‘That’s enough!’ shouted Shaban. ‘He’s learned his lesson.’
They loosened the ropes round the ayatollah’s feet and left him lying on the ground. Ayatollah Haj Mirza Masih was lifted onto an open cart and taken to his home.
The shopkeepers closed their shops in protest.
20. Mourning
Three days had passed. The bazaar in Tehran was still closed. In the Jameh mosque, where the ayatollah led daily prayers, it was busier than ever. The old man’s legs could no longer support him, so he was carried on a box to the mosque where he prayed sitting down while hundreds of believers stood behind him.
The army was put on a state of alert to meet any possible Russian attack. Fearing that the protest in the Tehran bazaar would spread to other cities, the vizier held talks with the bazaar’s representatives. He managed to convince them to remain calm to keep the country from plunging into crisis. Then the vizier visited the aged ayatollah. He kissed his hand and extended his apologies.
The shopkeepers accepted this gesture of reconciliation. They returned to the bazaar and reopened their shops.
In the meantime the shah had turned to Sheikh Aqasi for solace. The man had a gift for soothing troubled souls. He spent the whole day and part of the night in the palace, and his presence had a sedative effect.
As a gesture to Moscow, Sheikh Aqasi advised the shah to commemorate the dead Russians according to Persian custom. He had large tents set up near the embassy, and on the shah’s behalf he asked everyone to be in attendance. Large pans were placed on cooking fires and a common meal was served.
The ayatollah forbade his followers to attend. Commemorating people who had invited Persian women into their home was simply unthinkable. It was said that the women had drunk alcohol that night and that they had sat on the laps of the Russian businessmen. The Russians had defiled the honour of the women of Persia. The ayatollah’s words fell on eager ears. Even the beggars refused to be seen in the tents, despite the temptation of the royal meal.
To avoid humiliation Sheikh Aqasi sent soldiers to the tents dressed in civilian clothes, and he also invited the shah and his entire harem.
At about noon the shah rode to the Russian embassy dressed in black. His wives, in black chadors and black niqabs, followed in silence. A group of soldiers led the procession with flags at half mast, and a Persian dirge was played. When the shah came to a halt at the embassy gate the vizier rode up.
The vizier inclined his head towards the shah and said quietly, ‘The Russians have invaded the country.’
Without a moment’s hesitation the shah left his wives behind and rode to the barracks in silence with the vizier. Once in the war room the shah asked, ‘Have the Russians officially declared war?’
‘No, certainly not,’ answered the vizier. ‘They have seized part of Azerbaijan. We’ve been waging war over that region for centuries. Usually we win, sometimes we lose. But this time it’s different.’
‘What’s different about it?’
‘Russia isn’t Russia any more. They have one of the mightiest armies in the world. Our army would be obliterated by so much power.’
‘But the French have reformed our army, haven’t they?’ responded the shah.
‘We’re inexperienced, and we can’t win a war with a few hundred French cannons. Battles are not decided by guns and bullets but by the health of the country and the mentality of its army. Our land has financial problems, the politicians are corrupt, the imams are open to bribery and the population is enfeebled. We’re standing on the brink of the abyss.’
‘Has the vizier brought us here to share this bit of information?’ asked the shah.
‘Such truths can only be uttered in the war room,’ answered the vizier, ‘because war is not the answer. We will have to find a political solution to this problem. The most prudent option is to send a high-level delegation to Moscow to explain the situation and to prove our innocence in the affair. If Your Majesty approves I will begin selecting a delegation without delay. Later I have a meeting with the ministers and the warlords, and I will inform you of their advice as soon as possible.’
‘The vizier has already made the decision,’ answered the shah without looking at him.
‘No, absolutely not, Your Majesty. You decide.’
‘We’re going to think this over,’ said the shah. So he rode back to the palace surrounded by his guards.
In the palace the queen mother was waiting for him. She had made every effort behind the scenes to reach out to the Russians, but the Russians had slammed all the doors shut. They felt she had betrayed them. There was no question in their minds that she had walked into the trap with her eyes wide open, which is why they did not respond to the report Mahdolia sent. Even the shah did not want to speak with her. She had repeatedly asked for permission to come and see him, but to no avail.
Mahdolia had heard about the Russian invasion in Azerbaijan, and she knew that the vizier had discussed it with the shah in the war room. Now she was here to speak to him. The shah ignored her, but she followed him into the hall of mirrors.
‘I can see the shah is upset,’ said Mahdolia with concern. ‘Speak with me. Ease your distress.’
‘According to the vizier we’ve lost the war before we start. He thinks we ought to send a delegation to Moscow. Emergency talks are being held right now between the ministers and the warlords.’
‘The vizier is right,’ said Mahdolia. ‘We cannot win a war with Russia. Sending a delegation is a wise decision, but the shah must take charge.’
‘What do you propose? Travelling personally to Moscow to offer our apologies?’
‘That will not be necessary. I will go in the shah’s place.’
Her proposal surprised him.
‘You are partly to blame for all this trouble,’ answered the shah irritably.
‘It does not become the shah to speak to us in this manner,’ said his mother sternly. ‘I am your mother, you are my flesh and blood. What I do, I do instinctively for the happiness of my child. No one can blame me for causing this disaster. Whatever I have done was in the shah’s interest.’
‘What interest? What happiness?’ cried the shah. ‘Your palace is a breeding ground of informers. Everyone around you has let himself be bought by the British.’
‘The British are everywhere. That is a fact. Even here in the palace of the shah. We must learn to live with this reality. Send me to Moscow. We’ll keep it between you and me, and the British will never get word of it.’
The shah sat down and tried to put his thoughts in order. Mahdolia knelt beside his chair, took his hand and said gently, ‘Listen to me. I know the Russian royal house. My mother met Catherine once. I went there as a child. If anyone can exercise influence it is I. If the vizier were to go to Moscow and persuade the Russians to withdraw from the borders, you would be turning him into a hero. I will bring royal gifts for the tsar, his wife, his mother and his daughters, and I will solve this problem.’
‘Royal gifts?’ asked the shah suspiciously.
‘Indian rings and necklaces from the cellar, and a bejewelled sword.’
‘Out of the question! The Indian jewels belong here. It is our inheritance, and it is our duty to preserve them.’
‘I know that. But this is a matter of life and death. You are trading gold for our land. And there’s something else, something important that you and the vizier have lost sight of,’ Mahdolia continued.
She stood up. ‘The Russians wanted to speak with the shah, which is why they sent a messenger to Tehran. The messenger is dead, but the message is still alive. The Russian tsar wanted to tell the shah something important. Send me as your messenger to Moscow. I will listen to the tsar.’
The shah rose from his chair. The queen mother smiled, kissed him on the shoulder and whispered, ‘I am always here beside you.’
21. The Báb
The shah was hoping to keep his mother’s journey to Moscow a secret from the vizier. But since nothing esc
aped Mirza Kabir’s notice the shah was finally forced to inform him of Mahdolia’s mission.
The vizier did everything he could to convince the shah that it was not Mahdolia’s job to negotiate with the Russians over such complex political matters. In the consultations he had conducted with the ministers and the warlords he was the one they had appointed to sit down with the Russians at the bargaining table.
‘The decision has been made. Besides, our mother is not going alone. We have sent Sheikh Aqasi to accompany her. Only the vizier is aware of this. Should Mahdolia come back empty-handed the vizier will then be sent, but not before.’
With these words the shah put an end to the discussion.
Outside the palace the vizier met a messenger who had just arrived in the city. His head and shoulders were covered with dust. He led his horse up to the vizier and whispered, ‘The Báb has risen up in revolt,’ and he gave him a sealed envelope.
The Báb was a young mystical leader in Shiraz, a city in the southern part of the country about a thousand kilometres from Tehran. At one time Shiraz had been the capital of the Zandieh dynasty, until the Afghan ruler Mahmud swept in and destroyed everything. Shiraz had produced two great poets: Hafez and Saadi. Both were buried there.
It was a city filled with the most beautiful houses, built by wealthy merchants and the elite. These houses looked more like dreams of heaven than places to live in. They had turned the centre of Shiraz into a holy site where Islamic architecture was shown in all its glory and power.
A revolt led by the Báb could be even more dangerous for the country than an attack by foreign forces because religious resistance would wreck the country from within.
The Báb wanted to follow a route that was entirely different from that of the traditional Shiites. For centuries the Shiites had been waiting for a messiah, the holy Mahdi, who was seen as a redeemer. They believed that a series of twelve saints would follow the Prophet Muhammad, and that the Mahdi would be the twelfth.
Fourteen centuries earlier the Prophet Muhammad had gathered all his followers together. Standing on a stack of camel saddles he cried out, ‘O people! Those who love me must also love Ali. Ali is my soul, my spirit and my heir.’
Ali was Muhammad’s son-in-law. Later he became the fourth caliph of the Islamic world. One evening, while praying at the mosque, he was stabbed in the back with a sword.
The Persians, who opposed the Arabs, chose Ali’s son Hasan as Muhammad’s heir, a choice the Arabs rejected. Hasan was put under house arrest for the remainder of his life. Hussein, Ali’s other son, raised a rebellion in an effort to follow his father as the Prophet’s third successor, but Hussein was beheaded. Baqir, the son of Hussein, claimed power as the fourth successor, but he died of a mysterious illness. Musa, the son of Baqir, succeeded his father, but he was not allowed to show his face during daylight hours, nor to walk past a mosque to address his people. Jafar, son of Musa, was banned from ever speaking again in public, as his father had been. Kazem, son of Jafar, spent much of his life in prison, and Reza, his son, died from eating poisoned purple grapes. Little is known about Tagi, son of Reza, nor about Nagi, son of Tagi, nor about Asgar, son of Nagi. Mahdi, son of Asgar, was the twelfth successor. He managed to escape an attempt on his life and sought refuge in Persia.
After the flight of Mahdi, eleven hundred years before, a new faith took shape in Persia that later became known as Shiism. A strong myth was created based on the life of Mahdi. It was believed that the saint had hidden in a well, and that he was waiting there for God to call him.
Mahdi was the messiah. One day he would come to save the world from its suffering. Great feasts and religious gatherings were constantly being organised, at which believers came together and begged the messiah to come quickly and save the world from destruction.
Now the Báb had turned against the regime. He seemed to suggest that he was the long-awaited messiah, the man who would heal the sick and supply everyone with bread, meat and vegetables.
The vizier saw the Báb as just another cleric with an overinflated view of himself, a passing curiosity and not a serious threat. But the Báb emerged as a mystical leader who preached Sufism and could count on a growing number of disciples.
As soon as the vizier heard that the Báb’s followers were walking around the city of Shiraz with shiny new rifles, he knew immediately that the weapons were English.
‘We cannot pin this unrest on the British,’ said Amir, the vizier’s young advisor. ‘The problem is poverty. In western countries change is causing hope to rise like the sun in the East. We are losing hope. Our people have no future. This is why a cleric like the Báb is so popular. If we can improve the lives of ordinary people they won’t go running after a man like the Báb.’
‘This is the purpose behind everything I do,’ answered the vizier, ‘but it’s not easy. I’m standing here with nothing but the tail of the ox, while the real power lies elsewhere. What can we do to get the Báb’s followers to change their minds? They’re ignorant people.’
‘We’ve got to get the Báb first! Then people will see for themselves that he’s no messiah.’
Because the shah was more worried about the Russians than the Báb, the vizier decided to follow his own course. He sent the army to Shiraz to crush the movement. The order was to arrest the Báb and bring him to Tehran, but that didn’t happen without a struggle.
The Báb was a charismatic speaker. He possessed all the qualities that the Persians attributed to the messiah. He was a handsome leader with dazzling dark eyes, long black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a green scarf, rode a brown Arabian horse and carried a sabre that he waved at his followers. This old sword proved that he was a descendant of the holy Ali, since Ali also fought with a special sword like this one, with a point that looked like the forked tongue of a dragon.
‘It’s the sword of the holy Ali,’ the people said, trembling with happiness.
‘All the saints before the Báb carried this sword.’
‘And to think that we should live to see this after a thousand years,’ they said with tears in their eyes.
Every Friday morning thousands of peasants from the countryside would come to the city on their mules to admire the Báb in the great Jameh mosque.
‘He is the messiah,’ the peasants whispered during his fiery speeches.
‘He’s not ready to reveal that he is the holy Mahdi, but you can just see it in his face.’
‘He’s waiting until he has more disciples. Then he’ll proclaim the good tidings to one and all.’
The city was pulsating. Hope shone in every eye. Everything seemed to indicate that the end of all the misery was in sight. People had become friendlier. They were quicker to reach out to each other, to embrace each other and wish each other luck. They claimed that every time the Báb gave a speech the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers.
Just as Mahdolia was arriving in Moscow the Báb seized control of the city of Shiraz. When the chief of police saw the Báb and his hundreds of armed men he knelt down and laid his rifle on the ground. The Báb occupied the city barracks and prepared his followers for the journey to Isfahan. If he could gain that city’s support as well it would be a major breakthrough, and the army would no longer be able to control him.
The Báb was discussing the journey to Isfahan with his bodyguards, twelve young armed imams, when he heard that a large army unit had been dispatched from Tehran and was heading for Shiraz. The first troops would reach the city gates by the next morning.
The army arrived much sooner than expected, however. They destroyed a section of the city wall by firing their cannons at it, and then they stormed the city. But to the shock of the commanding officer the soldiers refused to fight the Báb. As soon as they saw him surrounded by rural country soldiers and by his own disciples, who broke into a hymn in Arabic, they knew right away that this was the messiah himself. They knelt down before him and laid down their arms.
After receiving the repo
rt that his men had surrendered to the Báb, the vizier left immediately for Shiraz with his cavalry. When he arrived he managed to convince the soldiers to listen to him. He delivered a fiery speech in which he demonstrated that the Báb was not a messiah but a traitor to his country.
‘Just look at their brand-new rifles!’ he shouted. ‘These are weapons from England and they’re meant to tear our country apart. Fight this imposter! Disarm him! And may God and the king reward you!’
The vizier’s fervour was infectious. The soldiers decided to resume their struggle against the Báb. As a result fierce fighting broke out between them and the cleric’s armed followers, who had thrown up sandbag barricades at all the city’s strategic points. The vizier himself fought on the front line. Many were killed on both sides, and it took three days before the armed core of the insurrection was routed.
It was during the last skirmishes that the vizier saw the Báb for the first time. He recognised him from his scarf and the sword with which he fought, like a true messiah. The vizier put away his rifle, took out his sword and rode up to the Báb. His intention was to arrest him and take him to Tehran. But the Báb made a run for it. If he were to escape his disciples would turn him into a legend, so the vizier set off in pursuit. Yet the Báb got away. He was familiar with the area, and when evening fell he went into hiding.
‘We’ve got to find him, even if he slithers into a hole like a snake,’ the vizier told his officers.
The vizier ordered a search of all the houses and farms in the vicinity. After a few days they discovered the Báb hiding in a well at a goat farm. They pulled him out and took him back to the city in chains. There they propped him up backwards on an old donkey and rode him through the streets of Shiraz to show the inhabitants that he was not a saint but a false prophet. After that the vizier took the Báb to Tehran and threw him into prison. He put a heavy lock on the door with his own hands, handed the key to the head of the prison and said, ‘Feed him and treat him well. He must be kept alive.’