Children of Persia

by Mrs. Napier Malcolm

The children are taught to look out for chances of doing a kind action and so balancing their wrong-doing. But at the same time they are taught to think that if they do a certain number of kind deeds it will not matter if they do wrong at other times. Little Rajab ‘Ali, the muleteer’s boy, would run to fasten up the trailing head-rope of another man’s mule, he would lend a helping hand to some stranger whose donkey had fallen under its load, and between whiles he would treat his own mules and donkeys most cruelly. He thought his cruelty did not matter, because he had been kind as well.

A dishonest lad will try to wipe out his dishonesty by being regular with his prayers or by an extra day’s fast. A man who has cheated someone of ten krāns will give a krān to a beggar and consider his account settled. One man tried to atone for the most outrageous extortion and injustice by spending part of his ill-earned gains on good roads for the villagers and a free school, while all the time he made no pretence of giving up his evil ways. Those he had injured complained that now he would escape the punishment of God.

The Persians seem unable to realise the possibility of any other motive for good works. When the missionaries first went to Yezd and opened a medical mission, the people said, “What terribly wicked people they must be to have to do so much good.”

One curious result of this idea of winning Heaven and securing better places there by good works is that it almost destroys gratitude. The beggar feels that he has helped you one step up in Heaven by accepting your alms; then surely he has done you more good than you have done him, and why should he be grateful to you?

The patients who are treated free at the dispensary have the same feeling; the doctor improved their bodily state, but they have improved his spiritual position.

It is considered a special work of merit to do anything for a Seyid, that is, a descendant of Muhammad, so everyone tries to be kind to Seyids, and they are so spoilt and are made so much of that they are generally unbearably selfish, and think themselves the most important people in the world.

Often in the dispensary the doctor is exhorted to do his utmost or to break through some rule because the patient is a Seyid, and they are incredulous and rather shocked when they are told that an ordinary patient’s pain is just as great as a Seyid’s, and that all must be taken in their turn.

Another result of this doctrine of works of merit, or savābs, as they call them, is that even when a Muhammadan seems straight and honest and altogether a good fellow you cannot entirely trust him, because he has so many good works to his credit that he feels a few sins do not matter, they are more than paid for beforehand.

A Persian’s idea of what is a savāb is sometimes curious. Prayers, fasting, pilgrimages, and the reading of the Quran are, of course, all considered works of merit.

Marrying your father’s brother’s daughter is a savāb, though there is no particular merit in marrying your father’s sister’s daughter or your mother’s brother’s daughter.