big: the most loving thing a person can do is to think of others before themselves. He could have spent his last wish on anything. He spent it on opening a door for people he had never even met — so that they could find their way to God.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "Mírzá Mihdí".

editors, B. C.. *Bahá'í Chronicles*. https://bahaichronicles.org/mirza-mihdi/