Chapter Six
The Bricklayer
Kaveh, the old man assigned to bringing donkey-loads of mud bricks to the construction site, repeatedly took out his frustrations on his scrawny donkey, his only means of living. Kaveh considered the poor animal a lazy good-for-nothing creature that needed to be constantly reminded of its chore. He was never in a good mood, but today he felt particularly sour. He had quarreled with his wife and tripped on the crooked stone stairs in front of his shabby house, leaving him limping and exasperated.
Kaveh’s braided leather belt that he used as a whip was at least a decade old. It looked cracked and tattered in a number of places, but he could still use it to vent frustration at opportunities lost, opportunities that could have saved him from a lifetime of poverty. He did not use the whip on his wife when she complained of hunger, but he did slap her occasionally to put her in her place and show her that despite the misery in which they lived, he still ruled his own house.
The donkey was horribly slow, its load being unusually heavy on that day. As the man hobbled, grabbing his aching leg, he lifted the whip furiously to either break the animal’s back or make it go faster. At that very moment, a hand covered in a white silk glove grabbed the whip in midair. As the whip coiled around the delicate wrist, the diamond bracelet of the owner of the gloved hand caught the man’s eyes. Kaveh recognized the Mongol emblem in a geometric design that had stoked fear in the hearts of the people of the world for centuries. Although he had never laid eyes on it before, he had heard about the owner of the fine piece.
“The Mongol Queen!” he uttered, embarrassed by his own impudence. “Your Majesty,” he said as he knelt before Lady Goharshad, grabbing his aching leg.
“How much do you get paid to bring in the bricks each day?” she asked as she gestured him to stand up.
As she spoke, she began removing the bricks one by one, lightening the load placed on the animal, her gloves covered in dust. The man swiftly got up and tried to help out.
“How much?” she asked, looking frail as if overcome by the strength of her own emotions. “How much do you get paid for each load the donkey carries?”
“I am paid five black dirhams, Madam,” he replied meekly.
“I will double your pay provided that you stop beating and mistreating the poor animal,” she said, giving the man a stern look. “Lighten its burdens and feed it well. I want to see it gain weight.”
As Lady Goharshad spoke, a group of workers gathered around her. She used the occasion to instruct them as well. “I want everyone to refrain from the use of foul language while working on the premises and avoid back-biting, fighting among each other or any action that would desecrate the holy grounds you are working on.” She paused, looked at the donkey and added, “I don’t want a single animal hurt, injured or even overburdened during the construction. Feed the animals you use for transporting material and quench their thirst frequently, placing light loads upon them.” For that, she assured them, she would double their pay.
While speaking, wind swept aside her silk chador, exposing her features. She noticed the lingering gaze of a young bricklayer who almost fell off a half-finished wall. His gaze remained on her as she collected herself and left the scene.
From then on, she began to notice the same bricklayer every time she visited the site. He would stand in a corner, staring at her like a lost boy as she gave orders to the Architect and engineers about the construction of the building. She considered it a childish crush that the young man would quickly get over and tried to ignore his presence, but the unwanted attention did not cease.
Every time Lady Goharshad stopped by to check the progress of the work, she felt the heavy gaze of the young man that seemed to penetrate the thin fabric of her chador. His attentions irritated her. The extraordinary sense of discernment that she often used in settling arguments failed her when she tried to figure out his intentions. She blamed herself for being the means of such infatuation in a young lad who probably was several years her junior. She began to wear a face veil of white lace that partially covered her face in addition to her black chador. She even reduced the number of her visits to the site, despite her initial intention to oversee every step of the process in order to ensure structural perfection.
One day, to her relief, the bricklayer failed to show up and was nowhere to be seen the following day. On the third day, the Architect addressed the issue and insisted that he needed to find a replacement for the missing worker. To this suggestion, Lady Goharshad most happily agreed.
A few days later, Lady Goharshad’s carriage stopped by the construction site. The cold of winter had still not set in. The rain showers of late fall had begun to pound the earth intermittently, and the touch of the sun barely warmed the air. Lady Goharshad raised her head toward the sky, grateful that the rain shower of the previous night had ended. She had a few instructions to share with the Architect and intended to leave the nearly completed construction site rather quickly to return home in time for midday prayer and lunch.
“Oh Khanoom, I beg of you . . . he is my only son, and he is about to perish,” an old woman, dressed in shabby clothing that looked like a villager approached Lady Goharshad. “He has not eaten in days and is on his deathbed. He says he is in love with you. What can I do?” She grabbed Lady Goharshad’s chador, kneeled and made her proclamation before the gathering crowd of workers.
“I have told him I could go ask a girl in our own neighborhood for her hand in marriage, but he absolutely refuses. I beg of you, what am I to do? I am a poor mother, my husband died years ago, and I have no other child,” she said, crying and pleading before the astonished audience.
“Madam, I am a happily married woman,” Lady Goharshad said as she tried to free her chador. She could no longer bear the presence of the supplicant before her.
The incident became exceedingly embarrassing as the woman continued to plead on behalf of her son, repeating his claim of love as the workers began to chuckle and chortle at the ridiculous scene.
An attendant was about to drag the woman violently out of her sight when Lady Goharshad cried out, “Leave her be! She fears for her son’s life, and it is only natural for her to react in such a way.”
Distraught, Lady Goharshad returned to the castle to reflect on how to proceed.
Chapter Seven
The Trial
The incident left Lady Goharshad shaken and publicly embarrassed. She could not blame the old woman. Somehow, she couldn’t blame the lad either, a young bricklayer with few prospects for marriage. She did blame herself, however, thinking that maybe if she wasn’t so excited over the donkey and had left lecturing the workers to the Architect, this would not have happened. This turn being the outcome of her stepping out of her station.
No matter how graciously the lady had behaved, this infatuation was not considered a trivial matter that the imperial court could sweep under the rug. The news would likely be overblown and turned into ugly gossip, spreading like wildfire throughout the kingdom and beyond, challenging the dignity of the throne.
Lady Goharshad did not even feel like facing her husband and explaining the situation, although she knew that she should. She convinced herself that he would understand. That evening at dinner, she shared the incident and without waiting to see his reaction, left the dining room.
The matter did not end there. As she had feared, the winds of gossip turned this small spark into a magnificent conflagration involving the court. Those who had earlier complained of her exertion of influence and overspending saw this as an opportunity to put her in her place. A judge ruled that the bricklayer had to express remorse or face the noose, for disrespecting the royals was not a trivial matter. But the lad adamantly refused to renounce his proclamation of love.
Lady Goharshad buried herself in her chamber, refusing to see or talk to anyone for several days. “Oh, Allah,” she lamented, “what is
this trial that you have subjected me to? Oh why” she asked, “was I put through such a difficult morass from which I see no escape but through utter failure, in the loss of human life or the disgrace of a kingdom? What evil had I done to bring such calamity on a family so poor?”
Finding no answers in solitude, she decided to visit the Hakeem.
The Hakeem was surprised to find Lady Goharshad in his place of business. It had been several months since he had seen her in her chamber. “Can I be of assistance to you?” he asked.
A thin veil covered part of Lady Goharshad’s face, yet, the lines around her eyes showed more care than they had before.
“I need to speak with you privately,” she said, appearing uncharacteristically shy and looking down at her pointed toe shoes as she spoke.
“This is a public place in the bazaar,” he said.
“Sometimes a public venue such as this renders greater privacy than a chamber in a castle where people can overhear you.”
“I have heard of your latest concerns. So, there is no need to allude to them, for I do have a recommendation to make,” the wise Hakeem said.
“It is not that I am in the prime of youth. I am two and thirty years of age which is considered old by many standards,” Lady Goharshad said, her misery evident in her voice.
“Well, maybe it is your benevolent soul that the young lad has fallen in love with,” the Hakeem said with a smile.
“This is not a matter for jesting. My honor, our nation’s honor, is at stake and so is that of a young man’s life whom I hate to see hanged for undermining my dignity,” she said. “You know I am happily married. My husband adores me, and I love him with all my heart. He is the most understanding man, and I have come to appreciate his open-mindedness, but I am afraid this horrific predicament is going to pull us apart.”
“Well, this incident has certainly humbled you, my lady,” the Hakeem said. “What is the decision of the king?”
“My husband accepted a judge’s decree who had ordered that the lad renounce his public proclamation that he was in love with me, or prepare to die. The problem is that the young man adamantly refuses to do so.”
“Does the lad know he has fallen in love with the queen, the wife of King Shahrokh?”
“Yes, indeed he does. But it seems as if he has no comprehension of the gravity of the situation and does not understand my position as queen, or my status as a married woman.”
“What is his name?”
“They call him Jamal. He is the son of a construction worker who died years ago.”
“Have you tried to convince this Jamal, maybe by offering money, opportunities and the like for him to give up on this misguided notion?”
“‘I would rather die a thousand deaths than to renounce my love for one so worthy,’ he says.”
“He realizes that his love is not being reciprocated, so it is quite selfish of him to obstinately insist upon this public declaration, even to his own detriment and his poor mother’s devastation,” the Hakeem said.
Tears began rolling down Lady Goharshad’s chin, mixing with the kohl that lined her eyes and seeping through the lace that covered her face. The Hakeem felt sorry for her.
“The young man staring at me made me feel quite awkward but that does not mean that I wish him ill, and certainly I do not want to see this poor young man hanged for something he had no control over. What will help me overcome this quandary? Why has this happened to me when my intention was to build a mosque in all pureness on sacred soil for a mistreated minority?” she said.
“A structure pure and sacred, in this you may find your answer,” the sagacious man said. “You see our surroundings, the homes where we live and the establishments where we work, affect us. Imagine an elderly grandmother lovingly serving food to her grandchildren. You can almost breathe in the tenderness in her home even when no one is there. Now consider the atmosphere of a disreputable neighborhood.” The Hakeem coughed and continued, “Not that you have been to one, but you can imagine a place where foulness and filth have devoured the souls of men. In such places, in the morning, even if all have left the premises after a night of debauchery, one can still sense its vileness.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lady Goharshad asked.
“Well, the mosque was built by sinless hands on sacred soil. Will it be a wonder if by staying there a while the lad will experience some sort of transformation? There are aspects to the human soul that are little understood, for most men of medicine place their focus on understanding the physical body, and so much attention is paid to our corporeal needs that the human spirit is often ignored.”
“So, are you suggesting that if I confine him within that structure, he is likely to change his mind and renounce his declaration of love, to avoid being thrown into a dungeon or get publicly hanged?”
“Exactly. I suggest you allow him to dwell within the mosque for a period of forty days.”
“What if he does not agree to the confinement?” she asked.
“You can convey to him through a messenger that this is your condition for uniting with him in marriage. He must spend forty days and forty nights in prayer and supplication in that holy place, and that you will then divorce your husband and marry him at the culmination of this period without delay.”
“I will?” she asked, her eyes widening at the outrageous suggestion so incongruous with the norms of society. “Do you think my husband would agree to such a bizarre arrangement even if this plan of yours works?”
“He certainly has agreed to all that you have asked for so far.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Tell the king that you will submit to any decision by him or by the judge at the culmination of the forty days.”
Chapter Eight
The Rumors
Lady Goharshad left the Hakeem at the bazaar to have her awkward discussion with her husband. When she arrived at the castle and brought up the subject, she found Shahrokh quite indignant. Her suggestion that the lad be allowed forty days of contemplation in the mosque appeared to have made this generally even-tempered man furious.
“I understand the misery of a peasant woman pleading for the life of her son, but I have little understanding for her son’s refusal to apologize and renounce her words. I have sent my guards to arrest and put him to death if he refuses to recant his proclamation of sinful love. But you are telling me to wait some forty days, allowing him a chance to repent? My father beheaded people with no feeling of remorse over minor indiscretions. Why is the life of this one young man so important to you?” Shahrokh asked, looking her straight in the eye. “Do you love him?”
“Of course not,” she replied, choking on her own words. “His advances have been absolutely disturbing to me, and you know that. But I have committed myself to rectifying the wrong, to healing the wounds, not opening new ones. I beg of you to allow him to hold his vigil for forty days.”
“And then what happens? Pray tell me,” the king asked, frustration clear in his voice. “You will seek divorce and marry him as you have promised. Why, one needs to keep one’s promises, don’t they? It matters not if my reign becomes a subject of mockery and ridicule the world over.”
“This bothers me far more than it bothers you,” Lady Goharshad said. “It is as if a forbidden, sinful, lustful air has surrounded my being. Yet, I have foresworn the shedding of blood or taking the lives of men. Even if we settle for imprisoning him, I fear his poor old mother will die of sadness.”
“I have granted you everything a woman might wish for,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “I have fulfilled your commands even though at times I have doubted their prudence. You have sought the company of the indigent and orphaned, and I have been patient. You have roamed the streets in a beggar’s garb, and I have put up with it. And you consider this wise Madam for me to allow an insane man forty days to thi
nk about whether he wants to marry my wife or not?”
“He is a young man, and I hope this period of solitude will be a chance to liberate his soul from this infatuation and thus allow him to go free. I will be beholden to you for life if you would only spare him for now and give him but this one chance. He cannot die on my account without such opportunity for penance,” Lady Goharshad pleaded.
“Why am I being put through this?”
“There is a reason why your father chose you, his youngest son, as the heir to the throne before he died rather than your three older brothers,” she said.
“Oh, and how I wish it were those three who were facing this incredibly excruciating trial.”
“It is a trial, is it not? A trial by Providence,” she said, seizing on the opportunity his words provided. “And I am certain our love shall overcome it, and we shall prevail at the end.”
Shahrokh gave no answer and left in apparent frustration to see his advisors who were awaiting his final decision.
When the king insisted that the lad be spared the noose for now, the counselors did not look amused about how this whole situation was unfolding.
“What is your verdict, sir, regarding the culprit?” one advisor asked.
“My wife, the queen, has requested that we wait for forty days,” Shahrokh replied coldly.
“Do you mean the queen does not give her consent to such a punishment for a man who has overstepped all bounds of ethics and attempted to defame Her Royal Highness? As her legitimate husband, you have every right to take action regardless of what her wishes may be.”
“I intend to heed her request. She has never disappointed me before. I have not forgotten how every one of you reacted regarding the extensive renovations undertaken in response to her suggestions. We now see the prosperity that it has brought to our kingdom. The fact that she reaches out to the poor left everyone in this room, including myself, with raised eyebrows and lines of concern on our foreheads. Yet, her benevolence, and by extension, our rule, has become legendary.”
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