Kader Abdolah - The King

The shah looked in the mirror and saw himself turn pale.

‘What are they shouting?’

‘They’re shouting anti-British slogans!’

‘What kinds of slogans?’

‘I don’t know, Your Majesty. I just received the report from one of our guards.’

The shah wanted to know whether they were shouting slogans against him as well.

‘But what are they shouting?’

‘Something about tobacco and telegraphs,’ said the man hesitantly.

‘Where are they now?’

‘They’re coming from the bazaar square and they’re probably about halfway here.’

‘Prepare our cannon,’ said the shah. ‘Put a row of cannons on the palace square with the barrels aimed at the demonstrators and warn Eyn ed-Dowleh immediately!’

The shah had appointed Eyn ed-Dowleh military advisor. By giving his son-in-law an important position and responsibility in the army he was securing his allegiance. Eyn ed-Dowleh was brave and trustworthy. The shah hoped that his grandson would inherit those characteristics. Taj Olsultan was almost full term. She was eagerly looking forward to the birth of her baby. As was the shah.

He spoke with Eyn ed-Dowleh in private and ordered him to protect the palace with everything at his disposal.

The crowd had now reached the palace square, but armed guards managed to keep the people at a distance. The head of the guards was waiting impatiently for reinforcements from the army. He had warned the demonstrators that if they took one more step, his men would fire on them with cannons.

When Eyn ed-Dowleh rode onto the palace square with his column of cavalrymen, the head of the guards breathed a sigh of relief. Eyn ed-Dowleh positioned the cavalrymen between the cannons and the crowd. He rode his own great black horse right to the front line. With sword drawn he stood before his troops.

The demonstrators began shouting ‘Shah! Shah! Shah!’ at the top of their voices. ‘Tobacco! Tobacco! Tobacco!’

Eyn ed-Dowleh put his sword away and pulled out his rifle. This awkward threat provoked the masses, who pressed forward.

‘Halt or I’ll shoot!’ shouted Eyn ed-Dowleh menacingly.

No one listened to him.

‘Telegraph! Telegraph! Telegraph!’ the crowd shouted. ‘Shah! Shah! Shah!’

The shah stood on the roof and looked through his binoculars to see how his son-in-law would deal with this difficult situation.

‘Halt!’ threatened Eyn ed-Dowleh again.

But no one listened.

‘Halt!’ he shouted once more, and he shot three times over their heads.

The people were alarmed. They scattered, only to come back together and surround him. Sensing the danger his horse whinnied anxiously and tried to clear a path through the mass of people. The demonstrators blocked his flight and came threateningly close.

‘Fire!’ shouted Eyn ed-Dowleh, obeying his own command.

The troops behind him opened fire. It was a one-sided battle. The unarmed demonstrators tried to escape down the square’s side streets, where new troops flew at them with truncheons. Desperate, the people forced their way into the government buildings on nearby streets and set several departments on fire. No one was in charge. In the chaos everyone did whatever occurred to him. Heavy smoke began to rise, blanketing the palace square in an impenetrable fog. Dead bodies lay everywhere, and the people dragged the wounded to surrounding houses.

This was a development that Jamal Khan and the committee had not counted on. They knew there might be some deaths, but a blind outburst like this had been unexpected. The age-old frustration of an entire people had been expressed in a single day.

The fighting continued all through the evening. Only when it was dark, and the muezzins called the people to evening prayer, did the demonstrators withdraw. The fight had been fought, for now. There was no more shooting or shouting of slogans.

Although it remained relatively calm outside for the rest of the night, the palace was alive with activity. The shah met with his vizier and advisors, and received repeated visits from the messenger, who was riding back and forth between the palace and his mother.

Another messenger was also riding back and forth in the dark, to and from the British embassy. Behind heavy curtains that kept out even the slightest breeze, the ambassador and his staff were intent on leaving their mark on history. All week long they had been in contact with an ayatollah in Tehran who operated as an envoy for the aged Ayatollah Shirazi.

At the same time the mother of the shah received two visits in her palace from a messenger of the Russian embassy.

The demonstrators had been working deep into the night, barricading the houses and streets around the palace with sandbags. When the sun came up the cavalrymen on the palace square were surprised to find rows of men positioned behind sturdy sandbag bulwarks. They were armed with the rifles they had taken from the soldiers during the previous day’s fighting.

The parties stood there, face to face and motionless. They waited until the sun reached its zenith. It was time for afternoon prayers, but the muezzins were silent.

Suddenly there was movement in the crowd. The people were making way for Tabatabai, one of the old ayatollahs of Tehran. It was he who was making decisions on behalf of Shirazi. He had received a special message from the British ambassador the night before and had notified Jamal Khan immediately. Accompanied by seven prominent businessmen from the Tehran bazaar and carrying his walking stick, the ayatollah walked calmly up to the palace, where the shah was waiting for him.

The head of the palace guards received the delegation. The negotiations continued until late in the afternoon, and all that time everyone patiently waited. When the delegation finally came out the ayatollah waved his walking stick as a sign of victory. A loud cheer rose up from the palace walls. The shah had signed the document spelling out the terms under which the British tobacco company would hand over the tobacco trade to the Persian government.

An agreement had also been reached with the British embassy concerning plans for a domestic telegraph network. British engineers would come to discuss the execution of the plans with the shah. What no one else knew was that the ambassador had also firmly urged the shah to replace Sheikh Aqasi. He was a weak link.

What followed was spectacular. For the first time in Persian history people took to the streets carrying flags, and street musicians could be heard everywhere. The shopkeepers treated everyone to free biscuits and tea, and in all the bazaar squares across the country great pots of food were cooked over fires for the entire population. The festivities lasted a whole week.

The shah was convinced that Taj would bear him a grandson. He never let on that the thought so preoccupied him, but secretly he had a camel sacrificed at the tomb of the holy Abdoldawood.

Right before Taj was due to give birth the shah dreamed about a young branch growing from an old tree. Suddenly a storm broke and the old tree fell over, but the young branch kept on growing. It grew bigger and bigger. The shah was frightened by the dream. He wanted to ask his dream interpreters about it, but he didn’t dare. He kept it to himself and entrusted it to no one but his diary. The birth could happen any minute.

He was standing at the window lost in thought when he saw his son-in-law Eyn ed-Dowleh come riding into the palace grounds. This could mean but one thing: his daughter had given birth to a son. Eyn ed-Dowleh stormed into the hall of mirrors, took the shah’s right hand, planted a kiss on it and said, ‘God is working for our good.’