Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 478 Postal Savings
The train slowly pulled into the station in Surrey, which was as bustling as ever. Large volumes of goods and people moved about the town.

For Ali, time really flies. He'd been working in Tehran for several months, and after deducting his essential expenses, he had 101 riyals left. That was all his savings.

Faruz also received 268 riyals, which he used to help with household expenses. He also bought some gifts for his family from Tehran, something every migrant worker does upon returning home.

In the past few months, besides working as a porter, Ali also went to the city center square, and there he actually saw Shah.

Seeing Shah interact with the people challenged his perception. He had always thought of Shah as someone aloof and unapproachable, but he never expected him to be so down-to-earth.

Although he earned a lot in Tehran, his expenses were also high. If it weren't for the expenses, he could definitely have brought back 120 riyals.

"What are you thinking about? Let's go back!"

"Oh"

The father and son were carrying their belongings and were heading towards their village when Ali saw a crowd gathered in front of the post office. He ran over and, after much effort, squeezed through the crowd to find a post office worker talking to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Shah is compassionate towards the people. Starting today, the post office will offer savings services! Your money will now have the safest place to go!"

This is baffling. What does "the safest place" even mean?

"What? Isn't it safer to keep the money at home? Who knows if you'll embezzle it?"

"Haha! Hiding money at home, aren't you afraid of thieves stealing it? Aren't you afraid of fire? The post office is the government, who dares to touch government money? Besides, if you deposit it for a full year, you'll get extra interest!"

Some people questioned, "Can you really save a dollar?"

"Of course! Deposits and withdrawals are accepted at all post offices nationwide! As long as you carry your passbook, you can withdraw money anywhere!"

This was quite convenient, and there was no need to worry about money being stolen at home. Some people were persuaded and took some money to the post office to open a savings account. Ali also wanted to go in, but a large hand suddenly grabbed the back of his collar.

"Where are you going?"

"Dad, let go."

Faruz grabbed Ali and headed out, not caring much about government policies, as long as he continued to pay his taxes.

“Dad, listen to this too. Not only is it safe, but you also get a share of the profits.”

"All this is meaningless. Do you really think you can get something for free? Hurry home, your mother must be worried."

Faruz's case is not unique; most people are somewhat resistant to the postal savings policy, believing it's an attempt to steal their money. Therefore, only a very small number of people actually go into the post office to make purchases; most just watch.

The father and son rented a donkey cart and headed back. In the past few months, Ali had noticed an increase in small workshops along the roadside, producing things like sugar and flour, as well as small shops and restaurants selling food and other goods. These were generally two-story buildings, with shops on the first floor and residences on the second. They were specifically designed to serve the village and passersby.

"Boss, a bottle of grape juice, and..."

Faruz also ordered some food from the shop, with grape juice being a must-order for everyone. They felt that drinking a little in moderation was beneficial to daily life. They believed that in this new era, they needed to keep up with the times.

Along the way, Ali saw nothing but government propaganda promoting various policies, especially postal savings, which claimed that depositing 100 riyals would yield 102 riyals after a year. Although small, it added up to a considerable sum. "Dad, I..."

"Don't speak now, I know what you want to say. But I'm still not comfortable with this kind of order. If such a good thing really happened, it probably wouldn't be our turn."

"But as you heard, you only need one rial to deposit, and you can get more."

Faruz waved his hand, "Not now, let's wait a bit longer. Hurry home, there's a ton of work to do there."

After finishing their meal, the two continued their journey and finally arrived home half an hour later. His wife and other children were waiting for them at the door.

Ali had barely jumped off the donkey cart when his younger siblings surrounded him, bombarding him with questions about his experiences in Tehran. He frantically pulled candy and colorful headscarves from his bundle, and the children cheered and ran off. His mother took the salt and tea that Farruz had brought back, but her gaze fell on the bulging money pouch at his waist.

"Can you really save this much working in the city?" his mother asked quietly while brewing tea. Ali patted his money pouch triumphantly, the clinking of metal making his father frown.

"Don't get carried away!" Faruz said sternly.

"It's father."

Just then, the postman rode into the village on a mule, his uniform adorned with the same brass badge, and rolls of propaganda posters peeked out from his saddlebag. The children chased after him, shouting, "Do you really give people tin boxes for depositing money?"

"Everyone's been talking about the post office lately; the postman's been going around the village promoting it every day."

However, the village elders don't believe this. According to them, they have never seen the government give money to the people.

But Alibaba was still thinking, since they were advertising it like this, it must be legitimate. They'd go check it out; maybe they'd be pleasantly surprised.

The very next day, someone asked him to help transport goods to Sari. As soon as he arrived at the town entrance, he saw that the area in front of the post office was even busier than the day before. Several clerks in green uniforms were standing on wooden crates demonstrating: they dropped silver coins into a small copper-plated iron box, then locked it with a "click," handing the key to a peasant woman wearing a headscarf for safekeeping.

"See this?" a clerk shouted, holding up a metal box. "Deposit 10 rials and get this safe for free! Deposit for a year and get an extra 5 rials!"

Ali tied up the donkey cart and squeezed into the crowd. Most of the people queuing at the counter were young people. A familiar face, a blacksmith's apprentice, was counting out five coins: "I want to open that savings book with the picture!" The post office clerk smiled and handed him a gold-embossed savings book with illustrations of the Royal Palace of Tehran printed on the inner pages.

"Young man, how much do you want to deposit?" When it was Ali's turn, the clerk tapped on the price list posted on the counter: deposit 1 riyal for a regular passbook, deposit 10 riyals for a safe.

"50 riyals, this is troublesome."

The clerk counted the money without batting an eye, then took out an ornate tin box: "Don't worry, this money will eventually be deposited in a British safe deposit box in Tehran. Even His Majesty the Shah has to go through the proper procedures to withdraw it." He then stamped the passbook with the Lion and Sun emblem.

The fountain pen ink bleed into beautiful Persian script on the passbook. The clerk then took out a small wooden tag with a serial number engraved on it: "This is the withdrawal slip. It can't be replaced if lost." Ali took the passbook and the tag, feeling that the light pages were heavier than a bundle of wheat.

"Ah."

Looking at the metal box and the passbook, Ali could only pray that it was real.

(End of this chapter)