As for Ḥájí Muḥammad-Ja’far, the gently born, he too, like his brother, was bewitched by the Blessed Beauty. It was in ‘Iráq that he entered the presence of the Light of the World, and he too caught fire with Divine love and was carried away by the gentle gales of God. Like his brother, he was a vendor of small wares, always on a journey from one place to the next. When Bahá’u’lláh left Ba_gh_dád for the capital of Islám, Ḥájí Ja’far was in Persia, and when the Blessed Beauty and His retinue came to a halt in Adrianople, Ja’far and Ḥájí Taqí, his brother, arrived there from Á_dh_irbayján. They found a corner somewhere and settled down. Our oppressors then stretched out arrogant hands to send Bahá’u’lláh forth to the Most Great Prison, and they forbade the believers to accompany the true Beloved, for it was their purpose to bring the Blessed Beauty to this prison with but a few of His people. When Ḥájí Ja’far saw that they had excluded him from the band of exiles, he seized a razor and slashed his throat.(73) The crowds expressed their grief and horror and the authorities then permitted all the believers to leave in company with Bahá’u’lláh—this because of the blessing that came from Ja’far’s act of love. They stitched up his wound but no one thought he would recover. They told him, “For the time being, you will have to stay where you are. If your throat heals, you will be sent on, along with your brother. Be sure of this.” Bahá’u’lláh also directed that this be done. Accordingly, we left Ja’far in the hospital and went on to the Akká prison. Two months later, he and his brother Ḥájí Taqí arrived at the fortress, and joined the other prisoners. The safely delivered Ḥájí grew more loving, more ardent with every passing day. From dusk till dawn he would stay awake, chanting prayers, shedding his tears. Then one night he fell from the roof of the caravanserai and ascended to the Kingdom of miracles and signs. Ḥájí Taqí, born under a fortunate star, was in every sense a true brother to Ḥájí Ja’far. He lived in the same spiritual condition, but he was calmer. After Ḥájí Ja’far’s death, he would stay in one room, all alone. He was silence itself. He would sit there, all alone, properly and courteously, even during the night. One midnight he climbed up to the roof to chant prayers. The next morning they found him where he had fallen, on the ground by the wall. He was unconscious, and they could not tell whether this was an accident or whether he had thrown himself down. When he came to himself he said: “I was weary of this life, and I tried to die. Not for a moment do I wish to linger in this world. Pray that I may go on.”