The King

19. The Ayatollah Who Committed Treason

That night the shah dreamt that he and his cat had fled to the mountains by way of the secret tunnel and found refuge in a small cave, from which he had a view of the palace. He followed every move by means of his binoculars. The vizier entered the palace with a procession of officers. He was wearing his tall hat, but when he came back out he was wearing the shah’s golden crown.

In reality nothing happened that night. The shah and the cat slept better than they had during all the other nights put together. That was because of the draught of air that came pouring in from the cellar through the hatch, which made the shah and the cat creep down under the covers. The next morning the shah was awakened by Sharmin. He got out of bed, looked out the window and saw that the flags were flying at half mast.

‘We overslept,’ said the shah to the cat, who sat beside the door waiting to go out.

A knock was heard.

‘Who’s there?’ said the shah sleepily.

‘Your Majesty? …’ It was the voice of the chamberlain. He sounded worried.

‘We’re coming,’ said the shah.

He knew what he had to do.

Soon the shah appeared in the hall of mirrors in his military uniform. Although the traces of deep sleep were still visible on his face, he walked with his back straight and showed that he was ready to deal with the important matters of the day.

The shah had made up his mind. He must not appear weak right now, certainly not in the presence of the vizier. He was the shah and he did not have to wait for anyone. The vizier had often led him to believe that times were changing, that a king could no longer act on his own volition and that a ministerial council was needed. What this actually meant, however, was that the vizier wanted to rob him of his power. He had become a king who rubber-stamped the decisions of his vizier, a king whose only purpose was to sign and seal documents. But not any more.

This is why he had put on his military uniform. And although he always took enormous pleasure in eating breakfast, today none of the dishes interested him. With an empty stomach he shouted, ‘Bring me the chief of police.’

The chamberlain obeyed without delay.

It wasn’t long before the shah heard the rapid footsteps of the police chief on the stairs. As soon as the man entered the hall he saluted the shah, his left hand on his sword, and stood at rigid attention.

‘You are the chief of the city’s police force?’ asked the shah threateningly.

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ replied the man with a quavering voice.

‘And thirty-four Russians were killed on your watch?’

The trembling man was silent and let his head drop to his chest.

‘Loosen your sword and place it on the floor,’ commanded the shah.

With shaking hands the soldier laid his sword on the floor at his feet.

‘Take off your uniform,’ continued the shah.

The man thought he may have misunderstood the order.

‘Take everything off. You’re not a soldier, you’re a failure!’ cried the shah.

With a pale face the man took off his uniform and remained standing in his underclothes.

‘Now get out of my sight before I have you killed!’ screamed the shah.

The man rushed out. The chamberlain took away the man’s clothing and sword.

‘Bring me the messenger!’ cried the shah.

When the messenger arrived the shah gave him this order: ‘Go to Shaban and whisper the following in his ear. “Take a group of your men to the home of Ayatollah Mirza Masih. Wrap his turban round his neck, drag him to the square in front of the Russian embassy and punish him in public. His humiliation must be so painful that Moscow hears about it tomorrow.”’

Shaban was a criminal who sometimes carried out dangerous orders for the shah. He was known as Shaban Bimokh, a man without brains. He was the head of a group of violent men who did anything for money. After receiving the messenger’s order Shaban acted immediately.

His men went to the ayatollah’s house and smashed down the gate with a heavy beam. Shaban stood at the gate while his men took the aged ayatollah by surprise. They found him in his long white nightshirt, standing next to the outdoor pool. The ayatollah tried to escape through the roof, but one of the men ran after him and grabbed him by the leg before he could get there. The ayatollah’s turban fell from his head and rolled down the stairs. Someone picked it up, twisted it round the ayatollah’s neck and pulled him outside.

The powerless ayatollah stumbled and cried aloud, ‘Allah al-aman, al-aman: Allah protect me, protect me!’

Shaban’s men ignored his supplications and dragged him to the square in front of the Russian embassy. The people in the street couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

To keep an eye on all of this the shah had sent Sheikh Aqasi to the square in front of the embassy with this message: See to it that the ayatollah is punished so severely that his howling is heard in Moscow.

The sheikh positioned himself inconspicuously but made sure he had a good view from where he was standing.

News of the ayatollah reached the bazaar and the merchants were overcome by what they heard. It was an unforgivable insult to Islam to treat an ayatollah this way. They left their shops and made their way to the Russian embassy. Shaban’s men had pushed the ayatollah onto his back with his feet fastened between two beams, and they were beating the bare soles of his feet with switches.

‘La ellaha ella allah!’ the aged ayatollah wailed.

A few of the merchants recognised Sheikh Aqasi in the crowd, and they asked him to help. But he told them this was a direct order from the shah, that he was only supervising the proceedings and that he was not to become involved any further.

A group of people tried to free the ayatollah, but Shaban’s men responded by shooting. They made it quite clear that anyone who took a step forward would be punished on the spot.

The merchants from the bazaar rode to the palace by coach to speak with the vizier, but he was not there. He had a secret meeting with the warlords in the war room of the barracks outside the city.

The merchants returned to the embassy having achieved nothing. They begged Sheikh Aqasi for help once again.

‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ said Sheikh Aqasi.

He walked up to Shaban and spoke with him.

‘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.