A Tale of One Vicious Man and How He Didn't Listen to His People

By Um Aya
Images by Jahanshah Javid, Iranian.com

Once upon a time there lived a man whose soul was dark and ugly, whose vicious eyes sought everything that didn’t belong to him, and whose corrupted mind worked out schemes to get what his greedy heart desired.

The man lived in a large mansion surrounded by a high iron fence. He enjoyed his power and his ability to manipulate puppets in his courtyard, capture free birds, and cast out pearls in front of the fearful members of his household when other games were exhausted.

The man had everything, but never ceased to want more. He launched missions throughout the world to find out what there was that he didn’t have, and once his sneaky agents returned with inspiring news from another vicious man’s land, he decided to expand his dominion and take what he was told about.

He had to confront another vicious man and beat him at any cost. He began a cruel campaign under a false name so as not to sound suspicious. Not that he cared much, but he had to think about his image as a just and honest man. Besides, this would give him more credit in the future once he gets to the top of the world. But the world meant not much to him either. He didn’t care if his ambition would sweep away what’s left of it. He was ready to sacrifice anyone: his puppets, the captured free birds, or even the members of his household who were catching his pearls with admirable ingratiation. The promising result of the campaign was worth it.

The attention to his actions was huge, the publicity--enormous, the criticism--none. Until one day there came a few brave men who didn’t fear this man’s power and who saw dirt behind the pearls he spitted out. They spoke to people who lived in huts behind the mansion, who had no iron fences and were longing for a sip of fresh water, so rare in the stinky swamp this man created.

People listened, people thought about what they heard, and people decided to speak out--for the first time since their fathers dared several decades ago. People left their huts, marched along the iron fence, and showed their protest against the vicious man. The echo of their action was heard far away from their homes, and they found brethren who didn’t want losses of innocent lives in this man’s grotesque show all over the globe.

They were strong together and their voices were reaching the stars. They returned to their huts in hope that the new day will bring around changes.

They woke up the next morning, went on the streets and saw that the swamp didn’t turn into a lawn, that the man was still casting out dirty pearls, and that the puppets in his courtyard were jumping with an even greater zeal.

Shadows crawled into people’s hearts, wrath made its way into their minds, and they agreed to go to the mansion again to demand a hearing.

But the barking of puppets was louder than the angry voices of the people who stood at the iron fence. Disappointed, they went back to their huts. They were outnumbered, just like their fathers several decades ago, and they were losing the battle.

But a few brave men among them didn’t give up and were fearlessly standing their ground.

In fact, they are still there, near the iron fence, trying to outcry the puppets as we speak.

Will they finally be heard? Will the vicious man listen, or will his hungry ambition be stronger than the voice of his nation? We don’t know.

History will decide.