At the end, all we had was hope,
flickering like a taper in the night.
First it began to waver, then to stutter,
next to gutter—finally it gave out with a puff.
The sandstorm then fell upon us like a ravening wolf,
tearing out what little heart we had left.
Outside, we could hear them, calling out loud:
Surely the Book of God is sufficient unto us!
Above, dispersing on the air and adding to the stench,
was that volley of seven hundred and fifty rounds.
This poem is about the Martyrdom of the Báb, the Prophet-Herald of the Bahá’í Faith, an event which took place in Tabriz, Irán on July 9, 1850. But it is also about a geo-political reality that affects us today, the splitting of Islám into two branches, Sunní and Shí’ah, and how these two historical events are intertwined.
Both stories are complex, but I will try to keep the explanation short. I should state at the outset that, like Christians are not Jews, Bahá’ís are not Muslims. Let me explain: Christianity is its own independent religion, as is Judaism—yet the Founder of Christianity was born a Jew and Christians believe in, and accept, the Divinity of the Jewish Prophets; as a Bahá’í I believe in, and accept the Divinity of the Prophet Muhammad, and Bahá’u’lláh, the Founder of the Bahá’í Faith was born a Muslim. But I am not a Muslim. The Bahá’í Faith is, like Judaism, Christianity, Islám, Buddhism and Hinduism, an independent, world religion.
The poem is written from the view of the followers of the Báb, and how they must have felt in those last few hours as His death grew nearer. He and a companion were martyred when They were hanged by Their wrists in a doorway and executed by a single volley from the 750 muskets of an army regiment. The sandstorm that followed—the storm and all the events of that Day are corroborated by European diplomats in the city at that time—was sufficient to make it seem as if permanent night had fallen on the noonday sun. (A fuller version of the story can be found here on the interfaith site, BeliefNet.com.)
The linkage of the Martyrdom of the Báb to the split of Islám into it’s two main branches is more complex. To understand that, you have to understand how Islám was divided at all.
At root was the question of succession to the Prophet Muhammad, the Founder of Islám. Sunnís believe that the succession was properly followed through the election of a series of Caliphs, starting with Abu-Bakr, a wise, elderly man, a long time personal friend of the Prophet and an an early convert to Islám. Such a process of succession would have been typical in any major clan decision in Arabia at that time. Hence its quick acceptance by the majority of Muslims of the day.
The second Caliph (this is important when it comes to the explanation of the Shí’ah branch of Islám) was ‘Umar Ibn al-Khattab, a fiery, driven person who was also an early convert to Islám.
Shí’ahs, on the other hand, contend that Muhammad had publicly designated His son-in-law, Alí, as His chosen successor at a sermon given in the last year of His life at the pool of Khum. Moreover they believe that shortly before His passing, Muhammad asked for writing materials to be brought, so that He could dictate His last wishes with regard to succession, but that ‘Umar interdicted that command, saying that the Prophet was delirious from His illness and that, “The Book of God [referring to Islám’s Holy Book, the Qur’án] sufficeth us.” This act, Shí’ahs contend, scuttled hope for a unified Islám, caused the separation that still effects us today and ensured that ‘Umar himself would one day secure the leadership of Islám, especially since Abu-Bakr, the first obvious choice, was an elderly man.
Today, the Sunní branch occupies the western portion of Islám, up to the northern two thirds of Iráq. The Shí’ah portion occupies the remaining one third portion of Iráq and continues on into the east, through Irán and into Afghanistan. Pakistan and into the Pacific, however, reverses this trend and is mostly Sunní. The division point between the two branches explains the current inter-Islám warfare that goes on in the south of Iráq and, therefore, much of the current political turmoil in that country.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, son of the Founder of the Bahá’í Faith, and Himself the Leader of the Bahá’í Faith after His Father’s passing, states that the musket bullets used by the regiment to kill the Báb were made from the statement made by ‘Umar as Muhammad lay dying. He means, by this, I think, that the statement, “The Book of God sufficeth us,” (or the Book of God is sufficient unto us as it is cast in the poem) is corruptive in that it put ‘Umar’s personal will over the Will of God. Moreover, the method used—to dignify and justify such an act with reference to the Book of God—is particularly wrong as it coats ‘Umar’s ambition with a false sense of purity and holiness. In so doing, and in this context and at this extreme measure, it is a betrayal and attack on the ancient and enduring Covenant by which God directs man. The consequences of that one act, in its introduction of disunity, still resonate within Islám and the world today.
In the end, what more heinous act can be committed by man than to willingly reject God’s Messenger to this world? And what more terrible way to do that than to coat the act as one performed out of piety and faith?
If you have made it this far, I sincerely thank you for reading To the test with its overlong explanation. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.