Kader Abdolah - The King

and he himself will perish.

Of no avail shall be his wealth,

nor what he has acquired.

He will be roasted in the fire,

And his wife,

the carrier of firewood,

Will have a strap of twisted rope round her neck.

This surah was about the uncle of the Prophet Muhammad, a man named Abu Lahab, who had done everything he could to prevent Muhammad from carrying out his mission and once had even devised a plan to kill him. Muhammad had had him severely punished.

The counsel of the Quran was indisputable, and the shah felt a burden drop from his shoulders. He kissed the book, put it back on the table and walked to the dining room. Then he sat down and waited for the chamberlain to bring him his meal.

But doubt once again rose within him. To whom should he listen, Hafez or the Quran? Did Muhammad actually punish his uncle? He spoke harshly to him and wished for his hands to be broken, but he had not actually broken his hands. So what should he do now with his seven half-brothers?

His appetite had left him. Shah Naser walked to his bedroom. It was not yet time to sleep, but the shah crept into bed fully dressed.

The Persian elite and their kings were not committed believers as a rule. They had great respect for the text of the Quran but would have nothing to do with the culture of the Arabs, who had destroyed the Persian Empire, and this included the practise of Arabic rituals. The vizier was not a man of prayer, nor had he raised the shah to pray, but he did teach him to turn to God whenever he felt anxious or uncertain, as all the kings before him had done. And so that night the shah rose from his sleepless bed, washed his hands and face, and turned towards Mecca.

The next morning, after bathing, he went to the hall of mirrors. He ate a hearty breakfast and spent some time drawing as a diversion. To calm his nerves he drew a teapot and an apple in a fruit bowl. The sun was already at its apex. He put on his military uniform, pulled his sword from its sheath and played with it in front of the mirror.

The chamberlain came in and told him his seven half-brothers were awaiting him in the golden hall. The golden hall was where the shah gave great public parties and where he received officers and merchants.

The shah glanced at himself in the mirror once more, drew a white-gloved hand across his moustache and walked to the hall, where a pair of officers was waiting for him.

‘His Majesty!’ shouted a high-ranking officer.

A soldier blew on his trumpet and the shah entered the hall, accompanied by officers carrying the flag of the Persian Empire.

At the doorway he cast a glance at his seven brothers, who were standing with their heads bowed. The high-ranking officer made a gesture and all of them knelt down in a single movement with their heads touching the floor as a sign of humility.

‘Rise!’ cried the shah. There was a friendly tone to his voice that dispelled the oppressive atmosphere. His brothers summoned up their courage and looked at the shah. Addressing them he said, ‘It is a blessed moment. Our homeland is unified once again, and we are happy. Our brothers must understand that whatever we do, we do for our country, and that accordingly we are following in the footsteps of the kings who went before us. The decision that has been made is a decision made for the country by God himself.’

He thrust out his hand and had his brothers come forward one by one to kiss it. Then he walked over to a table. On the table were a quill pen, an ink pot and paper. The shah picked up the quill and wrote a few words. He signed the document, pressed his signet ring into the ink-pad and placed his seal beneath his signature. Then he folded up the paper and handed it personally to the high-ranking officer.

That same evening the shah’s brothers were hung in the bazaar square. The next morning the people who came to the bazaar saw the gallows and the seven men hanging motionless from the ropes.

As soon as he heard the report of the execution the vizier hastened to the palace.

‘How could this happen?’ he said to the shah.

The shah did not respond.

‘I asked you to pardon them. By committing this deed the shah will unleash chaos in the country. Everyone is afraid. No one trusts us any more. It is impossible to hold the country together with bullets and gallows. We must engage in politics. Why did the shah make this decision?’

‘We are the shah! England can go to hell. We do not have to answer to anyone.’

‘But the country must be governed!’ said the vizier in a fury.

Without saying a word the shah withdrew behind the curtain, leaving the vizier to stand helpless in the hall of mirrors.

The king had many daughters, but little Taj Olsultan was different. She was born of the marriage with Foruq, who was a woman of the Qajar tribe, the same tribe as that of the shah. Foruq was also the shah’s cousin.

Foruq was expected to bear a son for the monarchy who would later succeed the shah. Dozens of sons had been produced by the other wives, but they didn’t count. Only a son of Foruq could be the crown prince. As fate would have it, however, she did not immediately become pregnant. The entire royal medical staff examined her, and all the aged women of the tribe included her in their lengthy prayers. Female shamans from every corner of the land were admitted to her bedside until finally she was found to be with child. Great was the joy. But instead of a son she bore a daughter, who was given the name Taj Olsultan.

Now there was hope and the shah could often be found in Foruq’s bed. But to everyone’s great disappointment Foruq bore four more daughters. After the last daughter was born the shah stopped sleeping with her.

Foruq complained to the queen, who called the shah to account. ‘How dare you? What does this mean, seeking the solace of other women? Foruq is the only one who can give you an heir.’

‘I am neither willing nor able,’ said the shah.

‘To do what?’

‘I am not able to sleep with her.’

‘Why not?’ shouted his mother.

‘I am a man, and I cannot function any more with Foruq,’ he confessed.

‘Then think of something. Or the sons of your other wives will rise up in revolt later on and tear the country into a hundred pieces.’

‘That changes nothing. If I can’t, I can’t. It is undoubtedly God’s will. We must not be ungrateful. Perhaps life has something else in store for us: perhaps our daughter Taj Olsultan will bear a son for us.’

‘The shah must stop this nonsense. She is only a child.’

‘When she is grown, we will look for a suitable husband for her from our own tribe. You know our history. Such things happen. Our father was a good example. He was not the son of the ruling king. No, he was the son of the king’s brother. We don’t know what secrets life holds. Let us be patient and wait.’

From that moment on Taj Olsultan was treated like a precious jewel.

The shah always went to see his daughter whenever he felt sad. According to custom the wife who bore the crown prince did not live in the harem. Her children were regarded as princes. Because Taj Olsultan was the shah’s favourite and would one day produce an heir for him, she did not live in the harem with the other women and children. She had a separate apartment of her own, where one of the shah’s old retainers cared for her as if she were a queen.

The night the shah’s half-brothers were hung, the shah could not sleep. He had nightmares and dreamt that he too was hanging from a gallows and that the wind was playing with his body. Even though he had been hung he was still alive. Looking down from the gallows he could see masses of people gazing up at him. He tried to cry for help, but the cord round his neck stifled his voice, and his hands had been tied behind his back. His felt his soul slipping away. Gathering all his strength he tried to move his legs to show that he was still alive, but this just caused the cord to tighten even more round his throat. He woke up drenched in sweat.