Equal of the Sun (11 page)

Some of the men paused to think about that, knowing how powerful Pari’s advocacy could be. But Sadr al-din Khan was not satisfied.

“That is not good enough,” he replied.

Pari was silent behind the curtain. I suspected she didn’t know what more to promise to assuage him and avoid a revolt. Both Majeed and Shamkhal looked at a loss. My heart seemed to flip-flop like a fish on dry land. I had never had an official role in a meeting of such importance, and I did not know what to do.

Pari’s cousin Ibrahim Mirza stood up to speak. He had been
Tahmasb Shah’s favorite nephew and had even been permitted to run his own bookmaking workshop long after Tahmasb had lost interest. He had the ancient Iranian mien—thick black curls, smooth wheat-colored skin, rosy cheeks, and shapely lips, but his good looks could not hide that he had supported Haydar.

“Now wait a minute,” Ibrahim said in a loud voice. “Amnesty is only the concern of people who were on the wrong side. But it is hardly the most pressing issue, is it? Almost no one has laid eyes on the prince for twenty years. How do we know he is not blind, sick, or a crazed fool?”

“That is heresy. He was a hero to all of Iran when he was young!” shouted Amir Khan Mowsellu.

“Maybe so, but what about now? A just leader is the only thing we should care about when the future of our country is at stake!” Ibrahim replied.

From the conflicted looks on the men’s faces, I understood that not everyone agreed. Most nobles wished to advance the interests of their own people. As a “double-veined” child, with intertwined Tajik and Turkic strands, I wanted a shah who wouldn’t be swayed by petty jockeying for power.

“Isma‘il will be such a leader!” declared Amir Khan Mowsellu, but his words met deadly quiet.

“Who knows?” asked Sadr al-din Khan. “The prince isn’t even here. Why doesn’t he arrive and claim his throne?”

“He will enter the city any moment now,” argued Kholafa Rumlu.

“It is easy for you to say—you who can expect a fat reward!” complained Sadr al-din Khan.

Kholafa had been the mastermind who spread rumors that Isma‘il and his troops had arrived, thereby dooming the Ostajlu. He smiled at Sadr al-din Khan. “That is because I used my head.”

“Some would argue that you were merely blessed with luck.”

The two men jumped to their feet and began hurling insults at one another. Some of the Takkalu began poking fun at Sadr al-din Khan, delighted by the disgrace of their longtime Ostajlu rivals.

“Choke yourselves!” commanded Shamkhal, but no one was listening.

I slipped behind the curtain to check on Pari. Her face was shiny, and her cheeks looked hot.

“Change strategy,” I advised. “Tell them you need help getting the palace in order. That is something they can all agree with.”

In the hall, Shamkhal had to threaten to call for the guards before the nobles quieted down again.

“My good men, I require your assistance,” Pari told them. “We have urgent problems—broken gates and poisoned arrows on the palace grounds, instability in Qazveen, and a closed bazaar. Won’t you help a royal woman when she needs you?”

“All of that will require funds,” said Mirza Shokhrollah.

“You may proceed with a report from the treasury.”

His large, soft jowls wobbled as he claimed that he could not provide what she needed. The princess pressed him for reasons. He launched into a list of obfuscations until she lost patience.

“Do not forget who I am,” she commanded in a cold voice. “Until just a few days ago, I had my father’s ear. Do not think for a moment that I won’t protect the interests of the dynasty as fiercely as he did—with or without your help. All of you must return to your posts. Tomorrow morning, we will begin with reports from each department, including the treasury. It is your job to ensure that the next shah doesn’t meet chaos and confusion upon his arrival. I should not wish to report that you were absent when you were needed most.”

Shamkhal cut off further discussion. “Heed the words of the foremost daughter of the Safavis! You are dismissed.”

Shamkhal showed the men out, including Majeed, so that Pari could emerge. I lifted the curtain, and she came out wiping her face with a cloth. She looked as wilted as day-old basil.

“I didn’t accomplish what I had hoped. How unruly they are! I will send an urgent message to Isma‘il and tell him how delicate the situation is.”

“God willing, he will come soon,” I replied, hearing the alarm in my own voice.

“I hope so. I feel as if I am holding on to his throne with a thin silk thread.”

Shamkhal returned and approached his niece. “You did well, my child,” he said, but his hooded eyes did not look happy.

That afternoon, as Pari and I began working, the princess’s mother came to see her unannounced. She walked into the room so quietly that neither Pari nor I heard her until she greeted her daughter, and we looked up from a document to find her standing there.

“Mother, be welcome,” said Pari. “How is your health?”

“I endure.”

Pari raised her eyebrows. “May I offer you some tea? Sweetmeats? A cushion for your hip?” Her tone was considerate, but I sensed her impatience.

Her mother declined refreshments and sat down stiffly near Pari, a proximity that made it difficult to see any common traits. Daka Cherkes Khanoom was a woman of about fifty who didn’t appear to have had the strength to pass on anything of herself to her daughter. She was small-boned, with fair skin and pale brown eyes.

“Daughter of mine, star of my universe, I think you know why I have come.”

Pari’s smile was strained as if she were bracing for what was ahead. Daka stared into her daughter’s eyes, and to my surprise, the princess looked away. I had seen Pari tolerate much in the last few weeks, but never had I seen her look so uncomfortable.

“You have refused me the pleasure for years, but the time has come for you to think about marriage.”

I was alarmed by the thought. If the princess married, I would be under the command of her husband, not her. What if he were a boring old drudge? Pari made my mind feel as alive as a buzzing nest of bees.

“Can’t you see that I must manage the affairs of the palace?”

“My dear child, how long do you think that will last?”

“Only God knows.”

“You have always prided yourself on your reason. Isma‘il will arrive and take the throne, and then what will you do?”

“I will advise him.”

Her mother’s gaze was pitying. “You haven’t spent as much time with Sultanam as I have,” she said. “Lately, she has been in an uncommonly good mood. Once when she did not think I was near, I heard her singing, ‘farewell, ill-favored fairy!’ meaning you. If any woman will advise her son, it will be her.”

Pari’s mouth turned down in displeasure. “She doesn’t know what I know, and neither does her son. If a man is to be appointed a subgovernor, which four officials must affix their seals to the document and in what order? All she can do is whisper her likes and dislikes in his ear. He will soon tire of that.”

“It doesn’t matter. She will poison his mind against you.”

“Mother, you overestimate her.”

“She wishes to bury you. I beg you to let me find you a new protector in the person of a husband.”

Her mother took Pari’s hand, her eyes shining with hope. “We will look for a handsome man whose face will be like the sun to you every morning. Someone as strong and as fierce as a lion to hold you in his arms.”

Pari withdrew her hand abruptly as if the very idea made her wish never to be touched again.

“Mother, who could that be? Who can match the purity of my blood but a son of my father?”

“None, but what about a son of his brother?”

“Ibrahim, Badi, Hossein—they all have first wives. I will not be married as a second wife.”

Daka grabbed her cushion as if to brace herself against her daughter’s arguments. “Pari, you know that someone could be found if you wished it.”

“What, some noble who is posted to the provinces? I would be bored.”

“But, daughter of mine, don’t you wish for children?” Her mother looked desperate. “What about grandchildren for me? I grow old. I can’t wait forever.”

“Suleyman and his wife will provide them for you, I am certain.”

“Pari, where is your womanly feeling? I tell you, there is nothing more satisfying than holding your own child in your arms. You don’t know it yet, but I pray that you will soon.”

“I have told you many times that I am content as I am. I take after my aunt Maheen Banu.”

“Not exactly. You have not predeceased your protector, and therefore, you must be cautious.”

Maheen Banu had served as one of Tahmasb Shah’s most sagacious advisors all her life. People at court couldn’t stop talking about how she had argued for providing military assistance to the Mughal emperor Homayoun when he needed it. In gratitude, he had ceded the entire province of Qandahar to Iran.

Pari didn’t reply. Her mother adjusted the scarf over her hair, the lines at her lips deepening with determination.

“I mean no disrespect, but your father was very selfish. He kept your aunt as a bride for the Mahdi, in case the Hidden Imam should return from occultation to bring justice back to Iran during her lifetime—”

“—and he kept a horse saddled at all times, I know, Mother, I know, so that they could depart whenever they wished.”

“But you he kept for himself,” her mother added in an accusatory tone. “I can’t forgive him for putting his love for you over what was best for you.”

“Mother!” said Pari. “What he did was best for me, too.”

“It is true that no woman had his ear like you did, but that is why so many are now eager to see your demise.”

Pari’s generous lips curved into a frown. “People love to dwell on the pain of others; they love to stick their fingers in it and suck on it as if it were honey. But I won’t allow them to feed at my hive. I didn’t leave my father’s side, for the simple reason that I preferred his company to that of any other man.”

“You can’t assume you will retain your old position.”

“You must let me see what fate brings me,” said Pari, her voice rising in exasperation.

Daka looked as if she would not give up. “Pari, I didn’t want
to say this, but I am frightened. Let me keep you safe. You know I would sacrifice myself for you!”

She tore the silk scarf off her head, revealing thin, graying hair. She bent her head forward, yanked out a few hairs from her mousy pink scalp, and laid them in front of her daughter.

“As your mother, I demand that you heed my counsel!”

She grabbed another few strands and prepared to yank them out. It was awful to witness.

“Ah, ah, Mother, stop!” Pari cried, grabbing her hand and pulling it away from her head.

Daka let her wrist go limp. “My child, this time I won’t be dissuaded. All I ask is that you consider a list of candidates. If none pleases, you may say so. But if you are in trouble, a rapid marriage could save you. I won’t leave this cushion until you give your assent.”

From outside we heard the call to prayer. The day was passing.

“Pari, you must not be so stubborn. Times have changed, and you must change, too.”

“On the contrary, Mother. Other women are moonlike, waxing and waning. Not me.”

“Please, my child. I beg you. As the woman who gave you your first milk, I have rights that transcend your own will.”

Pari sighed heavily; her mother had made the one argument that no child could deny. “All right then, if you must, but do not make this quest public.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is my last choice.”

“My child, how strange you are!” her mother said in vexation. “What kind of woman wouldn’t wish to be married?”

Pari looked away. “You would not understand—it is not in your blood.”

“Voy, voy!” said her mother. “I have never pretended to royal blood like yours. But perhaps your blood is what makes you such an oddity compared to other women.”

“Perhaps,” Pari replied, in a tone as final as a door being slammed. “Mother, I wish I could sit with you all day, but now you must give me leave to do my work.”

“It is granted,” Daka replied, standing up stiffly. “But do not forget—protecting you is my right. You must keep that in your heart, even when you dislike how I choose to do it.”

“I will, Mother.” Pari softened. “I remain your devoted daughter.”

“I know.”

Daka marched out of the room with the pride of a wounded old soldier who has finally won a long-running battle.

Pari shook her head as if to clear it and sighed. “Hope flares in her heart again!”

“Princess, will you never marry?” I asked, hoping she would say no.

“Only God knows,” she replied vaguely. “The truth is that I don’t think about it much, but it gives my mother something to do. Now let’s attend to our planning before the hour grows too late.”