Kader Abdolah - The King

That night, armed with his binoculars, the shah studied the surrounding area from the watchtower. He couldn’t see the demonstrators but he could hear the clamour in the streets. There was a great deal of commotion in the harem as well. The women were standing in two groups, quarrelling and hurling abuse at each other.

‘There’s never been a time in all of history when women could be trusted,’ he said under his breath. ‘They’re the first ones to leave their bedroom doors ajar for the enemy.’

Then a royal coach rode onto the square, which the shah recognised as his mother’s. The coach passed through the gate and stopped at the palace steps. Mahdolia got out, with the head of the guards holding a torch aloft so she could see where she was going.

‘Mother, what are you doing here in this madness in the middle of the night?’ cried the shah.

‘History is repeating itself, my son. This isn’t the first time I’ve rushed to your side to lend you my support.’

‘You’re right, Mother. History has indeed repeated itself.’

‘Except for one thing,’ Mahdolia answered. ‘The last time I could climb these steps under my own steam.’

‘You could have called for me if you had need of me,’ said the shah as he helped her into a chair and sat down beside her.

‘How could the shah have come to me with all those barricades in front of the palace? Anyway, I wanted to ride past the people to show them we aren’t afraid. As soon as they saw me they started shouting, “Qanun, qanun, qanun.” But what do these people know about a qanun? They all stink. I had to cover my nose with a handkerchief as I rode past. I still don’t understand how they come up with such ideas. Who has put such words in their mouths?’

‘We have done it ourselves. We are the cause. The boys who went to Europe to study are now my enemies. We have bred a race of vipers in our own nest.’

‘My son, I forbid you to display weakness in the presence of this riffraff.’

‘You can see we have not shown any weakness, yet they have presented us with an ultimatum.’

‘What kind of ultimatum?’

‘They want us to meet their demands tomorrow by the first afternoon prayer.’

‘They have gone too far! Clearly they’re being given outside help or they never would be hounding us with such demands,’ cried Mahdolia, and she produced a document from inside her clothing. She put the document in the shah’s hands and said, ‘This is the agreement your father and I signed with the Russians. Everything is here in black and white. The Russians are duty bound to help you in time of need. Just ask them for help!’

The shah thumbed through the document, glanced at the various sections and said, ‘We are already in contact with the Russians. They know what’s going on. But they can’t just drop everything and come to our aid.’

‘I understand that. We’ve got to think of something else right now to buy time.’

‘Don’t worry, Mother, we’ve taken care of everything,’ said the shah.

‘Exactly what have you done? What agreements have you made with the Russians?’

Abruptly the shah stood up. He needed the distance in order to speak to her. Mahdolia saw by his bearing that he wanted to say, Mother, I am the king. I make the decisions and I have dealt with the matter. I do not need your opinion.

Yet she repeated her question, ‘What have you and the Russians decided?’

‘It is taken care of, Mother. We have taken care of it. You don’t have to worry about it any more. You need to rest. I will not burden you any further.’

Mahdolia understood that the shah had a secret plan, and that for the first time he did not want to share it with her. What he was saying between the lines was, ‘Your time is over.’

Mahdolia was right: the shah did have a plan, and he wanted to keep it to himself. Did he no longer trust his mother and the people around her, or did he want to show her that there were secrets only the shah should know about?

Hurt but proud, Mahdolia stood up, and with tears in her eyes she said, ‘The shah is very perceptive: I have grown old and you no longer need me. You are powerful enough to continue on your own. As a mother I am proud of you. I am leaving.’

The shah ate almost nothing the whole day. He was gripped by an insidious fear. He had pushed the old vizier aside with violence, and now, in a more subtle way, he had done the same to his mother. The shah was shouldering all the responsibility — at least that’s the way he saw it. But in fact he was now quite alone.

He tried to behave like a real king and not to fear the tremendous events that were taking place in the country. And in this he succeeded. But now that his subjects were armed and standing behind sandbags outside his palace, he did feel afraid. Perhaps the great kings had also been struck by fear in their more solitary moments.

‘Taj, my grandson,’ he murmured. Why had he not thought of them before? Where was his chamberlain? For the first time in his life he called the man by name: ‘Aga Moshir!’

There was no response.

‘Aga Moshir!’ called the shah again.

The chamberlain was probably not in the building. The shah summoned the head of the guards. The man came running in at once.

‘Get your horse! And bring me Sheikh Aqasi.’

The shah went to his study, took a sheet of paper and began to write. He signed the letter and then looked out the window towards the gate to see if Sheikh Aqasi was coming.

Finally the head of the guards appeared with Sheikh Aqasi. The shah took the sheikh to the small conference room.

‘We have neglected something important and it concerns Taj Olsultan and her child, our crown prince. We should have brought them to safety much sooner,’ he said.

The shah thrust the letter into the sheikh’s hands. ‘This is for the Russian embassy. There are two things you must do. First deliver the letter personally to the Russian ambassador. To him and him only. Then tomorrow morning quietly take Taj Olsultan and her child to your country house. Stay with them during this period of unrest. If the situation in Tehran gets out of hand all three of you are to go to Tabriz. If anything should happen to us flee with them to Russia, to Moscow. I have written the rest in the letter to the ambassador.’

Nothing else needed to be said. Sheikh Aqasi kissed the shah’s hand in gratitude for his total trust.

Relieved, the shah drank a glass of water. Now he was no longer afraid of the people outside. He was more afraid of betrayal — that people from his own circle would choose this very night to murder him. It was an old fear that he had been carrying with him since childhood.

After having mounted a raid in India his grandfather had been lying asleep in a tent on a hillside in Afghanistan. He was being watched over by his loyal bodyguards. But his most faithful bodyguard stabbed him to death in his sleep with a knife. In the shah’s tribe this murder was always spoken of as a lesson. As a child the shah had lived in constant fear that someone would kill him in his sleep.

Tonight the fear was stronger than ever. Perhaps tonight he would be murdered by his obedient chamberlain. Who was this chamberlain, anyway — the man who never spoke? Who did the man have contact with outside the palace? Who had introduced him in the first place? Indeed, who was this mysterious man who materialised like a ghost every time the shah rang his little bell?

To avoid any unnecessary risks the shah decided to spend the night before the ultimatum in the treasury beneath the palace. Should an emergency arise he could always escape.

Early the next morning the shah carefully unbolted his bedroom door, put his hand to his ear and listened. It was quiet in the palace. He walked to the hall of mirrors, still wearing his military uniform. The guards marched undisturbed and the soldiers were standing at their post. The chamberlain appeared.