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liver rather
than his heart devoured by a vulture each day only to grow again and be
devoured once more.)
The only thing that frightened my parents' circle was death. The question of
what would happen after death, and whether their destinations would be
Heaven or Hell, haunted them. Mullahs used to make speeches about the
horrors of Hell and the pleasant life in Heaven, where houris (beautiful
girls) were in abundance, and honey and milk would run everywhere. Those who
believed in Allah and followed his prophets would go to Paradise and those
who disobeyed would abide in Hell after death and would burn and be tortured
for eternity. This made the people cry, or rather howl. I had seen my
parents crying and praying to Allah to save them from the fire of Hell or
the tortures of the grave itself. They were especially worried when the
mullahs (in order to get a bigger share of money) used to warn of those who
have a lot of money but do not spend it on the ways of Allah. So they used
to start paying sadageh, or alms, to the beggars in the streets, or to the
poor. Naturally the mullah would be the first to benefit from this
generosity born of fear. The mullahs would also make money in the
countryside, in times of drought, by promising rain if the people would give
them sufficient money. Not all of the mullahs were exploiters, however, and
some of them were strong supporters of the people and bitter critics both of
the oppressive
ruling classes and of other mullahs who betrayed their religious calling in
the ways I describe. At the beginning of this century one famous mullah of
lower-class origin himself, Muhammad Baqir Khalkhali, wrote a remarkable
work against the mullahs who cheated the people, a parable called The Book
of Foxes. The Quran contains a verse "You shall not eat the property of the
orphans", and mullahs often preached on that text. Well-meaning parents
would leave their property to a mullah on the assumption that he would
provide for the care and education of their children. A passage in The Book
of Foxes, written in Azerbaijani, reads:
Ozun "la Ta'akuloo" Hokmun verarsan Yatimin malini birdan yiyarsan.
(You yourself issue the law "Thou shall not eat" And eat at one gulp the
property of orphans.")
The book states its message as though the poet is describing the conduct of
foxes and suggests that orphans left to the care of mullahs in such
circumstances found themselves destitute.
Mirza Ali Mu'jiz Shabistari and Mirza Ali Akbar Tahir-Zadeh (who used the
pseudonym "Sabir") who both also lived at the beginning of the century,
wrote poetry in Azerbaijani satirising the reactionary clergy with their
double standards and hypocrisy. They have influenced subsequent Iranian
writers of prose and poetry and were influential in the Constitutional
Revolution and the Democratic Movement of which I shall speak later.
"Sabir" was denounced by the landowners and mullahs as being an atheist (kafir)
because of such writings. He defended himself in a reply to the people of
Shirvan - a rural locality, now in Soviet Azerbaijan:
I witness that God is Almighty and great.
I possess faith, 0 people of Shirvan!
I do not believe in anyone religion.
I am an old muslim, 0 Shirvanis!
I am Shia, not of these sorts.
I am Sunni, but not these kinds.
I am Sufi, not like these fools.
I am a human being, lover of truth and justice, 0 Shirvanis!
Do not force on me the label Kafir. I believe in the Quran, 0 Shirvanis!
(From Sabir, Hup Hup Nama.)
In my nurse's home there was none of this fear, as I have said. I never saw
Izzat or Humai sit and listen to the speech of a mullah, nor did I hear them
weep for the fear of Hell. Their friends were cheerful people. They made a
lot of jokes, and in the evening we used to gather at the tea-house, and
women stood at their gates or on the corner of the street and chatted late
into the summer evenings.
Izzat was very popular among his neighbours. They called him Izzat Amoo
(Uncle Izzat). He was a helpful person and often used to repair people's
walls and roofs without charge, because they could not afford it, and also
because he did not separate his neighbours' lives and happiness from those
of his own family. I once remember that a woman who lived a few hous'es away
from Izzat, Khadija, came to his house on a Friday morning. She talked
quietly to Humai in the vestibule. Fatima and I were curious to find out why
she had come so early on a Friday, which is a holy day for muslims. Fatima
and I were anxious to keep Izzatat home, hoping that he would take us to the
farms nearby where we would have lettuce and shingi (a sweet plant grown
near springs). Perhaps Fatima and I were curious to find out if Khadija
wanted Izzat's help. She had lost her husband and had two children, and she,
like Humai, used to spin wool for a wool merchant in my father's
neighbourhood.
Humai came inside the house and Khadija stayed in the vestibule, as though
she were too shy to come into the room where Izzat and we children were
sitting and having breakfast. Humai, addressing Izzat, said that Khadija's
room and kitchen had been damaged during the previous night's rain, and were
in danger of falling on the children. "She is helpless!" All the houses in
that area were built of clay: no brick was used for the walls and the roofs
were covered by timbers and kah-gil (straw and mud).
Izzat listened to Humai while drinking his tea and looking at us. When Humai
had finished Izzat thought for a minute, then said, "It does not matter,
tell her I'll be there in half an hour and see what I can do". When we had
finished our breakfast Izzat took Fatima and me to Khadija's house (or,
rather, small hut). It looked twisted, and one side of the roof was much
lower than the other and seemed as though it was falling down. Izzat looked
at the building from the outside and then went in. He came back out
immediately, looking sad, and blushing a little. "Khadija," he called. "Yes,
Uncle Izzat?" she answered. "Take your children to our house and collect
your things from within your own house and pile them somewhere next to your
gate. This should be done immediately, and I shall help you. The whole
building is falling down. I need to find one of the neighbours who can help
me, and start rebuilding the roof and the wall."
Izzat took us back to his house and Khadija accompanied us, together with
her children of about three and five years of age. We stayed with Humai and
all played together. Khadija's children were very quiet and looked pale, but
they joined in and seemed happy playing with us.
Izzat did not return before we were asleep. The following day he left home
early. But he returned home at sunset. He had a water-melon and a sangak in
his arms and a smile on his face. Addressing Khadija, who was sitting next
to Humai's spinning-wheel while Humai was spinning wool, he said, "Khadija,
the work is finished and your room is safe, but you have to wait another day
or so before moving in. It is still wet. You and your children can stay with
us. We have not much room, but we can manage. It is autumn and still
pleasant to sleep on the roof. We will sleep there and you can sleep with
your children in our room. Please look upon this as your own home. You are
no trouble for us. In fact the children enjoy playing together and Humai
likes your companionship."
"May Khoda (God) keep you healthy, Uncle Izzat! My children and I were
homeless or dead without your help," Khadija said.
"May Khoda bless your husband!" answered Izzat. "He was an honest and a
hard-working man. His sudden death, while emptying the cesspit in Haji
Tavakkoli's house, made all of us very sad. First of all, when we heard the
news, my friend and I rushed to Tavakkoli's match factory in order to rescue
Yusef from the well, only to be told when we arrived at the factory that
Yusef was working in Tavakkoli's house. When we reached Tavakkoli's house
there was a crowd gathering at the door. Some of the workers in the area had
tried to rescue him: but it was too late. Yusef had been overwhelmed by the
gas in the bottom of the well, and had fallen unconscious, and by the time
his helper called to Yusef's friends for help it was too late. I heard that
no compensation was paid. God bless him! Your children are our children too.
Children do not understand whether this house is mine or yours. They need a
secure and happy place: besides, children become orphans more by the
mother's death than by the father's."
Khadija seemed sad and, sighing, said, "I do not want compensation from
Tavakkoli's. It is a humiliation to go and beg them for help. When my
children grow up they will know where and how their father was killed. They
miss their father and were made orphans by his death. He was our love, our
bread-basket and livelihood. I do not know what could have been done without
your help and that of the neighbours. Even the government of Reza Shah is
not helpful. The other day I went to the police station asking where I
should go for help. The police almost arrested me at the door of the police
station, abusing me for wearing a chador. When this happened I forgot why I
had gone to the police and was frightened. I hurried back home, and never
thought of trying again. Mothers without husbands are helpless and are
forced to beg in the streets. Then they are arrested by the police for
begging and put in prison or in the house of beggars. The Shah does not want
beggars to be seen in the streets of Iran. A few months ago an important
Englishman was visiting Tabriz. The police went knocking at doors and
telling the people to clear their shabby washing and rags hanging over their
walls, sweep the streets, spray water on the pavements and put pots of
flowers along the walls. But he did not know that I did not have money to
buy bread for my children, much less think of flower pots. Uncle Izzat, they
live in a different world and treat us like objects or tools rather than
human beings."
After two days Kadija moved back into her own hut. The following Friday she
came to see us. She brought with her a pair of colourful woolen socks which
she had woven for Izzat. Izzat, looking at the socks in his hand, said,
smiling, "I am glad that here everybody knows how to make something useful!"
When Izzat worked at my parents' house and my father was too critical of his
work or did not seem appreciative of its value, it made Izzat upset and
sometimes angry. This happened several times. I remember once, on a hot
summer's day, Izzat was plastering some of the walls in the yard. In fact he
was repairing the broken parts from the bottom. Most of the walls inside the
yards in Tabriz are white and covered by plaster. Every few years they
become swollen and crack in the middle or bottom of the walls. Izzat used to
look after my father's house and repair it wherever it was necessary. He
would start his work in the early morning and finish at sunset; so he used
to work about ten hours. On this day everybody was asleep after lunch (as my
parents did all through summer), while Izzat was working under the blazing
sun. I was about 14 years of age and studying for an examination under a
tree in the garden. I went to Izzat and asked if he wanted tea. He wanted
cold water instead; so I took him water. Izzat seemed different to me from
what he was like at his own home. He was working by himself and he looked
very serious. Sweat was pouring down from his forehead and his cap was
soaked. I felt disturbed and did not want to see Izzat so serious and
seemingly unhappy. There must, I felt, be a reason for his being so distant
from me. I tried to talk to him about anything - Fatima, Marzieh, Humai, and
how he made plaster. He kept quiet. I felt upset and was near to tears. When
Izzat realised I was upset he started to talk. "My son," he said, "there are
things in the world which can wound one worse than a sharp sword: bad words
and insults are some of those. This morning your father was unkind to me. He
thinks I do not know how to work properly. The way he speaks to me is
hurtful. I respect him because he is my older cousin, but everything has its
limits. I cannot bear it if my work is regarded as worthless. My work is my
personality and to insult my work is in fact to insult my whole life. He is
sleeping now, and I am working under this blazing sun - I do not mind it,
and I enjoy working - but when I remember that he does not appreciate my
work I feel upset and rather angry. I have never answered my cousin back
before, but now I am afraid I am losing my patience. I shall either refuse
to wok, or else tell him to mind his own business."
While Izzat was still talking my father came out of his bedroom going
towards the toilets which were situateD at the other end of the yard and
near to where Izzat was working. As he passed Izzat he said, "Khasta
olmiyasan" ("May you not get tired!" - a customary greeting to workers).
Izzat kept quiet and said nothing. When my father came out of the toilet he
stopped next to Izzat and commented, "It seems the wall is not straight."
Izzat did not hesitate and answered, "It has not been straight from the
start - you had better ask those who placed the foundation wrongly at the
beginning." Whenever my father used to realise that "the smoke was too much
to face" (as the Azerbaijani saying goes), he would back down and change the
subject. Now, realising Izzat was upset, he did so, saying, "This afternoon
the Ayatollah Dinavari" (the leading cleric in our district) "is coming to
visit us. As soon as you have finished your work, or indeed before finishing
it, help Gholam-Reza to climb the mulberry tree and shake some sweet
mulberries down on a cloth - the Ayatollah likes sweet things. Also, go to
the orchard and pick some ripe peaches, pears and large grapes - pile them
all up in a big dish. Never mind washing them: Gholam-Reza will wash them.
If the Ayatollah, who is very busy and usually has many landowner and
business visitors in the afternoons and evenings, cannot manage to come to
our house, then Gholam-Reza will take them to his house." My father then
departed. A few moments passed in silence. Then Izzat said to me "My son, to
tell the truth I do not want to pick fruit and fill the stomach of this
parasite - I hate to see such individuals who do not work but only receive,
and eat well. It is sad that your father believes in these hypocrites.
Perhaps they need each other."
Izzat continued plastering the wall. I was frightened that my father would
tell me off if I did not pick the fruit. Before I could say anything Izzat,
realising my situation, announced, "Let us pick some fruit and eat at the
same time." He got up and, with both of us laughing, started to lay a cloth
on the ground for mulberries. By the time we had finished the task it was
sunset, and still the Ayatollah had not appeared. I had to take the fruit to
his house. When I arrived a group of fat and well-dressed people were
leaving. As I approached the reception room the Ayatollah came forward
wearing a white garment and without a turban on his hE:ad and said, "Oh,
this is a blessing from Heaven! I love fruit. It is good for the health."
Two of his women were also in the room. They all sat down around the fruit
tray and began to eat. By the time I returned home Izzat had left for his
house. My parents asked me to join them for dinner, but I excused myself,
saying that I was not hungry. I went to the garden and then lay on my bed
watching the moving stars and thinking about what had happened during the
day. With the memory of Izzat's jokes about mullahs while helping me to pick
the fruit, I felt relaxed and fell asleep, and when I got up the following
morning the sun was shining on my bed and Izzat had already started his
work.
My father's attitude to Izzat and the Ayatollah was not particular to him:
it was characteristic of his class in their dealings with workers and
clerics. And, equally, Izzat was in no way unique in his suspicion and
dislike of the clergy. Nor were our times unique in these attitudes,
although the literature of revolt against landowners and clergy which I
noted a little earlier had flowered remarkably when Izzat was a boy.
Parallel with the reactions of people like himself living in a non-literate
culture there emerged the powerful literary assaults of the intellectuals.
But throughout history the clergy, while teaching the people the value of a
non-worldly or spiritual life and saying that in Islam" Allah resides with
the masses", had in practice lived amid material wealth and sided with the
landowners, businessmen and the rich as a whole. The great Persian poets,
writers and thinkers - Firdausi, Khayyam, Sa'di, Hafiz as well as our
writers of the present century
denounced these social parasites. When revolutionary figures such as Mazdak
rose against feudalism and its accompanying oppression it was the clergy of
the time who, in support of the Caliph, prepared the ground and sentenced
Mazdak to death. Firdausi has recounted this in epic poems which are, in
fact, a social history of the past and reflection of his own time. Firdausi,
who was himself a dehqhan (small farmer), felt the burden of feudal duties
and suffered deeply. His poetry is a cry from the depths of history, for
justice and defence of human values. He revered Mazdak for his stand. .
Mazdak, the leader of a great social movement which took place between AD
494 and 524, stood for social equality and defence of the peasants and the
poor. His influence was so great that it made the Sasanian Emperor, Qobad,
support his cause and identify himself with it. Historians have often
dignified the pre-Islamic period of recorded Persian history as a Golden
Age, but in reality it was, in common with many such myths, an age gilded
rather than golden. It was a time of great cruelty while society was making
its painful self-transformation from conservative aristocracy based on rigid
rules and codes to a condition of feudalism with its very clear caste
divisions. We have to imagine a time when declining and rising tendencies
were working in opposition, often very painfully. Slavery still existed; the
inhuman caste system which took its place, as often happens after the
abolition or erosion of slavery, was being foreshadowed. Our castes never
quite equalled the rigidity of those in some other countries, but they
became cruelly separated, and deeply conscious of their individual
identities to the detriment of all. In addition, there was a sudden
incursion to the cities at this time – a massive urbanisation - through
which the existing economy was hopelessly overstretched. A period of famine
subsequently began, and Mazdak, crying out against the subjection of the
people to starvation in order to protect those who had advanced themselves,
won the attention and ultimate support of Qobad in his demand that the
granaries be thrown open. By this time Mazdak had won the support of the
poor and those starving in large numbers - it is the king of the beggars who
is the most successful of beggars to the king - and Firdausi was later to
say that "every poor man became one with him, whether aged or a child".
The sort of people likely to be drawn into such a movement is obvious
enough, and again history shows many parallels: there would be slaves
recently emancipated and now reduced to the point of starvation by being
cast out without the protection of an owner; peasants who had seen their
customary privileges eroded more and more, to the point that they themselves
could see little difference between their present condition and that
formerly held by slaves. The fact that Qobad was induced to consider the
position of women suggests that women, too, played a part in the agitation.
Inevitably intellectuals and some religious leaders were captured by the
cause, to say nothing of needing it to protect their own status and personal
economic circumstances.
For a time Qobad and Mazdak worked in harmony. Qobad was choosing to please
the people and the movement they followed in preference to the selfish and
divisive motives of the nobility. Specific privileges of the nobility such
as their harems were a particular target of resentment, and constituted such
an obvious example of the grossest of human injustice in a time of
starvation that they could only be defended by arguments of privilege, caste
(' and above all force. But force overthrew Qobad, imprisoned him, put him
on trial, narrowly spared his life and drove him into exile. He was only
reinstated by a foreign army, to whose leaders he had to give recurrent
rewards in money and territory. He was also drawn into endless wars in the
north against the Huns (who were probably occupying Tabriz, among other
places, at that time).
Mazdak's followers avenged themselves on the nobility by seizing their
property and distributing it where they could, abolishing land ownership
where they could gain control and breaking up the harems (which their
enemies declared was to obtain the women for themselves). However, in
addition to the nobles, they began to attract the bitter opposition of
Christian and Zoroastrian priests who had their own interests to protect.
Qobad.had many others to reward in the power-game, and the crisis came,
understandably, with his attempts to consolidate his own family's succession
by confirming his son Khusraw Anushirvan as his official heir. Qobad turned
on his old ally; Mazdak was ordered to be put to death, and was first
conducted to a garden where he had been assured that all his followers were
to be assembled to do him honour and to receive a presentation of royal
gifts. What had really happened was that a deal had been struck between the
rival prie!?ts and Qobad (supported by his new allies). If the succession
was to be made secure, it was to be at the cost of Mazdak; but since an
attack on Mazdak alone would lead to uprising and general disruption,
Khusraw Anushirvan was to prove his fitness for inheritance by designing the
trap. All of Mazdak's people were promised the crucial honours and gifts
which would finally symbolise their ascendancy, but once they had entered
the great garden, they were systematically butchered by waiting soldiers.
When the young heir conducted the prophet into the garden, he ironically
congratulated him on his harvest - a forest of legs sticking out of the
ground. The Mazdakites had been slaughtered and buried head downwards.
Mazdak himself was then crucified or hanged, upside down, and then riddled
with arrows.
The rise and fall respectively of Mazdak are the subject of two poems by
Firdausi, which show how the memory of Mazdak's struggle against inequality
was still cherished and honoured 500 years later. Firdausi himself had
reason to know the ingratitude of rulers and the heady elation caused by
initial hopes of their approval. Here is the first, "The Story of Qobad and
Mazdak":
To the King's Court one day did Mazdak walk.
His words ran fast and certain like a hawk,
His mind discerning yet devoted too,
His heart of courage endless as his talk.
Outside, the Famine crawled along the globe.
The Drought parched all, in rags or costly robe;
Throughout the sky no cloud, however small,
Of rain or snow their heart-worn search could probe.
The noblemen conversed in solemn ring
Of food and water arid no other thing,
When Mazdak spoke to them one single line
"The path of hope is shown you by the King!"
Then toward the King he seemed on wings to fly:
"0 pious King, in sheer sincerity
I would one question only put to you,
And beg you to take note, and give reply."
Farrokh Qobad, the King, sat deep in thought,
And, giving answer, said that Mazdak ought
To speak the question that stood in his mind:
And Mazdak spoke the question Qobad sought.
"A man lies dying, bitten by a snake
Whose poison threatens sure his life to take.
What fate deserves an owner who denies
The antidote that could the venom break?"
Mazdak gave pause; the King in answer said
"His crime is murder once the man is dead:
His keeping for himself the antidote
Took life, for which his own life's blood be shed."
Mazdak arose and left him; to the Crowd
Outside who wept despairingly and loud
He spoke of his enquiry, and he said
"Return, and see your victory endowed!"
The Crowd departed, and at break of day
Returned, with anguish and despair in sway.
Mazdak beheld them coming afar off
And ran indoors, and to the King did say:
"a King victorious, spokesman of your race,
When yesterday we spoke within this place
So many doors long closed were flung ajar;
And may we now speak once more face to face?"
The King said not to leave his tongue unspurred:
For he had learned from what had then occurred
And yet more would he seek, and speaking thus
Fell silent, and awaited Mazdak's word.
"A man lies chained by ankle-bone and feet,
And starving loses life he still holds sweet:
What judgment will you now pronounce on one
Who, having food, yet gives him nought to eat?"
From the King's lips the air quick answer bore:
"If such a man with foodstuffs in his store
Allowed the other die, how could he thrive
In fortune or in honour any more?"
Glad as a land in thirst which feels the rain
Mazdak in silence heard the King again.
He kissed the ground, withdrew, and told the Crowd
"The granary awaits: go take the grain!"
They fled in concert, mighty caravan!
They found the city's grain, and every man
Gets in, and gathers to himself the grain,
Shoulders it firm, and carries what he can.
Fear and dismay seized the guardians of the store
And to the King their tale of woe they pour:
"The Crowd have all despoiled your granaries
On Mazdak's word, and left no pickings more!"
The King called Mazdak, urged by their vengeful minds,
Says Mazdak's speech his property unbinds,
But Mazdak says he spoke but of their talk,
Questions he puts, and then what answers finds.
How he had spoken, and the King took note;
What the King said, repeated then by rote;
How the King told him that the man must die
Who for the snake withheld the antidote.
"And, as from snakes", cried Mazdak, "must men die
When Famine's antidote's a granary?
Thyself hath said it: profit-makers' food
Leaves poor men dead who should be fed thereby!"
The King sat dumb, with heavy heart like lead,
For Justice was what he and Mazdak said:
And thoughts of what it means gave him alarm
At Wealth stored up to leave so many dead.
King Qobad questioned Mazdak in his turn,
And, listening, saw his mind with answers burn
On prophets, and their teachings, judges, priests,
And heads of state: with logic none could spurn.
"Should he who hath not, die for him who hath?"
Many cried no! And were the Earth a bath
Those who loved Mazdak soon could fill it up;
And swore the pathless way would be their Path.
Mazdak said he without a rag or roof
Was greatest in the Kingdom, and in proof
Held none outweighed another, in that
All Made up Humanity, its Warp and Woof.
"He with thy most Wealth equals him with None!"
Mazdak whose Faith was shining like the Sun
Would make it happen: those who would deny
Should stand accursed by God, th'Eternal One.
All would be one with him, young, poor, and old.
To those in need he'd give, from those with gold.
The priests stood silent at his words and deeds.
The King fulfilled each word that Mazdak told. . .
The King placed Mazdak's Chair at his Right Hand:
Mazdak, who once to live had tilled the land,
Now bore his Honours thick before the Court,
Though his beginning none might understand.
The World was swayed by Faith so Strong and Pure.
No person dared his noble Wrath endure.
The Rich forsook their hoarded Wealth, and gave
The utmost that they had, to feed the Poor.
"Firdausi" is not a real name - it means "from Paradise", as my last name, "Tabrizi",
means "from Tabriz" - and while he is never referred to as such, the poet's
real name was Abulqasim. Although some confusion exists aboqt his life - for
example, a number of forged poems were long attributed to him, and the false
biographical matter they included was given credence - he seems to have been
a small landowner with very little money who was born about AD 934 in the
village of Vazh, near Tabaran, part of the city of Tus, where he is supposed
to have died and been buried about 90 years later. Modern scholars are
doubtful as to whether his birthplace was indeed his place of death and
burial, but this was the story with which I grew up. The legends which
abound about him, many taken very seriously by former commentators, vary
from his being of quite substantial means, to his being a strolling and
destitute ballad-maker, and perhaps the most absurd of all is that he wrote
his great epic the Shah-nameh (The Book of Kings) to obtain a dowry for his
daughter. This last is scarcely credible as he began composing this work in
about AD 975 when he was roughly 40, completing it around 10 10, by which
stage his daughter would hardly have been a candidate in the
marriage-market! What seems certain is that he worked on his epic chiefly in
his native town, with the support of patrons and friends.
The origins of the epic itself stretch back long before Firdausi's own time,
and he himself drew heavily on written sources, chronicles, poems and above
all on the oral tradition in which so much of Persian identity has been
preserved. The result is an extraordinary achievement, recounting the
history of the Persian rulers, sometimes briefly, sometimes in complex and
most exciting detail. The greater part of the epic is legendary - Zal, the
father of Rustam, is suckled, nurtured and educated by a gryphon, for
instance, and while this motif is found in innumerable cultures, from the
Roman story of Ramulus and Remus and the wolf to Thackeray's The Rose and
the Ring, the emphasis on education is unusual, as is the reason for Zal's
being exposed to death by the elements or the wild beasts. Zal was born with
pure white hair, and his father decided on his destruction after undergoing
the ridicule of others: the evil effects of prejudice, human vanity and herd
instinct are characteristic of Firdausi's writing; his own life gave him all
too much reason to despise the cruelty of court fashions and conformism.
The epic begins with the first ruler to produce a code of laws and establish
some sort of kingly system, Kayumars, but the primitive note is struck at
once by stating that he was clothed in the skins of beasts. Firdausi in one
way had no obvious sense of time: his hero Rustam (and his horse Rakhsh)
live in their prime through reigns apparently covering several hundred
years, and Zahak's tyranny is said to have lasted for a thousand years. Much
of this is obviously symbolic: the hero dwarfing the kings in age actually
serves to signify that he towered over them in reputation, and a folk
recollection of a peculiarly cruel tyranny acquires its force by presenting
it as lasting a millennium. Similarly Rustam seems to be a giant, yet he is
on perfectly ordinary terms of association with his associates, and this
also has many counterparts in other mythologies (Irish, for instance). It is
fanciful to think of Zahak's adviser, the wicked spirit Iblis who tempted
him to kill his father, ultimately kissing him on both naked shoulders and
thus causing two hideous serpents who lived on human brains to spring out;
but again it is easy to see how well this could depict the horrific
dimensions of a tyranny whose implications would mean far less in cold
statistics of slaughter.
Obviously there would have lived strong men, and cruel tyrants, in the
remote past: Firdausi's legends conveyed in clear, matter-of-fact language
what were the true dimensions of tyranny or strength. Legend also credits
Firdausi himself with being the victim of an evilly disposed vizier who
poisoned Mahmud's mind against him. And while this could well be the outcome
of someone else's interpretation of the epic rather than Firdausi himself
making symbolic representation of his material, Firdausi would have known
that Mahmud's rejection of him followed hostile advice from courtiers. In
fact, quite apart from Zahak's case, Firdausi's epic consistently follows a
pattern of incisive, realistic and at times bitterly satirical comment on
court politics and treachery. Some of his use of such material would have
come from folk memory - country folk throughout the ages have continued to
live in cycles of hope and despair in their relations with courts - but it
is a sufficiently urgent theme to suggest ugly personal experience.
Firdausi in a different way showed a remarkable awareness of historical
development. His account of Kayumars's dress is one indication, and so is
that of the achievement of his grandson and successor, who accidentally
struck fire from stone in a fight with a hideous monster, and that of the
next sultan's step forward, which is the discovery of reading and writing
from a band of demons whom he had conquered and who offered him their
knowledge in the hope of being spared. The role of the devil in advancing
intellectual activity is much older than Faust. Perhaps the next achievement
is tragedy, in the person of Jamshid, whose vainglory and complacency (after
a successful reign of 700 years) leads to his overthrow, when he becomes a
much more sympathetic figure.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep. . .
Jamshid is ultimately killed by Zahak, who has taken to keeping the serpents
away from his own brain by feeding them the brains of two children of the
realm each day: but Jamshid himself is murdered by being bisected
vertically. Again, this last point is not a sadistic wallowing in nastiness:
it symbolises the division of the old Persian Empire as a result of the evil
actions and self-enrichment of rulers. Zahak is ultimately defeated and
imprisoned forever in a mountain cave (with the serpents for company) by a
young hero called Feridun, who duly becomes. Sultan. But, significantly, the
first blow against Zahak is struck by a man of the people, the blacksmith
Kaveh, when his sons are appointed for sacrifice to the serpents.
Zahak dreamed that a child called Feridun would be born in his kingdom and
would take his throne. He could not rest by day or night and both harem and
court were disturbed by his worries and woes. In order to calm his
anxieties, Zahak ordered that an oath of allegiance be taken by the
courtiers and members of the public alike. Kaveh, meanwhile, had lost 18
sons to the serpent of Zahak and now refused to give up his 19th and last
son. He walked into the Sultan's court, protesting against the injustices
committed by Zahak. He rescued his son and tore up the testimony of
allegiance after he had first addressed the Sultan. Walking into the
streets, he raised up his apron as a banner of freedom, or drafsh.
The epic continues with extraordinary achievements in narrative and symbol,
vividly presenting individual dramas of counsel and diplomacy, divination
and confrontation, while at the same time, especially in the context of
Rustam, presenting powerful descriptions of battles and heroic deeds. The
heroic drama and tragedy of Rustam, especially in the terrible conflict with
his son Suhrab, whom he kills, has inspired East and West down the
generations, as may be seen from Matthew Arnold's famous poem, "Sohrab and
Rustum".
From heroic myth, probably drawn from some reality in the remote past, the
Shah-nameh moves into actual history, dealing with persons like Mazdak who
really existed and played a critical role in the development of Iran.
Firdausi's narrative sharpens and his characters become much more clearly
accessible as he comes within a few centuries of his own time. He knows he
is now speaking of issues, as well as human behaviour, which have
implications for his own day, although there have always been broad themes
of contemporary relevance for him. The problem of fidelity in the service of
a treacherous and murderous ruler is critical and ultimately fatal for
Rustam, and prefigures the modern conflict for people whose patriotism is
confronted by the destructive governments to whom they are expected to be
loyal. In Rustam's case the state is the sultan, and hence he has to be
loyal - though never servile - to the sultans but their successors will
destroy his family. Mazdak, on the other hand, poses the new question of
loyalty to the people, with the support of government if possible, but
knowing the danger of destruction by it. These memories of this period were
taken very seriously by the government of Iran in my lifetime, and the
tradition of Mazdak in particular was regarded as being very dangerous.
Zahak was presented as a figure inimical to true Persian royalty, and so on.
Revenge as a motive stalks through Firdausi's narrative whether mythological
or historical. It is natural that folklore should make so much of it since
revenge, like folklore itself, depends on long memories.
Mahmud showed himself to be totally unworthy of Firdausi's hopes. The old
version of Firdausi's own story assumes that all was going well until the
epic had been concluded, when by fraud he was tricked into thinking Mahmud
intended to insult him, but in fact it appears that Mahmud never truly
responded to his overtures and the epic turns more and more against rulers
in general and Mahmud himself. Firdausi probably revised earlier portions of
it as this became increasingly clear to him, and we therefore find remarks
about Zahak's liking for constant flattery from his attendant poets and
historians being made to parallel Mahmud's behaviour. The epic, closing
about a century after the death of Mazdak, is followed by a savage satire on
Mahmud, but it now seems that this is a collection of various passages from
the main text, and was probably assembled by admirers of Firdausi who wanted
to remind readers of his reduction to poverty and wandering for want of
support from Mahmud. The lines, however, are Firdausi's own, wherever they
come. They consist of a proud denunciation of the empty and transient po_er
of Mahmud, declaring in almost magical language how the power of the poet,
both in his immediate effect and immortal reputation, makes him an
impossible person to subdue. The tyrant has only shown his folly in making
light of him. It is the poet's mind, and not the sword of the state, which
is the truly powerful weapon, and the poet's art which will vanquish all the
arts of government.
Firdausi and the followers who preserved his writing stand as testimonies to
the role of intellectuals in Iran who knew that their destiny must be
superior to any tyranny, however apparently omnipotent, if only they
maintain confidence in their powers. It is because of this that the
intellectuals and their enemies are both so much aware of the power of
writing and teaching in more recent as well as past history. The old pagan
tradition that the poet, especially through his use of satire, had magical
powers and could curse his enemies, has in modern times become the awareness
on the part of writers and the state alike that the public can be instructed
and exhorted into protest if the satirist's pen does not fail. But Firdausi,
both in his own experience of life and in his subject matter, bridges both
sides of the satirical tradition: he reaches back into the old days of magic
and forward into the political education of the people as individuals. And
he is our own literary inheritance whereby the epic poet is not, as with
Virgil, the defender of the work of the emperor or great king, but rather
the vigilant and engaged critic of the injustices of government.
Firdausi can be regarded as the father of the modern Persian language and
poetry. As he himself declared, he revived the language of Parsi or Farsi
(Persian). He stood up against the invasion by Arab language and culture.
Firdausi was not, as some have tried to project, a nationalist Iranian
against non-Iranians or Arabs: he was not the enemy of any nationality. His
opposition and anger were directed against tyrannical Arab caliphs or rulers
who had trodden on Iranian culture, identity and freedom. He stood for
justice and regretted that Iran was despoiled by the hands of dogmatic and
ignorant rulers under the banner of Islam, much as Iran is ruled by the
ayatollahs now. He made his language, poetry and name immortal by his love
of humankind and his terrific sense of justice against any sort of cruelty
and social tyranny. In his poetry and use of language Firdausi is, like
Homer, a national poet, but in his universality of concern and humanity of
outlook, again like Homer, he belongs to all humankind. '
The Ghaznavid rulers of Iran, especially Mahmud Ghaznavi, the strongest king
of the dynasty, spent most of their time at war and invading other
countries. Mahmud took his army to India 17 times to plunder the wealth of
that country. Though Mahmud brought back a great fortune from India this was
not enough for his war machinery and he therefore had to put more pressure
on the people by imposing heavy taxation. Thus during the rule of the
Ghaznavids most villages were emptied of their inhabitants; there was a
shortage of water; the price of land dropped and one famine followed
another. The people in villages and cities alike were often starving.
Firdausi lived under these conditions and witnessed the spread of cholera
and other epidemics. He knew within his own time of the unnatural deaths of
more than 30 monarchs, viziers and amirs (ministers) either at war or in
prison, and could find exemplars from his own time for many of the
characters of folklore and chronicle whom he was bringing to life in the
Shah-nameh.
In the tea-house near Izzat's house stories from the Shah-nameh and
comparable sources were told during the weekends and nights of Ramadan
(month of fasting). But since the naqqals (story-tellers) who were doing the
telling were themselves muslims, they made Rustam a muslim and a follower of
Allah although (if he ever existed at all) he lived long before Muhammad.
This made the audience very excited and heightened their identification with
the stories. Naturally the stories would not necessarily be told using
Firdausi's own words, and could indeed be based on other versions of
Rustam's adventures. The names of the leaders' sons, and peasants' sons too,
frequently included Rustam, once his Islamic identity had been accepted.
Islam came to Iran in the seventh century. It attempted to impose a tribal
system and tried also to bring feudal taxes into the framework of the
Islamic laws. Iran was rather more advanced than Arabia at this time, but
the new process, while taking a long time to develop, slowed down the
processes of the existing feudalisation. The Abbasid dynasty became the
rulers of Iran in collaboration with the indigenous aristocratic landowners.
From then on, feudalism expanded and became more stabilised in many parts of
Iran.
Around the time of Firdausi's birth three important events took place. In AD
909 the Fatimid dynasty established in the western domain of Islamic lands a
rival regime against the Abbasids, who still clung to power in Baghdad. Two
or three years later the Buyid brothers, who were from lowerclass and
working backgrounds, rose and established the Buyid dynasty in the west of
Iran, threatening the power which Abbasids still sought to preserve in the
east. When Firdausi was between five and ten years of age the Buyids moved
to Baghdad and overthrew Mostakfi, the Abbasid caliph, and expanded the
Shi'ite religion. The Fatimids, on the other hand, after capturing Tunisia,
Syria and Arabia, became stronger and took over Egypt in 956, making Cairo
their capital. The Fatimids, under the rule of Aziz, now overshadowed all
the Islamic countries, and became especially active in Firdausi's native
province of Khorasan. He witnessed all their political and religious
activities, during which the ownership of Khorasan changed hands many times.
muslim rulers, like those of other religions, did not separate religion from
politics and used religion as a weapon to defeat their enemies. AI-Qadir
Billah, the Abbasid caliph (AD 991-1031), for example, in order to free
himself from Buyid influence and stand up against the Fatimids (both of
which were Shi'ites) used the conflict between Shi'ites and Sunnis. As I
write this, the governments of Iran and Iraq fight a political battle under
the cover of the ideologies of Shii and Sunni.
Between the lifetimes of Mazdak and Firdausi there had been more than 18
major uprisings of slaves and peasants against feudal nobles and the ruling
system all over Iran. The nearest in time to Firdausi was that of the
Qarmati movement in Khorasan, which both in spirit and destiny was
essentially similar to that of Mazdak and lasted for 40 years, with great
influence at the court of the then ruling Samaniyan dynasty. The movement
influenced the whole of Iran and preached social equality and justice while
condemning the greedy oligarchy. It was taken up by farmers, intellectuals
and even government officials. Caliph Nasr-Ibn Ahmad (Nasr 11) gave his
support to the Qarmatis, just as Qobad had supported Mazdak. But when the
movement became more forceful and seriously endangered the position of the
nobles and army chiefs the latter backed Nuh-Ibn Saman (Nuh I) and rebelled
against the Caliph, his father.
The Caliph was overthrown, the nobility crowned his son in his place and the
Qarmati movement was brutally suppressed. Firdausi saw its persecution and
suppression in his youth, and would also have seen opponents of the regime
killed on the false premise that they also were Qarmatis. The situation
resembled what in the 20th century was known in the USA as the "Red Scare"
or McCarthyism. As late as Mahmud's reign the ruler was using the name
Qarmati as a weapon against the people. It is said that there was a very
rich man in Gaznin, and one day Mahmud ordered him to be arrested on an
accusation of being a Qarmati. The accused, an intelligent man, summed up
the situation: "I am not Qarmati but I am very rich. Take my riches and
leave me alone." The fate of Mazdak was similar to the fate of Firdausi's
contemporary, Hassanak, a vizier who was executed by the son of Sultan
Mahmud (Mas'ud) under the excuse of being a Qarmati.
The suppression of the Qarmati movement at the beginning of the tenth
century did not save the Samaniyan dynasty. Being afraid of the people, they
employed many Turks in their army. The Turks were promoted to high ranks and
increased their influence so much that in about AD 962 the Turkish
Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Forces, after an unsuccessful attempt to
put his own candidate on the throne, withdrew to Ghazna and established
himself by ousting the local family. He was succeeded by a trusted
subordinate whose eldest son Mahmud wrested control of the city in 998 from
his younger brother, the designated heir. When he died in 1030, his empire
stretched from the borders of Azerbaijan and Kurdistan in the west, the
Upper Ganges Valley in India, and from Khwarazm in Central Asia in the north
to the Indian Ocean at Sind. He did not quite reach Tabriz, but had done
very well for himself.
Whatever Firdausi's hopes of Mahmud, it was a courageous act to write in
admiration of Mazdak, whose similarity to the scapegoat outlawed Qarmatis
could have imperilled the life of the poet. Perhaps, after all, it was
fortunate for the ageing poet that Mahmud took so little interest in his
work. As Omar Khayyam put it (in Fitzgerald's lines):
With me along the strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from
the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot
And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!
By the time Khayyam wrote this, Mahmud would have found Peace in the only
way he would. But if Firdausi struggled without success to place true ideals
before Mahmud, there were others who found easier ways of winning his
favour. Similarly, at other courts such figures as the historian Tha'alibi,
condemned Mazdak and advanced themselves accordingly. Firdausi was left to
write:
Nor salt, nor wood, nor oat are left for me; All is gone now, no single
grain I see.
In such dark days, with fear of tax to come, The snow heaps pitiless as
ivory.
The
death-like Hail fell this year like no other;
For me, compared to Hail, Death is a Brother.
If food and wealth were shared in equal parts
Then Life I would acknowledge as a Mother.
In these harsh and grim conditions, however, Firdausi did not lose his
spirit of creativity and social criticism. Despite, and even because of, his
sufferings, he created his everlasting gift to literature.
I suffered much in thirty years' long span;
By Persian language I remade Iran.
Strong houses fall to ruin in the storm
And sunshine in the lifetime of one man.
I made a Castle with my might and main
Which will withstand the strongest wind and rain.
Since I have sown the seed of living words
I shall not die, but henceforth must remain. |