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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
9 stories on this theme.
At three in the morning on the anniversary of His ascension, and whenever a pilgrim enters the Shrine of Bahá'u'lláh, Bahá'ís chant the Tablet of Visitation. Adib Taherzadeh recounts how this most beloved of devotional texts came to be — gathered, in the days of mourning, by the grief-stricken chronicler Nabíl from Bahá'u'lláh's own revealed words, and given authority by 'Abdu'l-Bahá.
Bahá'ís do not call the twenty-ninth of May the day of Bahá'u'lláh's death. They call it His Ascension. Drawing on Esslemont's Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era, this retelling reflects on the serene close of His earthly life, on the Tomb at Bahjí that became the Qiblih of a world religion, and on why the language of a rising Sun and a homeward journey, rather than of ending, is the truer way to speak of His passing.
In the small hours of the twenty-ninth of May, 1892, Bahá'u'lláh ascended at Bahjí in the seventy-fifth year of His age. A telegram bearing the words "the Sun of Bahá has set" carried the news to the Sultan; and for a full week, mourners of every faith and station — Muslim and Christian, Jew and Druze, rich and poor — gathered at the Mansion to grieve and to pay tribute.
In 1953 the golden dome of the Shrine of the Báb was at last raised over Mount Carmel, completing the monument Shoghi Effendi loved to call the "Queen of Carmel" — a structure of surpassing majesty over the remains of a Prophet whom His own land had martyred in obscurity.
On Naw-Rúz 1909, after the sacred remains of the Báb had been hidden and moved for sixty years, 'Abdu'l-Bahá laid them with His own hands in the Shrine He had built on Mount Carmel — and, overcome, wept so that all who were present wept with Him. The greatest victory, He called it, of a long-deferred hope.
After the firing squad, the remains of the Báb began a journey unlike any other in religious history — wrapped in a cloak, hidden in a silk factory, carried to Ṭihrán, buried beneath shrine floors, walled into a mosque, smuggled at last across mountains and seas to the Holy Land. For nearly sixty years the faithful passed this Most Holy of trusts from hand to hand, guarding it through every danger until 'Abdu'l-Bahá could lay it to rest on Mount Carmel.
After the Báb was martyred, His body and that of His companion were flung outside the gate of Tabríz, at the edge of the moat, to be devoured — and a guard of sentinels was set to watch over them. Through the daring of a believer named Ḥájí Sulaymán Khán, the precious remains were carried away by night, hidden in a silk factory, and — at Bahá'u'lláh's own command — borne in secret toward safety. So began a hidden journey that would end, sixty years later, on Mount Carmel.
For nearly sixty years the remains of the martyred Báb were carried in secret from hiding place to hiding place, guarded through every danger. On the morning of Naw-Rúz 1909, after a labour of ten years to build the tomb, 'Abdu'l-Bahá with His own hands laid them to rest in the spot on Mount Carmel that Bahá'u'lláh Himself had chosen — and wept upon the sarcophagus.
Julia Grundy's pilgrim notes preserve the small ceremonial details of a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Bahá'u'lláh at Bahjí — the shoes left at the door, the long Persian rugs underfoot, the kneeling at the marble threshold, and the tea served afterward by the women of the household.