The Boy Who Caught Fire with Love

*A retelling for children, based on the account of Mírzá Mihdíy-i-Káshání in **Bahá'í Chronicles**.*

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In the city of Káshán, in Persia, there lived a boy named Mírzá Mihdí who could do almost anything with his mind and his hands. His father taught him, and he learned quickly. He studied the sciences. He wrote beautiful poems. And he could write words by hand so gracefully — in a flowing style called shikastih — that people would stop just to look at the shapes of the letters. Among all the children he grew up with, he stood out, head and shoulders above the rest.

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But the most important thing happened while he was still a child. He heard the news that a new Light had come into the world — that God had sent a new Messenger. The moment he heard it, something inside him caught fire. It was as if his whole heart filled up with love all at once, and from then on nothing else mattered quite so much.

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He could not keep such good news to himself. He began to tell everyone about the Faith, explaining it so clearly and so beautifully that people listened, and some of them believed too.

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You might think his neighbors would have been proud of such a bright, kind boy. But instead, many of them turned against him. They did not understand why he loved this new Faith so much, and it made them angry. People he had known all his life began to laugh at him. "He has lost his mind," one of them said. Others mocked him in the street and said he was a disgrace, that his luck had run out, that he was finished. Friends and strangers alike were unkind to him.

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It became too hard to stay. So Mírzá Mihdí did a very brave thing. He left the only home he had ever known and traveled all the way to Iraq — because that was where the new Light was shining brightest. That was where Bahá'u'lláh was. And when at last he arrived, he was allowed into the presence of the One he had crossed a whole country to find.

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Oh, how happy he was there! He stayed among the friends, and he wrote poem after poem, all of them in praise of Bahá'u'lláh. After a while, he was given permission to go back home to Káshán, and he went. But he could not stand being far away. His heart ached and ached with missing Bahá'u'lláh, until he simply could not bear it any longer. So he packed up and returned to Baghdad once more, this time bringing his sister with him.

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For a time he lived there, safe and glad, close to Bahá'u'lláh. But hard days were coming. When the time came for Bahá'u'lláh and the friends to leave Iraq and travel on to a faraway city, Mírzá Mihdí was asked to stay behind and watch over the Holy House. So he stayed, even though every day without Bahá'u'lláh felt long and lonely.

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Then things grew harder still. The believers who remained were forced to leave Baghdad and march to a place called Mosul, as prisoners. Mírzá Mihdí went with them. The journey was terribly difficult. In Mosul he was sick almost all the time, he had no money, and he was treated as an outcast. And yet — through all of it — he stayed patient. He kept his dignity. He even kept saying thank you to God, again and again, no matter what happened.

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Still, the thing he wanted most was simply to be near Bahá'u'lláh again. At last he asked for permission to go, and it was given. So he set out, sick as he was, on a long, hard road toward the great prison-city of 'Akká, where Bahá'u'lláh was being held.

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The journey nearly broke him. By the time he reached 'Akká he was worn to the bone and could barely stand. But he had made it. He spent his last days there, so close to Bahá'u'lláh — and even though he was sick and weak, those days were full of joy for him. To Mírzá Mihdí, every hardship he had suffered felt like a gift, because he had borne it all for the love of God. Softly he would pray, "O my Lord, take me, take me!" — and gently, at the end, he flew away to God.

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Mírzá Mihdí had been honored and admired when he was young. He could have had an easy, comfortable life in Káshán. Instead, for the love of Bahá'u'lláh, he gave up his good name, his home, and his comfort — and never once complained. That is what real love can do. When we love something truly, we are willing to go a long, hard way for it, and to stay thankful and joyful even when the road is steep.

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*This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see ["Mírzá Mihdíy-i-Káshání"](/stories/bc-mirza-mihdiy-i-kashani).*

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