Once again, within the confines of Chihríq, the Báb had uninterrupted communication with His followers. Mullá Ádí Guzal, a native of Marághih (Ádh-rbáyján), acted as a courier, often traversing vast distances on foot. Decades later `Abdu'l-Bahá recalled a day when this indefatigable man arrived at Ṭihrán, dressed as a dervish and much travel-stained. Vaḥíd, on learning who he was and from whence he had come, bent low and kissed the mud-encrusted feet of the courier, for he had been in the presence of the Beloved.
One of this courier's journeys took him to Quddús, with the gift of a valuable pen-case and a silk turban sent by the Báb. And when Quddús and Mullá Ḥusayn and their companions died as martyrs in Mázindarán, the Báb chose this same faithful courier to go on pilgrimage in His stead to the land drenched with their blood. Thus Mullá Ádí Guzal was the first Bábí to set eyes on the scenes of that carnage. He was also, for two months, the Báb's personal attendant in the castle of Chihríq.[1]
Sulaymán Khán, the son of Yaḥyá Khán of Tabríz, was one of the prominent followers of the Báb who attained His presence in this castle, after making the journey in disguise.[DY] He had no liking for service at court, and had gone to `Iráq, to live under the shadow of the Shrine of Imám Ḥusayn. There he found himself attracted to the teachings of Siyyid Káẓim and, hearing later of the advent of the Báb, gave Him his allegiance. The news of the plight of his fellow-believers, who were hounded and besieged in Mázindarán, drew him back to his native land. He reached Ṭihrán dressed as a cleric. Mírzá Taqí Khán, however, made him discard his turban and long cloak, and forced him to wear a military uniform. But he could not prevail upon him to enter the service of the Government. Sulaymán Khán's primary purpose remained unfulfilled: to give aid to Quddús and the Bábu'l-Báb proved impossible, but his sudden departure from Karbilá was not to be in vain, or barren of significant result.
Another visitor to Chihríq during the closing months of the life of the Báb was His uncle, Ḥájí Mírzá Siyyid `Alí. His life too was nearing its end, to be laid down in the path of his Nephew. Two years had passed since the day his Nephew bade him farewell in Shíráz, and Ḥájí Mírzá Siyyid `Alí could no longer bear the pangs of separation. He settled his accounts, closed his books and took the road to Ádharbáyján. Having attained his heart's desire, he wrote to his brother, Ḥájí Mírzá Siyyid Muḥammad, to help him see the truth of their Nephew's mission. His letter was written on the fifth day of Jamádíu'l-Úlá—the anniversary of the Declaration of the Báb. 'On such a day,' he told his brother, 'the resplendent Light of God shone forth.... This is the day of Resurrection ... the day to behold the Visage of God.'[2] The One promised, expected and awaited had indeed come, he asserted, and come with verses constituting the primal proof of all the Manifestations of God. He desired all the members of his family to see his letter. One cannot but marvel at the quality of devotion and certainty that this letter reveals.
To meet, after such a long interval, the uncle who had stood in loco parentis to Him when He was orphaned, must have given the Báb intense joy. But within a few months[DZ] of His uncle's visit, news came that brought Him unbearable sorrow. At Shaykh Ṭabarsí in Mázindarán a large number of His followers had been massacred, including nine of His first disciples, the Letters of the Living; amongst them were the Bábu'l-Báb who had first believed in Him, and Quddús, His companion on the journey to Ḥijáz, the beloved disciple whose primacy was unquestioned.
According to His amanuensis:
The Báb was heart-broken at the receipt of this unexpected intelligence. He was crushed with grief, a grief that stilled His voice and silenced His pen. For nine days He refused to meet any of His friends. I myself, though His close and constant attendant, was refused admittance. Whatever meat or drink we offered Him, He was disinclined to touch. Tears rained continually from His eyes, and expressions of anguish dropped unceasingly from His lips. I could hear Him, from behind the curtain, give vent to His feelings of sadness as He communed, in the privacy of His cell, with His Beloved. I attempted to jot down the effusions of His sorrow as they poured forth from His wounded heart. Suspecting that I was attempting to preserve the lamentations He uttered, He bade me destroy whatever I had recorded. Nothing remains of the moans and cries with which that heavy-laden heart sought to relieve itself of the pangs that had seized it. For a period of five months He languished, immersed in an ocean of despondency and sorrow.[3]
Conscious that His own life was fast approaching its end, the Báb put all His Writings, His pen-case, His seals and rings in a box which He entrusted to Mullá Báqir-i-Tabrízí, one of the Letters of the Living, with instructions to deliver it, together with a letter, to Mírzá Aḥmad-i-Kátib (Mullá `Abdu'l-Karím-i-Qazvíní). Nabíl-i-A`ẓam writes:
Mullá Báqir departed forthwith for Qazvín. Within eighteen days he reached that town and was informed that Mírzá Aḥmad had departed for Qum. He left immediately for that destination and arrived towards the middle of the month of Sha`bán.[EA] I was then in Qum.... I was living in the same house with Mírzá Aḥmad.... In those days Shaykh `Aẓím, Siyyid Ismá`íl, and a number of other companions likewise were dwelling with us. Mullá Báqir delivered the trust into the hands of Mírzá Aḥmad, who, at the insistence of Shaykh `Aẓím, opened it before us. We marvelled when we beheld, among the things which that coffer contained, a scroll of blue paper, of the most delicate texture, on which the Báb, in His own exquisite handwriting, which was a fine shikastih script, had penned, in the form of a pentacle, what numbered about five hundred verses, all consisting of derivatives from the word 'Bahá'.[EB] That scroll was in a state of perfect preservation, was spotlessly clean.... So fine and intricate was the penmanship that, viewed at a distance, the writing appeared as a single wash of ink on the paper. We were overcome with admiration as we gazed upon a masterpiece which no calligraphist, we believed, could rival. That scroll was replaced in the coffer and handed back to Mírzá Aḥmad, who, on the very day he received it, proceeded to Ṭihrán. Ere he departed, he informed us that all he could divulge of that letter was the injunction that the trust was to be delivered into the hands of Jináb-i-Bahá[EC] in Ṭihrán.[4]