Nadir then tolled the bell a third time but this too was answered by an exhausted echo, like a dying man’s last words of prayer.
Nadir beat his forehead. He understood that bad days had befallen him. Even now he could sacrifice Laila to the mean demands of the public and safeguard his throne but Laila was more precious to him than life. He went to the rooftop and clasping Laila’s hand left with her through the main gate. The rebels greeted them with a victory cry, but then inspired by some unknown force all of them cleared the way.
Both of them silently walked away through the alleys of Tehran. There was darkness all around. Shops were shut. Silence hung upon the markets. No one stirred out of their houses. Even the fakirs had taken shelter in the masjids. But there was no refuge for these two souls. Nadir had a sword at his waist, Laila had a tambourine in her hand. These alone were the symbols of their immense but now lost wealth.7
A whole year went by. Laila and Nadir wearily trudged through many lands. Samarkand and Bukhara, Baghdad and Haleb, Cairo and Aden—all these lands they explored. Laila’s tambourine again began to do magic. There would be restlessness in the city on hearing her voice, men would mill around, receptions would be given, but these two travellers never stopped anywhere for more than a day. They would neither ask anyone for anything nor would they knock at any door. They had only the most frugal food. They would spend the night sometimes under a tree, sometimes in a cave and sometimes by the roadside. The harshness of the world had alienated them; they fled miles away from its temptations. They had realized that here, the one to whom you dedicate your life becomes your enemy; the one for whom you do good descends into evil. Here you should not build any bonds. They would receive invitations from the aristocracy. People would beg a thousand times to have them as a day’s guest but Laila would respond to none. Now and then Nadir would be struck by the pangs of kingship. In disguise he would want to wage a mighty war against Tehran, inflict a crushing defeat on the rebels and become its absolute ruler. But seeing Laila’s indifference he did not have the courage to meet anyone. Laila was his soulmate, he danced to her tune.
Back in Tehran there was widespread misrule. Fed up with the people, the aristocracy too had raised armies and every other day the two sides would engage in battle. A whole year went by with fields unsown, a terrible famine striking the land, feeble business and an empty treasury. Day by day the power of the people weakened and the might of the aristocracy increased. Finally matters reached a head when the people surrendered their arms and the aristocracy established their control over the royal palace. The leaders of the people were hung; many were imprisoned and democracy came to an end. The people in power now remembered Nadir. Experience had proved that the country lacked the ability to sustain a democracy. No evidence was needed for this perception. At this stage, only the royalty could redeem the country. It was understood that Laila and Nadir would no longer particularly care for public opinion. They would sit on the throne but remain puppets in the hands of the aristocracy who would have the opportunity to inflict whatever atrocities suited their whims. So they consulted each other and representatives set out to persuade Nadir to return.8
It was evening. Laila and Nadir were sitting under a tree in Damascus. The sky was tinged with red and the silhouette of the encircling mountains that mingled with it made it seem like a host of wilted lotuses. Laila was looking at this splendour of nature with joyful eyes. Nadir was lying despondent and worried, looking at the province in the distance with thirsty eyes, weary of this life.
Suddenly a cloud of dust could be seen and in a moment it appeared that some men on horseback were approaching. Nadir sat up and began to carefully scan the people. Startled, he stood up. His features lit up like a lamp, and an unusual energy seemed to flow through his worn out body. Eagerly he said, ‘Laila, these men are from Iran, I can swear by the Holy Book, these men are from Iran. It is clearly evident from their attire.’
Laila too looked at the travellers and becoming alert said, ‘Keep your sword ready, you might need it.’
‘No, Laila, the people of Iran have not fallen so low as to raise their swords upon their emperor.’
‘I thought the same earlier.’
The riders came close, reigned in their horses and with great respect saluted Nadir. Even though he tried to control himself Nadir could not check his emotions. He ran and embraced them. He was no longer an emperor but a wayfarer of Iran.
Royalty was erased; he was Iranian to the core. Those three men appeared to him like divinities from Iran. He recognized them. He had often put their loyalties to the test. He wanted them to sit on his sackcloth but they sat on the ground. In their eyes, that sackcloth was the throne upon which they could not tread before their master. Conversation began. The condition of Iran was extremely lamentable. Looting and plundering were rampant; there were neither laws nor the people to implement them. If such conditions prevailed then perhaps very soon the yoke of subjugation would be around its neck. The country was now looking to Nadir for support. There was no one else but him who could see it sail through this distress. It was with this hope that they had come to him.
Nadir said nonchalantly, ‘You took away my dignity, do you plan to take my life this time? I am living
