This man, a carpenter and a master craftsman, came from Ka_sh_an. For
faith and certitude, he was like a sword drawn from the scabbard. He was
well known in his own city as a man righteous, true and worthy of trust.
He was high-minded, abstemious and chaste. When he became a believer, his
urgent longing to meet Baha'u'llah could not be stilled; full of joyous
love, he went out of the Land of Kaf (Ka_sh_an) and traveled to 'Iraq,
where he beheld the splendor of the rising Sun.
He was a mild man, patient, quiet, mostly keeping to himself. In
Ba_gh_dad, he worked at his craft, was in touch with the friends, and
sustained by the presence of Baha'u'llah. For some time he lived in utter
happiness and peace. Then those who had been taken prisoner were sent away
to Mosul, and he was among the victims and like them exposed to the wrath
of the oppressors. He remained in captivity for quite a while and when
freed came to Akka. Here too he was a friend to the prisoners and in the
Fortress he continued to practice his skill. As usual he was inclined to
solitude, apt to stay apart from friend and stranger alike, and much of
the time lived by himself.
Then the supreme ordeal, the great desolation, came upon us. Qulam-'Ali
took on the carpentry work of the Holy Tomb, exerting all his sure powers.
To this day, the glass roof which is over the inner courtyard of the
Shrine of Baha'u'llah remains as the product of his skill. He was a man
crystal clear of heart. His face shone; his inner condition was constant;
at no time was he changeable or unstable. He was staunch, loving, and true
till his last breath.
After some years in this neighborhood, he rose upward to the neighborhood
of the all-embracing mercy of God, and became a friend to those who dwell
in the high Heavens. He had the honor of meeting Baha'u'llah in both
worlds. This is the most precious bestowal, the costliest of all gifts. To
him be salutations and praise. His bright grave is in Akka. Jinab-i-Munib,
upon him be the Glory of the All-Glorious
His name was Mirza Aqa and he was spirit itself. He came from Ka_sh_an. In
the days of the Bab, he was drawn to the sweet savors of God; it was then
he caught fire. He was a fine youth, handsome, full of charm and grace. He
was a calligrapher second to none, a poet, and he had as well a remarkable
singing voice. He was wise and perceptive; staunch in the Faith of God; a
flame of God's love, severed from all but God.
During the years when Baha'u'llah resided in 'Iraq, Jinab-i-Munib left
Ka_sh_an and hastened to His presence. He went to live in a small and
humble house, barely managed to subsist, and set about committing to
writing the words of God. On his brow, the bestowals of the Manifestation
were clear to see. In all this mortal world he had only one possession,
his daughter; and even his daughter he had left behind in Persia, as he
hurried away to 'Iraq.
At the time when, with all pomp and ceremony, Baha'u'llah and His retinue
departed from Ba_gh_dad, Jinab-i-Munib accompanied the party on foot. The
young man had been known in Persia for his easy and agreeable life and his
love of pleasure; also for being somewhat soft and delicate, and used to
having his own way. It is obvious what a person of this type endured,
going on foot from Ba_gh_dad to Constantinople. Still, he gladly measured
out the desert miles, and he spent his days and nights chanting prayers,
communing with God and calling upon Him.
He was a close companion of mine on that journey. There were nights when
we would walk, one to either side of the howdah of Baha'u'llah, and the
joy we had defies description. Some of those nights he would sing poems;
among them he would chant the odes of Hafiz, like the one that begins,
"Come, let us scatter these roses, let us pour out this wine,"(84) and
that other:
To our King though we bow the knee,
We are kings of the morning star.
No changeable colors have we--
Red lions, black dragons we are!
The Blessed Beauty, at the time of His departure from Constantinople,
directed Jinab-i-Munib to return to Persia and promulgate the Faith.
Accordingly he went back, and over a considerable period he rendered
outstanding services, especially in Tihran. Then he came again, from
Persia to Adrianople, and entered the presence of Baha'u'llah, enjoying
the privilege of attending upon Him. At the time of the greatest
catastrophe, that is, the exile to Akka, he was made a prisoner on this
Pathway and traveled, by now feeble and ill, with the party of
Baha'u'llah.
He had been stricken by a severe ailment and was pitifully weak. Still, he
would not agree to remaining behind in Adrianople where he could receive
treatment, because he wanted to sacrifice his life and fall at the feet of
his Lord. We journeyed along till we reached the sea. He was now so feeble
that it took three men to lift him and carry him onto the ship. Once he
was on board, his condition grew so much worse that the captain insisted
we put him off the ship, but because of our repeated pleas he waited till
we reached Smyrna. In Smyrna, the captain addressed Colonel Umar Bayk, the
government agent who accompanied us, and told him: "If you don't put him
ashore, I will do it by force, because the ship will not accept passengers
in this condition."
We were compelled, then, to take Jinab-i-Munib to the hospital at Smyrna.
Weak as he was, unable to utter a word, he dragged himself to Baha'u'llah,
lay down at His feet, and wept. On the countenance of Baha'u'llah as well,
there was intense pain.
We carried Jinab-i-Munib to the hospital, but the functionaries allowed us
not more than one hour's time. We laid him down on the bed; we laid his
fair head on the pillow; we held him and kissed him many times. Then they
forced us away. It is clear how we felt. Whenever I think of that moment,
the tears come; my heart is heavy and I summon up the remembrance of what
he was. A great man; infinitely wise, he was, steadfast, modest and grave;
and there was no one like him for faith and certitude. In him the inner
and outer perfections, the spiritual and physical, were joined together.
That is why he could receive endless bounty and grace.
His grave is in Smyrna, but it is off by itself, and deserted. Whenever
this can be done, the friends must search for it, and that neglected dust
must be changed into a much-frequented shrine,(85) so that pilgrims who
visit there may breathe in the sweet scent of his last resting-place.