Twenty-seven days after that mournful Tablet had been so unexpectedly
revealed by Bahá’u’lláh, and the fateful communication, presaging His
departure to Constantinople had been delivered into His hands, on a
Wednesday afternoon (April 22, 1863), thirty-one days after Naw-Rúz, on
the third of _Dh_i’l-Qádih, 1279 A.H., He set forth on the first stage of
His four months’ journey to the capital of the Ottoman Empire. That
historic day, forever after designated as the first day of the Ridván
Festival, the culmination of innumerable farewell visits which friends and
acquaintances of every class and denomination, had been paying him, was
one the like of which the inhabitants of Ba_gh_dád had rarely beheld. A
concourse of people of both sexes and of every age, comprising friends and
strangers Arabs, Kurds and Persians, notables and clerics, officials and
merchants, as well as many of the lower classes, the poor, the orphaned,
the outcast, some surprised, others heartbroken, many tearful and
apprehensive, a few impelled by curiosity or secret satisfaction, thronged
the approaches of His house, eager to catch a final glimpse of One Who,
for a decade, had, through precept and example, exercised so potent an
influence on so large a number of the heterogeneous inhabitants of their
city.
Leaving for the last time, amidst weeping and lamentation, His “Most Holy
Habitation,” out of which had “gone forth the breath of the All-Glorious,”
and from which had poured forth, in “ceaseless strains,” the “melody of
the All-Merciful,” and dispensing on His way with a lavish hand a last
alms to the poor He had so faithfully befriended, and uttering words of
comfort to the disconsolate who besought Him on every side, He, at length,
reached the banks of the river, and was ferried across, accompanied by His
sons and amanuensis, to the Najíbíyyih Garden, situated on the opposite
shore. “O My companions,” He thus addressed the faithful band that
surrounded Him before He embarked, “I entrust to your keeping this city of
Ba_gh_dád, in the state ye now behold it, when from the eyes of friends
and strangers alike, crowding its housetops, its streets and markets,
tears like the rain of spring are flowing down, and I depart. With you it
now rests to watch lest your deeds and conduct dim the flame of love that
gloweth within the breasts of its inhabitants.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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