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VISIT TO THE RIDVÁN

We went to the Ridván with the holy daughters of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Driving through the city and passing out the gates we saw the barracks where ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was once imprisoned. Then along the roadway bordered by fine trees we went until well away from the city and its distressing pictures. The roads now be-came rough, here and there poor-looking houses of the natives. To the right we saw the hill Tel el Fukhar upon which Napoleon I planted his batteries and laid siege to ‘Akká in 1799. Unable to overcome it, he abandoned the siege, saying, “My fortune has been arrested by a grain of sand; were it not for ‘Akká I would have conquered the world.” Finally, we came to the Ridván, a beautiful garden filled with palm trees and wonderful flowers. The air was redolent of perfume from them. A river, the Na'mayn, runs through the garden in two streams, just as the prophecies foretold, forming an island upon which an arbor is built. High above the arbor tower two great round mulberry trees under the shade of which the Blessed Perfection loved to sit. A fountain was playing in the midst of the garden. This heavenly spot is in the midst of a desert-like barrenness, an oasis indeed amid dry and hostile conditions of nature and humanity—a Paradise upon earth, a garden of God—for here in this beautiful consecrated spot Bahá‘u’lláh spent His summers. Some day the Ridván will be visited by pilgrims from all over the world, just as the Garden of Gethsemane is sacred with the memories of Jesus Christ. No one sits in the Manifestation’s chair under the mulberry trees. These two wonderful trees were leafless when we saw them, for it was January, and they are at their best in June. Everywhere beautiful odd trees were growing—oranges, lemons, and tangerines ripe and waiting to be picked. All kinds of flowers, violets, narcissus, heliotropes, roses, and red anemones greeted the eye. In summer golden pheasants fly about the Ridván—ducks and waterfowl swim around in the waters which quiver and glisten in the shadows from the arbor of leaves overhead Abu’l-Qásim, the good old gardener who served the Blessed Perfection during His lifetime, took us into the cottage where that Blessed One rested and slept. Everything there is holy and sacred to His memory, His chair in the same place He left it, and beautiful tributes of love placed about the room. We knelt at the foot of the chair while one of the daughters chanted a prayer. Then an Arab woman with tattoo marks upon her face served tea and mandarins under the single mulberry tree near the cottage. We were indeed upon holy ground.