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departure should strike. She also urged me to keep secret the tidings of her death until such time as her enemies should themselves disclose it.
The great love I cherished for her in my heart, alone enabled me to abide by her instructions. … I locked the door of her chamber and retired to my own, in a state of uncontrollable sorrow. I lay sleepless and disconsolate upon my bed. The thought of her approaching martyrdom lacerated my soul. “Lord, Lord,” I prayed in my despair, “turn from her, if it be Thy wish, the cup which her lips desire to drink.” That day and night, I several times, unable to contain myself, arose and stole away to the threshold of that room and stood silently at her door, eager to listen to whatever might be falling from her lips. I was enchanted by the melody of that voice which intoned the praise of her Beloved. I could hardly remain standing upon my feet, so great was my agitation.
Táhirih’s martyrdom [latter part of August 1852]
It chanced that night that my husband was absent. My son, who opened the door, informed me that the farráshes [attendants/wardens] of ‘Azíz Khán-i-Sardár were standing at the gate, demanding that Táhirih be immediately delivered into their hands. I was struck with terror by the news, and, as I tottered to her door and with trembling hands unlocked it, found her veiled and prepared to leave her apartment. She was pacing the floor when I entered and was chanting a litany expressive of both grief and triumph. As soon as she saw me, she approached and kissed me. She placed in my hand the key to her chest, in which she said she had left for me a few trivial things as a remembrance of her stay in my house. “Whenever you open this chest,” she said, “and behold the things it contains, you will, I hope, remember me and rejoice in my gladness.”
With these words she bade me her last farewell, … She mounted the steed which the Sardár had sent for her, and, escorted by my son and a number of