Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,61
of all that is pure, in your absence, many of us were concerned about the security and safety of the palace. We thought that no one could guide us better than a close descendant of your revered father. We sincerely hope that we haven’t erred.”
Isma‘il looked pleased by this pretty speech. “In such a situation, when the palace is in chaos and no Safavi prince is present to make decisions, you did well to listen to a member of the family,” he replied. “But everything is different now. I am here to lead you, and therefore no such ministrations are required—or allowed. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied Mirza Salman.
The Shah signaled to Saleem Khan that the meeting was over, and that was that. In Tahmasb Shah’s time, the discipline of malefactors would have been mitigated with rewards to those who had provided good service, or something else that would have relieved the sorrow we felt over the death and imprisonment of men we all knew. How different things had become.
When the Shah arose, we stood at attention as he walked to the door, followed by the pillars of state and by the guards. After he left, the courtiers who had survived the ordeal began speaking together in quiet but fervent tones. Some wiped their brows, while others muttered prayers of thanks that they had not been taken. I heard Ibrahim Mirza speaking too loudly to one of his friends.
“I would say this is cause for celebration,” he said in an ironic tone, “that is, for those of us who are still breathing. Why not join me for refreshments at my home? I’ve commissioned a new book, and I would like to show you some of the illustrations.”
The prince was beloved among artists and calligraphers for spending so much of his fortune on books. He must have been trembling on his cushion over his support of Haydar, though he was making light of it now. Why, I wondered, had the Shah spared him?
His friend didn’t have the heart to celebrate. “Maybe later,” he said. “Right now, I am going to the mosque to give thanks to God.”
Balamani turned to me and said, “It could have been worse.”
“How?”
“Isma‘il had to show the stone in his fist. If he hadn’t punished his enemies, the moment the meeting ended, groups of courtiers would have started plotting to bring him down. Now they will think twice about the consequences.”
“But why Kholafa? Isn’t it excessive to kill your ally because he didn’t care for his new posting?”
“Vagh-vagh,” said Balamani, imitating an angry dog. “All that was just an excuse. Kholafa was responsible for making him shah. No ruler wishes to be so obligated to a mere man.”
His words were like a dagger in my heart. I suspected that a shah like Isma‘il would wish to be obligated to a woman even less.
When I entered Pari’s quarters, she was seated with a pen in her hand and a letter on her lap, which she set aside.
“You look as if you have seen a jinni,” she said. “What happened?”
“The Shah has shown his wrath by ordering the executions of Kholafa and Hossein Beyg,” I replied in a rush, “and has imprisoned Sadr al-din Khan and other supporters of Haydar.”
“Voy!” Pari replied. “That is much too harsh!”
“Esteemed princess, he has also demanded that the courtiers refrain from attending meetings with the royal women.”
“For what reason?”
“He said it was an insult to the honor of the Safavis.”
“Of course he would,” Pari replied angrily. “It is the easiest thing to say because no courtier can protest such an accusation. What he can’t say is that his sister is better at governing than he is. I can’t remain silent when those men are about to be executed, especially Kholafa. I will go plead with him immediately.”
Pari picked up her pen and wrote a letter to Sultanam demanding Isma‘il’s ear. It said, in part:
Now that you are queen mother of Iran because of my key
I beg your help in unlocking your son’s clemency.
Throw open the doors to his generosity
And remember: One day, you might need aid from me.
Sultanam replied with a message telling her to come to her quarters in the late afternoon, when she had tea with her son. When we arrived, we were shown into a small guest room with fine carpets. Sultanam and Isma‘il sat very close to one another, drinking tea spiced with cardamom and eating sugar crystals brightened with saffron. With her broad frame and wedge of curly white