It was also during the last few months of His life that the Báb composed the Arabic Bayán, which, in the estimation of Nicolas, is the epitome of the teachings of the Báb.
The man who took the decision to have the Báb executed was Mírzá Taqí Khán, the Grand Vizier of Náṣiri'd-Dín Sháh. His obdurate nature brooked no opposition. Mírzá Áqá Khán-i-Núrí, who had a ministerial post, made a faint protest, but his voice went unheeded. Orders were sent to Ḥamzih Mírzá, the Ḥishmatu'd-Dawlih, Governor-General of Ádharbáyján, to bring the Báb to Tabríz. When these were carried out further orders came from the Grand Vizier, brought by no less a person than his brother, Mírzá Ḥasan Khán, the Vazír Nizám. They were to the effect that the Báb should be executed by a firing squad, in full public view. Ḥishmatu'd-Dawlih refused absolutely to be associated in any way with such a dastardly action. His response was: 'I am neither Ibn-i-Zíyád nor Ibn-i-Sa`d[ED] that he should call upon me to slay an innocent descendant of the Prophet of God.'[5]
The Grand Vizier, on being informed by Mírzá Ḥasan Khán of this refusal, instructed his brother to carry out the orders under his own authority. Divested of His turban and sash which indicated His lineage, the Báb and His attendants were taken on foot to the barracks, from the house which the Governor had put at their disposal. On the way to the citadel, a youth, barefoot and dishevelled, threw himself at the feet of the Báb, beseeching Him: 'Send me not from Thee, O Master. Wherever Thou goest, suffer me to follow Thee.' To this the Báb replied: 'Muḥammad-`Alí, arise, and rest assured that you will be with Me. Tomorrow you shall witness what God has decreed.'[6]
This youth, Mírzá Muḥammad-`Alíy-i-Zunúzí, had long been devoted to the Báb, but his stepfather[EE] had used every subterfuge to prevent him from meeting the Báb and voicing his allegiance, even going to the length of locking him up in his own house. Shaykh Ḥasan-i-Zunúzí was related to the family, and thus had access to Mírzá Muḥammad-`Alí. Visiting him one day, Shaykh Ḥasan found the youth transformed, no longer wretched and bemoaning his fate, but happy and at peace. 'The eyes of my Beloved,' he told Shaykh Ḥasan, 'have beheld this face, and these eyes have gazed upon His countenance.' He then recounted an experience he had had:
Let me tell you the secret of my happiness. After the Báb had been taken back to Chihríq,[EF] one day, as I lay confined in my cell, I turned my heart to Him and besought Him in these words: 'Thou beholdest, O my Best-Beloved, my captivity and helplessness, and knowest how eagerly I yearn to look upon Thy face. Dispel the gloom that oppresses my heart, with the light of Thy countenance.' What tears of agonising pain I shed that hour! I was so overcome with emotion that I seemed to have lost consciousness. Suddenly I heard the voice of the Báb, and, lo! He was calling me. He bade me arise. I beheld the majesty of His countenance as He appeared before me. He smiled as He looked into my eyes. I rushed forward and flung myself at His feet. 'Rejoice,' He said; 'the hour is approaching when, in this very city, I shall be suspended before the eyes of the multitude and shall fall a victim to the fire of the enemy. I shall choose no one except you to share with Me the cup of martyrdom. Rest assured that this promise which I give you shall be fulfilled.'[7]
Now, two years later, in a thoroughfare of Tabríz, Mírzá Muḥammad-`Alíy-i-Zunúzí received the same promise and assurance from the Báb.
That night the Báb was joyous. He knew that on the following day He would quaff the cup of martyrdom. He also knew that His Mission on this earth was totally accomplished, despite fierce opposition mounted by the divines and rulers of the land, and despite the tyrannies and indignities to which He had been mercilessly subjected. No power had succeeded in quenching the flame of faith which His Word had set ablaze. He had knowingly sacrificed His life for the sake of the Redeemer promised unto all Faiths. The near advent of 'Him Whom God shall make manifest' (Man-Yuẓhiruhu'lláh) had been His constant theme. He had made the acceptance of His own Book—the mighty Bayán—dependent upon the good pleasure of 'Him Whom God shall make manifest', Whom He had addressed in the early days of His Ministry:
O Thou Remnant of God! I have sacrificed myself wholly for Thee; I have accepted curses for Thy sake, and have yearned for naught but martyrdom in the path of Thy love.[8]