Kader Abdolah - The King

By the time he was at his journey’s end and had reached the Russian side of the Caspian Sea there were thirteen large, fully-loaded carts being driven behind him. His total luggage amounted to 367 trunks and 32 large boxes containing shoes, hats, coats, books, porcelain, appliances, sweets, toys, pipes, bracelets, photographs of the various heads of state, picture frames, eyeglasses, clocks, magnifying glasses, lamps, walking sticks, fabric, cigars, sugar cubes, gold rings, medals he had been given by the various heads of state, teapots, coffee-making devices, coffee beans, facial creams for the women, mirrors and hundreds of other extraordinary articles.

When his caravan rode past the Russian villages people would run after them and ask for money. To keep his luggage safe the shah would toss out Russian coins. The people had no idea what was being carried in the carts; neither could they have imagined that it was the shah of Persia sitting in the coach or they would never have been content with such a pittance.

The Russian customs office had arranged for the shah to be taken on ahead to his homeland by a Russian naval ship. His luggage would follow later. But the shah, who had seen the greedy people running after his carts, wanted to take his luggage along with him. No one knew why the local customs officials refused to cooperate. They kept coming up with different detailed explanations as to why the luggage could not be placed on the same ship and why the trunks and boxes had to be sent by ferry.

‘We don’t trust them,’ said the shah to his own companions. ‘They have wicked intentions — I can see it in their eyes. We cannot leave our luggage here unattended.’

‘It isn’t unattended. The Russian customs officials will guard our luggage,’ said his companions.

‘The Russians took more than half of our beloved Azerbaijan from our father and never gave it back. If they find out what is in our trunks, we’ll lose it all. We refuse to part with our luggage. We are not going to leave Russia as long as our things do not travel with us.’

The head of the customs office was unrelenting and insisted on first conferring with his supervisor in Baku. Reluctantly the shah agreed to spend the night in an inn that he found far beneath his dignity. That night something happened that, for the shah, was almost worse than the Russian invasion of Azerbaijan. It never became clear to the shah exactly how, or by whom, but by the next day all his carts had been plundered.

The customs building on the Caspian Sea was located in a harbour used mainly by merchants from the bordering countries. They conveyed their goods to each other’s bazaars by means of rickety boats, which is why there was no need to protect the goods separately.

The Russian police had guarded the shah through the Russian leg of his journey, but in all likelihood most of the contents of the trunks had been stolen by local agents, leaving a small amount to the general populace. Shots had been fired that night, but because of the wind and the murmuring of the waves the shah had noticed nothing.

The next day there wasn’t a single person in the shah’s retinue who dared tell him the disastrous news. When no one appeared to wake him or bring him his breakfast, he sent Malijak to find out why: ‘Go and see where everyone is.’

Malijak, who had grown even fatter during the journey, waddled outside with great difficulty and came back short of breath: ‘Everyone is gone. The trunks, too.’

At first the shah didn’t understand. Then he jumped up from his bed and cried, ‘What did you say?’

‘Everyone is gone. The trunks too,’ repeated Malijak.

There wasn’t a soul in the inn, but the harbour was very busy. The carts, which had still been full the night before and stored in the customs building, were all lying empty and in pieces. Bits of broken trunks and fragments of the souvenirs lay scattered all over the beach or floating in the surf.

Utterly distraught the shah called for his advisors, but no one responded. He called for his personal servant — ‘Mashadi! Mashadi!’ — but he too failed to appear. Choking, he shouted, ‘Malijak!’

Malijak tottered up to the shah and held his hand, crying.

The shah had to spend one more night in the inn in order to speak to the chief of police the following day. The officer arrived early the next morning to pay his respects. He expressed his deepest regret and promised that Russia would pay the necessary compensation. The shah wrote a letter to the tsar and complained about the painful experience he had undergone in his country, ending with the following remark: ‘A pack of thieves have managed to cast an ugly shadow on our precious memories of Your Highness the tsar and his beloved family.’

When he left seven cannon shots were fired. A group of officers saluted the shah and accompanied him to the ship. The head of the Russian customs office said, ‘We will do everything we can to get to the bottom of this, and we will keep Your Majesty informed. Your trunks will be returned to you.’

Disappointed, distressed and — far worse — empty-handed, the shah and Malijak boarded the Russian ship.

The trip across the Caspian Sea to Tehran was sheer misery for the shah. He spent the greater part of the crossing being sick. Once in Tehran he crawled right into bed. He told the chamberlain that he was to see no one for the next three days. The shah had a fever and his throat was sore. The incident in the Russian harbour had done him no good, but the whole overwhelming journey had also taken its toll.

He had always regarded his palace as a paradise on earth, an idyllic garden that sparked the imagination. Now that he had seen the palaces of the West and knew how the other heads of state lived, his own palace seemed more like a medieval citadel. He couldn’t imagine visiting his harem again, having to ring his bell to alert his chamberlain and having to see the same guards, beggars, bazaars and eunuchs.

Everything in his hall of mirrors and in his bedroom struck him as old-fashioned. The closets, the chairs, the tables, the mirrors, the stairways, the shoes and his hats all looked shabby. He pulled the blankets up over his head and wished he could fall asleep and never wake up so he wouldn’t have to face another day of this backward life.

On the fourth day Taj Olsultan brought her child to the palace to pay the shah a visit. It was the only way to call him back to reality. Finally the shah agreed to show his face.

‘Oh, Father, how thin you’ve grown!’

The shah kissed his daughter and admired his grandchild, who was sleeping under a sheer, milky white velvet blanket.

‘He’s grown bigger and he’s changed,’ he said quietly.

‘What do you mean? I can’t see it myself.’

The shah pressed a kiss on his grandson’s head with his hand.

‘Father, what’s troubling you?’

The shah immediately started in on the robbery in the Russian harbour. ‘We were bringing beautiful clothes for you. We had bought books for you and boxes full of toys for our grandchild. But those Russians have inflicted great pain on us. We had a premonition that they would rob us, which is why we refused to leave our trunks behind. We had bought a gold necklace for you and a locket for the child in Paris. Fortunately we put these two souvenirs in the bag in which we carry our diary. God didn’t want me to come back to you and your child empty-handed. Look, here they are.’

The shah picked up a magnificent gold necklace set with little jewels and fastened it round his daughter’s neck.

‘It’s very beautiful, Father, and elegant,’ said Taj Olsultan. She held her father’s hands and kissed them.

‘This locket is for our crown prince. Keep it for him for later, as a memento of our journey.’