‘Lunch Thursday STOP Munira prepare house STOP Rumia Fesanjoon END.’
Such was the message on the telegram that Abdul Hussein sent to Hadi from Basra after Faisal’s subdued reception there. He wanted to host a party for Faisal at his widowed sister Munira’s house in Kazimiya, which had a much grander reception room than his own home. He also wanted Munira to supervise the kitchen, as she had magical hands when it came to cooking (he still dreamed of her marvellous pickles). Munira had proven an astute manageress of the estates she had inherited from the late Nawab, and Abdul Hussein was sure that with her and Hadi’s help, and the finest produce from his own lands, they could create a feast fit for a king.
Not only did Abdul Hussein want to serve up traditional quzis – grilled whole sheep served over a bed of the finest seasoned rice – but also the more refined dishes for which Kazimiya was known: fesanjoon (pomegranate-and-walnut chicken stew), lamb-in-apricot stew, timan bagila (dill-flavoured rice with broad beans), various types of kubbas, vegetable stews and stuffed meatballs and, of course, the traditional dolmas (stuffed vine leaves, onions and peppers). The list of desserts was similarly elaborate – zarda, halawa, baklawa and mahalabi. He was determined to give the King the best banquet of his life.
Aware of the faith his father placed in his organizational abilities, Hadi asked the family to meet upstairs in the main room of the andaroun to plan the event. This was much more than a mere lunch party; it represented a bold political statement in support of the new King, given the continuing and widespread hostility with which he was regarded by the Shi’a religious establishment. Hadi saw his family’s role as essential, setting an example to other Shi’a by honouring Faisal and helping him to reach out to them during his visit. Hadi had to keep his cool, as the women – more concerned with the logistics of preparing the meal than with national politics – immediately set about deciding on the menu; even Munira was unusually animated, pleased by her brother’s recognition of her culinary talents.
As the arrangements were made, Bibi sat nervously between Hadi and his sister Shamsa, now her firm friend. She was very excited by the prospect of the party, despite the fact that none of the women would be permitted to attend. But soon the intense discussion of food began to make her feel redundant, unsure of how she could help in the proceedings. She couldn’t cook or make herself useful in the kitchen as the other women did. She had a knack for remembering recipes, but little interest and even less talent in executing them. However, she knew she could rely on her most valuable culinary asset – her mother, whose fesanjoon had been singled out by Abdul Hussein in his telegram. Fesanjoon was a Persian poultry dish that carried spiritual nourishment in its very name, meaning ‘what the soul craves’.
With the menu decided upon, Hadi divided the tasks among the members of the household. He suggested firmly to Munira that Rumia should help her with some of the dishes, as she couldn’t do it all on her own. ‘And some dishes should not be left to the regular cooks,’ he diplomatically explained.
Munira’s right eyebrow rose momentarily, just long enough for Bibi to notice. But this wasn’t the time for petty rivalries, so, thin-lipped, she turned to Bibi: ‘This won’t be an imposition on your mother, will it?’
‘No, not at all,’ replied Bibi. ‘She’ll be more than happy to do it.’
Unlike most of the other women in the household, Bibi appreciated just how important the King’s visit was, and she wished to contribute to its success in whatever way she could. Finally, after what seemed an age, the meeting ended, and she quickly instructed Saeeda to look after Rushdi while Ni’mati accompanied her to her mother’s house.
They walked as fast as they could over the uneven cobbles, and when they arrived Bibi knocked hard on the metal door. Her mother’s Iranian maid, Laleh, greeted her, but her eyes widened in horror when she saw that Bibi was not alone. She quickly covered her head and clothes with her hands in a feeble show of modesty in front of Ni’mati. Ni’mati sighed and, turning his back to her, said, ‘Get me some tea; I’ll have a cigarette outside.’
Bibi rushed past Laleh into the house, calling out for her mother and shouting something about a duck. Bemused, Laleh followed her into the hallway. She explained that Rumia was praying, and said she would make Bibi some tea while she waited for her, then retreated to the kitchen.
Bibi headed up impatiently to her mother’s room on the first floor. Rumia’s head had barely touched the turba, the clay tablet on the prayer rug, to signal the end of the prayer than Bibi announced without ceremony, ‘We’ve no duck and the new King is coming to lunch. If you don’t cook your fesanjoon for him I’m finished!’
Rumia smiled to herself. She was only too used to Bibi’s dramatic turn of phrase. She reassured her daughter that she would cook the fesanjoon, and that chickens from the market would do just as well as duck. Bibi could not believe her ears; perhaps her mother thought this was a small lunch for her brothers rather than a banquet for the new King. Perhaps she didn’t realize how important this feast was for the Chalabi family.
9
Fesanjoon, a Royal Luncheon
Faisal Visits Kazimiya
(1921)
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, Faisal arrived at West Baghdad train station after a long and challenging journey from Basra. His visits to the Shi’a shrines at Najaf and Karbala had not been an unqualified success, as in both places he had been snubbed by the religious establishment. However, his reception in Baghdad was warm and well attended.
Mindful not to intrude on the occasion, and that his own moment would soon come, Abdul Hussein watched from a respectful distance while Gertrude Bell assisted the British High Commissioner Sir Percy Cox as he introduced Faisal to the notables of Baghdad. Miss Bell’s pleasure in the proceedings was obvious; since her arrival in the city she had wasted no time in developing ties with the local dignitaries, in the name of King George V. Her maverick charm and command of the Arabic language had afforded her carte blanche to meet anyone of any significance, and gave an altogether unusual face to the occupying authorities. But Abdul Hussein was not quite sure what to make of her.
On the other hand, he did know that the next day would be very important for Faisal, as he was going to visit the third of the holy Shi’a shrines – in Kazimiya, Abdul Hussein’s home town. The reception he got there would be of the utmost importance, especially after his disastrous visits to Najaf and Karbala, and Abdul Hussein had done everything in his power to make sure it would go smoothly.
Faisal’s convoy duly arrived in Kazimiya at around ten o’clock the following morning. A large crowd welcomed him, chanting and throwing flowers, as he proceeded to the shrine. The long road that led to its main door, the Bab al-Qibla, was decorated with the new Iraqi flag as well as with flowers and palm leaves.
Hadi, taking his cue from his father, was well aware that Faisal’s visit to Kazimiya had to be seen to be a success from the moment he arrived in town. He was concerned that there might be a repeat of the muted receptions the King had received in other shrine cities, so he turned to the town’s young men to ask for their help in providing a jubilant welcome.
As a result of Hadi’s efforts, Faisal was greeted by exuberant young men waving banners with welcoming words for him. Hadi also made sure to have three sheep ready at the door of the shrine, in accordance with the old Arabian tradition of sacrificing a sheep in honour of a valued guest. As custom required, Faisal stepped over the blood of the sheep and entered the courtyard. He stood for a moment with his palms raised and read the Fatiha, the first verse of the Quran, before proceeding with his visit.
Meanwhile, the Chalabi household was becoming agitated because the King was running late. Rumia and Munira had produced a wonderful feast, and Munira realized that in Rumia she had found a kindred spirit who shared her appreciation of and talent for preparing excellent food. In the days prior to the visit the kitchen had acquired the status of an army headquarters, bustling with people and activity. Several women from Kazi
miya had come to help, in addition to the exhausted household staff, none of whom had ever before had to prepare for a function as important as this one.
To escape the stress and chaos in the rooms below, and too distracted to play with her young son, Bibi decided the best thing for her would be to risk the glare of the sun and go up onto the roof, where she sheltered under a reed umbrella while she waited for the party to arrive. She wished she could be amongst the party welcoming the King in person, but that was impossible because she was a woman. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Abdul Rasul would share with her all the details of the King’s visit later. He would be by his father’s side throughout the event, unlike Hadi, who would be busy organizing the logistics.
Bibi took a cigarette from her pocket and lit up, peering down over the edge. At least she could get a sneak look at her future king that way. She liked what she had heard and read about him so far, and was much impressed by his career, his travels and his style. She gathered that he switched between traditional attire and Western suits, and that he looked equally graceful in each.
The party finally arrived. From her secret vantage point, Bibi was able to get a quick look at Faisal’s face. She was not disappointed: it was indeed a face of a king. She made her way downstairs so she could watch the feast from behind the wooden screen of the covered balcony upstairs.
The lunch was hosted in Munira’s large banquet room, which was crowded with people angling to get a close look at their new king. Before the party sat down to the sumptuous meal, several poets stood up to welcome Faisal in the courtyard. The first was Hadi’s uncle al-Uzri, who was now back from his incarceration in Kayseri. He took a deep breath before he began, the sweat dripping off his forehead. Then, in a melodious, deep voice, he recited:
I stand and welcome glory and breeding.
There was for the Arabs a hijacked throne.
I bow to greet its revolutionaries
Who with the sword realized victory – al araba.
They invited you from Mecca to the valley of the valiant saints
To take the throne of your exalted ancestors.
You are the most deserving heir of their inheritance;
For you the hearts overflow with emotion
In its folds, the sighs are unable to speak …
For they are here to give you allegiance
Willingly without terror or fear …
Their eyes rove. It is no surprise
That they settle but on your pivot.
This trust – take it in your palm
And relieve your people of their misery …
And live a king in this state,
A lion reigning from the skies.
Above all defiance.
After the delivery of the final poem, Faisal spoke with gratitude and heart-felt emotion, thanking everyone for the warm reception he had received, and looking forward to the bright future that lay ahead for Iraq.
The food was a great success. Indeed, so many compliments were showered on Rumia’s fesanjoon that Bibi’s pride reached unprecedented levels. It didn’t matter that she had contributed nothing to actually making the dish; she felt she had, and hugged herself as she sat secretly watching the men devour it.
During the week it had taken Faisal to travel up to Baghdad, not only Abdul Hussein’s household had been preoccupied with hosting the King-to-be. The formidable Miss Gertrude Bell had also been rushing around, arranging Faisal’s lodgings and his reception.
In the days before Faisal’s arrival at Basra port, the most urgent task had been to find a flag for the new Iraq, and it had fallen to Miss Bell to conjure one up. Partly inspired by her vivid historical imagination and poetic temperament, and partly by Faisal’s own background, she had settled on the colours red, black, green and white. The red was for the Hashemite tribe from which Faisal came; the black was for the Abbasids who built Baghdad in the eighth century and reigned over the famed golden age; the green was for the Fatimids, a Shi’a dynasty which had ruled Egypt and parts of the Levant in the ninth century; while the white was for the Umayyads, who distinguished themselves as the first Arab Muslim dynasty in Syria after the Prophet’s death, and who were much disliked by the Shi’a for killing Hussein, the Prophet’s grandson.
Miss Bell was not particularly fond of the Shi’a, and her mistrust of them may have inadvertently helped to shape the physical map of the country, for when she had been negotiating the borders of Iraq she had insisted on including the Kurdish north, to balance the sectarian equation in favour of the Sunnis. Believing that the Shi’a were extremists, and an obstacle to her dream of a kingdom led by Faisal, she preferred simply to circumvent them.
Nevertheless, from Miss Bell’s perspective the new flag symbolized Iraq in all its religious aspects, past and present, and she hurriedly asked the wife of one of Faisal’s leading supporters to whip up a prototype on her sewing machine.
Two months later, before the Baghdad heat had geared up enough strength to inflict its heaviness on everyone, Faisal perched on the chair that was meant to be his new throne. It was Tuesday, 23 August 1921, a date that was charged with symbolism, particularly for Iraq’s Shi’a population. According to the lunar calendar that year, it marked the festival of the Ghadir, when 1,289 years earlier the Prophet Muhammad, Faisal’s ancestor, had designated his cousin and son-in-law Ali (from whose lineage Faisal also claimed kin) as leader of the community in a farewell speech to his followers. This seminal event had marked the start of the schism between Sunni and Shi’a, with the latter becoming the partisans of Ali.
So high that his feet barely touched the ground, Faisal’s throne was situated on a platform in the middle of the large courtyard of the Sarai, the former Ottoman seat of power in Baghdad. Outside, the city was not yet fully awake, but the river next to the palace was already lively with fishermen and with children playing on the banks. He was flanked on his right-hand side by the British High Commissioner Sir Percy Cox, and on his left by the commanding British officer, Lieutenant Aylmer Haldane. Behind him sat his three closest advisers. They had been his companions for several years now, a band of brothers who had gone on the road with him as he pursued their shared dream of a united Arab kingdom. Only one of them had been born in Iraq: Sayyid Hussein Afnan. The others were Rustum Haidar from Lebanon and Amin Kasbani from Damascus. They were a colourful mix – a Bahá’í (a follower of a young religion founded in Iran in the nineteenth century, an offshoot of Shi’a Islam), a Shi’a and a Sunni respectively. They had accompanied Faisal on the long and crushing journey from Syria, where he had reigned as King for four months, until the French had driven him out at the Battle of Maysaloun in June 1920, with little British objection.
That bright Tuesday morning, Faisal was dressed in the Arab Army uniform, a pastiche of Ottoman, Bedouin and European military styles, with a spiked helmet with flaps at the back. British soldiers of the Royal Berkshire Regiment and freshly recruited members of the new Iraqi army looked down at him from the balconies around the courtyard. Along with over 1,500 other local notables, Abdul Hussein had risen to his feet while Faisal inspected the guard of honour on the way to his unfamiliar throne. Now everyone fixed their eyes on their new and foreign King.
The courtyard was filled with the silence of anticipation as Faisal stood to speak. He looked directly at his audience and announced: ‘I offer my thanks to the generous nation of Iraq for the swearing of its free allegiance to me and for proving thereby its affection for me and confidence in me. I pray to the Almighty to give me success in elevating the state of this dear country and this noble nation so that its ancient glory may be restored and that it may maintain a high place among rising and progressive nations.’
He gulped almost imperceptibly before continuing: ‘My duty today also calls me to express my gratitude to the British nation for having come to the assistance of the Arabs during the critical time of war and for the generous expenditure of its wealth and sacrifice of its sons in the cause of the Arab l
iberation and independence … As I have repeatedly stated before you, the progress of this country is dependent on the assistance of a nation which can aid us with men and money, and as the British nation is the nearest to us and the most zealous of our interests we must seek help and cooperation.’
The hardest part over, Faisal’s voice recovered and he concluded with dignity, ‘I will spare no effort to profit by the qualities of every man of the nation, irrespective of religion or class. All to me shall be equal. There shall be no distinction between townsmen and Bedouins; for me the sole distinction shall be that of knowledge and capacity. The whole nation is my party and I have no other. The interest of the country as a whole is my interest and I have no other.’
Beaming up at him from below the dais sat Gertrude Bell, who had written to her father earlier that week, declaring that she would ‘never engage in creating kings again … it’s too great a strain’.
Thus it was that Faisal, as the putative King of the Arabs, became the first constitutional King of Iraq, which was to become the first Arab state to join the newly formed League of Nations in 1932. Percy Cox read out the proclamation before the cheering crowd and a twenty-one gun salute.
10
Banished
Out of Kazimiya
(1922–1924)
BIBI’S PENCHANT FOR imagining cataclysmic scenarios was like a disease that never fully subsided, but which sometimes receded a little into the background. She may have overreacted before becoming pregnant with Rushdi, fearing that she would never conceive, but that could perhaps be excused on account of her being a new young bride. When another three years passed and she had still not conceived a sibling for Rushdi, she wondered whether someone had put a spell on her. One child was simply not acceptable.
Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family Page 13