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of Muhammad, was buried. The golden dome of her tomb glittered like a jewel in the centre of the city.
    Aqa Jaan took a taxi to Ayatollah Almakki’s mosque. At twelve noon on the dot, the taxi pulled up in front of the mosque, and he got out.
    The ayatollah came walking up with his students – young imams escorting him to the prayer room. Aqa Jaan nodded politely. The ayatollah held out his hand. Aqa Jaan shook it, went into the prayer room with him and took a place in the front row.
    At the end of the prayer, Aqa Jaan sat on his heels beside the ayatollah.
    ‘Welcome! What brings you to Qom?’ the ayatollah enquired.
    ‘First of all, I wanted to see your blessed face. But I also came to talk about Mohammad Khalkhal.’
    ‘He was my best student,’ the ayatollah said. ‘And he has my blessing.’
    ‘That’s all I need to know,’ Aqa Jaan replied. He kissed the ayatollah’s shoulder and got to his feet.
    ‘But . . .’ said the ayatollah.
    Aqa Jaan sat down again.
    ‘He’s a maverick.’
    ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Aqa Jaan asked.
    ‘Well, simply that he doesn’t follow the herd.’
    ‘I understand,’ said Aqa Jaan.
    ‘May the marriage be blessed and blessings on your journey home,’ said the ayatollah, and he shook Aqa Jaan’s hand again.
    Aqa Jaan was pleased with what Almakki had said about Khalkhal. The ayatollah had given his approval.
    But deep inside, Aqa Jaan still had his doubts.

    When he got home, he called his nephew into his study. ‘Shahbal, would you please bring Sadiq in here?’
    When she heard that Aqa Jaan wanted to speak to her, Sadiq knew instantly that something was afoot.
    ‘Sit down,’ Aqa Jaan said to her. ‘How are you?’
    ‘Fine, thanks.’
    ‘Listen, my daughter. Someone has asked for your hand in marriage.’
    Sadiq’s face went pale. She looked down at her feet.
    ‘He’s an imam.’
    Sadiq turned to Shahbal, who smiled and said, ‘An excellent young imam!’
    Sadiq smiled.
    ‘I went to Qom and talked to his ayatollah. He spoke highly of him. Your brother also approved of him. What do you think? Would you like to marry an imam?’
    She was silent.
    ‘I need an answer,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘You can’t greet a marriage proposal with silence.’
    ‘He’s handsome,’ Shahbal told her. He grinned. ‘He wears a stylish imam robe and shiny light-brown shoes. He’s the answer to every girl’s dream!’
    Aqa Jaan pretended not to have heard his remarks, but Sadiq had heard every word. She smiled.
    ‘What do you think? Shall we talk to his family?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said softly, after a long silence. ‘Let’s do that.’
    ‘There’s one more thing we need to discuss,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘He’s not at all like your father. He’s a follower of Ayatollah Almakki. Does that name mean anything to you?’
    Sadiq looked over at Shahbal.
    ‘He’s not a village imam,’ Shahbal interpreted.
    ‘Your life is bound to be stormy and difficult at times,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘Do you think you could live that kind of life?’
    She gave it some thought. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
    ‘On the one hand, it would be a great honour. On the other hand, it could be a living hell if you didn’t support it fully,’ Aqa Jaan said.
    ‘May I talk to him first?’
    ‘Of course!’ said Aqa Jaan.
    A week later Shahbal ushered Imam Khalkhal into the guest room, where a bowl of fruit and a pot of tea awaited him.
    Then he fetched Sadiq and introduced her to Khalkhal.
    She greeted him, but kept standing awkwardly by the mirror. He offered her a chair. She sat down and loosened her chador, so that more of her face was visible.
    Shahbal left them alone and gently closed the door behind him.
    The grandmothers stood by the hauz and kept an eye on things. Fakhri Sadat, the wife of Aqa Jaan, had caught a glimpse of Khalkhal from her upstairs window. Alsaberi’s wife, Zinat Khanom, was in her room, praying that her daughter would have a good marriage. It was all she could