Numerous karāmāt (miraculous graces) have been narrated from His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) by the people of Rey and other sources. Here, while describing some of them, we recommend interested readers to study the relevant books:
Week Forty
It is narrated from a reliable source that one of the merchants in the Tehran bazaar encountered a problem. One day, he shared his issue with one of his colleagues. His colleague said, "To resolve your difficulty, seek intercession from His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace)." He replied, "I have already sought intercession from that Holiness, but the problem was not resolved." His colleague said, "The problem can be solved through His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace), but you have not sought it with sincerity. Now sit down so I can recount my own story, which I have not told anyone until now."
In past years, I became bankrupt to the point that I faced hardship even for my daily sustenance, and I decided to seek intercession from His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) to alleviate my distress. For this, I vowed to walk to his pilgrimage site every Thursday at dawn for forty consecutive weeks. Thirty-nine weeks passed, and the fortieth week arrived, which coincided with winter. On Wednesday afternoon, heavy snow began to fall. By evening, when I arrived home, the snow had turned into a blizzard, and the ground was covered with snow up to my knees. My wife, who was aware of the matter, asked, "Aren't you going for pilgrimage tonight? It's the final week." I said, "In this snow and storm, even the Master himself would not approve. God willing, next week." That night, I went to bed early. In a dream, I saw myself traveling toward Rey on the rails of the steam train. I reached the tomb of Shaykh Ṣadūq (may God have mercy on him), performed ablution there, prayed two rakʿats, and proceeded toward the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace). I awoke from the dream; it was past midnight. I made my decision and prepared to depart. My wife said, "How is it that you didn't go earlier in the evening, and now, in the middle of the night when the snow is even heavier!" I described the dream and said, "I must go, even if it costs me my life."
I set out, and my path was exactly as I had seen in the dream—along the rails of the steam train. Later, I realized that on that night, the only way to reach Rey was via the railway; otherwise, reaching the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) would have been impossible. I continued along the rails until I reached Ibn Bābawayh. Following the scene from the dream, I performed ablution, prayed two rakʿats, and without delay, headed toward His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace). When I arrived at the shrine, the doors had just been opened, and there was still time until the morning call to prayer. The cold and exhaustion from the journey had drained my strength, and in a corner of the shrine, I lost consciousness. In the dream state, I saw the Master Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace) standing beside the sarcophagus. He turned his blessed face toward me and asked, "What problem has distressed you?"
I recounted my story. He reached into his waist sash, placed a knotted handkerchief in the palm of my hand, and said, "Use this as capital for lawful trade; God willing, your problem will be solved." I took the handkerchief, and suddenly everything vanished. The voice of the muezzin woke me from sleep. The only thing remaining from that vision was the knotted handkerchief in my hand. I opened it and found twelve one-qirān coins inside. I rose, performed ablution, offered the morning prayer, and happily set off toward Tehran. I invested those twelve coins in this business and reached the prosperity you now witness.
Healing of Malika
"Cancer! Advanced colon cancer; three-quarters of the intestines are destroyed. I'm sorry!" What Mr. Ṣāliḥiyān heard was not these words, but the echo of a scream, a wail from within, reverberating in his brain. He tried, struggled to hear Dr. Ḥamīdī's voice more clearly. "Doctor, what do you mean?" "Mr. Ṣāliḥiyān! My duty is to state the facts plainly. Be courageous and accept it. There's nothing I can do!" "You mean there's no hope for Malika? Should we just sit and watch her death bit by bit? Is that what you're saying?!" These words emerged with difficulty from a throat choked by a lump of grief. The father's voice rose from his chest, like the sound of wind in a desolate and sorrowful desert. An envelope filled with photos, blood test sheets, CT scans, and ultrasounds weighed heavily in his hands. The doctor left the room, leaving him alone under the heavy burden of grief. Dr. Ḥamīdī, a pediatric surgeon at Asia Hospital, discharged little Malika after 20 days. But Malika's family were not the type to give up after one doctor's opinion and cease their efforts. Dr. Sajjādī, Dr. Mashāyikhī, Dr. Jaʿfarīnizhād, and Dr. Kayhānī at Arad Hospital each conducted separate tests and examinations, but the diagnosis was the same: cancer. A cancer whose venomous claws squeezed tighter every hour, blazing like a flame in the harvest of Malika's existence. Malika's condition worsened day by day. Her abdomen swelled severely, signaling the decay of another section of her intestines. Dr. Kūlānlū, another doctor they consulted, insisted that a biopsy was needed to determine the type of cancer. But the swollen spleen did not allow it. This meant cutting off all threads of hope until this small candle extinguished in due time. Ten days, twenty days, perhaps another month. Only one place remained: the Oil Company Hospital. Dr. Kalāntarī, the surgeon at this hospital, was only willing to perform an endoscopy of the intestines. He accepted responsibility only to that extent. The surgery time was set: Tuesday, November 9, 1994. But what hope did this surgery hold? Malika's family now found themselves in the depths of a deep, dark well, filled with "what should I do"s from which no solution could be drawn. But from this very point, a ray opened toward the sky, shining into the abyss of despair—namely, seeking intercession and knocking at the threshold of Sayyid al-Karīm. It was the days of Fāṭimiyyah. Friday night, or better said, 1:30 a.m. on Saturday, November 7. The Sādāt Ṣāliḥiyān family were all gathered in the courtyard of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace): father, grandmother, aunt, paternal aunt, and others—all assembled for Malika, this 3.5-year-old sweet-tongued girl, to return her to life through intercession with the Awliyāʾ Allāh. They had come to make the honor of those close to the Divine court their intercessor—an honor that, when mingled with the tears of devotees, breaks the dam of destiny. The shrine door was closed. The air was biting, but the anguish of this group was more bone-chilling. One of the servants, seeing this distressed group, realized something important had occurred. The air sighed coldly; they shivered. When the servant learned that this family were Sādāt, he said, "You are the children of the owner of this sanctuary. Now that you intend to stay, come; I'll open the shrine door for you." They entered the shrine and spent the night beside the zarih of Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace). No one knows how that strange night passed until dawn, but certainly, the prayers and supplications of that group became the talk among the angels—perhaps the angels accompanied them as well. For the day after that night... Oil Company Hospital – Sunday, November 8 – Malika Sādāt was prepared for the next morning's operation, but news arrived that one of Dr. Kalāntarī's relatives had passed away, and the doctor would not operate tomorrow. Tuesday, November 9 – Due to the change in surgery day, Malika Sādāt was taken again for new tests to the blood lab, CT scan, ultrasound, etc. The test results and images were ready for the next morning. Wednesday, November 10 – The room was prepared. Dr. Kalāntarī, as usual, took one more look at the latest results of the images and tests. But what he saw fixed his astonished gaze on the sheets and images. He called the nurse. There must have been a mistake, and he repeated the blood test every ten minutes. No, there was no error! All tests attested to signs of recovery and health. Malika's mother anxiously asked the doctor, "Doctor, what has happened?" "Mrs. Ṣāliḥiyān, I don't know what to say. Either our devices and expertise were wrong, or a true miracle has occurred. But certainly, these devices and we have never been wrong before..." Malika was discharged from the hospital. Although there were no traces of illness in her, the family was still anxious and worried. Until one night, Malika's grandmother had a dream that reassured the family's heart. She recounted: "I saw myself in a gathering of ladies whom I did not know. The ladies made way. One of them called out: 'Imām Sajjād (upon him be peace) is arriving.' Eagerly, I went forward to visit the Imām (upon him be peace). The Master came, his face like the moonlight. My tongue was tied. I wanted to plead for Malika, but I couldn't. But the Master (upon him be peace) himself came toward me and said: 'Why are you still worried? That girl has been healed.'"
Pact of Two Servants
Two servants of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) made a pact with each other that whichever of them passed away first would ask God to take the other as well. As it happened, one of them went to God's mercy. After forty days, the surviving companion saw the deceased in a dream, in a suitable and good position. He greeted him and said, "Friend, I have a complaint against you. Didn't we have a pact?" And he replied, "That's correct. I stood by the pact, but a portion of your measure is still empty; when it fills, you will come." This time he asked, "Tell me, what's the news there? How did they give you this good and verdant place?" He replied, "I'll say this much: it's difficult. Do you remember that trip to Karbala where we had to pass through several customs? It's the same here. They stop you at checkpoint after checkpoint. One is for accounting prayers, one for fasting, and so on. But friend, every time I reached one of these stations, the sacred presence of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) would arrive, take my hand, and pass me through. Until the final stage, where they brought me here, as you see..." Ten years after this dream, that servant also passed away to join his pact companion...
The Taʿzīyah Incident
In past years, a topic was the talk of gatherings in Rey for a long time, and even today, the elders remember it. If you ask them who did the tilework on the minarets of the shrine of Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace), they reply: "The same one who fell from the balcony of Imāmzādah Ḥamzah (upon him be peace) and burst the sheep's tail fat." Now, let's see what this story was?! In those times, when the days of Muḥarram arrived, taʿzīyah recitations were held every day in the courtyard of His Holiness Ḥamzah ibn Mūsā (upon him be peace). That day, the taʿzīyah topic was about the sacrifice of His Holiness Ismāʿīl (upon him be peace) by His Holiness Ibrāhīm (upon him be peace). In this taʿzīyah, it was performed such that when the reciter reached the effort of His Holiness Ibrāhīm (upon him be peace) to sacrifice His Holiness Ismāʿīl (upon him be peace) and, by God's will, he was unsuccessful, at that moment a box would descend from the top of the balcony containing the person playing Gabriel along with a sheep. When the sheep reached the ground, the one playing His Holiness Ibrāhīm (upon him be peace) would take it and sacrifice it. This box was guided by a rope from the top of the balcony. That day, while a large crowd was watching the taʿzīyah, it reached the moment of the box descending. As usual, inside the box was "Master Maḥmūd the Tiler," playing Gabriel, along with one sheep. The box had not yet gone far from the balcony when the crowd's noise, trumpets, and drums startled the sheep, leading to severe shaking and eventually the box overturning. In these critical moments, the muʿīn al-bukāʾ (taʿzīyah director), who was monitoring the situation, noticed the incident in an instant and, while invoking "O son of Mūsā ibn Jaʿfar (upon him be peace)," sought intercession from His Holiness Ḥamzah ibn Mūsā (upon him be peace). It was there that the crowd, in disbelief, saw the sheep fall on all fours amid the people, and then Master Maḥmūd the Tiler fell so precisely onto the sheep that the sheep's tail fat burst. In this incident, despite the dense crowd and great height, no harm came to any of the spectators or to Master Maḥmūd the Tiler. Master Maḥmūd the Tiler is the same person whose tilework on the minarets of the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) remains as his legacy.
Luminous Bird
In the era when loudspeakers had not yet come to Rey, at the times of entering the legal dawn, noon, and sunset, individuals with pleasant and resonant voices would ascend the minarets and call the adhān, inviting people to perform the obligation. At that time, the clock position in the courtyard of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) was specifically for calling the adhān. What you read is a memory from the late Ḥājj Jawād Muʾadhdhin, who was engaged in performing the adhān for years. The night of Yaldā had passed midnight, and the snow that had been falling steadily and calmly since the previous evening had intensified. To the point that without shoveling the snow, leaving the house was impossible. I picked up the shovel and began clearing a path to reach the back of the courtyard. This took about three hours, and when I arrived at the courtyard, little time remained until the morning adhān. When I reached the top of the minaret, seeing the uniform whiteness and silence created an atmosphere that involuntarily made me feel a delusion, which after a few moments turned into a strange fear that engulfed my entire being. This delusion and terror reached such a level that, facing the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace), I said in my heart: "O son of the Messenger of God, bear witness that this state of fear does not allow me to perform my duty." Exactly at that moment, a very luminous bird—smaller than a pigeon and larger than a sparrow—flew from the top of the minaret. While the bird's radiance had mesmerized me, I realized we had entered the time for the morning adhān. Involuntarily, I began the adhān, and the luminous bird continuously circled the courtyard throughout this time. Until the adhān ended, and the bird went toward the dome and sank into the snow on the dome. I made my way there and searched the spot where the bird had pierced the snow. But there was no trace of the bird...
ʿAẓīm Panāh
It was like spring, what blew into his soul and greened his wintry spirit. Branches of purity and felicity seemed to blossom and bear fruit in his nature in an instant. He bowed, rubbing his face on the shrine's stone floor: "O God, how can this face endure the fire?" He wept, sobbed: "O God, I didn't dare, I had no face to knock at Your house. You Yourself granted me this audacity. Haven't You said You are the Most Merciful of the merciful?" Then he clutched the zarih: "O Sayyid al-Karīm, O son of Zahrā (peace be upon her), you who have prestige and honor with Him, come and show your nobility to this sinner, come and intercede between me and Him. You whose visitation is the visitation of Thār Allāh." No one noticed what happened to "Dāsh Mamd" that night, except the angels who witnessed his state. A distressed one who knocked at the door of repentance with supplication until dawn, until he heard the answer. The next day, he was no longer "Dāsh Mamd." For to anyone who called him that, he said: "Don't call me 'Dāsh Mamd' anymore. My name is 'ʿAẓīm Panāh.' I sought refuge with His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace), and he became the means of my salvation." "ʿAẓīm Panāh" went into the streets and bazaars. To neighbors' doors, shops, adjacent neighborhoods, and wherever he might have shaken a heart, made eyes weep, violated a right... After restoring people's rights, they saw him don the servant's uniform, take a broom in hand, to sweep under the pilgrims' feet... A few days after they committed him to the earth, one of the city's trusted and respected figures saw him in a dream. He was in paradise, joyful and delighted. He said to him: "Dāsh Mamd, you and this rank and status?" He said: "You still say 'Dāsh Mamd'? Wasn't I 'ʿAẓīm Panāh'? Now too, I am ʿAẓīm Panāh. Everything I have is from the Master. Appreciate him..."
Grounding of Aṣaf al-Dawlah!
In the late Qajar period, when the custodianship of the sacred sanctuary of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) was under the late Āqā Mīr (chief custodian), the governance of Tehran was given to Aṣaf al-Dawlah. Aṣaf al-Dawlah also claimed custodianship of the sanctuary and imagined that the sanctuary should be administered under the Tehran governor. In opposition to this claim, the chief custodian would not submit. His argument was that custodianship pertains to the religious authority. The conflict between Aṣaf al-Dawlah and the chief custodian reached a point where Aṣaf al-Dawlah sent agents to arrest the chief custodian and imprison him immediately. The agents arrived at the sanctuary at sunset, during the lamp-lighting ceremony, with the chief custodian present. The agents intended to arrest him, but the servants asked them to allow the lamp ceremony to finish. The late Āqā Mīr recited the ceremony's sermon and went to the lamps. He placed the first lamp in its special place but refrained from lighting the rest and, facing the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace), said: "O son of the Messenger of God! The current ruler has sent Aṣaf al-Dawlah after me, the Ḥasanī sayyid; until you answer him, I will not attend to your lamps." He said this and left the shrine. The staff asked the agents for a night's respite until morning. When morning arrived, the agents prepared to take the chief custodian, but they had not gone a few steps when two couriers arrived from Tehran. They approached, greeted, and told the agents: "Do not trouble the gentleman." The agents replied: "This is the order of His Excellency Aṣaf al-Dawlah," and the courier said: "Aṣaf al-Dawlah suffered from stomach pain last night and died..."
Bankrupt
Love for the Family of Muḥammad (peace be upon him and his progeny) is an imperishable capital with which one can purchase the loftiest position in creation—paradise. Those who possess this great capital must appreciate it, lest it be stolen from them in the tumultuous market of "the world." The prosperity of trade in Tehran enticed one of the shrine's servants to think of gaining wealth. So he headed to Tehran. In the flow of various trades and transactions, he acquired considerable wealth in a short time. But amid this, a special attraction and pull, beyond his control, drew him toward the sanctuary and shrine of Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace). This uncontrollable pull caused him to come to Rey several days a week. After some time, he felt that abandoning business on the one or two days he came to the shrine harmed his work and deprived him of greater income. But it was not in his hands; his longstanding love and affection for Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace) never allowed him to skip even one visit to Rey. One of these days, standing before the shrine's balcony in a changed state, he addressed the zarih and Sayyid al-Karīm (upon him be peace): "Master, release me to pursue my business; exempt me from servitude!" This time, he went away for four months without coming to Rey even once or anyone hearing from him. Until... That day, a wailing sound drew everyone's attention. It was the same servant, at the foot of the zarih, crying loudly like one who had lost a loved one. He pleaded and wailed: "Master, I was wrong; Master, I didn't understand..." Yes, the world, this multi-faced bride, had shown him another face. The season of success had ended, and now he was left with empty hands from all the assets that the fire of bankruptcy had turned to ashes. He was left with cries of regret and nothing else...
Gift of Sayyid al-Karīm
A sayyid seminarian, after completing a stage of his studies in Najaf, came to Tehran, and preparations for his marriage were made. A girl was introduced, and they went for the proposal. Matters proceeded according to both parties' tastes, except that the girl's father set a condition for the groom, that the girl would go to her husband's home after its fulfillment. The father's condition was to provide: a pair of earrings, 4 bangles, 2 shirts, 2 chador fabrics, and 2 pairs of shoes. Although the bride's family's request was not overly demanding or extravagant, for that great scholar, even preparing this much was not feasible. Despairing of fulfilling the condition, he set off for Qom. But before departing for Qom, he stopped in Rey to visit His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace). That great scholar, before entering the shrine, stood for a few minutes in the courtyard facing the balcony. His entire attention was on the condition he could not meet. At that moment, he fully turned to that Holiness and shared the problem with that sacred presence. In a heartbroken state, he wept bitterly, and to avoid notice, he covered his face with his cloak. Moments later, someone placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear: "Sir, pick up your package lest someone take it!" Annoyed at being pulled from such a state, he paused and then looked down—a package was at his feet! At first, he paid no attention, but immediately, the echo of the voice that had alerted him to the package moments before resonated in his mind. His searching gaze found no one. He opened the package. Inside, these items were neatly arranged: 2 pairs of women's shoes, 2 chador fabrics, 2 shirts, 4 gold bangles, and a pair of earrings.
This seminarian was none other than the late Āyatullāh al-ʿUẓmā Marʿashī Najafī, one of the deceased scholars and great marjaʿs of taqlīd, who after this karāmah also became an "honorary servant" of the sacred sanctuary of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) and bore this medal of servitude on his chest until the end of his noble life. He answered the call of the Truth in 1990.
Story of the Armenian Compatriot
A large and expensive chandelier was gifted to the sanctuary of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace) in 1975, which attracted attention for a long time. Apart from the material value of this magnificent chandelier, which was purchased for over 600,000 tomans at the time, the interesting point was the reason for its donation by one of our Armenian compatriots. Regarding this, one of the servants narrated: One of the Armenians in Isfahan faced a problem he was unable to resolve and completely lost hope. On a night coinciding with the 21st of the blessed month of Ramaḍān, while intending to travel to Isfahan, he was stuck in heavy traffic on Shahīd Rajāʾī Street. This congestion was due to the multitude of cars heading from Tehran to the shrine of His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace). He noticed that the cars were inclined in a continuous line toward a point where a dome and minarets shone at the end. He thought to himself: "I don't know the owner of this dome and sanctuary. But surely, these people have seen something from this sanctuary for solving their problems that they flock to it like this." Then, in his heart, he passed this thought: "O God! For the sake of this Master, who is dear to You, cast a glance upon me as well." At that moment, he intended that if his incurable problem was resolved, he would bring a gift to his shrine... Two days later, that Armenian compatriot came to Tehran, visited several chandelier shops until he purchased one of the finest available chandeliers. With a glimmer of tears in his eyes, he delivered this chandelier to the sanctuary office and recounted his story to one of the servants, saying: "God resolved my problem through this great Master, the owner of this sanctuary. I have come to fulfill my pledge. My request is that you visit him on my behalf and kiss his threshold..."
Give One Rial, Take Two Rials
One of the sayyid servants narrated: One morning, my wife turned to me and said: "We have guests tonight; go prepare something." I left the house while I didn't even have a single shāhī. That day was not my shift. In that situation, I found no one to ask for help. Even if I found someone, I was ashamed of such a request. Therefore, involuntarily, I went toward the shrine. The shrine was empty, with few pilgrims engaged in visitation. Facing the zarih, I said to His Holiness ʿAbd al-ʿAẓīm (upon him be peace): "O son of the Messenger of God, bestow your grace; don't let me be ashamed before my wife and guests." After this request passed from my heart, I was standing in a corner of the shrine when a pilgrim approached and said to me: "Sayyid, give me one rial; when I return from visiting Imāmzādah Ḥamzah (upon him be peace), I'll give you two rials." This didn't surprise me much. Many did this to increase the blessing of their wealth, giving money to a sayyid and taking it back. Happy that with this one rial difference, I could honorably host the evening's guests. But I didn't even have that one rial. I told the pilgrim: "Sir, wait a minute; I'll be right back." I went out, and as I looked around, I saw one of my acquaintances. I asked him to lend me one rial; I'd return it in half an hour. I took the rial and went back to the pilgrim. He took the rial and went to visit Imāmzādah Ḥamzah (upon him be peace). And as he said, upon returning from the visitation, he placed a coin in my palm. The other servants who had observed this scene asked what the matter was. I told the story. But they didn't suffice with my words and asked the pilgrim too. He told them the same and left the shrine. Thinking to myself, I went to return the rial I had borrowed. But when I looked at the coin, I saw it was a yellow two-rial that shone! Astonished, I went to the bazaar. I showed the coin to one of the goldsmiths. He assayed it and said: "It's gold," and bought it for 3 tomans. From those three tomans, I returned the borrowed rial and took the remaining 29 rials home. I had never seen that unfamiliar pilgrim before, nor did I see him afterward.
Letter for Future Generations
In Iran's history, among the list of kings who rose against religion and Islamic symbols, the name of Rezā Khān the Bully is unforgettable. Especially since he imposed a terrifying suffocation in his vengeful actions against the hijab and the clergy. This story began at the height of that brutality: An inlaid sarcophagus was built and ready to be placed on the pure tomb of Imāmzādah Ḥamzah ibn Mūsā (upon him be peace). At this juncture, one of the servants decided to write a letter describing the situation and position of his time. In this letter, he first wrote his name and details, and that he wrote it on what date and during whose reign. Then he described Rezā Khān's oppression and the villain's enmity against religion and the violation of people's religious beliefs. In a suitable opportunity, during the final stage of installing the sarcophagus, he placed this letter between the sarcophagus and the tombstone, so that perhaps after centuries, if repairs or replacements were made to this sarcophagus, future generations, by reading this letter, would access a historical document and eyewitness account of the oppression during Rezā Khān's reign and become informed... But as fate would have it, this period did not last more than 40 years, and in 1971, one of the believers sponsored the construction of a khatam sarcophagus to be installed in place of the previous inlaid one on the pure tomb of His Holiness Ḥamzah ibn Mūsā (upon him be peace). When the news reached the ears of that servant—the writer of the letter from forty years ago—terror and anxiety overwhelmed him... O God, what will happen? Removing the sarcophagus would reveal the letter, and that too at the peak of Muḥammad Rezā's power, son of Rezā Khān the Bully! He sought a remedy, but found no way except seeking intercession from His Eminence Ḥamzah (upon him be peace). That night, an idea occurred to him. He had prepared a shroud for himself to be used after his death. He thought to use this shroud as an excuse to attend the sarcophagus replacement ceremony. The promised night arrived; the sanctuary officials, along with a government representative and several authorities, stood to witness the sarcophagus replacement. Amid this, the elderly servant also made his way to the sarcophagus and said to those present: "I have a shroud that I wish to bless with the dust on the tombstone. Please grant me this and allow me to fulfill my wish." The sanctuary officials, who held special respect for this servant, agreed to his request. And when the sarcophagus was removed, he spread the shroud on the stone and collected the dust into the shroud. Relieved that the "letter" was also among the dust. He immediately left the shrine and, in a safe corner, shook out the shroud. About a handful of dust that had accumulated under the sarcophagus over these 40 years fell to the ground, but there was no sign of the paper! Once again, anxiety and worry gripped him. O God, in these 40 years, the sarcophagus hadn't moved from its place, so only one possibility remained: negligence in collecting the dust; the letter must have fallen inside the shrine! The shrine was cordoned off, doors closed, no excuse to return inside. At this moment, as he prepared himself for the consequences, pale and anxious, he sat by the pool of Imāmzādah Ḥamzah (upon him be peace) to splash water on his face. A voice from behind drew his attention. Someone asked: "Didn't you find the letter?" He turned. He saw a handsome, tall young man standing over him, smiling. He replied: "Sir, which letter?" And then he fell silent. The same young man added: "Don't worry; that letter will never be found." The words of that tall young man, who was thus aware of his innermost secrets, terrified the servant to the point that he hastily left the courtyard. In the alley, he quickened his steps, but moments later, he thought to himself: This young man wasn't inside the shrine, and I hadn't seen him before, so how did he know my secret? These questions drew him back into the courtyard. But there was no trace of the handsome, tall young man. The servant, with tears washing his face, fixed his shining eyes on the turquoise dome of His Holiness Ḥamzah ibn Mūsā (upon him be peace): "Peace be upon you, O son of the Messenger of God..."
