After the shah had left for Mashad Malijak spent every day roaming through the palace with his Belgian gun. His deteriorating eyesight had had no effect on the virulence of the terror he generated. Everyone gave him food and filled his pockets with sweets to stay on good terms with him.
The shah’s British doctor, who also treated Malijak, had recently said to the shah, ‘He must get more exercise or he’ll be dead within a few years.’ In order to provide that exercise the shah had arranged for a group of hardy servants to carry Malijak into the hills in a sedan chair every now and then. The servants also had to take a cage full of chickens with them. Once they got into the hills they would release the chickens so Malijak could chase them with his gun. This was supposed to be a playful form of exercise, though it did him very little good.
After such a day in the hills Malijak invariably insisted on being taken to the bazaar. For those seeing him for the first time he struck a remarkable figure: a fat, handicapped prince with strange eyes and a gun in his hand being carried on the shoulders of his servants.
Malijak loved being in the bazaar more than anywhere else because the merchants kept stuffing him with treats. No one there was pleased by these little visits, for Malijak terrorised all and sundry. The merchants had already complained a number of times to the head of the bazaar police that they did not appreciate Malijak’s presence and that he constantly harassed them. But the head of the police didn’t dare pass the complaints on to the palace. Even sending telegrams directly to the shah hadn’t helped.
Now that the shah was gone Malijak ordered the servants to take him to the bazaar even more often. He caused pandemonium day after day – until the shopkeepers decided it was too much. They saw the irritating Malijak as an appendage of the shah. Then the rumour went round that the shah had left Malijak home on purpose just to get under their skin. Their indignation sought an outlet. One afternoon, as if by common agreement, they all began throwing goodies at Malijak. Then the beggars stormed the sedan chair, pushing each other and the servants out of the way in order to get their hands on the sweets.
Malijak was greatly amused by both the hail of confectionery and the fighting beggars. He roared with laughter and shot his pop gun. The bazaar exploded in chaos. The bearers were pushed aside, Malijak’s chair toppled over and he fell to the ground with his full weight. The shopkeepers began throwing coins to divert the attention of the beggars, but the mayhem only got worse. In an effort to restore order the police fired a few shots, injuring a number of beggars and shopkeepers.
After the beggars had been chased away the policemen saw Malijak lying wounded on the ground. They put him on a cart and transported him back to the palace. When the shopkeepers saw that Malijak was being treated like a prince while their colleagues were left to fend for themselves, they closed the bazaar in protest and proceeded to the house of Ayatollah Tabatabai, shouting, ‘Allah! Allah! Justice!’
Jamal Khan, who had witnessed the unrest and smelled an opportunity, entered the ayatollah’s house, knelt down before him and said, ‘History is knocking at your door.’
Tabatabai heard the crowds shouting outside: ‘Elteja, elteja, all our hope is in you!’ The ayatollah flung open the door of his home, but he had no way of knowing that in doing so he had taken on the responsibility of steering the homeland into a new era. The shopkeepers unrolled carpets and began claiming sanctuary in the ayatollah’s house.
Directed by Jamal Khan they fastened a large banner over the door with three short but powerful words written on it: ‘Qanun! Majles! Edalat-khaneh! Constitution! Parliament! Court of justice!’
56. The Ayatollahs
The first Persian religion was named after the Persian prophet Zoroaster. For the followers of Zoroaster fire was holy. They saw it as the earthly symbol of their god, Ahura Mazda. According to their teaching the very first fire that man ever made was preserved in the Zoroastrians’ main temple in the city of Yazd. This temple was therefore given the name ‘atashkadeh’, which means ‘house for fire’.
The Zoroastrian priests dictated every aspect of human conduct, and the people acted accordingly. When the Arabs invaded Persia under the flag of Islam they banned the religion of Zoroastrianism. They stormed the ancient temple in Yazd to extinguish the fire, but the priests had already taken it away and fled to India, accompanied by vast numbers of followers.
It took a few centuries for the people of Persia to accept Islam, but as an act of resistance they refused to adopt the Islam of the occupiers and instead founded a new Islamic belief. This became the Islam of Persia, now known as Shia Islam. Since then the Persians have had their own clerics, the imams and the ayatollahs, which is the highest religious status an imam can achieve. The ayatollahs introduced new rules and social norms. They led simple lives and did not interfere with the ruling elite.
The aged Ayatollah Shirazi, incited by Jamal Khan and his people, was the first to use his clerical clout to help the destitute tobacco merchants and the farmers on the tobacco plantations by issuing a fatwa. This marked the beginning of the clerics’ gradual quest for power. One of these clerics was Tabatabai. After the incident in the bazaar Tabatabai went to the holy city of Qom. He told the clerics there about the violated burial ground, the plans to build the new Russian embassy and the shah’s stubborn refusal to take action. Indeed the shah had turned his back on the problem by going to Mashad.
The story of the burial ground had its effect. The Russians’ opening of Muslim graves was seen by the ayatollahs as a flagrant insult. They sided with Tabatabai.
The shah returned to Tehran earlier than expected. Assured of Qom’s powerful support Ayatollah Tabatabai sent him a sharply worded letter on the question of the burial ground and Malijak’s reign of terror. He used these two matters to get to his ultimate demand: ‘The people demand qanun, majles, edalat-khaneh.’ The ayatollah wanted the letter to be taken to the palace by his messenger, but Jamal Khan advised against it. ‘The shah is ignoring you. He’ll dismiss the letter as well. I think this calls for a different approach.’
‘What do you suggest?’ asked the ayatollah.
‘Have your letter delivered to the British embassy. With your approval we can ask the British to hand the letter to the shah officially.’
‘I don’t think that’s wise. Why involve England in an internal matter?’
‘We have no choice,’ answered Jamal Khan. ‘And it’s irresponsible to wait any longer for an answer from the shah. A constitution is the natural right of any people. England can be our ally in our struggle against the shah.’
A group of seven merchants, representatives of the bazaar, took the ayatollah’s message to the British embassy. None of them spoke a word of English. As luck would have it an important English person happened to be in the embassy that day: Edward Granville Browne. Browne had lost his heart to Persia. He had visited the ruins of all the royal palaces and had made an attempt to decipher the secrets of cuneiform script. At that time it was almost impossible to find anyone as well versed in the Persian past as this Edward Granville Browne. He was a doctor by profession so he was welcome everywhere. He was in his late thirties and had already made three lengthy visits to Persia. He had picked up the Persian language on his own.
The Englishman was still in the southern part of the country when he heard about the unrest in Tehran. He was in Pasargadae investigating the ruins of the ancient palaces that had been set on fire by Alexander the Great. He abandoned his activities and proceeded to Tehran in order to witness the events there first-hand.
Once in Tehran, Browne stayed in the British residence to work on his famous travel book Two Years Among the Persians. On that particular day he was standing at the window of a small room on the second floor of the embassy with a view of the bazaar square, waiting for the telegraph operator to send a travel report to a British newspaper. He saw seven men in expensive coats and hats walking solemnly towards the embassy. Because he knew the Persians and their behaviour so well, he understood
immediately by their demeanour that something important was about to take place.
The seven merchants had brought along a note written in English that briefly explained why they had come. Browne glanced at the text. He wondered whether he could ask the gentlemen to come in or whether he should warn the ambassador first. He decided on the former. To the amazement of the Persian gentlemen he welcomed them in their own language and invited them in, entirely in accordance with their social conventions: ‘Khosh amadid, befarma’id tu’i. Chai tazeh hazer ast. Welcome, please come in. The fresh tea awaits you.’
The merchants trusted him immediately, and they poured out their hearts to him before they had even left the hallway.
In a state of agitation Browne entered the ambassador’s office, closed the door behind him and said quietly, ‘There are seven Persian gentlemen downstairs waiting to see you. They’re carrying a sealed letter, which they want the British embassy to hand officially to the shah.’
‘Why are they asking us to do this?’
‘If I understand them correctly, they are being ignored by the shah. Now they want to try going through the embassy to force the shah to respond to their letter.’
‘But that’s impossible. We are not permitted to get involved in this domestic affair.’
Edward Granville Browne was a free spirit, without political ambition. He had spent almost a third of his life in India and Persia, and he was not pleased with the way the British acted in those countries. Now that the ambassador was saying that he would not receive the letter from the seven merchants, Browne bowed towards him and whispered, ‘This is a unique opportunity for the British Empire. Accept their letter.’
The ambassador walked downstairs to where the gentlemen were waiting, all of them standing with great dignity. One of them held the sealed envelope against his chest like a precious gem. They greeted the ambassador, and the man who was holding the letter began to speak in Persian.
The ambassador called Browne to act as interpreter. The ambassador understood Persian and did not really need Edward Granville Browne, but perhaps he was vain and was thinking about the book Browne was writing. Perhaps he hoped that, with Browne’s help, he would go down in Persian and British history.
‘The ambassador says it is unusual in the diplomatic world for an ambassador to involve himself in a national conflict taking place in the host nation. But just this once he will take personal responsibility and have your letter officially sent to the shah by messenger. The ambassador stresses that England is not party to this matter and is distancing itself from the contents of your correspondence.’
The man speaking on behalf of the group thanked the ambassador and handed him the letter. The gentlemen bowed their heads and walked to the door.
When the shah received the sealed letter from the merchants, contained in a sealed British envelope, he almost fell off his chair. He summoned his vizier and his son-in-law, Eyn ed-Dowleh. ‘The merchants have gone too far. Our last response was too weak, which is why they have had the arrogance to go to the British embassy. We regard it as disloyalty to the throne. England has interfered in our affairs uninvited. We must tackle this evil at the root.’
He asked his vizier to send a letter of protest to the British embassy to show them their place, and ordered Eyn ed-Dowleh to arrest the persons who had sought contact with them. ‘Punish them mercilessly, in public!’
‘We won’t solve the problem this way,’ the vizier ventured to remark. ‘We’re ignoring the contents of their letter. We must look at their demands.’
‘What demands? What they are asking is dangerous and illegal. England cannot tell us what to do in our own country.’
‘These are not England’s demands. They are from the bazaar.’
‘And who is the king, we or the bazaar?’
‘You are the king, and these are the needs of your subjects – subjects we must listen to.’
‘We, the shah of Persia, are not going to sit at the same table with a traitor.’
‘That choice will have grave repercussions for the shah.’
‘The kings before me have always had to deal with grave repercussions.’
‘In your own best interest, I strongly advise you not to use violence in this case,’ urged Mostovi Almamalek.
The shah turned to Eyn ed-Dowleh. ‘First let us arrest the persons who carried the letter to the embassy. Then we will discuss the letter’s contents.’ With these words the shah brought to an end any possible discussion.
Eyn ed-Dowleh quickly found out who the merchants were. Accompanied by a group of armed officers he entered the house of the ayatollah where the merchants were claiming sanctuary. Gun in hand he stood in the middle of the courtyard while his officers dragged the seven men outside. The other merchants tried to stop them. ‘La ellaha ella allah,’ they cried, attacking the officers.
Ayatollah Tabatabai threw his black turban down at the feet of Eyn ed-Dowleh and shouted, ‘I am warning you about your behaviour! God does not allow what you are doing!’ and he tried to get to the door to help the merchants. But his path was blocked.
‘Allah! Allah!’ cried the crowds. ‘Anyone who can, come and help!’
People from every nook and cranny came to the house of the ayatollah, where the arrested merchants had been loaded onto a horse cart. Eyn ed-Dowleh and his men were holding the masses back when suddenly Jamal Khan, still dressed as an imam, descended on the horse cart with a group of faithful followers. They freed the detainees, who, along with many others, succeeded in reaching the telegraph office and bolting the iron gate of the building behind them.
In the past people sought sanctuary in the holy places and the homes of the ayatollahs, but this was the first time they had done so in a telegraph building. All Eyn ed-Dowleh could do was have the building surrounded. Then he rode to the palace to inform the shah.
It was already dark, and the officers around the telegraph building had heard nothing from Eyn ed-Dowleh. Apparently the shah had also been overwhelmed by the unexpected twist in the merchants’ protest. The atmosphere inside the telegraph building was one of victory. The merchants sent a series of long telegrams to the all bazaars of the country to explain what was going on in Tehran. They signed their telegrams with new slogans.
That same evening the telegraph of the British embassy began to chatter. It was a message to the ambassador. Edward Granville Browne read it aloud to him. ‘This is unbelievable. They’ve made their demands public. They want a parliament, a court of justice and a constitution, and they’ve asked England to support them in their struggle.’
‘I don’t know whether this is such a wise move,’ said the ambassador. ‘I would have preferred to have spoken with them first. I’m afraid it’s all going to get out of hand.’
‘Maybe, but maybe not. Both the shah and his opponents know how the game is played. The new element is that they’re trying to get England involved in their uprising.’
‘It’s a complicated business. I’ve explained it to London and we find ourselves in a very difficult situation.’
The shah received the same message by telegram. He was about to put it on the stack of unread letters when he noticed the names of the merchants. The shock was profound. He gave Eyn ed-Dowleh the following orders: ‘Cut the telegraph cables running out of Tehran to end their contact with the outside world. Don’t let anyone in. They’ll come out begging for water and food.’
News of the occupation of the telegraph building made its way throughout the city. People came by the hundreds to cheer the merchants on. Some tried throwing food over the fences, but whoever did was arrested and beaten by the guards. The merchants in the building cried, ‘Majles! Edalat-khaneh! Qanun!’
The crowds cried back, ‘Ma hameh ba ham hastim, we’re with you, we’re all in this together.’ Despite the strict surveillance the merchants did manage to receive provisions. When their superiors weren’t looking some of the officers let the people pass jugs of water and food in to the confined
occupiers.
Three days passed, but nothing happened.
‘Ya marg, ya qanun, death or the constitution!’ The merchants refused to budge. The crowds responded to this uncompromising rallying cry by taking it over. It resounded in every quarter of the city.
In the evening the shah’s wives grabbed their binoculars and climbed up on the roof. They couldn’t make out the people very clearly, but they did see their torches and movements and they heard their shouts: ‘Qanun! Qanun! Qanun!’
The cries triggered something in the women of the harem. They didn’t understand what ‘qanun’ actually meant or what the advantages of a ‘qanun’ would be for them, but they hummed ‘qanun, qanun, qanun’ over and over, and by repeating this strange word they felt a new kind of joy fill their bodies.
The situation seemed hopeless. The shah did not want to use violence and the demonstrators did not want to leave the building. The British ambassador had been advised by London to follow the developments and take no initiative, but to keep all the lines of communication open. London had concluded that the shah could not win this fight, which is why the ambassador had decided that if the worst came to the worst he would give the demonstrators a helping hand.
Jamal Khan and Ayatollah Tabatabai did everything they could to bring the great ayatollahs of Qom to Tehran, hoping that their arrival would signify a breakthrough. When evening came three coaches carrying nine ayatollahs reached the city. People cried, ‘Khush amadid, khush amadid. Salalah ala Muhammad salam bar Muhammad. Welcome, and salam to the descendants of the Prophet Muhammad.’
The officers at Telegraph Square prevented the coaches from going any further. The weary ayatollahs got out and Ayatollah Tabatabai welcomed them. The ayatollahs walked to the telegraph building, but none of the officers even considered stopping them. They knew that if they did anything wrong they would have the crowds to contend with. So they stepped aside and bowed their heads in silence.
When the people in the telegraph building saw the ayatollahs they were deeply moved and cried out, ‘Ya marg, ya qanun, death or the constitution!’