Story 2 - Part 2: The Political Figure

“Ya Allah, Honor! Ya Allah, Zeal!” The people were closing their shops, though there was no real heat or intensity. It felt like the sun had set, and shops were gradually being closed as people bought their bread and water, heading home. However, the sudden closure of the markets and the noise from the shopkeepers, who were heading towards the coffeehouses, giving each other hope that the markets would remain closed and there would be an opportunity to visit Imamzadeh Dawood, was not without effect. I was genuinely confused, and it felt like everything was coming together. My shouting and uproar seemed like a pot of boiling water, intensifying and growing louder, and I was becoming like a cannonball, spitting out big words that later surprised even me. Especially when I said that if the king didn’t help, I would pull him down from his throne—it had a special effect. At first, a few friends and acquaintances came up, and quietly whispered in my ear, “Sheikh Ja’far, God forbid! Have you lost your mind? You’re rambling nonsense! Why do you bother with this meddling and nonsense? Go, go, and let them fix your mind!” But these words couldn’t get through to Sheikh Ja’far, and the pain of my country made me keep raising my voice, causing chaos under the roof of the market. Gradually, idle people and the less fortunate gathered around us, and we began to see ourselves as important and influential, like the story of Kaveh the blacksmith that my son Hossein had learned in school and told me every night. We set off on the road to the parliament, and our crowd grew larger. When we reached the entrance of the parliament and the guards stopped us from entering, we tried to push them out of the way, but the guard was an old hand, and his indifference was clear. He wore a cartridge belt, and his stance made it clear that he wasn’t to be messed with. So, I turned to the crowd and said, “People, respecting the law is necessary! But someone must volunteer to go inside and inform the MPs that so-and-so has arrived with a hundred thousand people, demanding that today is the day the brave and honorable representatives of Iran must fulfill their duties. Otherwise, the people are willing to sacrifice their lives, and I am not responsible if I can’t stop them!” Immediately, a young cleric, whose single tuft of hair could be seen peeking from under his crooked turban and who seemed to be one of the parliament’s servants, puffed out his chest and said he would deliver the message. A few minutes later, they summoned “Sheikh Ja’far,” and we swaggered in as proudly as we could. However, in my mind, I wondered what I would say if they asked me what my intentions were, and what the whole fuss was about. I even thought of asking one of the servants, who was walking beside me, what the situation was and why the markets were closed, but there was no time. Suddenly, I found myself in front of the MPs. In my panic, one of my shoes fell off, and I entered with one shoe on and one foot bare.