The King

by Kader Abdolah

  Browne bowed to the shah, and the ambassador continued: ‘The attendant delegation has brought with it a document in which Your Majesty is asked to give his blessing to the creation of a parliament. As British ambassador I have been asked to act as witness. This is the extent of England’s involvement in the matter.’

  After the ambassador had taken a step back old Ayatollah Behbahani pointed at one of the merchants with his walking stick. The merchant stepped forward, bowed his head and handed the shah an envelope. The shah took out a three-page document and looked up. It was impossible to read his thoughts from his face.

  Once again he motioned to his guests to sit down. Ayatollah Behbahani walked slowly to a chair, which broke the ice. No sooner had the ayatollah sat down than his walking stick fell from his hand. Ayatollah Tabatabai picked it up, gave it to Behbahani and sat down next to him. The others followed his example. The shah rang his bell and called out, ‘Tea for our guests!’ But he had forgotten that he had sent the chamberlain home. He said nothing else. Holding the document in his hand he stood there deep in thought.

  ‘Will you permit me to say a few words?’ asked Edward Granville Browne.

  The shah turned to him, fully attentive: ‘You may speak.’

  ‘I am a traveller. I write, and I admire the history of your country. I have lived among the Persians for many years. There is one truth that has stuck with me, and I would like to pass it on to you, if the shah pleases.’

  His exceptionally good Persian impressed the shah. He motioned for Browne to continue.

  ‘I have observed that the Persians love their kings. The people who are now standing behind sandbags with guns in their hands – they love you.’

  A cautious smile spread across the shah’s face. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and was about to toss Browne a couple of gold coins. You could hear the coins jingling. But he kept them to himself. The shah walked to the table, poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. The group followed his every move. The king was buying time in the hope that somehow an opening would occur that would rescue him from this hopeless position. He looked out the window once again, but no, nothing was going to happen. The delegation had given him the document. It was his move.

  He walked back to the table, picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink pot, signed the paper and confirmed the contents with his signet ring. The visitors were impressed by the dignity with which the shah bore his fate. The shah rolled the document up and gave it to the vizier. The vizier in turn handed the document to Ayatollah Behbahani. The ayatollah bowed his head, and it looked as if he were about to extend his hand to the shah. The shah ignored him and turned to the vizier: ‘If you would lead the gentlemen out.’

  ‘Mr Edward Granville Browne,’ the shah called. Browne waited as the others left.

  When the delegation had gone the shah said, ‘You said you write. What do you write about?’

  ‘I search for traces of history in the ancient ruins, but my real love is for ordinary people. I travel a great deal and I write about my experiences. It goes without saying that this meeting with you has been a fascinating occasion on which I will have to devote quite some attention.’

  ‘You are not interested in politics?’

  ‘No. I write about daily life, culture, customs and practices.’

  ‘When you write about us, write the following: The shah said, “I decide!”’

  ‘What do you mean, Your Majesty?’

  ‘You will understand later on,’ answered the shah.

  As soon as the delegation left the palace the gentlemen of the bazaar held their hats in the air. This was how they let Jamal Khan, Mirza Reza and the other members of the committee know that the shah had signed the document. No one could believe it. No one wanted to cheer before they had seen the impression of the shah’s signet ring.

  Jamal Khan unrolled the document and shouted, ‘Javid Persia! Long live Persia!’

  ‘Javid! Javid!’ rose from thousands of throats.

  Mirza Reza, weak and marked by his long imprisonment, picked up the tricoloured national flag, climbed onto a platform and cried out, ‘The celebration has begun! The shah has agreed to a national parliament!’

  ‘Majles, majles, majles!’ cried the gathered throng.

  Tehran was overflowing with happiness. Musicians played, singers sang, the people in the street embraced each other and the women on the roofs wept for joy. People danced, lifting the merchants on their shoulders and praising their perseverance.

  The two ayatollahs walked along a row of cheering people to the house where the ayatollahs of Qom were still claiming sanctuary. ‘Mobarak, mobarak, majles mobarak,’ the people shouted. ‘Blessed, blessed, blessed be the parliament.’

  Usually the Persians expressed their emotions in words and slogans. It was the first time in history that they had all clapped their hands to show their gratitude. The merchants went to the bazaar to open their shops again after the long strike.

  The celebrations continued across the country for a week. ‘The air smells of flowers,’ people said to each other. And they were right. A kind of spring had burst forth. Everybody felt good. Everybody was happy. Everybody laughed.

  60. Majles

  In the palace you could hear a pin drop, but the centre of Tehran was bubbling with excitement. The members of the resistance committee, the representatives of the bazaar and the authorised agents of the ayatollahs met every day until deep into the night to pave the way for the first session of parliament.

  Calling together the delegates of all the classes and professions in so short a time was simply out of the question, but the committee did want to create a structure for the parliament as quickly as possible now that the time was right. They decided to call to Tehran only the representatives of the major cities so they could create a provisional parliament within a month. That would include the representatives of the six most important classes of society: the royal house, the clergy, the tribes, the bazaars, industry and the men of learning. They also decided that the next session would take place three months later. In this second gathering the shah would sign the acts of the constitution.

  They went looking for a prestigious building in which to house the parliament, but every structure they considered belonged to either the shah or the princes, and none of them was prepared to part with their property. It took a great deal of persuading, but finally the shah agreed to release one of the oldest government buildings for use by the parliament. He assumed it would be temporary.

  With great reluctance he also ordered the royal print shop to print 175 copies of the proposed constitution so the representatives would be able to study the text and take it to the second session, complete with annotations. This uncommonly large print run was the first step forced on the shah to accept the views of his subjects.

  One month later a great city-wide celebration was held and the delegates walked to the parliament building. The ayatollahs led the way and the princes followed them. Then came the most prominent men of the bazaar followed by the rest of the representatives, all dressed in festive clothing and tall hats. Jamal Khan, his comrade-in-arms Mirza Reza and a few other members of the committee also joined the procession as organisers.

  Decorated horses led the way and guards in magnificent uniforms took up the rear. Everyone felt it was a unique procession: the dignified ayatollahs, the princes with their golden canes tucked under their arms, the merchants in their expensive jackets made from English fabrics. But what attracted the attention of the spectators more than anything else were the splendid new black leather shoes all the delegates were wearing. It may have been coincidental that all of them were decked out in such shoes, but they were immediately seized upon as the symbol of a new era.

  After the delegates had taken their seats the oldest representative was chosen as parliamentary chairman. Everyone waited anxiously for the shah. They all realised he might not show up at all. A few delegates had already proposed that the parliament be allowe
d to take decisions if the shah should decide to ignore them. But that was impossible. The presence of the shah was essential in order to make the session legitimate.

  The arrival of the king put an end to every discussion. He rode up to the parliament building on a great black horse. There was some confusion as to who would receive him. Jamal Khan appointed Mirza Reza. Mirza Reza, in his brand-new black shoes, walked up to the shah, bowed his head, and said, ‘Your Majesty!’

  The shah did not look at him, so he had not the least suspicion that this was the same man whom Eyn ed-Dowleh had once thrown at his feet in iron chains. Mirza Reza led him to the platform. The shah cast a glance at the delegates and said, ‘We, the king of Persia, have always dreamed of a day like today. We thank God that He has allowed our dream to come true.’

  Then he paused for a moment, standing there awkwardly, wondering whether he ought to say something else or take a seat. Nothing more was expected of him. The only purpose of his being there was to legally validate the gathering. Now he could go home. He would have to return to the parliament in a few months to officially ratify the Persian constitution with his signature and signet ring. He stepped off the dais, walked to the door and left the parliament.

  Only after he had gone did anyone dare to clap, and everyone followed suit. It was a loud, lengthy round of applause and it did not escape the shah, who was now outside. Standing at the top of the stairs, he paused a moment to listen. Then he calmly descended, passed his cannon, which stood on a cart, and left.

  Back in the palace he went to his study and opened his diary. He wrote until his fingers ached.

  Before going to bed he took one more stroll across the courtyard. He noticed that the door to Malijak’s room was ajar. The candle in his lantern was still burning. The shah went in and sat down on the chair beside the bed. It was hard for the shah to tell whether Malijak was awake or asleep. He began talking to him: ‘They’ve fixed up a parliament for themselves. The mullahs sat there in the first row, beard after beard. Everyone was dressed in fine clothing and leather shoes. They think if they put on expensive clothes it will automatically make them good politicians. They’re all puppets, and England is pulling the strings. We gave a little speech. It was a lot of nonsense and it made them very happy, and they all clapped for us. But they don’t know what we’ve got up our sleeve. In the not too distant future they’ll get together again. They’ll want us to bless their constitution. We’ll let them dream, Malijak. You mustn’t tell this to anyone. The next time these people meet, death will be there to grab them by the scruff of the neck. Everything is arranged. The Russians are as good as their word.’

  The shah heard footsteps. Then he heard the voice of Malijak’s sister. He stood up and walked out into the night.

  61. Electricity

  Russia had gone along with the shah’s request because they realised that the English would emerge from the conflict as the big winners once the parliament was officially launched. It was a risky military undertaking, but Moscow saw it as a last chance to gain influence in an area that was gradually being dominated by the British.

  In doing so the Russians were honouring an agreement they had made with the shah’s father to assist his son in time of need. They let it be known that preparations were proceeding apace. The shah would have to be patient.

  To kill time the shah began a study of electricity. After returning from Europe he had introduced a number of changes in his palace. One of them was the installation of the telegraph system, but that had not been a success. For a long time now the machine had been standing idle in its booth next to the hall of mirrors.

  Another plan was to furnish the palace with new lamps. In France he had signed a contract with a firm to have the palace wired for electricity. A French engineer had travelled to Tehran before the start of the uprising to discuss the project with the shah. He tried to talk the shah into having electric lights installed in a few government buildings in addition to the palace and to illuminate the centre of Tehran as well, but the shah wanted the electricity all to himself.

  The Frenchman had just got started on the project when Tehran was besieged by strikes. In all the turmoil he was forced to stop work and return to France. Now the shah had asked the French engineer to come back and complete the job.

  The man needed one month to build an enclosure in the back garden of the palace, where he would place the turbine generator. Every day the shah would walk with the engineer, chatting with him and thoroughly enjoying the miracle that was taking place. If you hadn’t known better you would have thought he was the Frenchman’s assistant. The shah would pick up a screwdriver and give the screws a few more turns to make them more secure. He re-measured the cables, studied the copper electrical wires and asked technical questions out of sheer curiosity.

  The engineer had brought in hundreds of metres of extra cables and several crates of bulbs. He tried to persuade the shah once again that the generator had enough capacity to provide electricity not only for the entire palace but also for the palace square and the surrounding streets. But the shah was adamant. Only the hall of mirrors, his study, his bedroom and the footpaths in the courtyard were to be illuminated. It was as if his only concern was to get the new lights working as soon as possible.

  Everything was ready earlier than planned, and the engineer asked the shah to leave the palace for one day so he could do some trial runs. The shah complied with the request and waited for the evening to arrive with tense anticipation.

  In the hall of mirrors the engineer had installed a special gold light switch for the shah on a small table next to the king’s chair. When it was more or less dark outside the shah drew the curtains closed and sat down in the chair. With his hand on the light switch he took a deep breath, waited for just a moment and then switched the light on.

  A miracle took place. In a flash the darkness disappeared and the room was saturated in a golden light unlike anything he had ever seen before. Completely overwhelmed, the shah remained in his chair and looked around him. The chandelier gleamed, the mirror glittered, the colourful figures in the carpets shone like thousands of tiny jewels on the floor, and the pomegranate-coloured sofas and green curtains took on a lustre of unparalleled enchantment.

  He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. His grey hair was like washed silver under his tall hat. The furrows of his face were accentuated. In this light he looked exactly like his father, and that moved him to tears.

  In the days that followed the shah received the women of his harem in the hall of mirrors in small groups. He motioned for them to sit on the floor. As soon as it was completely dark outside he pulled the curtains shut, sat down in his chair and cried out, ‘Silence!’ He made the women wait for a whole minute, as still as mice. Then he threw the switch and sat back to enjoy their reactions. After the women had recovered from the shock they praised the shah for his lamps and tried to entice him into installing the same artificial light in the harem.

  ‘It will be done,’ the shah promised each group. ‘But don’t tell the other women. I want to surprise them, just as I have surprised you.’

  Besides the new inventions he also enjoyed the company of his grandson. Every day after breakfast the little boy was brought to the palace so the shah could spend an hour playing with him. He would get down on all fours and lumber across the carpets with the child on his back. He recited his own poems for him and distorted his voice, which made the child laugh. Hand in hand the shah and his grandson walked together through the courtyard gardens, and he taught him to pay attention to the flowers and the birds.

  Akkasbashi, the royal photographer, took dozens of photos of the shah and his grandson: the shah with the boy on his back, on his shoulders, on his desk, on his horse, on his cannon and on his lap, with the shah holding his finger on the electric switch.

  Just when the women of the harem had resigned themselves to the idea that the shah was not going to keep his promise, he sent them on a day trip to the mausoleum o
f the holy saint Abdoldawood. He had a couple of cables laid from the generator to the harem. In half a day he had replaced the harem’s old chandeliers with new lamps. The shah asked the engineer whether he had enough cables and bulbs to illuminate the chandelier in the music room.

  ‘Je peux tout arranger pour le shah,’ said the Frenchman with a smile.

  That evening, when the women returned to the palace completely worn out, they couldn’t believe their eyes. They screamed with happiness, and when the shah appeared in the doorway of the harem they kissed him and indulged his every whim and treated him to a long night of bliss.

  It was still two weeks before the second session of parliament. The Russian troops had entered the country inconspicuously, scattering themselves along the border, and had gathered in the barracks around Tehran. They remained completely unobserved, which the shah saw as a sign that God had taken mercy on the operation.

  As the day of reckoning approached, the shah felt burdened by an increasing sense of dread. To take his mind off his worries, and to keep anyone from sensing his agitation, he came up with a pastime that had never been tried before.

  In Paris the shah had once attended a bal masqué. He decided to organise a Persian version in the music room. One would have thought that the shah had put politics aside for good and had resigned himself to a much lighter interpretation of monarchy.

  He selected a group of forty women of all ages, including his oldest and youngest wives. He ordered them to design masks for themselves, to put on elaborate make-up and to dress themselves with great extravagance. He gave them the freedom to do whatever they wanted that evening.