Ollie's Cloud (51 page)

Chapter 12

Despite Ali’s best efforts, his foe is gathering strength. As he marches with false confidence across the great hall toward Aqasi’s elegant chambers, Ali knows that he is about to be rebuked by the grand vizier. A young man of twenty-eight is quietly defying the harshest restraints that Ali has imposed. Not just
defying
them, but turning them against his persecutors.

In his opulent sitting room, Aqasi greets Ali coolly. The old man has adorned his richest and most regal attire for this occasion, a transparent attempt to intimidate the younger and quicker-witted Ali. Instead, the younger man inwardly sneers at the garish layers of feathered fabric and sparkling jewels. He remembers the clownish costumes that draped the counterfeit Persians in the Surrey’s London production of
Midnight March to Freedom
; those foppish actors were less comical than the human peacock standing before him now.

“Be seated,” Aqasi insists.

Ali sits down while Aqasi struts imperiously, fanning his feathers.

“I’m certain that you know the developments in Chiriq,” Aqasi says, meaning it as a question.

“Of course I do,” Ali replies. “The imposter possesses an uncanny ability to transform adversity into advantage.”

“The warden at Chiriq is the shah’s brother-in-law. But like that fool Ali Khan in Mah-Ku, this idiot has also succumbed to the imposter’s spell.”

“He is a fool, yes, but as he is the husband of the shah’s sister I find it most difficult to chastise—”

“I am not interested in excuses!” Aqasi shouts. “Half the population of this country is related to the shah. Our bigger problem, though, is in the neighboring town of Khuy. I believe you went there to stir up the populace.”

Ali knows what is coming. “Yes,” he says, looking down at the blue and burgundy carpet on which he sits.

“And I suppose you’ve heard just how well that little mission turned out.”

“On the surface, not well.”

Aqasi snorts, then laughs. “
Not well
did you say? Let me tell you just how
not well
it has gone. The most prominent clergy in Khuy, along with a legion of the most eminent Siyyids and government officials, have declared their allegiance to this imposter.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Then I suppose you also know that many of the residents of that town have followed the lead of these influential clerics. And as if that weren’t enough, hundreds of followers of this troublemaker have converged on Chiriq, overwhelming the caravanserais. They are sleeping in the streets and in the shadow of the great mountain that guards the castle.”

Ali nods solemnly. All this is true.

Aqasi pauses and sighs for effect. He stoops to gaze into Ali’s eyes. Despite the political disaster that is unfolding, Aqasi has not had this much fun since Ali, with his more agile mind, had stealthily undermined his authority.

“As I recall,” Aqasi says at last, readying a dagger thrust of words, “you persuaded me to save the imposter’s life when I was prepared to kill him. Would you say now that this was bad advice?”

Ali hesitates. He knows that many men have been executed for smaller errors of judgment. He decides on a bold move.

“The advice was sound,” he says.

Aqasi stares at him, dismayed. “How is that possible?” he asks.

Ali stands, regaining the advantage of height. “First,” he says, “the populace of Khuy is of no consequence. They are fleas on the back of the nation and can be easily flicked off. And keep in mind that the majority of the residents are still against the Rasul. Second, the gathering of the Rasul’s lunatics is not a problem, but rather a convenience. They have now identified themselves and like dumb animals have herded into a pen that is easier for us to watch and control. Third, the prominent officials of which you speak are themselves in virtual exile by virtue of their location in the outlying village of Khuy. Not only are they no threat to us, but they too have betrayed their treason. They will be taken care of in short order.”

Aqasi squints, a tell-tale sign that he is feeling outmaneuvered again. “Are you saying that this was part of your plan?”

“I am not that smart,” Ali replies. “I am only saying that my advice has led to a precipitous moment. Many of the traitors and those who are susceptible to apostasy and treason have identified themselves. Now we can deal with them—and with the imposter. It is time.”

“For his execution? I recommended that long ago.”

“Not yet. It is time for a formal public trial. And then execution.”

“A trial!” Aqasi snorts again. “This clever fellow has turned other trials on their ear. It is too risky!”

“Please, hear me out. This trial will be held in Tabriz. I will personally stage it so that the imposter must either recant his claims or be found guilty—punishable by death.”

“It has not worked before, not with this lunatic.”

“I am not finished explaining my plan. Since the trial will be held in Tabriz, the president of the tribunal will be the governor of the province, the crown prince Nasir al-Din.”

This startles Aqasi who sees the crown prince as a threat to his own candidate for the throne. “Nasir al-Din, you say? And how will this serve our interests?”

“Surely you can see the two possible outcomes, both to our advantage. If the Rasul is found guilty, we are rid of the imposter forever. Any negative consequences will befall the crown prince. But if the Rasul once again makes a fool of the tribunal, the fault will lie with Nasir al-Din. Since most people in positions of power are threatened by the guile and audacity of this imposter—and his apparent plan to destroy the government and Islam—poor Nasir al-Din may then find it difficult to rally support for his claim to the throne.”

Aqasi stares at Ali. He likes the plan. Though he had anticipated great pleasure in punishing Ali, it can wait. “All right,” he says. “Move the prisoner to Tabriz.”

Chapter 13

According to Ali’s spies, who have been posing as Rasulis throughout Persia, many followers of the Rasul have begun to flow toward the village of Shah-Rud. Ali suspects that an urgent meeting has been called to plot the movement’s strategy. One of Ali’s spies, Karim—the man who had been booted out of the Shaykhi school by Kazim—had gladly agreed to spy on the Rasulis, hoping one day to reap his revenge upon Jalal, Kazim’s favorite.

Meeting with Ali in a steamy tea-house in Tehran, Karim explains, “The arrangements for those who were called to this meeting have been made by Mirza Ramin. Do you know this man?”

Ali nods, then frowns. This individual presents a dangerous dilemma. Ramin is the son of the late Mirza Firouz, one of the shah’s favorite courtiers, who had served as vizier of the mountainous province of Nur with such kindness and compassion that many of the inhabitants had practically worshipped the man despite his great wealth. The popular vizier is now dead, but since childhood his son, Ramin, has shown even greater compassion and generosity. Even as a young man, the residents of Nur had called Ramin the “Father of the Poor.” As he had grown up, he had given away vast sums to the less fortunate and had seen that they were fed and clothed, refusing the many political appointments that were his due.

Ali focuses his attention on preventing a Rasuli leader,
Jalal
, from attending the Rasuli conclave. Of all the Rasul’s disciples, he fears this “Jalal” the most. He is a man who ironically shares the same common name as Ali’s boyhood friend, a friend who never would not have been duped into abandoning Islam. He has heard many tales of the fanatic’s epic journeys, his conquest of Islam’s brightest minds, his charismatic leadership—and Ali is disgusted by it. Afraid and dismayed, both. The man sounds like a replica of the Rasul, but more dangerous, perhaps, because he is free to roam.

Ali looks up at Karim and says, “Do you know where Jalal is?”

The mention of Jalal’s name causes Karim, who had been comfortably reclining on one elbow, to suddenly sit up straight, spilling tea on the carpet. “Jalal, yes, I know where he is!” Karim replies. “In Mashhad. He has built a Rasuli teaching center there.”

“Good. I am guessing that you will not mind undertaking a mission to arrest and detain this troublemaker.”

“It would be my greatest pleasure,” Karim says. “Will he be tortured?”

“That will not be necessary. Just see to it that some trouble arises in Mashhad, and that Jalal is implicated.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Ali can see that Karim is no giant of creativity. “All right,” he says, “here is what you should do.”

Karim leans forward with intense concentration.

“Go immediately to Mashhad. Use the post horses to get you there quickly—I will give you a letter of authorization. In Mashhad, seek out the Rasulis. Begin insulting them one by one until someone retaliates. There is always someone who cannot control himself. You do not mind a few minor bruises?”

Karim grunts, indicating he doesn’t mind. After all, this is his opportunity for revenge.

“Then go to the mujtahid, Mirza Ahmad—I will alert him—and issue a complaint. The Rasuli who strikes you will be captured and severely punished, to the delight of the mullas. Afterward, see that the offender is taken back to Jalal, showing a connection between them. I will instruct the Prince Hamzih, who is camped with his army outside the city, to arrest Jalal on your notice. The prince will detain the man until after the Rasuli gathering. I cannot risk having all the Rasuli leaders in consultation at the same time.”

“But the prince is known to admire Jalal.”

“He can be as courteous a he wants, but I assure you, the prince will follow my orders.”

Karim joyfully departs, and Ali returns to a more secret mission, one that only he knows about: cataloging the countless hidden assets that Aqasi has acquired through years of corruption and deceit.

Ali is sure that this information will be valuable one day.

Chapter 14

Badasht is a tiny hamlet in which eighty-one Rasulis have congregated in three magnificent adjoining gardens rented by Mirza Ramin. One of the gardens he has set aside for Tara, the second for Danush, and the third for himself. There is no garden for Jalal; he has been detained indefinitely by Prince Hamzih.

This remote location has been chosen because of violent agitation in the surrounding province of Khurasan. The evangelism of Danush and Jalal has stirred many hearts in this region, and also much anger. Seeded by the malevolent deceit of Ali and his paid collaborators, and cultivated by a frightened and jealous clergy, the roots of avarice and deception have grown deep and wide.

The simple people of Khurasan repeatedly have been told outrageous lies about the Rasul and his followers. Some mullas preach that slaying one Rasuli will cancel all the killer’s sins. In many quarters it is forbidden for Muslims to talk to followers of the Rasul, since Rasulis have the power, it is said, to work dark magic on them.

A firestorm of frightening rumors circulates throughout the land: that Rasulis can mix something into tea that will cause insanity; that if children do not behave, the Rasulis will come and eat them; that Rasulis have tails and horns; that Rasulis had abolished all moral laws and marry their own sisters and daughters; that all Rasuli women are shared by all the men; that the Rasulis are plotting to overthrow the government; and, absurdly, that Rasulis had killed the Imam Husayn at Karbala centuries earlier. Such preposterous lies have found fertile ground among the many uneducated and superstitious inhabitants who still live in a magical world filled with demons, jinns, and evil eyes.

On the minds of Tara and the conclave’s host, Ramin, is one overriding objective. Both have concluded that the new revelation of the Rasul requires a complete break with Islam and the abolition of its laws; that this new dispensation has ushered in a new religion, not merely a new sect or reformation of Islam; and that the time has finally come for this momentous but perilous announcement. Both also know that many of the Rasuli leaders gathered in Badasht may not be prepared for such a bold stroke—in fact, some may intensely disagree—and so the first days of the conference are spent in study, prayer, and spiritual preparation.

On each day, the Rasulis witness the abolition of a long-established law or tradition, and the introduction of a new law with authority flowing from the Rasul’s teachings. Slowly, then, the foundations of Islamic ordinances are cast aside and Rasuli minds, still struggling with the pace of change, are allowed time to understand and accept the new precepts. Even so, many of the more conservative members of the conference vigorously oppose the radical step of separating themselves from their long-cherished Islamic faith.

Danush, who is closest to the Rasul, resists the radical decision to declare a truly independent faith. He slows down the proceedings, encourages dissenting voices, weighs in by favoring a slow, reasoned process, and in the process irritates the willful Tara, who lobbies intensely for an immediate and complete break with Islam and its countless obsolete conventions. Privately, Tara repudiates the authority of the younger disciple, telling a small circle of admirers, “I see him as a pupil whom the Rasul has sent me to edify and instruct. I regard him in no other light.” The denunciations of Danush are just as strong. “Tara is the author of heresy,” he confides to the more conservative faction. “Those who advocate her views are the victims of error.”

Near the end of the conclave, Ramin grows ill and is confined to his large tent. The sides are drawn up to let the gentle breezes through, and slowly the Rasulis begin drifting to his side. When most of them have assembled around their host, one of the Rasulis who had aligned himself with Tara arrives with a message for Danush. Tara, he explains, requests that Danush meet with her privately in Tara’s garden.

“I’ve severed myself completely from her,” Danush angrily replies. “Tell her I refuse.”

“She will insist,” the messenger explains.

Danush silently looks away. The muscles in his jaw quiver with tension.

Responding to this intractable attitude, the messenger unsheathes his sword and lays it at the feet of Danush. “I refuse to go without you. Either accompany me, or cut off my head with this sword.”

“As you wish!” Danush says, swiftly bending to pick up the sword.

The messenger eyes the blade and tauntingly stretches his neck. Danush glares at the man, nervously fingers the handle of the sword, moves the tip of it in a threatening circle near the man’s throat.

And then, like a sudden flash of sunlight in the midst of a storm, Tara enters the tent. She is adorned in flowing garments. And she is unveiled.

For a moment the Rasulis stare at her, and then they begin to shout and scream. In Islam, to behold the face of a woman is inconceivable! For many of them, even to gaze on Tara’s shadow is reprehensible, for they regard her as the incarnation of Fatimah, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad, the noblest symbol of chastity.

Despite the cries and curses and madness engulfing the tent, Tara serenely seats herself to the right of Danush, a place of honor. The men gazing upon her beauty are seized with anger, fear, bewilderment, and guilt. An anguished Rasuli named ‘Abdu’l-Khaliq cuts his own throat and flees from the tent, soaked with his own blood. Many others are struck dumb. Danush, who has remained seated, clutches the messenger’s sword as if ready to strike a fatal blow to Tara. His face contorts with inexpressible rage.

Tara is unmoved by this intimidation. She remains seated, calmly surveying the uproar prompted by her unveiling. Slowly her face shows a glimmer of joy, then unadorned triumph. When she suddenly stands, the tumult ceases momentarily as the Rasulis anticipate another surprise.

Despite their intense agitation, no one wants to miss the next act of this unfolding drama.

To those who have remained, Tara quotes the Qu’ran: “Verily, amid the gardens and rivers shall the pious dwell in the seat of truth, in the presence of the King.” Danush and a few others notice that as she quotes this verse, she furtively glances at Ramin.

Then, with a face radiant with emancipation, she announces a clarion-call to a new order, saying: “I am the blast of the trumpet. I am the call of the bugle. Like Gabriel, I would awaken sleeping souls.”

Tara has served notice. The objective of this gathering has been achieved with a stunning spectacle by an impatient woman. Her proud uncovered face indelibly etches on the minds of every witness that a new religion, like Islam and Christianity before it, has emerged.