The Day the Whole City Came to Say Goodbye

A retelling for children, based on Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era by J. E. Esslemont.

It was the third of May, in the year 1863, and in the city of Baghdád a long caravan stood ready to go. For twelve days now, Bahá'u'lláh had been staying in a beautiful garden, and during all that time His family had been quietly getting ready for a very long trip.

And it really was long. They were being sent far away to a city called Constantinople — more than a thousand miles to the north and west. That is much, much farther than most people travel in their whole lives.

Now, here is the strange and wonderful part of the story.

You might think that being sent away from your home, all that distance, would make a person sad. But Bahá'u'lláh was not sad at all. In those last days He showed the greatest joy. And because He was joyful, His followers became happy too, full of hope instead of tears.

Then something happened that almost no one expected.

The people of Baghdád began to come. Not just His friends — everyone. Great crowds gathered to pay their respects to Him. Important people came, the kind of people who usually stay in their fine houses. And the most surprising visitor of all came too. As the book tells it:

All the notables of Baghdád, even the Governor himself, came to honor the departing prisoner.

Think of that. The Governor was the most powerful man in the whole city. And even he came, in person, to show his respect before Bahá'u'lláh went away.

The people who had sent Bahá'u'lláh away had meant it as a punishment. They wanted Him to leave in shame, as if He were nobody at all. But it did not turn out that way one bit. The garden by the river had become a place where people came, day after day, just to be near Him. And now, as He prepared to leave, the whole city was coming to honor Him.

At last Bahá'u'lláh mounted His horse and set out on the long road. The people watching may not have had the words for it yet, but they felt the truth in their hearts: Baghdád was not losing an ordinary prisoner. It was being graced, one last time, by someone truly great.

And so this day is one that Bahá'ís remember with gladness. It teaches us something quiet and strong: that real dignity does not come from your fine house, or your power, or even from how others treat you. It shines out from inside a person — so brightly that, in the end, even kings and governors come to bow their heads.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "The Caravan to Constantinople: Twelfth Day of Riḍván".

Esslemont, J. E.. (1923). *Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era*. George Allen & Unwin. https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19241/pg19241-images.html