she was unable to keep silent, so that during those hours when her brother was absent the place came alive. The Bahá’í women would flock there and absorb her lucid and eloquent speech.
In those days life in Ma
shhad was hard for the believers, with the malevolent always on the alert; if they so much as suspected an individual, they murdered him. There was no security of any kind, no peace. But
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá could not help herself: in spite of all the terrible ordeals she had endured, she ignored the danger, and was capable of flinging herself into flames, or into the sea. Since her brother frequented no one, he knew nothing of what was going on. Day and night he would only leave the house for the
Shrine, the Shrine for the house; he was a recluse, had no friends, and would not so much as speak to another person. Nevertheless there came a day when he saw that trouble had broken out in the city, and he knew it would end in serious harm. He was a man so calm and silent that he did not reproach his sister; he simply took her away from Ma
shhad without warning, and they returned to
Iṣfahán. Here, he sent her to her daughter,
the widow of the
King of Martyrs, for he would no longer shelter her under his roof.
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá was thus back in Iṣfahán, boldly teaching the
Faith and spreading abroad the sweet savors of God. So vehement was the fiery love in her heart that it compelled her to speak out, whenever she found a listening ear. And when it was observed that once again the household of the King of Martyrs was about to be overtaken by calamities, and that they were enduring severe afflictions there in Iṣfahán,
Bahá’u’lláh desired them to come to the
Most Great Prison.
Shamsu’d-Ḍuḥá, with the widow of the King of Martyrs and the children, arrived in the
Holy Land. Here they were joyously spending their days when the son of the King of Martyrs,
Mírzá ‘Abdu’l-Ḥusayn,