The Biggest Crowd of All

A retelling for children, based on Mahmúd's Diary (entry of 8 October 1912).

Early one autumn morning, a train pulled out of San Francisco and rolled south through California. On board was 'Abdu'l-Bahá, on His way to a place called Stanford — a brand-new university where young people came to study and learn. A friend named Mírzá Maḥmúd rode along too, writing down in his diary everything he saw, so that one day people like us could read about it.

When they arrived, they walked into the university chapel — a big hall with high ceilings and rows and rows of seats. And the seats were full. So full, in fact, that Mírzá Maḥmúd tried to count the people and gave up at about eighteen hundred students, with another one hundred and eighty teachers and professors besides.

Think about that. Eighteen hundred young people, all squeezed into one room, all waiting quietly to hear one visitor speak. It was the biggest crowd that came to hear 'Abdu'l-Bahá in all His long journey across America. Not one other place, in all those months, gathered so many.

The head of the whole university, a man named David Starr Jordan, stood up to introduce the visitor. He did not give a long, fancy speech. He didn't need to. Just think how surprising it was: the leader of one of the newest, boldest universities in the land, standing before all his students, asking them to listen carefully to a wise old teacher who had come all the way from Persia, far across the world. That alone said plenty. So he said only a few words, and then he stepped aside.

Then 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose and walked to the front.

He had come to talk to them about peace — about people of every land learning to live together like one big family. And He told them something they would never forget. Being good to one another, He said, being friends across every border, was not some brand-new idea that had only just been invented. It was one of the oldest and best ideas there ever was:

The religion of brotherhood, of good will, of friendship between men and nations is as old as good thinking and good living may be.

He spoke about how much is lost and wasted whenever people fight wars. He spoke about how wonderful science could be when people used it to help one another. And He told them how silly it was to look down on anyone for being different. After all, He said, the world had grown so close together — with trains carrying people from city to city, and the telegraph carrying messages across whole countries in a flash — that the whole human family now lived together like people sharing a single house.

When He finished, the head of the university stood up once more. He thanked 'Abdu'l-Bahá warmly, telling everyone how much it had meant to hear about the brotherhood of all people and the great worth of peace.

Then the students began to file out, into the bright autumn afternoon. But many of them did not want to leave just yet. They stayed behind, hoping to say hello to 'Abdu'l-Bahá face to face — and He greeted every single one He could reach, one by one.

Here is something to remember about that morning. Only four years earlier, 'Abdu'l-Bahá had not been free at all; for most of His life He had been a prisoner. And now here He was, the honored guest of a great university, with hundreds of bright young people leaning in to catch His every word. The biggest crowd of His whole journey came not to see someone rich or famous, but to hear a kind and patient teacher speak about loving one another. Good ideas, it turns out, are stronger than locks and walls — and the wish to live together in peace is older, and deeper, than anyone might guess.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "Eighteen Hundred Students: 'Abdu'l-Bahá at Stanford".

Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání, M.. (1998). *Mahmúd's Diary: The Diary of Mírzá Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání*. George Ronald.