Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

In one of his sermons he talked about an Islamic state in which the Koran would be the cornerstone of society. But he didn’t elaborate on the idea or explain exactly what he meant by it. It seemed more as though he’d thrown a stone in the water to fathom its depths.

On another occasion he made a masterful move: he unexpectedly dropped the name of Ayatollah Khomeini into his sermon. It had been done so innocently that no one knew whether he’d said it accidentally or on purpose. Even so, Aqa Jaan could tell that he was sympathetic to Khomeini.

Ayatollah Khomeini was a fierce opponent of the shah. In his last public sermon he’d said that the shah had humiliated everyone in the country. ‘We’re ashamed of him,’ he said. ‘He’s not a shah, but a lackey of the Americans.’

A riot had broken out in Qom afterwards. People had gone into the streets, shouting anti-shah slogans. The army had been called in, and soldiers surrounded the mosque where Khomeini had delivered his speech.

Hundreds of young imams had snatched up the rifles stockpiled beneath the mosque and climbed onto the roof. Street fighting had broken out. Dozens of imams had been killed and countless others arrested. After the rebellion had been put down, one of the generals went in person to the ayatollah’s house to arrest him.

The group of imams guarding the ayatollah stopped the general at the door and ordered him to remove his boots before entering the ayatollah’s study. The general, who knew that even the US army couldn’t have helped him in this situation, took off his boots.

‘And your cap!’ one of the guards snapped.

The general tucked his cap under his arm and went into the room. He bowed his head and said, ‘I’ve been ordered to arrest you!’

Khomeini was exiled that same day. He moved to Iraq and bided his time, waiting for the right moment to spark off a revolution against America and overturn the kingdom of the shah.

After the uprising, no one dared to mention his name. For years it was as if he didn’t exist. Now his name had started to crop up here and there. Pamphlets written by him were making the rounds, and in Qom pictures of him were once more hung surreptitiously on the walls of the mosques.

Khomeini had been exiled, but the young imams had kept the flame alive, honouring his name at every opportunity and by any means possible.

Ahmad’s fame gradually spread, even to other cities. He was invited more and more often to speak in other places. Recently he’d given a speech in Khomein, the birthplace of Khomeini.

He used his trips to spice up his sermons, innocently telling his listeners about his jaunts. ‘I was in Isfahan recently,’ he said. ‘What a magnificent city! I send my greetings to the Isfanhani. My next destination was Kashan, a city much loved by its inhabitants. I send my greetings to the Kashani. Last week I was in Khomein. This was my first visit to that most fortunate of villages. Khomein is a unique place, with wonderful people. I send my greetings to Khomeini.’

And by ‘Khomeini’ he meant the inhabitants of Khomein, but the allusion was not lost on his listeners, who immediately shouted, ‘ Salaam bar Khomeini! ’

Aqa Jaan beamed with joy.

He knew that Ahmad’s remark had not been accidental, but the result of careful planning. Ahmad was no doubt following orders from Qom.

Aqa Jaan had received a secret message from Qom, informing him that Khalkhal had crossed illegally into Iraq and joined Khomeini.

Khalkhal was clever. He’d gone to Iraq for a reason, no doubt sensing that Khomeini would one day seize power and realise his long-cherished dream of establishing an Islamic Republic.

Aqa Jaan now understood why Khalkhal had abandoned his wife and child.

On the streets, however, there was no sign of a transfer of power or an approaching revolution. The shah was experiencing the best years of his reign. In a recent interview in The Times , he’d said that he didn’t feel threatened at all and that his country was an oasis of peace.

Fearing Soviet expansion, America was content to let the shah rule Iran. He was always the first to buy the latest American fighter planes and weapons, and he deposited a large part of the nation’s oil revenues in American banks.

The shah was convinced that he was the best head of state the Americans could wish for, which is why he thought he could count on their unconditional support. He felt sure that they would never let him down and saw no reason to worry about someone like Khomeini, sitting out his exile in Iraq.

And so he quietly and confidently prepared his son for that far-off day when he would accede to the throne.

While Ahmad was throwing himself wholeheartedly into the activities of the mosque, Shahbal was preparing to go to the University of Tehran. He wanted to study Persian literature, but Aqa Jaan had advised him against it. ‘You can study Persian literature at home; you don’t need a university to do that. You have talent. Study mathematics or engineering or business administration. We already have more than enough classics in our family library. What this house needs is the spirit of modernity.’

When it was time for Shahbal to leave for Tehran, Aqa Jaan drove him to the station. ‘I’ve noticed a couple of things, but I’m not sure if I should tell you about them,’ he said to Aqa Jaan in the car.

‘What sort of things?’ Aqa Jaan asked.

‘Well, I’ve bumped into Ahmad up on the roof a few times, standing behind the dome and smoking. He’s old enough to know whether or not he should smoke, but those cigarettes of his have a funny smell… like something an imam shouldn’t be smoking. He also sneaks off occasionally to strangers’ houses to smoke opium. I thought you ought to know.’

‘I’m glad you told me,’ Aqa Jaan said after a long silence. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else I should know?’

‘Not really. Women are his weakness. I’ve noticed him once or twice in the mosque taking more liberties with women than an imam ought to.’

‘I’ve noticed that too. He needs to be careful. We have a lot of enemies in this town.’

At the station he escorted Shahbal to the train in silence.

Shahbal had not talked about his religious doubts again since the night he’d first mentioned them. Aqa Jaan had tried to broach the subject, but Shahbal wasn’t ready to discuss it further, so he left him in peace.

Now that they were standing on the platform, Aqa Jaan wanted to tell him to be careful at the university, but Shahbal didn’t give him the chance. He hugged Aqa Jaan, kissed him and boarded the train.

Aqa Jaan waited on the platform until the train had moved off and disappeared from view.

Aqa Jaan kept a close watch on Ahmad.

One evening he saw Zarah taking a tray of tea and dates to the library at an unusual hour. He knew that Ahmad was in there reading, so he followed her. Through the chink in the curtains he watched her lean over Ahmad and set the tray on his desk. Ahmad slid his hand up her blouse. She stood still and let him touch her. Then Ahmad stood up, lifted her skirt and pressed her against a bookcase.

The next morning Aqa Jaan called Zarah into his study. ‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing amicably towards a chair.

She took a seat, shyly.

‘I’ll get straight to the point. I’m very happy with your work here. We couldn’t wish for a better maid. But I’m giving you a choice: you can either stay away from Ahmad, or you can pack your bags and go! Is that clear?’

Zarah was too stunned to reply.

‘Is that clear?’ he repeated.

She nodded mutely.

‘So which is it going to be? Do you want to stay here, or shall I send you back to your parents?’

‘I want to stay here,’ she said, her voice trembling.