Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

Nosrat captured it all: the general in sunglasses giving the order to shoot, the young men falling off the fence, people crawling through drainage ditches, people trying to flee over the blockades, the tanks rolling into the square from the side streets, the scattered bodies.

Seven minutes later a hush fell over the square. All those who could flee had fled, and hundreds had sought refuge in nearby houses. Only the dead and the wounded remained.

The general removed his dark glasses, cast his eye over the scene of the battle and ordered the square to be cleared. Then he got back in his jeep and drove to the palace to deliver his report to the shah.

His orders to his men were clear: no reporters were to be allowed in the square and any cameras that were found were to be destroyed on the spot.

As soon as the general left, Nosrat escaped via the rooftops.

Three days later ABC broadcast Nosrat’s film clip. More than seven hundred people had died.

Aqa Jaan followed the events on Lizard’s television.

The shah, shocked by the incident, addressed the nation: ‘I have heard the voice of the revolution! I have heard the voice of my people. Some mistakes have been made. To restore order I shall appoint a new prime minister. I ask my people to be patient a while longer.’

His voice trembled. His speech was rambling, and he stuttered.

A few days later he did appoint a new prime minister. Khomeini rejected the man, however, so the new cabinet lasted only a few weeks. The shah cast around for another candidate, but no one dared to side openly with him.

Bowing to the inevitable, the shah handed power over to the military. General Azhari, the most pro-American general in the army, put together a military cabinet and declared a curfew in Tehran.

To flaunt the order, Khomeini called on everyone to go up to their roofs at night. Millions of Iranians obeyed his call, climbing onto their roofs and shouting, ‘Death to America! Allahu akbar! ’

Why wasn’t Aqa Jaan up on his roof? Wasn’t he opposed to the regime? Wasn’t he pleased that the shah was on his way out and Khomeini on his way in?

What would the neighbours think if no one in his family went up to the roof?

‘Fakhri!’ Aqa Jaan called.

But people were making so much noise that she didn’t hear him.

‘Girls!’

Nasrin, his elder daughter, came out to see why they’d been called.

‘Everybody’s up on the roof. I’m going up to ours. Where’s your mother? Don’t you want to come too?’

On the stairs he bumped into Lizard. ‘Would you go down and get Muezzin for me?’ Aqa Jaan asked him.

Lizard scurried down to the cellar to fetch Muezzin.

A little while later Aqa Jaan, Muezzin, Fakhri Sadat and her two daughters — encased in black chadors — stood on the roof and shouted along with everyone else, ‘ Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar! ’

Lizard sat at the edge of the dome and stared in astonishment at the hysterical masses.

The shah did his best to find a reputable politician who would be able to reconcile the cabinet. No one seemed willing to undertake such a difficult and hopeless task.

At last he managed to persuade Bakhtiar, the second most important man in the National Front, to serve as prime minister. But Bakhtiar had one condition: he would accept the offer only if the shah agreed to leave the country immediately for an indefinite period of time.

The shah agreed. From that moment on things happened swiftly, as if an avalanche were sweeping down a mountain and dragging everyone and everything along with it.

The next morning when Aqa Jaan arrived at the bazaar, the shop was buzzing with excitement. The shah was leaving!

Aqa Jaan joined his employees, who were clustered round a television. The shah and Farah Diba were at Tehran Airport, surrounded by a group of officials.

Bakhtiar shook his hand and wished him a pleasant journey.

A military officer suddenly threw himself at the shah’s feet, kissed his shoes and begged him not to leave. The shah was so moved that tears rolled down his cheeks.

Another man took out a Koran and held it over the shah’s head for him to walk under — the traditional Iranian way of wishing your loved ones a safe journey.

The shah kissed the Koran and walked beneath it on his way to the plane. Farah Diba kissed the Koran and followed her husband. They boarded the plane, and it flew off towards the border, escorted by two fighter jets.

Thirteen days later Aqa Jaan, Fakhri Sadat, Nasrin, Ensi and Lizard sat glued to the television, watching mechanics at a French airport prepare a Concorde for Khomeini’s history-making return.

Bakhtiar had warned the ayatollah that his plane wouldn’t be given permission to land, but Khomeini had cast his warning to the winds. ‘Bakhtiar is a nobody. I will decide what happens! I’m going to appoint a revolutionary cabinet. I’m coming home!’

Early in the morning millions of people streamed to the airport in Tehran, where the Concorde was scheduled to land. One of them was Shahbal. He wanted to see this momentous event for himself and write an article about it.

Nosrat, standing in an open jeep with a film camera on his shoulder, was being driven to and fro by a man with a beard. He was the only cameraman allowed to film the arrival at such close quarters.

The Concorde came into view above the airport.

‘ Salla ala Mohammad! Khomeini gosh amad! Welcome, Khomeini!’

The plane landed, the door opened and Khomeini appeared at the top of the stairs. He waved modestly.

‘ Salaam bar Khomeini! ’ the crowd roared.

Aqa Jaan left the house. In the alley he ran into Ahmad. Without knowing why, he took him into his arms and gave him a brief hug. Neither of them could have guessed what the future held in store for them.

‘ Astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, astaghfirullah, ’ Khalkhal chanted to himself as he headed towards Khomeini’s room.

People chant ‘ astaghfirullah ’ when they’ve committed a sin or are afraid they’re going to, or if they want to avoid a confrontation but know they’ll have to face it anyway. Sometimes it’s simply an expression of astonishment at an unexpected turn of events or a request for God’s forgiveness.

Or you chant it, as Khalkhal was doing now, when you’re sure you’re about to make an irrevocable mistake.

Khomeini had no desire to live in the shah’s palace. Instead he chose to occupy a room in a seminary in one of Tehran’s poorer neighbourhoods.

It was dark when he came in and sat down on his rug. Someone brought him a glass of tea and some dates. After his first sip of tea, he asked for a pen and piece of paper.

He spent half an hour in his room by himself, then sent for Khalkhal. Khalkhal sensed that it was urgent. He shut the door behind him, knelt before the ayatollah and kissed his hand.

Khalkhal was the first person to perform this act of obeisance since Khomeini had been welcomed back to the country as its leader. It was his way of saying that he would carry out whatever mission Khomeini chose to send him on.

Khomeini whispered to him to come closer. Realising that the ayatollah wished to impart secret information, Khalkhal leaned forward until their heads were almost touching.

‘I appoint you to be a qadi , a judge. You are now Allah’s judicial envoy,’ Khomeini said, and he gave him a document.

Khalkhal’s hands began to shake.

‘America will do everything in its power to destroy us. The vestiges of the old regime must be wiped out. Eliminate all those who oppose the revolution! If your father rises up, eliminate him! If your brother rises up, eliminate him! Destroy all that gets in the way of Islam! I have appointed you as my representative, but you are responsible only to God. Show the world that the revolution cannot be undone. Begin at once. There is no time to waste!’