Princess Sultana's Circle (17 page)

“
I survived, as you see. A
total of ten boys were castrated that day. One died immediately.
The rest of us were buried up to our necks in the sand.” He
chuckled humorlessly once more. “Who knows what cruel fool decided
that hot sand was a remedy for survival? So, for three days and
nights we were given no water or food. At the end, only three of
the nine were still among the living.”

As I listened, my knees
became weak. This was the most horrid story I had ever heard!
Although I knew that in the past eunuchs were prized in many
countries, I had never considered the terrible agony those poor men
had undergone. I sincerely hoped that God had reserved the hottest
places in hell for the vile men who had committed such
acts!

Poor Omar continued with
his tragic saga. “Congratulations went all around when the
Christian pulled the tube from my small passageway that remained
for water, and liquid spurted out; for those men knew that whoever
passed water would survive. Only two of the three still living were
able to urinate, myself and one other boy. The third boy’s hapless
body was poisoned by his own urine, and he soon died a tortured,
screaming death.

“
After the fourth day, we
slaves were packed into a ship that set sail for a slave emporium
in Constantinople. I had survived castration and the slave trader
knew that I would bring a large sum of money.”

I nodded. In those days,
eunuchs were prized as trustworthy guards for Muslim women. Only
impotent men were allowed in the women’s quarters.

Omar’s words interrupted my
thoughts. “Therefore, the slave trader treated us two castrated
boys more kindly than the other slaves. We were housed on the top
deck and fed good food, while those other poor souls kept below
were stacked on top of one another during the sea journey. As far
as I could tell, they received no food or water. Many were dead by
the time we arrived at the harbor of Constantinople.”

I judged that Omar’s story
had now passed the point that Kareem would object to my hearing, so
I returned quietly to the room and sat down.

“
Go on,” Kareem said to
Omar’s questioning eyes. “It is all right, now.”

Omar looked at me and
smiled. “I already told the Mistress that I was purchased by a
wealthy Turkish man. He owned a number of slaves, but owned only
two eunuchs, and both were growing old. I was told that when I grew
tall and strong, that I would be the one to guard his
women.

“
Meanwhile, I was taken by
my new master on the pilgrimage to Makkah. My Master died there
while worshipping at the big mosque, and I became a property of the
Makkah authorities. Those men gave me to the grandfather of Faddel,
who was owed a favor by the authorities in that city.

“
My time
with that family was not unhappy. My food was the family’s food. At
fourteen years of age, I was entrusted to guard the Master’s wives
and female slaves. Time flowed smoothly until after the deaths of
Faddel’s grandfather
and
father. I had nowhere else to live, so I remained
with Faddel. Omar looked me full in the face. “Faddel is nothing
like his grandfather or his father, Mistress.” He paused, “For
someone to answer to Faddel is to be sent to hell and be punished
everlastingly.”

I sighed in despair as I
suddenly remembered the young women who now belonged to Faddel.
Could hell be worse than what those women now endured? Thinking
about Faddel, I was reminded of his wife, Khalidah. She could help
those young women, if she so chose. I spoke heatedly, “To my eyes,
Khalidah is as wicked as Faddel!”

Omar shrugged his thin
shoulders. “If the Master of the house beats a tambourine, do not
condemn his family for dancing.”

Kareem looked at me and
smiled.

With an instinct that came
from being married for many years, I knew that Kareem often wished
that I would dance to his tune!

“
Never will that happen,
Husband,” I whispered.

Kareem laughed aloud before
turning his attention back to Omar.

Omar straightened his
turban as he smiled at Kareem. “But today, I am more happy than I
have been in many years. It is good to live with a kind
family.”

Just then several female
servants entered the room with refreshments.

Omar’s eyes twinkled at the
sight of the food, and his fingers reached eagerly for the honeyed
sweets.

Kareem and I watched in
astonishment as Omar quickly consumed more food than could be
expected from a man twice his size.

Later that evening, once we
were alone in our private quarters, Kareem confessed that he had
given much thought to Omar. He tried to convince me that Omar
should not live in Arabia, but instead, should be sent to live in
one of our palaces abroad. For Omar’s safety, no one in our country
could know that the eunuch who once belonged to Faddel’s family had
taken refuge with us.

Even though Omar was
legally free, and Faddel had previously expressed irritation at
housing and feeding an elderly eunuch, he was certain to be
insulted that Omar preferred to live with another family. And, who
could guess whether Faddel would attempt to take revenge on poor
Omar.

At first I was dismayed at
the idea of sending poor Omar away. He appeared so pleased and
happy with our family. Besides, I adored the little man, and
anticipated that his gentle presence might help to bring welcome
peace into our family life.

After a night of
consideration, though, the thought of Omar living the life of a
free man in the world outside of Arabia brought a smile of
satisfaction to my face. Besides, we would still see him abroad, I
reasoned.

The following morning,
Kareem spent some time alone with Omar. The decision was made that
Omar would live at our villa in Egypt. In that highly populated
country teeming with Egyptians, Arabs, and Africans, a small black
man with a high-pitched voice would not be so conspicuous. And the
monthly allowance Kareem offered would provide Omar with a personal
financial freedom that he had never known.

Omar appeared overjoyed to
be returning to the continent where he had been born, and spoke
excitedly of taking a trip into Sudan, to locate any remaining
members of his family or tribe.

The happiness Kareem and I
felt at seeing Omar’s joy brought pleasure and contentment. Even
Kareem had to agree that some good had come from my second trip to
Faddel’s palace. While my visit had not benefited the young girls,
the eunuch Omar would now live out his life in a wonderful way that
he had never dreamed possible!

By the time Omar left for
Egypt, we had grown to love him. That little man had quickly become
the trusted confidante of every family member. To my astonishment,
even Amani cried as she promised Omar that she would remember all
that he had told her, and that she would try her best to become a
more forgiving and gentle Muslim than she had been.

Each of us greatly looked
forward to the day when we could see Omar’s kindly face once
more.

Chapter Nine

Prophet Mohammed
Defamed

Several days after Omar had
departed Saudi Arabia for Egypt,
Kareem
told me that he and Asad must travel to New York
City. Important business matters needed their
attention. Knowing that I
was still
grieving over the plight of the young women in Faddel’s
harem, Kareem thought that I needed some new
experiences to occupy
my mind, and
suggested that I accompany him.

At first I was not anxious
to leave Saudi Arabia, and I was insulted that Kareem did not seem
to trust me to remain alone in Saudi Arabia. If my husband believed
that I might renew my efforts to obtain those young women’s
release, once he had left the country, he was wrong. Nothing I
could say or do could convince Kareem that I was resigned to the
hopelessness of the situation. Although I desperately wanted to
help those girls, I am not totally devoid of common sense. I fully
understood that, when dealing with young girls who had been sold by
their own parents and now lived in a country where the government
sees no wrong in such a situation, I was, indeed, helpless to
resolve the problem.

When I learned that Sara,
along with two of our cousins, Maysa and Huda, were going on the
trip to New York, I changed my mind and became eager to accompany
them.

Since school had reopened
after the Ramadan holiday, Sara and I agreed that our children
would remain behind in Riyadh with our eldest sister
Nura.

When the day came for us to
depart, our party flew on one of our private jets to London. After
a brief stopover in that city, we continued on with our journey to
the United States.

Including the three maids
who were accompanying us, Afaaf, Libby, and Betty, there were seven
women on the plane. To pass the time, we began to entertain each
other with amusing stories, but our laughter ceased when Maysa
changed the tone by sharing one particular story that we found to
be horrifying.

Maysa is a Palestinian who
is married to Naif Al Sa’ud, one of my favorite cousins. Although
lively and attractive, Maysa could not be called beautiful, but she
is highly popular with everyone who meets her. As a child born in
Hebron, in occupied Palestine, Maysa’s childhood had been full of
incident. Over the years, our family had heard many stories from
Maysa about fleeing refugees, street battles with Israeli soldiers,
and her younger brothers’ participation in the more recent
Intifada, the Palestinian uprising against the Israelis.

The Palestinian Arabs have
always been more attuned to women’s rights than have the desert
Arabs. Recognizing Maysa’s intelligence, her parents made many
sacrifices so that their daughter could be educated. Maysa was sent
to Beirut to be schooled at the prestigious American University of
Beirut. It was there that she met my cousin, Naif. The vivacious
Maysa easily captured Naif’s heart. Deeply in love when they
married, they enjoy a happier union than most married couples in my
land. Although Maysa and Naif have only one child, a daughter, Naif
has never indicated the slightest interest in taking a second wife
for the purpose of enlarging his family.

Maysa is a caring person
who always concerns herself with the problems of others. If she is
not worried about the starving babies in embargoed Iraq, then she
is thinking about earthquake victims in Iran or in
China.

A few weeks previous to our
trip, Maysa had returned from her annual visit with her Palestinian
family in the Arab city of Hebron. While on that visit, Maysa had
witnessed the most heinous sight imaginable to the eyes of a
Muslim.

Maysa’s voice now quivered
as she related what she had seen. “I knew that day we should not
have gone out! There had been unrest for several weeks, and I did
not want to take a chance that my dear mother might be struck by a
wayward stone! But Mother was restless, and insisted that we would
walk only to the corner of our street, and then back. We wanted
only a breath of fresh air, nothing more!

“
By the time we arrived at
the end of our street, we were relieved to see that all was quiet.
So, we decided to walk one street further.” Maysa slapped her
forehead with her hand. “That was our mistake!”

Maysa then became agitated
at the very memory.

“
We saw a young woman
running ahead of us, nailing posters to the walls. We thought the
woman was a brave Palestinian demonstrator putting up signs of
protest against the Israelis!”

Maysa slapped her forehead
once more, only harder this time. “How were two naïve women to know
that this woman was a Zionist attacking our beloved
Prophet!”

Maysa slumped back into her
seat and moaned at the memory of what she had seen.

Sara patted her gently. “Do
not tell us, Maysa, if it is so painful for you.”

Maysa sat up straight. “I
must tell you, Sara! Every Muslim should know this story!” Maysa is
a religious woman, but not so strict as to be annoying.

Every passenger on the
plane, including Asad and Kareem, remained attentive.

“
Well, I tell you, I have
never had such a shock. Our curiosity aroused, Mother and I stopped
in front of one of those posters. It took us some moments to
comprehend that what the poster depicted was a likeness no Muslim
should ever live to see.”

She stared vacantly ahead,
sitting in silence until Sara touched her arm. “Maysa?”

“
I tell you, Sara. My own
lips hesitate to say the words.”

I spoke up. “For God’s
sake, Maysa! Tell us! The suspense is driving us mad!”

Maysa’s face became pale as
she looked intently into the face of each of us in turn. Her voice
lowered to a whisper, “It was a caricature of our Prophet.” She
buried her face in her hands before crying out, “On that poster,
our beloved Prophet Mohammed was shown to be a pig!”

Every woman on the plane
gasped in horror, then joined in a chorus of screams.

I struggled to keep my
composure as I clasped Kareem’s hand tightly.