Jahanshah Javid

I know so little about my mother's father, Abol Ghassem Bakhtiar, who passed away 40 years ago today on January 9, 1971, at the age of 99. I saw a post on Facebook from my cousin Iran Ardalan, quoting the story of his youth which he dictated to his son, Cyrus Bakhtiar in 1951. I read it out of momentary curiosity, since I've never attempted to know more about him. All I've known are odd stories I've heard from my mother and other family members. He was a self-made man, one of the first Iranians to study medicine in America, one of Reza Shah's personal doctors, the man who pulled me out of my mother's womb at his clinic in Abadan. That pretty much sums up grandpa for me. Even as I read his words, I felt I was reading the story of someone I've never known. One of these days I should read the biography my aunt Laleh Bakhtiar wrote about him with the help of my mother: "Abol Ghassem of Tus: The Epic Journey of Abol Ghassem Bakhtiar, M.D." 

Well, here's my grandfather's early life in his own words. Rest in peace Aboli!

In 1912 I was 36 or 37 years old and I was a tutor for one of the children of the Bakhtiyari khans. I was born in a small town in Chahar Mahal in Bakhtiyari mountains some 68 or so years ago. This town is called Borogen.

My father was a holy man, Godfearing man. His mission was to go to pilgrimage to Mecca in place of his friends who didn’t have the time. He had made this mission 14 times. We were not in a good pecuniary state. My mother died when I was a child so I have no recollection of her. I also had a step-mother who sent me to school when I was 5 years old.

Five or 6 years later when I was able to read the Quran, my step mother told me that I must find a job and help my family economically. I remember quite clearly being an apprentice for a shop keeper. He gave me no more than 5 cents a day. I was a messenger boy and sometimes I had to collect money from his debtors. Whenever a customer came to the shop, my boss called me Aboli, “Aboli prepare the pipe for him.” During the first days when I was not accustomed to smoking the pipe (which I had to light about 10 times a day) I became sick. Before long I became accustomed to smoking and I didn’t only prepare the pipe for customers but also for myself. Then I started smoking extensively.

My boss, finding me very active, sent me after his household work also such as brushing the animals, feeding them, sweeping the stable. I saw that my job was useless and difficult so I decided to go after another job.

I did such odd jobs as shoe making, felt making, making dyes for cloth, traveling salesman, selling the cloth in the Bakhtiyari mountains.

However these types of jobs did not satisfy my ambition. My environment did not allow me to do more progressive work and studying. I started to read books on my own. They were very plain books but since there were no better I was obliged to read these.

I was interested in becoming a fakir (a dervish). I learned poems by heart and gradually became acquainted with the ways of a fakir. At this time I began to indulge i opium and cigarettes since it was a habit with the fakirs.

For sometime I was a grocer and fruit seller. The shop failed to give me enough money to help support my family so I gave it up. Moreover, I felt that I was after something greater and better than my present existence but I did not know what it was.

Presently my life became constant drudgery. My step mother did and so did my father whom I cherished beyond words. I felt alone and completely lost. I was approximately 25 years old.

I had a book of prayers in which there was a certain verse which stated that if I recited this verse for 40 days straight I would find a way to rid myself of my troubles. At this time I was working for a peddler. He was very bad tempered and often insulted me severely. Throughout this time I was reciting my prayers. At the end of the 40 days I left the service of this man and thought about becoming a fakir in the city of Karbala (a holy city now in Iraq).

However I received a letter from my cousin stating that one of the Bakhtiyari ladies wanted to have a tutor for her child and that he had introduced my name to her. Since the place where the lady lived was on the way to Karbala, I thought I would go and find out if I could be employed by this lady. My entire possessions was 52 rials and a mullah’s robe which I had inherited from my father together with a kashqul and lamb skin. I sent 30 rials of this money to my small sister and kept 20 rials for myself. I then began the journey to the Bakhtiyari lady’s home. This place was called Shalamzar where the family of Morteza Qoli Khan (a Bakhtiyari chieftain) resided. The manner with which I got in contact with Morteza Qoli's wife long story.

On the journey, I had repeatedly recited my prayer which went like this: There is no spiritual warrior (fata) but Ali and there is no sword but Zolfaqar (Ali’s sword). When the lady saw me she said that the child whom I was to tutor was deathly ill. She told me to stay with the other servants at the tea house until she called for me. I found a seat in the tea house and greeted everyone as I came in. At night the lady called for me and ordered me to take a fan and keep the mosquitoes off the face of the child. I found this order to be very auspicious. I spent the whole night beside the child keeping the mosquitoes away. The flies in Shalamzar are like bees but I managed to stave them off all night. I did my best so that the lady would reward me with a job and again I repeated the verse.

Fortunately with God’s assistance, the child was beginning to feel better by dawn. There was great rejoicing from the ladies and they credited me for making him well. The child recovered in a few days so they began negotiating with me about my salary. After a lot of bickering we decided that I shall receive $60 a year with a suit of clothes and my room and board.

The lady had a secretary who was respected by everyone. I found that his education did not exceed that of grammar school but he had a beautiful penmanship and was good composer of letters. I was determined to attain his ability in writing.

Since there were no teachers in Chahar Mahal fifty years ago I found it very difficult to obtain an education. Then I got an idea. I discovered that the chieftain Morteza received many letters daily and after he read them, he would discard them. I decided to pick them up and choose the ones with the better penmanship. Then I would fill the spaces between the sentences with repetition of the original. I spent most of the nights copying from these letters. I would hope in the tea house using one knee as a table and the other as a support. Other nights I would sit in my room next to the smoky oil lamp practicing and at the same time working as a servant.

At this time I found a copy book (a book where the words were in dots and you were supposed to run your pencil over the dots) and from the words I filled the book out about 60 times with ink and then I would wash it clean and put it in the sun to dry. Gradually my spelling, composition, and penmanship improved. In order to show my ability to the Bakhtiyari chieftain, I began writing letters for the servants and the chieftain companions. The chieftain noticed my writing and I was sometimes called to write letters.

I continued to hold this position until the Bakhtiyari Khans recaptured Isfahan leaving the governor there. The late Samsam Soltaneh became governor of Isfahan. The boy who was under my care was the grandson of Samsam. His parents told me that since the boy was now 7 they would send him to Isfahan to attend school and that I should accompany him on his journey. I thought that I could get an opportunity to study with the boy.

One day as we were approaching the school, I gathered my courage and began to talk to the principal. I asked him with a humble tone whether I would be permitted to attend a class. The principal lashed at me and said, “Sir you have past the age of studying. It is better for you to marry and settle down.” This statement surprised me. I was making good money for the Khan who would give money to the children and they in turn would give a part of it to me.

At last a young teacher accepted my proposal that he [???] and teach me at the same time. After the first month he said, “Your work is very hard and I can’t bear it because you keep me up all night with your questions.” When I couldn’t solve a problem I would wake up and ask him. It wasn’t one or two questions but a constant stream. As I had not studied mathematics, it was extremely difficulty for me. The opium, cigarettes, pipes, etc. had had a bad effect on my mind. Sometimes when I couldn’t solve something I would hit my fist against my head until I could clear my thoughts. One night the teacher got out of bed and told me that I was driving him crazy and he left me.

(The story ends here).

ABOL GHASSEM BAKHTIAR came to America in his forties. He attended college at Columbia University and also in South Dakota finally graduating from Syracuse University Medical School in 1926. He married our grandmother Helen Jeffreys in 1927 in New York City. She had traveled from Weiser, Idaho, to teach nursing in New York City. They moved to Iran in 1931.