Kader Abdolah - The King

‘But I’m an old man with one foot in the grave. I no longer understand the ways of the world.’

‘We’ve brought something with us that you can use as a weapon,’ said Mirza Reza.

The ayatollah looked at the faces of the two men as if he were seeing them for the first time.

‘The British control the rights of import, export and production of all the major products in the country,’ said Jamal Khan. ‘Take tobacco. We have no say over the production of our own tobacco, which is used every day by thousands upon thousands of our countrymen. The tobacco dealers and the farmers on the tobacco plantations are having a hard time of it, and many have no money left. The tobacco that the ayatollah has in his hookah right now is a British product. Anyone who buys tobacco in this country is depositing his money directly into the cash box of the British tobacco company. Ayatollah! We need a powerful leader to cry out, “Down with British tobacco!”’

The ayatollah put down his hookah. It was as if he had touched something unclean, and he inadvertently wiped his hands on the carpet. ‘These kinds of things are complex,’ he said softly. ‘We can shout all we want, but it changes nothing. The only thing I can lean on in this world is my walking stick, and I can’t do any damage to England with that.’

‘Ayatollah, may I show you something?’ asked Jamal Khan. The aged ayatollah looked with suspicion at the two persistent men who had shaken his daily rhythm so profoundly.

Jamal Khan took from his bag the photograph of the British director of the National Tobacco Company and handed it to him.

Shirazi held the photo at a distance, but he saw nothing unusual. It was just a photo of a fat imam smoking a hookah in a somewhat comical way.

‘Gentlemen, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. All I see is an imam, or am I mistaken?’

‘You’re not mistaken,’ said Jamal Khan. ‘But the man in the photo is no imam. He’s a Brit in a turban who has put on the robes of an imam and pasted a fake beard on his face. This is the British director of the tobacco company.’

The face of the aged ayatollah became instantly ashen. He reached for a sugar cube but pulled back his hand, picked up his glass and took a draught of bitter tea.

Every Monday afternoon the shah and Sheikh Aqasi sat down to discuss important current affairs. This time, after dealing with dossiers and signing documents, the sheikh pulled a sealed letter from his bag.

‘Who is this letter from?’ asked the shah.

‘From Ayatollah Mirzaye Shirazi.’

‘Who is Mirzaye Shirazi?’

‘The ayatollah of Shiraz,’ answered Sheikh Aqasi.

‘What does he want from us?’

‘He has also written a letter to me, a letter written in very crude language. I was torn as to whether I should give it to you or not, but I think Your Majesty ought to be kept informed.’

‘Read it,’ said the shah, and he handed the letter back.

‘If it’s all the same to Your Majesty I would prefer not to. I suspect the contents are rather uncouth,’ said the sheikh cautiously.

‘Read it!’ repeated the shah, and he leaned back in his chair.

The vizier broke the wax seal.

Besmellah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim,

In the name of Allah the Compassionate and the Merciful.

To the king of the country.

We have already written a long letter to the vizier dealing with a few matters of national interest, of which this is a summary. The shah has placed the fate of his subjects in the hands of the British.

It is a scandal to Muslims that a foreign power is being permitted to encroach so deeply into their daily lives.

Out of respect for Islam and in the interest of the homeland, we demand that the shah relieve the British of the tobacco trade and return it to his own subjects.

God be with you. Awaiting your reply.

Wassalam

Mirzaye Shirazi

With this brief but severe letter the ayatollah was giving the shah an ultimatum. The shah was furious, but he controlled himself and said, ‘This man is old and senile, I presume. There is no reason to respond to his letter in writing. I shall send a messenger to him with a firm answer.’

‘I beg Your Majesty to be patient. This cleric is widely respected. First we need to find out why he has suddenly felt the need to take pen in hand. It is a sign that the dissatisfaction among the tobacco merchants of the bazaars is getting out of control. We have to know more before we take action.’

The shah ignored the vizier’s advice. ‘The tobacco merchants can come and kiss our boots. We have arranged for them to get tobacco that is fully cut and ready for use. What more do they want? We’ve made it easier for them. The imams don’t understand such things. They have to learn that they can’t interfere with business. This ayatollah must be put in his place.’

He tore up the letter and added, ‘We’re going to teach him a lesson! If we don’t, more ayatollahs will start showing up with new demands!’

With the dust of the road still fresh on his face and shoulders, the shah’s messenger arrived at the home of the ayatollah a few days later. The servant let him in and offered him tea and something to eat, but the messenger refused and said he wanted to discharge his duty first.

Shirazi was in the library, sitting on the floor at his writing table. The messenger greeted him, bowed his head and took off his shoes.

The appearance of the ayatollah surprised him. He had expected a sturdy, powerfully built man who could stand up to the shah’s threats, but when he saw this fragile elder sitting on a threadbare Persian rug, it drained his hard-hitting message of all its strength. He had been on the road for several days and nights, riding straight through the country to put this man in his place.

The ayatollah bade him sit beside him. The messenger knelt at his table and said, ‘I have a message for you from the shah.’

‘You may give it to me,’ said the ayatollah, extending his hand.

Hesitating, the messenger said, ‘I’m sorry, but I have no letter for you. I have been told to whisper the message in your ear.’

The ayatollah understood immediately that this was an unusual message. ‘You don’t need to whisper. Just tell me.’

The messenger glanced towards the door with some uncertainty. He suspected that the servant was standing behind it.

‘Don’t worry. No one will hear you,’ said the ayatollah.

‘The shah brings you the following message: “Do not interfere in royal matters, or I will pay you a visit with a cushion in my hands.”’

With bowed head the messenger waited for the ayatollah to respond.

‘Was that all?’ asked Shirazi calmly.

‘Yes, that was all.’

‘I thank you for the trouble you have taken. Please have something to eat and drink. Take your time and get some rest.’

Time passed, and the shah was not at all certain what effect his threat had had on the ayatollah. He took it for granted that his message had been clearly understood and that he would hear no more from the cleric.

In the meantime he issued arrest warrants for anyone suspected of having had anything to do with the unrest in Tehran. He slowly began to believe that he had actually torn out the protest by the roots.

Jamal Khan, Mirza Reza Kermani and Amir Nezam remained in Shiraz, using it as the base from which to organise the resistance.

For all the shah knew his hard line had worked, but suddenly he started receiving reports that all the tobacco merchants of Shiraz were refusing to do business with the British tobacco company or to pay their overdue bills. The head of the Shiraz police was given a direct order by the shah to come down hard on the defaulters.