Now that she was pregnant, though, Bibi worried that Hadi might no longer find her attractive as she had put on weight. She noticed that her husband had started to come home later in the evenings, singing tunes that she had never heard before. Sitting alone in her bedroom, she worried about his absences, biting her nails as she let her fertile mind carry her off to dark places. Imagining the worst, she became determined to find out where he was, and drew upon all the resources that were available to her, foremost among them the steadfast Saeeda.
Following some tactful enquiries, Saeeda was able to inform Bibi that Hadi had been spending his evenings at the Shatt Café, a café chantant in Baghdad where two sisters – Rosa and Lilu Numah – sang and danced to popular music played by a live band. Before the outbreak of the Great War, such cafés had started cropping up around the Maidan Square, near the bazaars and departmental buildings. Now reopened, these establishments were thriving, and once more offered performances by women singers who came from near and far.
Other cafés offered more traditional performances, in which travelling hakawatis – professional storytellers – narrated the tales of Scheherazade and her king, of warriors and beautiful maidens. Many of the stories were adapted from old Arabian epic poems. Entranced, men of all ages let the hakawatis transport them to a bygone age.
However pleasing these performances were, they were but a faint memory of the ninth and tenth centuries, when Baghdad had flourished under the rule of the Abbasids. Then, wine had flowed, poets conversed in courtyards and the sound of lutes filled the air. Highly valued female entertainers had sung, danced and played music for the delectation of their audiences; words of love were inscribed in henna on their bare limbs, calligraphy that came to life when they moved, bending the words and letters with their curves, like waves in the sea. Something akin to geishas, these women came from many lands, such as southern India, Sind, Georgia, Bosnia, Armenia, Aleppo, Ethiopia and Egypt. Known as the Qian, they were trained by specialist merchants and kept in grand city houses, where they courted the attentions of wealthy patrons. The Qian could be more ruinous than gambling, and many men’s fortunes were lost on them.
The young sisters to whom Hadi came to listen now were of a different world: free women, yet still performing exclusively for male audiences, since there were no public places in which the sexes could mingle. For all Bibi’s fears, Hadi would never linger to watch the sisters for long – just long enough to be carried away by the music and the atmosphere, and to lose himself in the gaze of the singers.
As much as Bibi fretted over Hadi’s new pastimes, she too was intrigued by the changes taking place all around her. New goods flooded the bazaars, and businesses were flourishing. However, her mother, Rumia, soon began to view the British arrival in Baghdad as a curse. Rumia had always looked up to her eldest brother, Abdul Raouf, especially after their father’s death, but in June 1917 he was banished by the British to Sumerpur in India for his pro-Turkish activities. Abdul Raouf was a cultured man whose social milieu had been strongly Persian. Some years earlier, he and his peers had formed a circle called the Akhuwat-i-Iran in support of the constitutional revolution in Iran of 1909, and had published a newspaper of the same name. The group was suspected by the British of promoting Turko-German propaganda, distributing pamphlets among Kazimiya’s inhabitants which called for all Muslims to heed the Sultan’s call for jihad. As a result, Abdul Raouf was now a prisoner of war.
Perhaps it was partly a question of age, but mother and daughter couldn’t agree on the presence of the British in their city. To a degree, the divisions between them reflected the general feeling among Baghdadis. In the wake of her brother’s banishment Rumia feared that the British would completely overturn the world as she knew it, in all its religiosity and ritual. Bibi, on the other hand, ever apprehensive of chaos, was relieved when order was imposed under the new regime. But she too was upset by her uncle’s imprisonment, concluding that the British were just as draconian as the Ottomans had been when they had banished Hadi’s uncle al-Uzri a couple of years earlier. She was also concerned by the fact that her father-in-law was attending many more political meetings. Ever prone to paranoiac imaginings, she was afraid that the British might expel him from his homeland too – and perhaps Hadi as well, since he would sometimes accompany Abdul Hussein to the gatherings. Whatever stability the British had restored to society, Bibi feared that the retribution of their justice might fall upon the heads of her family, swiftly and arbitrarily, at any time.
Nevertheless, one particularly disturbing piece of news that Bibi received from Saeeda caused her to wonder why British justice was not more swift and assertive. She waited until Abdul Hussein came home later that day to discuss this news with him, wondering if perhaps he could do something about it.
Unlike Hadi, who had a relaxed way of dealing with people, Abdul Hussein was a stickler for form. The servants would freeze or make themselves scarce whenever he passed them in the corridor. However, he always had time for Bibi.
She heard him come up the stairs and walk down the vaulted corridor. Rising slowly from her seat, she waddled as quickly as she could across the room to greet him before he disappeared into his quarters. ‘Uncle?’ she enquired cautiously. Abdul Hussein glanced across at her.
Bibi asked him if he had heard about the case of the mukhtar, the headman Hadji Jawad in the village of Dabbakhana. Abdul Hussein nodded, and replied that he had. A note of outrage crept into Bibi’s voice as she continued, ‘He murdered his two sisters and his infant nephew and then buried them somewhere … and no one has done a thing about it! Can’t you do anything?’
Abdul Hussein shook his head sadly and agreed that the news was shocking. He told her that the British superintendent at the police station was investigating the incident, and had already interrogated several men about Hadji Jawad’s character. Then he sighed, stroked the ends of his moustache, and said cautiously, ‘You know there was a lot of talk about them, they say they weren’t good girls …’ He stopped short of uttering the terrible word ‘prostitute’, which would have been unimaginable to pronounce in front of a female family member. All the same, Bibi understood the euphemism. She knew what had been said, but it was still murder, and a child had been killed. She wanted to know what the British were doing if not establishing law and order. Impulsively she clenched her fist. ‘It’s not acceptable, I’m sure he did it!’
Abdul Hussein looked at her thoughtfully. ‘My dear, you know how it is with honour here,’ he said slowly. He agreed that the mukhtar might have been responsible, but in the absence of proof there was regrettably little that could be done. Bibi bit back her tears; it seemed to her that nobody cared because the murder victims had only been women. Seeing her distress, Abdul Hussein promised her that he would have another word with the Police Commissioner. He patted her on the shoulder as he would a little girl and smiled indulgently. ‘Come now, tell me, how was your day?’
Bibi’s face brightened: ‘I’ll tell you if you tell me what you are plotting with your friend Sayyid Muhammad.’ Sayyid Muhammad al-Sadr was an old family friend of the Chalabis’, a religious cleric from an eminent family who, like Abdul Hussein, possessed astute political sense and practicality (unlike many of the Shi’a ulama) and who directed their group’s political activities. Abdul Hussein had great respect for him, and always listened to his advice in political matters. He also had the gift of the gab, and was very vocal about his dissatisfaction with the political status quo.
Abdul Hussein laughed at her request; he was unused to his womenfolk taking such an interest in politics. It rather pleased him that his daughter-in-law found the subject so fascinating, so he indulged her with some information about his plans.
A year and a half into her marriage, Bibi’s prayers were answered when she gave birth to a healthy boy, Rushdi, in late 1918. Her joy was unlimited as she felt she had achieved her first duty, and most importantly she had borne a son.
Hadi was clearly delighted with the
birth of his baby boy; however, Bibi felt that she finally possessed something that was hers alone. She marvelled at the little infant, cradling him in disbelief. Unsure of how to care for him at first, she was temporarily relieved by the many women in the household, who gave her advice and assistance. Soon after Rushdi’s birth, Saeeda left Rumia’s service to be with Bibi and her newborn, and quickly became indispensable to Bibi.
Oozing with pride, Bibi was pleased to receive visits from the women friends and relatives who came to congratulate her. As always on such occasions, naringi – Seville orange sherbet – was served, as well as the succulent sweets that Rumia had prepared to mark the birth of her first grandson. But whenever her guests asked to see Rushdi, Bibi was secretly filled with dread. She thought him so beautiful that it seemed only natural to her that people would be jealous and would try to put the evil eye on him. Fuelled by superstition, she whispered prayers to ward off curses.
Rushdi was already carving an exalted place in Bibi’s heart, one that would forever be his alone.
7
Rebellion
Fighting for Freedom
(1919–1920)
AFTER THE END of the Great War, Abdul Hussein became increasingly involved in politics. He had always been an influential man, but his talents were now in greater demand than ever outside the confines of Kazimiya; he was needed in the official halls of power and by the tribal leaders of the land, as well as by his own Baghdadi peers.
Thus in early January 1919 he was present when Colonel Frank Balfour, a political officer in the British Baghdadi administration, came to Kazimiya to meet the town’s notables. Balfour’s mission was to discuss a forthcoming plebiscite intended to determine what form the people wanted their future governance to take. He nonchalantly informed his audience that ‘most people’ in the region wanted the British to stay, but that he was nevertheless there that day to listen to the opinions of the townsfolk.
If the Colonel had hoped for acquiescence, he was met by a volley of harsh words. Abdul Hussein, especially irate, told him, ‘If you are so sure of the opinion of the people of this country, why are you hindering our communications?’ There were murmurs of approval from the other notables at the meeting, several of whom complained bitterly about the censorship the British had imposed. Over recent months, the postal services had been disrupted and telegrams had been forbidden in an attempt to reduce communications across the area, thereby limiting the possibilities for anti-British incitement and political organization. It seemed to Abdul Hussein that in some respects the British were far more disruptive than the Bedouins had been six years ago, when the nomads had taken to cutting down the telegraph lines.
The meeting broke up to the immense dissatisfaction of all parties, as there had been no clear outcome. It certainly hadn’t yielded the results that Balfour had hoped for. The majority in the room, including Abdul Hussein, wanted an Arab Muslim government led by Amir Abdullah – the brother of King Faisal of Syria and the son of the Sharif of Mecca – and to be bound by a legislative council.
Walking back home afterwards with his friend Sayyid Muhammad, Abdul Hussein confided that he was sure the British had something nefarious up their sleeves. He was certain that they wouldn’t go through the motions of discussing the plebiscite if they hadn’t already decided its outcome; they were merely manipulating the people into trusting them.
At dinner that evening, Hadi and Abdul Rasul asked their father to recount the evening’s events. He described how irritable Balfour had appeared. When Sayyid Muhammad had reminded him that the British themselves had proposed the idea of an Arab kingdom, after the Sharif’s leading role in the Arab Revolt of 1916 against the Ottomans, Balfour had refused to respond.
Abdul Rasul was now eighteen years old, a more bookish young man than Hadi but as passionate about politics as his brother was about commerce. He now insisted to his father that the people had to pursue their demands for self-determination to the very end, even if it meant going out onto the streets and protesting. If their demands were clearly and eloquently expressed, he felt, they could be published and so used as a means to educate the people. He became increasingly excited as he told his father they had to insist on the right to self-determination, and perhaps appeal to the Americans, who would surely be sympathetic to their plight. President Wilson’s Fourteen Point speech of January 1918 had specifically raised the point of self-determination – the right of nations to rule themselves – and it was a highly topical subject in international circles. Hadi, in agreement with his brother, chipped in that he was sure they could mobilize the people for this critical cause, even in the face of the British Army.
Abdul Hussein told them that he and half a dozen other men had signed a petition in support of self-determination at the meeting. It had been prepared in advance, and it had taken them some time to get the language right. Yet for all their pains the resulting text was rather short, and was almost dwarfed by the list of elaborate signatures at its foot. It declared:
In accordance with the liberty conferred on us by the Great Powers, the principal of which are the two esteemed Governments of Great Britain and France, we, being the local Arab nation, choose a new Muslim Arab Government to be ruled by a Muslim King, one of the sons of our Lord the Sharif, bound by a local majlis, and the question of protection will be considered after the [Versailles] Peace Conference.
In writing their petition, the Kazimiya group had been partly inspired by Wilson’s speech, and had met the US Consul in Baghdad in order to express their views regarding the future of their land.
The next morning the petition was taken to the shrine, where more than 130 more signatures were added. A rumour was spread by the Shi’a mullahs that a vote for continued British occupation would result in the equivalent of excommunication for any Shi’a who cast it. However, the Mayor of Kazimiya was a good friend of the British authorities, and drew up a petition of his own in support of direct British rule. He managed to obtain an equal number of signatures, including those of a number of merchants and British Indian nationals. Angered by the Mayor’s actions, Abdul Hussein could only curse him for his wiles.
In the event the results of the plebiscite in late 1919 were fixed by A.T. Wilson, the British acting Civil Commissioner, yielding the outcome he needed in order to justify his intentions: according to his figures, 96 per cent of the votes were cast in support of continued British occupation. However, in reality Baghdad and the holy cities were mostly opposed to being ruled by Britain, while elsewhere opinions varied depending on the degree to which the British presence was considered to benefit the locality in question. Whatever order and security the British might have established, the people were growing restless about their political future. Many felt that Britain’s policies in India should not be re-enacted in their region, and these dissenters vied for greater influence and power.
Nevertheless, a greater game was being played out over the heads of the people, and a more significant reality was in the process of being forged: the creation of a new country – soon to be called Iraq – from the former territories of Mesopotamia. There were parliamentary debates in Westminster about the future of the new nation, with telegrams flying to and fro between Cairo, Baghdad, London, New Delhi and Simla, but no decision could be reached. Messengers also travelled back and forth between the Shi’a holy cities and among the southern tribes in and around Basra, stretching down to the Arabian Peninsula. Frustration grew in Baghdad when the Arab delegation to the Versailles Peace Conference of 1919 – led by King Faisal – was thwarted by the British.
In truth, Britain owed Faisal quite a bit. In 1916 he had led the Arab revolt against the Turks during the Great War, with his good friend T.E. Lawrence at his side. Better known to the British public as ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, Lawrence was an Oxford archaeologist who had become a liaison officer to the Sharif of Mecca during the war, working for British intelligence. An unconventional man, he was much respected by his followers as he adopted local custom
s and dress; like Faisal, he believed in self-rule for the Arab nations. Lawrence had quickly developed a bond with Faisal, and had become his confidant. With his support, Faisal’s actions had expedited the loss of Ottoman control over Turkish Arabia, in which the provinces of Mesopotamia, Syria and Palestine had been ceded to the Allies – or, more specifically, to the British.
Faisal was used to taking risks in the course of pursuing a bigger dream and greater power. In February 1919 he was part of the delegation that went to Versailles to argue the case for an Arab kingdom, which he envisaged rising out of the Ottoman ashes. In this he was supported by Lawrence, and was only pursuing the promises that the British had made to his family in return for its role in the Arab revolt three years earlier.
At Versailles Faisal had stood before the Allies, dressed elegantly in his long black robe and male version of the abaya cloak, his golden sabre on his belt, his white headdress bound by a thick gold band, hunger burning in his hazel eyes. (Such was the vision that had enthralled Bibi when she heard her brother-in-law Abdul Rasul read out a description of Faisal from one of the many newspapers he scoured in his eagerness to learn more about the Arab delegation.)
The key players at Versailles were of course those statesmen representing the victorious nations: David Lloyd George, the British Prime Minister, who was keen to reduce French influence in the Near East; his French counterpart Georges Clemenceau, hell-bent on ensuring that a defeated Germany would stay on its knees for the foreseeable future; and U.S. President Wilson, carrying with him his young nation’s idealism.
Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family Page 11
