Story2_part3: The Political Figure

The first time I laid eyes on such an assembly, it was truly something remarkable. The rows were tightly packed, one after another, like a prayer line during worship. From one end to the other, they sat like beads on a string, and every now and then, among the sea of clean-shaven men, you could spot a turbaned head or someone clutching a handkerchief like a monk with prayer beads. At the front, in the section that seemed to serve as a sort of pulpit, the bigwigs were seated. A few assistants beneath them, pens in hand, scribbled endlessly, as if recording the deeds of souls for judgment day. Paper after paper was blackened with writing.

To cut the story short, a white-haired, clean-shaven man sitting in the front row turned to me and said, “Sheikh Jafar, the government has taken swift and serious action to ensure the people’s aspirations are fulfilled as desired. We are confident the desired results will be achieved. As a standard-bearer of the people’s rights, we kindly ask you to reassure the public on our behalf and assure them that their rightful demands will undoubtedly be met.”

After him, a few others also spoke with convoluted and cryptic words, but what I gathered was that the white-haired man was the Prime Minister, and the rest were prominent figures among the Democrats, Moderates, and other factions with their own agendas.

When I exited the parliament, I had intended to give a grand speech to the crowd, using some of the new phrases I had just heard, polished and delivered with flair. But to my surprise, the crowd had completely dispersed. It seemed the noble and zealous people had decided that any further insistence on their rights was unnecessary and had returned to their work. Even the loafers and vagabonds who had trailed behind me from the poultry market were now in the town square, tossing dice and paying me no mind, as if their earlier chants of “Long live Sheikh Jafar!” had never happened.

Lowering my head, I made my way home to deliver the news to my wife. On the way, I spotted the young, raven-haired cleric who had volunteered to deliver “Sheikh Jafar’s” message. He was lounging on a café bench, his turban askew, sipping tea, and seemingly having completely forgotten that mere moments ago, he had been the direct liaison between the government and the noble, heroic people.

I walked on, deep in thought, telling myself, “Tonight, even though my wife and children might go to bed hungry, at least I have become a political man!”