The Baha’i Festival of Ridvan (pronounced Rez-vahn) is the holiest season of the Baha’i year. Beginning at sunset on April 20 and ending at sunset May 2, this 12-day period commemorates the time in 1863, when Baha’u’llah sojourned along with family and followers in the Najibiyyih Garden, situated on an island in the Tigris River. Subsequently, this garden was called the Garden of Ridvan by his followers, Ridvan being the Persian word for paradise.
Having spent 10 years in Baghdad and its environs after being banished by the government and a fanatical clergy from his home in Persia, Baha’u’llah now faced yet another banishment by the leaders of the Ottoman Empire. After a series of such banishments, he would reach the Holy Land, his final destination.
The Ridvan Garden was, indeed, like a bit of paradise, with its pathways lined with fragrant roses and its evenings replete with the warbling of myriads of nightingales. Both the rose and the nightingale have since become powerful metaphors for the divine in Baha’i writings.
It was during these “Days of Paradise,” in the beautiful Ridvan Garden that Baha’u’llah made the long-anticipated announcement that he was the one whose advent The Bab had foretold, thus ending the age of prophecy and ushering in the age of fulfillment, when the whole world would begin its evolution into one common homeland, when the oneness of the human race would be recognized.
Being long enamored of the story of Ridvan, some years ago I wrote a piece called “A Ridvan Meditation,” which follows:
Night has fallen in the garden. Echoes of the evening prayers have died away. Stirrings of people making ready for sleep emanate from the tents. The sweet scent of roses permeates the warm spring air and helps lull the inhabitants into slumber. For a moment, the silence is complete.
And then, the song of a single nightingale begins, hesitant at first, then gradually becoming more confident until others join in, becoming a chorus pouring forth a song of rapture and yearning. The full moon bathes the garden paths and the abundant roses in a golden light.
In their tents, the sleepers lie, unaware. Save for One. He issues forth from His blessed tent and paces, His heart enraptured with love for the Divine as are the nightingales with love for the roses. Sleep eludes Him as the soft-flowing waters of Revelation become a gushing torrent and He utters what no man is able to bear.
Night moves on. The air chills, and the nightingales end their song. The moon makes ready to surrender to the sun, and still He paces. Finally, the words slow and come to a halt. As the Voice stills, He is left with a Vision of all that has been and all that shall be. He sees His fate on earth, and the end in the beginning. He lifts the flap of His tent and enters in.
Nancy Flood-Golembeck is a retired teacher and longtime member of the Baha’i faith. In addition to serving on the local Baha’i governing body, she is currently writing a memoir.
This article appears in April 23-29, 2026.
