House of the Báb

HOUSE of THE BAB

I was watering the orange tree when a rush of feelings came over me. How can a simple tree have such an effect? There are trees the world over which have some significance to any number of people. This one, however, had a special meaning to me, and in some ways a host of others. I have been watering this tree for over twenty years and yet, in a way, it has been watering me.

I was but eight years old when my family travelled to the city of Shiraz, Iran, famed the world over for its roses, and the resting place of two of the greatest Persian Poets, Hafez and Sa’adi. What was significant though to my family is that Shiraz is where the Bahá’í Faith started.

I followed my mother and father into a simple home. It was memorable in that it was quiet unassuming. I had, up to this point, seen grand archaeological ruins, palaces, shrines to the poets and other elaborate structures. The memories that strike me from this visit were internal, not external. I followed my parents into the house and we prepared ourselves to visit the room where the Bahá’í Faith started. I did not grasp the import of this visit at the time. What I do remember is that we started up a carpeted stairway. I remember my mother kissing each step as we went up. I asked her “why are we kissing the steps?” She told me that what I did not understand then I would appreciate in the future. I will never forget the feel of the Persian carpet on my lips as I kissed those steps. We entered the room were the Báb declared to Mullá Husayn that he was the promised Qaim and that One greater than him would follow. I remember my mother and father kneeling on the floor. I remember tears, though whose I am not sure. I do remember however, the room and how I felt in it. We, my brother and I, understood at that time that we could leave after a prayer or two and wait for our parents below. I lingered a bit, tugged by the site of my parents in devout prayer and the desire to leave them in peace. Patience does not sit long with an 8 year old. My brother and I went down to the courtyard where we saw a well. We had not seen actual wells in the past and were as fascinated as any young boys would be. In this courtyard there stood an orange tree. We found an orange that had fallen and picked it up. I am sure that pilgrims in similar situations, our parents included, would have loved to have peeled that orange and eaten it as it was from a special tree. My brother and I simply wanted to see how deep the well was and tossed it down.

A little more than ten years from that visit the clergy roused their followers. They orchestrated the complete and total destruction of that most blessed house.

Lessons seem to not always be learned. The fanatics executed the Báb in hopes of crushing His influence on the people. He is now enshrined on Mount Carmel in the Holy Land and revered from every corner of the earth. They thought that by destroying our buildings, cemeteries and homes that somehow they would destroy our belief and our faith. They thought that by killing believers or imprisoning them on trumped up charges would weaken our faith. They just sentenced more Bahá’í’s to prison for simply educating their own fellow believers.

A few years later I was given a tree that was grown from that orange tree in Shiraz. There are now thousands of orange trees the world over that have grown from the seeds of that original tree. Two of these trees stand at the gate of the terrace of the Shrine of the Báb on Mount Carmel. This tree that I water and see every day is a child of that tree that I saw over forty years ago. Though that house is no longer in existence, it lives still in these trees and, more importantly, in the hearts of the believers. When I see that tree I remember kissing those dear and precious steps which still live in my heart.

-Shiidon, October 2011

Image: Copyright 2011, Bahá'í International Community