The King

44. The Leader

After the episode in the temple all suspicious meetings were closely monitored by special plain-clothes policemen to prevent more unwanted speakers from addressing the public. But since that day it was a long time before any other noteworthy incidents had took place.

The regime’s opponents kept their heads down and seemed to have no intention of regrouping, at least not yet. Apparently they had grasped the fact that the shah would be merciless in his response if they were to disturb the peace again.

Jamal Khan and his comrades understood that they could no longer stir up the masses by means of hit-and-run operations. Campaigns that led to violence tended to frighten people, and frightened people lost all interest in the activists’ ideas. When Jamal Khan told them their children had the right to a pair of shoes, they didn’t understand what that had to do with the shah.

He talked about oil reserves in the nation’s soil, but they didn’t see what was so important about oil reserves.

He talked about the need for children to have schools, but they were far from convinced that reading and writing were of any use to their offspring.

These were not the kinds of subjects that would win the allegiance of the man in the street. The shah, after all, was regarded as the shadow of God on earth. Jamal Khan and his comrades knew it would be a mistake to borrow and adapt the tactics of the resistance leaders in Moscow or other countries. They would have to develop their own strategy, one that was in line with a recognised Persian tradition. And they would have to end their perilous and exhausting travels and concentrate on Tehran.

During one of their meetings Mirza Reza Kermani came up with a suggestion. Usually he was a man of few words, but whenever he did speak everyone listened.

‘I’m not sure, but I think I’m close to a solution.’

‘Let’s have it,’ said Jamal Khan.

‘I don’t think we’re ever going to be in a position to convince the masses. We’re not the obvious people to lead them. They don’t know us and they don’t believe us. What they need is their own leader, someone from their own ranks, a popular leader.’

‘But that’s just the problem. There is no such person.’

‘There are plenty of them,’ answered Mirza Reza.

‘Who?’ asked Talebof.

‘The ayatollahs!’ cried Mirza Reza. ‘Look, in Russia the leaders of the resistance have put all their hope in the power of the industrial workers. But we have no industry, let alone workers. We have the bazaar merchants and the enormous mass of illiterate unemployed. The people obey the ayatollahs. What we need is a powerful ayatollah.’

Everyone was dumbstruck by this insight.

‘You forget that the ayatollahs constitute the most conservative force in the country,’ said Mostashar Aldoleh. ‘The world is totally foreign to them. They have no interest in technology, and the only cities they know anything about are Mecca, where God’s house is; Medina, where the Prophet Muhammad is buried; Najaf, where Ali was killed; and Karbala, where the holy Hussein was beheaded. What we need is science, change. We have to be careful that we don’t let the country fall into the hands of such conservative forces.’

‘That’s true,’ said Amir Nezam. ‘The ayatollahs are insensitive to things like oil and telegraphy. They’ve got close ties with the royal house, and they really believe that poverty, begging and illness are a normal part of life — that God has so decreed it.’

‘We mustn’t lump all the ayatollahs together,’ said Mirza Reza. ‘Surely there are a few powerful clerics who think about the country as we do and are suffering under so much misery.’

‘Name one,’ said Jamal Khan, sincerely curious.

‘I’m thinking of the ayatollah of the city of Shiraz. Haji Sheikh Ali Akbar Mujtahid-e Shirazi, better known as Mirzaye Shirazi. He’s never sold his soul to the powers that be.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Eighty, eighty-five, I believe. Maybe eighty-seven.’

‘Eighty-seven!’ said Akhondzadeh. ‘Then his days are numbered. He probably can’t even walk any more. He won’t be of any use to us. We need a leader who’s strong and young.’

‘A spiritual leader doesn’t have to be big and tough. He doesn’t even have to get out of bed. With just a couple of words he can stir the shah’s heart and put the fear of God into him, if he wants. He’s got so much power because he’s old, and I happen to know him personally,’ Mirza Reza explained.

‘How well do you know him?’ asked Talebof.

‘He’s an old friend of my departed father, and I had him as a teacher for a while in the Jameh mosque in Shiraz. I can put us in touch with him if you all agree.’

‘But what are we going to say to him? What can we ask him to do?’

‘We’ve got to have something concrete if we’re going to convince a man like that,’ said Amir Nezam. ‘I’ve been thinking. We can’t talk to him about our country or our people or about telegraphy. But we can talk about religion. We’ve got to convince him that Islam is in danger.’

Everyone flinched and the room grew silent. Mirza Reza poured tea.

This suggestion was a turning point in their line of reasoning. What could an elderly ayatollah say to turn the people away from the corrupt regime of the shah? How could they convince him that Islam was in danger? Mirza Reza had made an excellent suggestion, but they had to let the idea sink in.

‘Let’s stop here. We’ll continue this discussion next week,’ said Jamal Khan.

When they got together a week later no one had come up with a solid plan of action — until one of them said there were rumours of Persian women regularly spending the night with British engineers.

‘That may be it,’ said Talebof.

‘It won’t work,’ said Akhondzadeh. ‘You don’t just launch into a conversation about the whores of Tehran.’

‘We can talk to the ayatollah about British domination in the Muslim world,’ Maraghei suggested.

‘It has to be straightforward, otherwise people won’t be able to follow it. British domination means nothing to them,’ responded Jamal Khan.

That evening the discussion got bogged down once more. But during their next session Amir Nezam and Talebof devised a plan that, if they set about it properly, would cause an earthquake.

Talebof was the first to speak. He was the man who had studied in Moscow and he spoke excellent Russian. He was often called in to act as a mediator between the Persian merchants and the Russian businessmen, and he maintained close contact with the Russian embassy in Tehran.

‘Last year the shah sold all the import and export rights for our tobacco production to the British. He receives a small annual percentage of the income, but the British earn a fortune. The man in charge of our tobacco is a Brit.’

‘Everybody knows that. What are you trying to say?’ said Akhondzadeh.

‘Let me explain,’ said Amir Nezam. ‘This Brit has sacked all the Persian tobacco inspectors and has hired Indian inspectors to take their place. He has lowered the price of tobacco leaves and driven up the price of British tobacco products. The British and Indian employees treat the tobacco farmers very badly and there’s friction between the tobacco merchants in the bazaars and the British company.’

Everyone was listening, but no one understood what he was getting at.

‘Don’t forget that in our country tobacco is as important as bread. Almost all the men carry a pouch or box of tobacco, and all the women smoke hookahs,’ said Amir Nezam. His eyes were ablaze.

‘Go on,’ said Jamal Khan.

‘The British boss of the tobacco company is an amusing man. He’s fat, a real bon vivant,’ said Talebof. ‘I have met him personally, and he has done something extraordinary, something that will probably be of help to us.’

‘Does it have to do with women?’ asked Maraghei.

‘No, not that. He’s not such a ladies’ man. He enjoys eating, smoking and drinking and the good times that go with it,’ said Amir Nezam.

‘Did he drink alcohol in public?’

‘No, not that either,’ answered Talebof.

‘Don’t keep us hanging. Tell us!’

Smiling, Talebof took an envelope from his bag and said, ‘Finally God has come to our aid. This piece of evidence may be invaluable to us.’

Talebof showed them a black-and-white photograph of a plump imam sitting on a Persian carpet, smoking a hookah and laughingly blowing out the smoke.

‘An imam smoking a hookah. What’s wrong with that?’ asked Mirza Reza.

‘That’s no imam,’ answered Amir Nezam.

‘You’re joking!’

‘It’s a Brit dressed as an imam, with a fake beard, a robe and a turban,’ Talebof continued. ‘I’m serious. This is that British director of the National Tobacco Company. He put on a turban and a fake beard as a joke. And look, he’s sitting on a Persian prayer rug with his shoes on. It’s conclusive evidence of a religious and national affront.’

‘How did you get this photo?’

‘I am not at liberty to say,’ said Amir Nezam. ‘But I’m assuming that Talebof has his contacts.’

Everyone looked at Talebof, but his lips were sealed.

‘This photo gives us something to work with,’ said Jamal Khan. ‘It may determine our entire course of action.’