Equal of the Sun (32 page)

T
he ladies’ section of the palace was as quiet as a graveyard, and the faces of most of its inhabitants were drawn with sorrow. Fear permeated every room like a dense, stagnant fog. Was it over? Who would be next?

My mother’s cousin wrote to ask when Jalileh could be sent to Qazveen, and I was suffused with relief that Pari had told me to wait. Never would I put Jalileh, who was unschooled in the intricacies of palace politics, at so much risk. I wrote back and explained as best as I could, without any details, that the situation was unsafe.

After all the mourning ceremonies for the dead princes were completed, Pari summoned me to her home. Azar Khatoon showed me into her most private chamber, where Pari met intimates like Maryam and her mother. It was the one with the mural of the nude Shireen, fine peach-colored silk rugs, and matching cushions. Pari was reading a copy of the
Shahnameh,
one that I had never seen before. The book was open to a page of ornate calligraphy illustrated by a gilded painting, rich with jeweled colors.

“Salaam aleikum,” she said when I came in. “I am happy to see you. I never thought I would feel gratitude at the mere fact that someone I cherish is still living and breathing.”

“Thank you, kind princess.” My heart flowered under the warmth of her words.

“What sorrows we have endured together! If I had known they would be so great, I wouldn’t have burdened you with becoming my vizier.”

“Princess, it has been the greatest honor of my life to serve you. I would have done so no matter what,” I replied, and that was the truth.

“I am glad to hear that,” she said. “I hope you still desire to be in my employ.”

“With all my heart.”

“I expect that you don’t say so lightly. The tasks ahead are very grave.”

I waited.

Pari looked thoughtful. “It is strange how many portents are around us, if only we care to see them. I have been rereading the story in the
Shahnameh
about how Zahhak demanded that the skulls of young men be cracked like walnuts so that his snakes could feed on their brains. It was no more than a story to me until recently, but now I see it afresh. Haven’t we experienced the very same disaster? Our leader has destroyed some of the brightest stars of his court, from young meteorites educated in the princely arts ever since they were small, to bright blazing suns like Ibrahim who are born only once in a generation. Our leader has become the very image of Zahhak.”

Everything in me had been trained to be loyal to the Shah. I couldn’t help but look around to see if anyone was listening.

“Until now, he has spared Mohammad Khodabandeh and his children, but it is still possible he will send someone to destroy them. If he and his family are murdered—and may God prevent it—who will be left to lead the dynasty?”

“What about Mahmood Mirza? What about Isma‘il’s unborn child?”

“I don’t know who will survive. My responsibility in this matter is to defend all the princes who might lead the dynasty in the future. I must do everything I can to protect them.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“As things stand, it is impossible. I can no more prevent Isma‘il from sending out assassins than I can tell the sun when to rise. There are those who believe they can control the orbits of the planets, but I am not one of them.”

The gravity of her tone and the privacy of our meeting made me acutely sensitive to whatever was coming next.

“In times of confusion, I turn to the
Shahnameh
because my father held it so dear. I have been reading it for Ferdowsi’s guidance about the righteous ways to handle a disordered shah. He is very
cautious on this point. After all, he was hoping for remuneration from the Ghaznavi sultan and couldn’t be seen as opposing his reign, even indirectly.”

I had continued reading my own copy of the
Shahnameh
almost every night, holding it with affection because it had been a gift from Mahmood.

“But look what happens to the voracious Zahhak: Kaveh sparks a rebellion. So even Ferdowsi, who is usually so careful not to offend the institution of royalty, is willing to suggest that a truly evil shah must be resisted.”

Pari was drawing a noose of logic around my neck, and I didn’t wish to be captured in a knot that couldn’t be untied. My face must have shown my feelings, because her voice softened.

“Sometimes, one person must make a sacrifice for the good of all others,” she added. “Kaveh was such a man. What an inspiration he is to all who suffer from tyranny! I can’t sit by any longer while a fire consumes the house of our future. Too often, I have acted in the hope of some gain for myself. Now I must act for others, regardless of my fate.”

She said this with so much delicacy and such understanding of her own flaws that I was touched at the core of my heart.

“May God always protect you! You are the brightest star among women.”

“Thank you, Javaher. But tell me: Do you feel as strongly as I do that our leader is disordered?”

“Yes, of course. Your revered father would never have killed his own kin with no reason.”

“I know the sacrifice you made to serve him was dear. Now I am going to request that you make an even greater one, but I won’t demand it from you. It must be freely given.”

A feeling of dread suffused me. “What are you asking for?”

“Your loyalty.”

“That is always yours. What else?”

“Your assistance.”

“With what?”

Pari lowered her voice. “He must be removed.”

My heart began pounding like the drums that march men to war. How could I agree to what she was asking of me? For a man to raise his hand against his leader, for a sister to strike at her own brother—that was cause for death if discovered, and for eternal damnation if God deemed it unjust.

The princess wanted to rip the proclamation. Yet we couldn’t do it the way Kaveh had done, because our shah was not a character in a poem; he would simply have us put to death if we openly protested his rule.

Pari was scrutinizing my face. “Javaher, will you help me bring justice to this land?”

“In the name of God above!” I thundered. “I have delivered everything but my last breath to this dynasty, including the possibility of raising my own sons. Now must I turn traitor in order to serve this same line? What kind of servant would I be? What truth would ever seem solid?”

“Your questions are fair,” said Pari, “but I suggest that you would be serving the cause of justice. That can be the only reason for agreeing to such a request. You have my permission to assist me only if you believe the cause is righteous.”

If she had said anything else—if she had mentioned personal gain or glory, I would have refused her. But she was reaching for the only part of me that was tender to her request. Isma‘il had become the very image of Zahhak; there was no denying it. Would we remain silent and allow him to destroy us at his whim? Or would we become as brave as Kaveh?

“What do you intend for him?”

“The fate he brought to others.”

“Even your father, may his soul be at rest, let Isma‘il live,” I argued.

“My father had the authority to imprison him and render him powerless. We do not. I have recently asked Sultanam if she would allow the qizilbash chiefs to remove him on the basis of insanity, but she said no. There is only one way to rid ourselves of this scourge, just as there was only one way to unseat Zahhak.”

“This defies all I have been taught ever since I was a youth! How can you ask this of me?”

“How can I not, when it is the only just thing to do? He will kill us all if we leave him be.”

“All my life, I have striven to be loyal to the throne. After my father was murdered, I wished to set an impeccable example.”

“You have done so.”

“Thank you. But now I must throw away my morals and rebel?”

“Sometimes it is the only choice.”

“I can’t answer yet; I must think.”

“I understand,” she said, “and I honor your need for reflection. Return to me as soon as you have made a decision.”

As I took my leave, I glanced back and was struck by the pretty picture she made. Sitting on a cushion in a purple robe embroidered with sparrows, surrounded by a delicate manuscript illustration of courtly women and men in a garden, with elegant peach silk rugs beneath her, she exuded feminine grace and learning. The lushness of her surroundings, the fineness of her robe, her curved, regal forehead, all made her look rare and delicate. Yet buried within her tall, thin frame was something harder than I had ever seen in her father, something harder still than what lay in the qizilbash warriors whose turbans held the erect red batons that made them look like giants. She had come to a conclusion so awful it would incite many a warrior to flee, but she didn’t flinch from it.

Pari’s request made me restless, and so did not knowing about the fate of Mahmood. I still had had no letter from him and no news. I hoped Khadijeh might be able to enlighten me about the Shah’s state of mind and whether his murderous rampage was finished. I went to her quarters and asked to see her, explaining that I brought news from the princess. There was no need to explain further, since by then the palace was buzzing with visits from one lady to another to comfort those in mourning.

When I arrived and was shown in, I was surprised to see Khadijeh dressed all in black, her hair covered by a black silk scarf, which made her tamarind skin look pale.

“My condolences,” I said, as I took my seat on a cushion across from her.

“Thank you. And mine to you.”

I wasn’t related to anyone who had died, but had dressed soberly to reflect the state of the palace.

“I have come to speak with you about a private matter on behalf of my lieutenant,” I said. Khadijeh turned to Nasreen and told her to bring me hot coffee.

The minute she had left, Khadijeh said, “You look as if you have seen the dead.”

“I feel as if I have,” I replied. “Six princes have been killed, and Gowhar is behaving like a madwoman. She is so sick with grief I am not certain she will find the strength to live. It is terrible to see.”

“May God shower us with mercy!” Khadijeh replied, a tear sliding onto her cheek.

I couldn’t help myself. I leapt up from my cushion and claimed her hand, wishing I could take her in my arms and feel the warmth of our bodies entwined.

“Has he said anything about when the killing will stop? I fear for Mahmood!”

Khadijeh looked so startled that I regretted saying anything. She stared at the door, and I quickly withdrew my hand and regained my position on the other side of the room.

“Poor Javaher. You have reason to fear,” she said softly, her eyes wells of grief.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Why are you so sad?”

“I too have suffered a terrible loss.”

“But you are not related to any of the royal princes, except by marriage.”

“That is true,” she replied. “They are not whom I mourn. I learned this morning that my brother, Mohsen, is dead.”

“My dear Khadijeh! What happened?”

She wrapped her arms around her body. “He died trying to protect
someone else, which was very like him. Mohsen always watched over me and defended me when we were young.”

Her eyes overflowed with tears, which she left glistening on her cheeks. “When I lost my parents, I thought I had lost all a woman could lose. But the fresh grief that fills my heart will never depart, no matter how long I live.”

“How I wish I could hold you in my arms and comfort you!”

“Hush!” she whispered and looked as if she were listening for something. All of a sudden Nasreen Khatoon came in bearing the coffee, arriving so soundlessly that I wondered if she had been trying to catch a few words of our conversation. I changed the subject quickly.

“The esteemed princess would like to know if you have any special medicine that would help Gowhar vanquish the worst part of her grief.”

“I do,” Khadijeh said. “In recent days, I have had many requests for the mixture, and have been taking it myself. Nasreen Khatoon, please prepare another serving of the herbs I showed you and bring it here for our guest.”

The lady laid down the tray and left again to do her bidding. Now I understood why Khadijeh seemed so composed. Her medicines were potent enough to take away all pains.

“Javaher—” Khadijeh said, but I interrupted her.

“How can we stop him?”

Her mouth turned down in disgust. “I only hope he doesn’t call for me. How can I lie under him, knowing what has happened to my brother?”

I was puzzled. “What does Mohsen’s death have to do with the Shah?”

Khadijeh sighed. “Javaher, it pains me that you must know the truth. My brother died defending Mahmood.”

I felt as if an iron hand were squeezing my heart. “May he always be safe!” I said, but my words sounded angry.

She looked at me with such compassion that my rage embarrassed me. “If you don’t want to know what has happened, I won’t tell you.”

I had no choice but to ask her.

“Mohsen was with Mahmood at a hunting camp. The Shah’s men found them by following the smoke of their fire and attacked them. A friend of my brother’s who was with them escaped with his life. He wrote that Mahmood was strangled, and Mohsen was killed with a dagger. Their bodies were taken back to Mahmood’s home to be prepared for burial. A few hours later, Mahmood moaned and woke up. His neck was badly bruised, but he wasn’t dead.”