Kader Abdolah - The King

With this serious request the new vizier was letting the shah know that the time was ripe.

‘We shall think it over,’ answered the shah.

Later, in conversation with his mother, she said, ‘I trust Mostovi Almamalek. He is right. But I wonder whether such a journey is wise at the present moment. What does the shah think?’

‘We are not opposed to a journey to Europe to visit other kings. Persian kings have always conquered other countries first before taking a deeper interest in them. We would be the first Persian king to break this pattern. Our fear is that as soon as we cross the border, England will put our crown on the head of some insurgent. We would no longer be able to return home and would become a Wandering Jew, a nomad, banished from hearth and home.’

‘Now you have an heir. I don’t know whether I should encourage you to make this trip or discourage you. We can lay it before the wise men of the tribe. But one thing should be clear to you: if you go travelling, I will guard your throne like an old lioness.’

To whet the shah’s appetite Mostovi contacted the Russian, British and French ambassadors and asked them if they had catalogues or photo albums with pictures of their factories and scenes from everyday life.

It wasn’t long before three large books compiled especially for this purpose were sent from the embassies. They were impressive albums that were decorated with the colours of the countries’ flags and portraits of their heads of state. They were full of images of trains and their passengers, newspapers, lamps, lamp posts, cafés, railways, harbours, squares, fountains, bridges, concert halls, theatre performances and portraits of writers, poets, women, wine and food.

Finally Mostovi got the shah to pen the following words and to seal them with his own ring:

Besmellah .

For us this journey is as inevitable as birth and death. This is something we must experience, which is why we are submitting to it. Our vizier may make the necessary preparations.

Just as the vizier was about to take the letter in his hands, the shah insisted on one condition: ‘This is to remain between the two of us. No one is to know that we want to go on such a journey.’

‘That will make the preparations difficult. And how are we to explain the shah’s long absence?’ asked the vizier.

‘Once we are gone you can announce that we are going to Karbala to visit the grave of the holy Hussein. If necessary we will reveal where we really were later on. We are doing this for the nation, you understand. Agreed?’

‘Agreed!’ said Mostovi. The shah did not notice his vizier’s slight hesitation.

During the entire length of Ayatollah Shirazi’s ban on tobacco the women of the harem gave the shah the cold shoulder because he had smoked despite the fatwa. Now the shah was getting even by refusing to share his bed with them. He decided to hold a sabuhi .

Sabuhi was a clever contrivance, a real feast for the Persian kings. They too had been forbidden from drinking alcohol ever since Islam had become the country’s official religion. But the kings found it impossible to stay away from wine. They drank nothing but the fruit of the vine produced in the city of Shiraz.

The wine of Shiraz was the wine of paradise, and you had to have read the poetry of the great medieval Persian masters to understand what that meant. As Hafez wrote:

Make haste, O steward, and gladden my cup with wine!

O minstrel, sing my fate and make it kind.

My lover’s face doth sparkle in my cup.

The traveller on the road to this café

Would be a fool to seek another way.

For a king, the shadow of God on earth, drinking wine in public was simply not done. But if the great master had been so warmly inclined towards wine, why should the kings begrudge themselves that pleasure? Life was short and, like the great poet Hafez, they understood that wine and recollections of past lovers were all that remained. So they devised an exception that would allow them to withdraw for a time and to abandon themselves completely to wine and love.

After the ritual they took a bath, asked for God’s forgiveness and returned to normal life, where war and treachery prevailed.

The shah had hired an experienced lady for the sabuhi who would provide the women for this occasion. She went to the shah’s country house and brought seven women with her. When the shah arrived he sat down among the cushions that had been elegantly arranged for him. Female musicians played their instruments while female dancers moved gracefully to a melancholy song sung by a young female singer who sat behind a transparent green curtain:

Ah, amadi azizam, azizam, azizam

Wa man in-ja montazer azizam, azizam, azizam

You finally came, O my sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.

And I waited here so long for you, O my sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.

Savage lions stood between us, azizam, azizam, azizam

And towering mountains, azizam, azizam, azizam .

The seven scantily clad women shyly entered carrying wine and glasses. And thus the shah began a week in which he ‘celebrated life’, as he himself put it. Because he had not slept with his wives for a long time his experience of this sabuhi was very intense.

After returning to the palace the shah received a message from the lady who had brought the women to the sabuhi. She had met an extraordinary young woman. The shah, who was not taken by the thought of returning to his country house, asked her what was so special about this girl.

‘She comes from the Russian state of Azerbaijan. She has a Russian mother and an Azari father. The shah can speak either Russian or Azari with her. I have seen many young women in my time, but this girl is unique. I can bring her to the palace.’

The shah was curious, but he didn’t want to receive her in the palace. Only when the chamberlain assured him that no one would find out did he finally give in.

‘Does the girl know that you are introducing her to the shah?’ the chamberlain asked the lady.

‘Yes, of course. Otherwise she never would have agreed to come. She is a rare breed, a little jewel. She may look a bit timid, but that is certainly not the case.’

That evening the chamberlain led the girl, disguised as a young man in a hat, up to the door of the hall of mirrors and encouraged her to continue on alone. With some reluctance she went in. She was startled to see the shah standing in the middle of the room in his royal robes. She greeted him softly in Persian: ‘Salam!’

The shah studied her appearance, and from his face it was obvious that he had expected something else.

‘Take that hat off,’ he said with indifference, in Russian.

Timidly the girl took off her hat, letting her long blonde locks tumble over her shoulders.

The shah smiled. ‘How beautiful you are. Where did you get that head of golden hair?’ he asked enthusiastically.

‘From my mother.’

She was younger than the shah had expected, and her very youth made him feel his own age. He turned around and said, ‘Please, make yourself at home.’

The girl took off her shoes and walked uncertainly to the mirror, placed her leather satchel on the old royal chair, took off her men’s clothing, put on a dress, combed her hair in the mirror, applied some perfume from a small bottle and said softly, ‘Now I am myself again.’

The shah turned and stared at her, speechless. There was an air of inexperience and innocence about her that made him feel uncomfortable. She was completely unlike any of the women with whom he occasionally spent time in his country house. She was vulnerable, like a girl from a fairy tale. For a moment he didn’t know what to do with her.