Accounts of the Fall

A record of Kamalshahr after the downfall of Babkha. As told by Hesam the Jahandar.

Account I

"Mr. Khan slept badly and woke up at 3. He went to his desk. It was with his family for 70 years. He thought about when it was in the Babkha Media company, before it was fire bombed. He picked up a pencil and on a scrap of paper he wrote "for our community, we send pleasant greetings. Please meet with us at the orange gardens behind the old palace. Naturally respect laws of assembly, and please be present no later than 2pm. This is a family event, so all are welcomed."

After writing the letter, Mr. Khan saw the medals he'd earned during the Kingdom regime. They were tucked away in a letter slot, with a few papers from his service. He could only see the ribbon of the medal nearest to him, and the faded red polyester which meant so much at one time, looked like a relic much older than when it was pinned to his chest.

He shook himself. That time wasn't relevant anymore. Standing, he looked out of the study's floor to ceiling windows. It was a small room, but the view had given him prestige when it was gifted to him. The poisonous sand from the winds blowing through the streets of the city, clung to the cheap plastic windows after a short rain. The sand clung to the corners and slid down the plastic. Mr. Khan felt it was like looking at the world from an obscured hell. The city he loved so much was dead and empty. The only life it had existed to kill. The beautiful trees that used to decorate the streets weren't even dust. The holes from where they had been uprooted were scarcely to be distinguished from the craters that created and infilled in continuous succession along the ruined avenues for the past decade.

Mr. Khan's wife had died three years ago. The hospital had said that she was beyond help. Her condition was likely beyond their means. His daughter had been killed in a bomb strike at school. An area the local government had said was safe.

Mr. Khan had spent the time since, trying to make a living as a self-appointed lawyer. His former status allowed for it, and the time wasn't demanding so he was able to choose his hours. He spent most of his day sitting at the desk, reading the great Babkhan writers, trying not to think about the sand collecting in the corners of his cheap plastic windows."

Account II

The detail of the ledger in the Benkern Media Company was incomplete. It's last note was a broadcast from the agriculture minister stating the inevitability of the collapse of the Kingdom. Speaking as interim Viceroy and Grand Vizier, his suggestion was for the good citizens of Kamalshahr to summer in Rapsur, given the excellent climate.

Many citizens did and convincing themselves they boarded up the windows of their town homes, paying their house servants enough money to maintain their homes until the winter. Most believed that they would be returning when the riots ended, and naturally the world would return to normal. Some were more pragmatic and could see the obvious. Moving their assets abroad and burning their properties for the insurance and anonymity.

On the night of this media broadcast, anyone in Kamalshar that could afford a television or radio was focused and attentive. The oligarchical families had long since left to Shireroth, and those that remained in Kamalshar remained dutiful to protect the values of the state. More likely, they remained because they lacked the means to leave.

In the security sector south of the river of the palaces, the officers of the IBAF Air Base held a morale ball for the families and close friends remaining. The Grand Viziers palace had been abandon the year before, and SAVAK, had bricked up or blown up the tunnels that connected it to the base. The Shah's palace had been ransacked, gutted and burned. Now it was an illegal domicile for the river gypsies that had previously lived in shanties along the bridge banks.

The IBAF Commander had also since left. As had his deputies, and anyone with any means of escape. A Sarhang from the logistics branch had been elected by the remaining officers, simply because he was the highest ranking officer remaining who hadn't been able to bribe or cajole his way onto a departing rotorcraft in sufficient time.

While the closest riots were a kilometre away at the university, the families on base were naturally concerned. The mess hall was decorated, and the senior non-commissioned members were asked and paid to 'source' alcohol, and any Treesian red that might be available. They were naturally successful, with everyone knowing they would inherit the base after everyone else had left. But the point was now. Now, the porters and clerks patched their mess dress, aired out what was needed and did their best to regain the spirit of lost good days. The polish on shoes was only matched with the polish of smiles against otherwise anxious faces. Under a few flickering halogen lights, the mess hall was transformed into the last bastion of civilisation within 400km of Kamalshar. It was a hot summer, and there wasn't enough power for the ceiling fans. The fine and few put on their best, and sustained themselves against embarrassing patches of sweat and clothing that nearly fit well, only a year before. It wasn't important. After months of chaos, the IBAF ball was a welcomed palate cleanse of normalcy against an otherwise rotting city.