Carl Stellweg
She was 34 and still unmarried. Seven suitors had presented
themselves and they were all rejected. But when she saw Sayyed, she knew
instantly she had found her husband. The Hidden Imam had introduced him to her
in a dream.
The former living quarters of the late imam Khomeini
(1902–1989) in North Tehran are startlingly modest for a man of his stature: a
simple room with a sofa bed and a tiny kitchen, hidden by a curtain.
It goes without question, though, that the popular narrative of a
revolutionary ascetic bringing down a vain imperial despot could not have been
illustrated more poignantly.
A footbridge connects the abode with an equally unassuming
mosque, where the ayatollah preached to his most devoted followers. Now there’s
a sound of wild sobbing, coming from a dark figure hiding its face behind a
veil — a grieving spectre.
“My daughter,” a woman says apologetically. “Every
time she comes here, she loses control. No matter how long the imam has been
dead.’’
Shia Islam, to which 90 percent of Iranians subscribe, is a
faith of mourning, martyrdom and revolution. While Sunnism embodies orthodoxy,
rigid jurisprudence and theological establishment, heterodox shiism is the
province of the oppressed and the rebellious, whose religious experience is
emotional, mystical, irrational, often militant. Their colourful processions,
including flagellants, inevitably bring catholicism to mind.
Actually, there’s also a Jesus-like character in Shia islam,
a saviour whose return is eagerly anticipated: the twelfth descendant of the
prophet Mohammed, or Hidden Imam. Since he disappeared many centuries ago, he
has been living ‘in occultation’. But this does not prevent the Hidden Imam or
Vali Asr (‘Guardian of Time’) to incidentally play an active role in the lives
of the Iranians, as the story of Sayyed, my guide, shows.
Sayyed certainly could be called a cosmopolitan. He has a degree in child
psychology and has translated Persian poetry to English. In the seventies he
studied architecture in the United States. He was making a living as an ice
cream vendor. When he reminisces on this episode in his life, his vocabulary
becomes suddenly — and almost unconsciously, it seems — laced with words like
‘fucking’, ‘black dudes’ and ‘pigs’ (meaning the police). It makes one wonder
what circles the academic/poetry translator/ice cream vendor frequented at the
time.
Sayyed is also a deeply religious man and a great admirer of
ayatollah Khomeini. The vile suggestion that the latter was of Indian descent
is categorically refuted. “That’s just a totally unfounded rumour.’’ Why
Khomeini never smiled? Sayyed is too civilised to show anger. ,,What makes you
think he never did, mister Carl?” he retorts politely. ,,The imam offered his
smile and warmth to the poor and dejected. Believe me: he could smile.’’
At Sayyed’s home I’m treated to rice with olives and dried
dill, chicken in garlic marinade and lentils with minced meat in tomato sauce.
The cook remains almost invisible. Dressed in a white chador, the long veil
that only allows bareness of face and hands, she skittishly puts the dishes on
the table. When we prepare to leave, she briefly comes out of the kitchen to
wish us ‘salam’ (peace), then disappears again.
She is Sayyeds second wife. His first marriage broke down
because of ‘unreasonable demands’ by his spouse.
“She thought I earned too little. But she wasted her own
salary on clothes and cosmetics.’’ Sayyed is far more content now. For example,
he’s very happy that his wife wears the chador. “She takes it off when we’re
alone, you know,” he explains.
And without a hint of mischief or humour in his
eyes: “In private she is scarcely dressed, to gratify her husband.’’ He
comfortably leans backward: ,,Oh, she’s so sweet. I’m the master of my home
again.’’
Sayyed met his first wife during the protests against the
shah which led to Khomeini’s ascent to power. “That’s when I became religious.
I thought my wife felt the same way, but she chose the wrong path.’’ The wrong
path? “Emancipation’’, he says drily.
After Sayyed had suffered ‘hell on earth’ with her for 18
long years, his father intervened. “He gave me money to do the haj, the
pilgrimage to Mecca, so I could get a grip on myself.’’ First, though, he had
to attain the required level of piousness and to that end he started to
frequent a mosque in the holy city of Qom.
And he was saved. “I became friends
with some twenty men who visited the mosque every week. We founded a
brotherhood. Since then we support each other in personal as well as in
business matters. We even have our own bank. And yet we have very different
backgrounds. I am an academic, but there’s also a software engineer and a
carpet weaver in our midst.’’
It needs to be pointed out that the Jamkaran mosque isn’t a
run-of-the-mill mosque. It was erected centuries ago at the request of none
other than the Hidden Imam. Very pious men can miraculously get in touch with
him. One of them was invested with the honourable task of building a house of
prayer.
Of course Sayyed’s friends knew that he wasn’t happy with
his wife and tried to help him. They made an attempt at reconciling the
spouses. When this failed, they went looking for another wife. They arranged a
meeting with a niece of one of them. “Instantly, before even uttering a word,
we knew that we were destined for each other.’’
This thunderbolt of love appears to have had a strong
religious element: “Just before she met me, my wife had a dream. An old, handsome
man with a green turban came to her door in the company of a younger man. The
old man said: when this young man proposes to you, don’t reject him. My wife
was 34 and still a virgin, she had rejected seven suitors. But when we were
introduced to each other, she immediatly recognised me as the young man in the
dream.’’
What about the old man, I ask, though I already know the
answer. “My wife thinks he was the Hidden Imam. The Vali Asr, the Guardian of
Time. She is too modest to say she is absolutely sure. But of course it was
Him. How couldn’t it not have been Him?’’
Little by little I get to know more about Sayyeds life. For
instance, it dawns on me that he has repudiated his first wife. In islamic
countries this is a customary kind of divorce in which the wife’s consent is
not needed, alhough formally it should be asked and a third party
reconciliation effort is obligatory. Women, on the other hand, are not granted
this possibility to get rid of their husband.
After a while it also transpires that Sayyed prefers to stay
in the office of his employer — the Iranian state press agency Irna — till late
at night, to surf on the internet, rather than to be at home with his wife.
Maybe he has not a lot to discuss with her. But when he talks about her, I have
no doubt it is with genuine affection.
Sayyed may seem a man of paradoxes to someone like me, but
he shows no signs of having any problem combining Western modernity and Eastern
tradition.
I can talk with Sayyed about a wide range of topics. He
knows a lot about — and seems to admire — European history and philosophy. In
truth, he has a broader perspective than I have. He is more of a global citizen
than I can call myself. You could consider him an intellectual. Sayyed may seem
a man of paradoxes to someone like me, but he shows no signs of having any
problem combining Western modernity and Eastern tradition. He may have been a
troubled soul for some years, but he now looks quite at ease with himself.
I keep interrogating him about Vali Asr, the Guardian of
Time. Does he really believe in such a myth? Sayyed’s intensely religious side
resurfaces. “He led me to the mosque in Qom, brought me into contact with my
second wife. I don’t need any more proof.’’ Did he, too, dream about Him? “No,
but I hope that I once will meet Him in the flesh.’’
I realise Sayyed is not an exception, that this is a deeply
religious country. Its conspicuous manifestations aside, religion here is also
an invisible force that pervades social layers and cultural influences in a way
that will remain inexplicable to me.
While steering his car through the frantic traffic rodeo of
the endless Vali Asr Street in Tehran, he adds: ,,Belief in what is
imperceptible is crucial in religion. That is the meaning of the Hidden Imam.
Such things go beyond intellect, dear mister Carl. Maybe that’s why we’ve been
so patient with this regime which has not fulfilled its promises, decades after
the islamic revolution took place; which may even have squandered the heritage
of imam ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini beyond repair. Shiites have been waiting
for salvation for so long. We don’t mind waiting a little longer.’’
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