Ali's Dream by John S. Hatcher

Author:John S. Hatcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61851-084-6
Publisher: Bahai Publishing
Published: 2015-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

10

The Garden of Riḍván

Moayyed walked beneath the shade of the mulberry tree to the fountain in the middle of the garden. There an old gardener was resting from his labors of tending the flowers. Ali remained seated for a while, thinking over the story of the Baghdád period that his grandfather had just told him.

The boy looked intently at the bench where Bahá’u’lláh would sit. He imagined that Bahá’u’lláh was there, looking back at him and smiling. It was an unusual feeling. He has always considered Bahá’u’lláh a lofty figure, someone far beyond such casual intimacy. But now he felt close to Bahá’u’lláh. He felt loved, cared for. And he sensed that so long as he kept himself open to that love, he would always be protected, no matter what happened in his life.

It was a fleeting thought, an instant of insight, but he never forgot it. In fact, in moments of worry or sorrow or doubt, he would remember the pure delight of that moment, and his spirit would be relieved.

Ali looked up through the mulberry leaves that seemed to spread in a canopy over the whole garden. He inhaled the commingled scent of lemons, tangerines, and oranges. It seemed to the boy a holy scent, the fragrance of nearness to God.

After a short while Moayyed returned, walking beside Abu’l-Qásim, the old gardener who had served the Cause of Bahá’u’lláh his whole life.

“Can this be Ali?” asked the old man as Ali got up. “My, my! The years go more swiftly than the days used to. I remember when you were a mere bundle of blanket in your mother’s arms. Now you sit here and converse with your wise grandfather.” Abu’l-Qásim reached out his wrinkled hand and gave Ali a freshly picked tangerine.

“Ali, Abu’l-Qásim has a treat for us,” said Moayyed. “He will take us to the summerhouse for some prayers, and then we’ll have some tea.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” said Ali.

“I will tell you something else, Ali,” said Abu’l-Qásim. “Come here one day early in the morning, before I start my work, and I will tell you stories of the Blessed Perfection and what it was like when He used to come to these gardens.”

“That would be wonderful!” said Ali. The thought of such a day already intrigued him. But right now he was even more excited about visiting the little summerhouse where Bahá’u’lláh had often stayed when He lived outside the city walls of ‘Akká. Ali had been inside before, but usually there had been many adults present, and he felt as if he were visiting a museum rather than communing with God. Now, with just Moayyed and Abu’l-Qásim, the visit seemed to hold special promise.

The three of them walked down toward the end of the pathway where the little summerhouse stood like a guardian of the trees and flowers. The three removed their shoes, climbed the several steps to the front door, and entered slowly, reverently.

On the right, beside the bed where Bahá’u’lláh would rest, was a small but beautiful rug on which the three of them kneeled.

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