The Brave Woman Who Lifted Her Veil

A retelling for children, based on The Dawn-Breakers by Nabíl-i-A'ẓam (Chapter XVII — The Conference at Badasht).

In the summer of long ago, in a little village called Badasht, three small gardens sat side by side. They were quiet, leafy places, with walls around them and the open countryside of Persia stretching away beyond. You would never guess, looking at them, that something was about to happen in those gardens that the whole world would one day remember.

Eighty-one of the leading teachers of the new Faith had come from every corner of the land. They had been called together to talk about one enormous question. The Báb had brought a new message, and the people had a hard thing to figure out: was this new Faith just a gentle continuation of the old ways they already knew — or was it something completely new, the beginning of a whole new day?

That may not sound like a big question. But think about it. For all their lives, and their parents' lives, and their grandparents' lives, people had done things a certain way. They had worn certain clothes and kept certain rules. To say that everything was new now was almost too big and too frightening to imagine.

The three gardens had been set out with great care. In one of them stayed Bahá'u'lláh — though no one yet understood how important His quiet, steadying hand really was. In another stayed Quddús, a brave young teacher who had come even though it was dangerous for him to be seen at all. And in the third garden stayed Ṭáhirih — the great woman of the new Faith, already famous, and already the bravest of them all.

For several days the believers talked. They read from holy writings. They gathered in little groups and whispered together. The older, more careful ones leaned toward going slowly. Perhaps the time had come for something new, they felt — but better to tiptoe toward it, very gently, so that no one would be too shocked.

Then came the afternoon no one expected.

In those days, the women of that land always covered their faces with a veil when men were near. It was simply what everyone did; no one even thought to question it. So picture the scene as Ṭáhirih walked into the gathering of all those men — and her veil was gone. Her face was uncovered, plain for everyone to see.

The shock went through the gathering like a thunderclap. Some of the men cried out loud. A few were so upset that they got up and left the very next day and never came back. They could not bear it. For them, the world had turned upside down.

But Ṭáhirih was not afraid, and she was not sorry. Calm and steady, she stood before them all and began to speak. And the words she spoke have been remembered ever since:

This day is the day on which the fetters of the past are broken asunder.

"Fetters" are chains. What she meant was this: today the old chains are falling away. She told them that the long, long centuries of waiting were over, and the new day everyone had hoped for had finally come. The old ways, she said, were like a cup too small to hold all the new water being poured out. And her uncovered face was her way of showing the very thing the others had only been talking about. She was not just describing the new day. She was living it, right there in front of them.

Quddús, at first, seemed angry that she had burst in like that. But by the time she finished speaking, something had changed in him. He rose to his feet and welcomed her words like a trumpet blast announcing the morning. Only later did the wisest among them realize what had really happened: Quddús seeming to push back, Ṭáhirih seeming to defy everyone, and Bahá'u'lláh's calm hand guiding both of them — all of it had been one carefully woven plan, working together like a single piece of music.

Within a few days the meeting was over, and the teachers rode back to their own cities. But they were not quite the same people who had come. In just a few hours in those three little gardens, the new Faith had stepped out of the shadow of the old and stood up, for the first time, as a brand-new day of its own.

Ṭáhirih's courage cost her dearly. Years later she gave her very life for what she believed, brave to the end. She is remembered as the first woman in the modern world to stand up so boldly for the freedom of women everywhere.

Real change is hard, and it can frighten even good and clever people. It takes great courage to be the first one to step forward and live a new truth out loud, the way Ṭáhirih did. Sometimes the bravest thing of all is not to talk about what is right, but to do it — even when everyone around you is afraid.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "Without Veil at Badasht: Ṭáhirih's Public Declaration".

Nabíl-i-A'ẓam. (1932). *The Dawn-Breakers: Nabíl's Narrative of the Early Days of the Bahá'í Revelation*. Bahá'í Publishing Trust. https://www.bahai.org/library/other-literature/historical/dawn-breakers/