The "manifestation" (mazhar), or re-incarnation, of Kurratu'l-'Ayn.

Thursday, 18th July, 9th Dhi'l-ka'da.--Towards evening I went into the town and called at the post-office, where the postmaster lent me a poem in praise of Beha, composed by one Na'im of Abade, a poor man of no education, whose power of verse-writing is regarded by his co-religionists as a divine gift, and little short of miraculous. His verses are partly in Persian, partly in Arabic, and of the latter, at any rate, it may truly be said that they are of the most miraculous character. Usta Akbar, the pea- parcher, was also there. He was, after his wont, very mysterious, and informed me that a relation of the postmaster's, who was a "Mulla," and who possessed some of Kurratu'l-'Ayn's poems, was anxious to see me, but that I must not mention this to the postmaster, as he might be displeased. I was somewhat surprised at what appeared to me so unnecessary a stipulation, but attributed it to Usta Akbar's love of mystery. It was only afterwards (for the pronouns in Persian do not distinguish gender) that I discovered that the "Mulla" in question was a lady, who regarded herself as a "manifestation" (mazhar), or re-incarnation, of Kurratu'l-'Ayn. It was accordingly arranged that I should meet this "Mulla" on the next day but one, at the house of one of the officials of the post-office. As I did not know where he lived, I enquired as to how I should find my way thither. Usta Akbar naturally selected the most cumbrous and mysterious method he could think of. I was to walk slowly past his shop at a certain hour on the Saturday in question, and he would tell his apprentice to be on the look-out for me, and, as soon as he saw me, to run out, pass me, and precede me at a distance of twenty or thirty yards to the rendezvous.

This plan was duly carried out, and on the afternoon of the appointed day I found myself in a room in the house of Haydaru'llah Beg, the postman, where, besides my host, were seated the "Manifestation of Kurratu'l-'Ayn" and a Babi dervish, the former engaged in smoking a kalyan, the latter an opium-pipe. I was filled with astonishment at seeing a lady in the room, and my astonishment was increased when I heard the others address her as "Mulla," and ascertained that she was the learned Babi who had expressed a wish to make my acquaintance. She greeted me very politely, bowing repeatedly as she exclaimed, "Musharraf! Muzayyan! Chasm-i-ma rawshan!" ("[You have made the house] honoured [and] adorned! Our eyes are brightened!") and then asking me how long it was since I had believed. I was somewhat embarrassed by this question, and tried to explain that I was an enquirer only, whereupon she began to give a long and rather garbled version of Christ's prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, which she concluded by bidding me not be like that disciple who denied his Master.

By this time eight or nine other persons had joined us, including Sheykh Ibrahim and his friend 'Abdu'llah, in consequence of which the recitation of Kurratu'l-'Ayn's poems, which I had been so eager to hear, was postponed. Several Babi books, however, were shown to me, induding one containing the Kalimat-i-Maknuna, or "Hidden Words of Fatima,"[See vol.ii of my Traveller's Narrative, pp. 123-6 and n.2 at foot of p.123; and Catalogue and Description of 27 Babi MSS. (J.R.A.S. for 1892), pp. 671-4.] of which the surpassing eloquence was greatly praised by all present.

"Will you not smoke a kalyan?" enquired Sheykh Ibrahim, turning suddenly to me. I signified assent, and he called for one to be brought. "A good one, mind, for the Sahib," he cried, as the servant left the room.

In a minute or two the kalyan was brought, and as I took it, and, according to the customary etiquette, offered it in turn to all present before putting my lips to it, I fancied that I was watched with a certain attention and subdued amusement for which I could not account. The first whiff of smoke, however, explained the cause of this. My experience with Cannabis Indica while I was a student at St Bartholomew's Hospital had not been altogether fruitless, since it had indelibly impressed on my memory the taste of this hateful drug, which now again, for the third time in my life, struck on my palate. "Oh," thought I to myself, "so this is the trick you thought to play on me, is it?" But I continued to smoke on slowly and deliberately till the Sheykh, unable any longer to control his curiosity, asked me how I found the kalyan.

"Nice enough," I answered, "but I fear it somewhat, for unless I am much mistaken, you have put 'Master Seyyid' [Hashish is thought so badly of in Persia that it is usually spoken of, even by those who use it, by some nickname, such as Aka-yi- Seyyid ("Master Seyyid"), Tuti-i-asrar ("The Parrot of mysteries"), or simply Asrar ("Mysteries"), the first two alluding to its green colour. One of the odes of Hafiz, beginning "Alaya tuti-yi guya-yi asrar, Mabada khaliyat shakkar zi minkar" ("O Parrot, who discoursest of mysteries, may thy beak never want sugar!"), is addressed to the drug.] into it."

I do not think that during the whole time I was in Persia I ever scored so great a success as by this simple remark. That I --a mere European--should be able to recognise the taste of hashish was much, but that I should know it, so to speak, by its pet name, was indeed to prove myself well matured (pukhte) by travel and the society of persons of experience.

"How ever did you know that?" enquired the Sheykh amidst the laughter and applause of the others.

"Because I am a Firangi must I needs be an ass?" I demanded with a show of indignation.

Sheykh Ibrahim was delighted, and proceeded to unfold to me many mysteries connected with the use of narcotics in Persia. He told me of an oil called Rawghan-i-Hashish ("Oil of Indian Hemp'), prepared from a plant named Tature (? Datura), of which half a nokhud would render a man insensible for twenty- four or thirty-six hours. This, he said, was often employed by Persian adventurers in Turkey and Arabia (especially at Mosul and Mecca) to stupefy persons whom they wished to rob. Mixed with the food intended for the victim's consumption its flavour is imperceptible, and the protracted insensibility to which it gives rise allows the thief ample time to decamp. These revelations were, however, interrupted by the arrival of a murshid, or spiritual director, of the Shah-Ni'matu'llah order of dervishes, who asked me point-blank what my religion was, and was much annoyed when I answered him with the well-known tradition, "Ustur dhahabaka, wa dhahabaka, wa madhhabak" ("Conceal thy gold, thy destination, and thy creed").

(A Year Amongst the Persians by E. G. Browne - 1893/1927)

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