A Son's Tribute

An excerpt from Under the Staircase: A Martyr's Journey by Farsheed Ferdowsi 

One of Bahá'u'lláh's most concise exhortations is this: “O Son of Spirit! My first counsel is this: Possess a pure, kindly, and radiant heart, that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable and everlasting.”

Throughout my life, I have been fortunate to have met many wonderful people who embodied this exhortation. They possessed “pure, kindly, and radiant” hearts. They come from all walks of life, professing different faiths. Every one, a gem. Every one, a luminary. Every one, a joy to be around and a privilege to know. My father, Fatollah Ferdowsi, was one such soul. Indeed, his heart was pure, kindly, and radiant.

I lost him when I was twenty-six years old when the arc of his life came to an abrupt and tragic end. His loss created a huge void in me. There were countless times that I needed his advice or simply, his reassuring voice. Times when I needed to see him gleam with pride at my accomplishments. Times when I wished to see him embrace my children or attend their birthdays or graduations. But it wasn't meant to be. The embodiments of hatred and intolerance robbed me and my children of his presence. It took me many years to fill the void of his absence. I filled it with the love of my own family, Aram, Kimia, and Donesh. They saved me from my endless grief.

I grew up with rules that my father enforced wisely and gently. He never uttered a single word to me in anger, never raised his voice—even when I deserved it, he was kind and restrained. His generosity knew no bounds. He trained me by the force of his example. Like any young man, I strove for independence from my parents. When it was my time to leave home, he was completely supportive and entrusted me to God's care. In turn, I never allowed my independence to transmute into indifference toward him.

I didn't have my father as long as I wanted, but he gave me everything I need to live an authentic life. Every aspect of his life, every action, every decision was animated by the Baha'i teachings. My journey has been a feeble attempt to walk in his shoes.

I like to think my father left this world fulfilled, content with a life lived to the fullest. He said as much in a letter to Farzin. After his tragic death, I didn't want his life and legacy to fade away with only photos and vignettes as the remnants. I couldn't allow it. That's why I set out to write this book, a herculean project to which I have dedicated untold hours, days, and years of my own life. I never told him that I loved him. It was never something he needed to hear from me, but I wish I had said it. These pages are my attempt. This book is my tribute to my father, my offering to memorialize his life and ultimate sacrifice. Whomsoever is remembered, lives.

I pray that he accepts this effort as a token of my boundless love, and endless appreciation. May he rest in peace.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

William Shakespeare