Story 2 - Part 6: The Political Figure

After Haj Ali left, I freshened up a bit and told my wife, “I have a session,” leaving her utterly baffled. Then, I headed to the bazaar to check on the state of the world. From the greetings of the local grocers and shopkeepers in the neighborhood, it became clear that my reputation for wisdom had reached them as well. I realized that I could now live on credit for at least ten to fifteen days. Smirking to myself, I thought, “Long live Sheikh Ja’far, the Cotton Cleaner, Leader of the Iranian Nation! The Kaveh of our time, long live!”

Halfway to the bazaar, a group of people surrounded me. After buttering me up with flattery, they each started complaining about someone, as if I were the local judge, the town’s headman, or some kind of spiritual authority. One person claimed that a certain Falan al-Saltaneh had forcibly evicted him from his home and seized his property. Another complained that a religious scholar had pressured him to divorce his wife, only to marry her himself under the guise of religious law—evidently, the woman was quite attractive.

By the time I reached the bazaar, I had heard the full record of Tehran’s legal and social disputes of the past hundred years. I handed out promises and reassurances as generously as pebbles, stuffing my “pockets” with phrases like, “May God bless you” and “May He humiliate and destroy your enemies.”

What I didn’t realize at the time was that a politician’s beard serves as the chain of Anushirvan’s justice—constantly tugged at by petitioners from dawn to dusk. His house becomes a hub for thieves, swindlers, bankrupt individuals, and criminals. Even the lifespan of the Prophet Khidr wouldn’t be enough to resolve just one of these disputes!

As I reached the bazaar, I discreetly puffed myself up with pride. Outwardly, however, I tried to maintain the sweet, cheerful, and kind demeanor of Sheikh Ja’far, to the extent possible. I responded to greetings with such warmth and affection that one would think I’d been the local cleric for fifty years.

People kept asking, “Sheikh, what’s new in your service?” As if I had a direct hotline to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs from a chest in my room, I delivered cryptic and brief responses such as, “May God have mercy,” “Not too bad,” “There’s hope,” “The situation is delicate,” and “There’s a risk of crisis.” Occasionally, I threw in some of the words Haj Ali had taught me—whether they fit or not—practicing my skills in politics.