Princess Sultana's Circle (4 page)

“
That is true,” Asad said
promptly.

Kareem continued with great
tact. “Ali, the zigzag of human life is so puzzling. I wonder if
you have shone the torch of light on Munira’s particular character,
or on the age of the man she is to wed.”

Ahmed was the one who
finally came to the point. “Is Munira not younger than some of
Hadi’s own children?”

There was perfect
silence.

Asad hurriedly suggested,
“If Munira must wed, is there not another nearer her age who would
be more to her liking?”

Undoubtedly, Ali was not
pleased by this highly unusual interference in his private
business. Still, he must have felt himself ensnared, for he made a
surprising concession. “I will let Munira decide!”

I held my hands over my
mouth to keep from creating a commotion. Once I could control
myself, I motioned to Tammam, and then held both hands over my head
and then toward the ground, as a signal that I was praying and
praising Allah.

Dull-witted Tammam looked
at me with a bewildered expression. She seemed to think that I was
telling her it was time for the noon prayer, for she glanced at her
watch and shook her head back and forth, no.

In a slow, measured whisper
I mouthed to her, “Ali is to let Munira decide!”

Tammam smiled
meekly.

For the first time ever I
felt a twinge of sympathy for Ali. Tammam was such a spineless
creature! Were I the mother of Munira, I would have great
difficulty in suppressing my joy at this news. Charitably, I
decided her emotions had been permanently dulled by years of
maltreatment.

“
I will call Munira now,”
Ali said decisively. I heard the sound of his muffled footsteps as
the door opened and closed.

While Ali was absent, the
three waiting men turned to small talk regarding our recent
Egyptian holiday. I felt a flicker of disappointment since I was
hoping that they would discuss some confidential family business
that I did not know, but not so confidential that I could not
repeat it.

Soon I heard Ali re-enter
the room. His booming voice sounded self-assured. “Munira, your
uncles love and esteem you greatly. They have taken precious time
from their busy schedules to personally deliver congratulations for
your upcoming marriage.”

Kareem, Asad, and Ahmed
murmured quietly, but Munira said nothing in reply.

Knowing Munira’s dread of
men, I suspected that the poor girl was so overwhelmed by the male
attention directed toward her that she was struck dumb.

Ali continued, “Munira,
child, the man Hadi has asked that you become an adored wife. You
are aware of his friendship with this family and of his ability to
provide for you and any children you might have. I have sought
permission from the Almighty God to give you in wedlock to Hadi.
Tell me now, Munira, if you approve.”

I waited for Munira’s
words. And waited. And waited.

“
Munira?”

Silence.

Ali spoke in an exhilarated
tone, “God is great! Munira’s silence signifies her approval!” He
laughed heartily, “Go, return to your room, child, and know that
your modesty in this matter has made your father very
happy.”

I felt numbness creep into
my face and spread throughout my body. I realized that Ali had
cunningly used a sly trick to close the mouths of his male kin. He
had repeated nearly word for word what Prophet Mohammed had asked
his own daughter, Fatima, when he had arranged for her to marry a
cousin, Imam Ali. When Fatima made no response, all good Muslims
know that the Prophet had interpreted the girl’s refusal to answer
as a sign of great modesty.

The door
slammed.

Under the circumstances, my
husband and brothers-in-law could say no more. If they did, they
would be arguing against the Holy Prophet!

Ali thanked them profusely.
“Your concern for my family has lightened my heart! I am a most
fortunate man! Please, come again soon.”

As the men left, the door
slammed once more. I heard my brother’s self-satisfied
chuckle.

With a tormented moan, I
slumped against the wall. What had happened? Had Ali threatened
Munira during their short walk through his palace? Or had the
terrorized Munira simply gone mute?

With tears coursing down my
cheeks, I looked at Tammam and slowly shook my head. All was
lost!

As a woman who had never
known the power of hope, Tammam didn’t appear surprised or upset.
She rose to her feet and came and stood by my side. I wept while
she comforted me.

Within moments the door
burst open. We had been discovered by Ali! My brother pulled
himself up to his full height as he glared at his wife and
sister.

I glared back at him.
Disgust swept over me. Surely, today, my brother was physically
uglier than I had ever seen him. His figure had taken on a
roundness visible even under his thobe. He wore a new pair of
horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses that made his eyes appear
shockingly large.

Our dislike for each other
was mutual. Our childhood experiences had created great distances
between us that will never be overcome. At this moment, the hatred
between my brother and me was so thick that I imagined the room
growing darker around me.

Defiant, I spoke with venom
dripping from my tongue, “Ah, my wicked brother! For sure, Judgment
Day will not be to your liking.”

Tammam’s sallow face
collapsed in fright, and she shrank back in horror at my
effrontery. Evidently, she never stood up against her husband. The
poor woman tried to apologize for my words, only the words of
another lowly woman, but Ali cut short her apology with a
dismissive flick of his hand.

It’s little wonder he does
not love her, I thought cruelly. No man could respect one so
cowardly.

As I watched Ali’s face, I
knew that he was searching through his mind for a remark that would
wound me. Many were the times I had gotten the better of my brother
with words. He had never been particularly quick verbally, and now,
he appeared even more lost for words.

I smirked, leaned back, and
relaxed. When it came to a battle of wits, I could always outshine
Ali. But suddenly he puffed out his hanging jowls. My disdainful
sneer slowly began to fade. Had Ali realized, as had I, that when
one is the victor, there is no need for verbal repartee?

He began to laugh with
relish. The sight of my cheerfully obese brother, standing there
triumphant, knowing he was fully supported by the entrenched legal
institutions of my country, caused me to sink to the floor in
despair.

Munira’s fate was settled,
and I feared that there was nothing I could do or say that would
change the horror that awaited her.

Even after Ali closed the
door and began his slow lumbering walk down the long corridor
leading to the front entrance of the palace, I could hear the sound
of his low, wicked laughter.

Chapter Two

Munira’s
Wedding

The shock of failure in my
confrontation with Ali meant that I went directly home and took to
my bed. My head was throbbing severely, and I did not join my
family for the evening meal.

Later that evening, when my
distressed husband told me of the meeting with Ali, I did not
confess that I already knew the outcome of the visit. When I began
to cry, a sympathetic Kareem comforted me.

The following morning I was
still so distraught that I remained in bed long after Kareem left
our home for his offices in the city. As I lay in bed, my thoughts
swirled around Munira and the terrifying and grim life she would
soon lead. My sense of helplessness in the face of Munira’s
predicament brought forth a disturbing question: when it came to
improving the lives of individual women, what accomplishments could
Sultana Al Sa’ud really claim as her own?

Very little, up to this
point, I had to admit. For the first time in my life, I was forced
to acknowledge that my lofty aspirations to assist helpless women
had come to nothing. My spirits sank so low at this bitter thought
that I began to crave an alcoholic drink. I was longing for a drink
even before I had my breakfast! Pushing aside any thought of food,
I got out of bed and went straight to the bottle of scotch sitting
on the bedroom credenza. After pouring myself a generous amount of
the liquor, I took a long drink and waited for the expected warmth
to flow through my body.

Suddenly I was struck with
a second worry. During the past few months, my cravings for alcohol
had grown. Would the solace I was receiving from alcohol now lead
to a personal predicament? Was I becoming an alcoholic? Such an
idea caused me to throw the glass to the floor. I moaned and
covered my eyes with my hands.

From my childhood on, I had
been taught that intoxicating spirits are evil and totally
forbidden to Muslims. I still remember my mother telling me that
Prophet Mohammed had cursed many men in connection with liquor.
Mother said that our great Prophet cursed the man who squeezed it,
the one who carried it, the one to whom it was carried, the one who
served it, the one who drank it, the one who dealt in it, the one
who devoured its price, the one who purchased it, and the one from
whom it was purchased. None were to be spared!

Yet, despite my Mother’s
dire warning, somehow, I now found myself ensnared by the promise
of fleeting happiness so easily found in a bottle of
alcohol.

In the Al Sa’ud family I am
not alone in this sin. Alcohol has taken a shocking toll on the
lives of many of my royal cousins. To speak truthfully, I must say
if these cousins are not buying or selling alcohol, they are
drinking it. And, they do this, regardless of both religious taboo
and the law. What would our mother think?

Everyone who resides in the
Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is fully aware that it is illegal to
consume alcohol. It’s common knowledge that every year there are a
large number of Saudis as well as foreigners imprisoned for the
offense of possessing or consuming alcohol. It is also well-known
that such laws do not apply to members of the Al

Sa’ud family. But, while
the male members of the royal family remain unpunished for any
crime they might commit, it’s a different matter when it comes to
Al Sa’ud females. While we are saved from public condemnation for
our missteps because of the embarrassment such an admission would
cause our rulers, female members of my family are forced to pay a
high penalty should they develop any kind of addiction.

Returning to bed, I tried
to count on my fingers all the female royal cousins who had become
addicted to alcohol or to drugs, but I ran out of fingers. Within
the past few years the problem has become so rampant that special
clinics for substance abuse have begun opening within the Kingdom.
No longer is it necessary for Al Sa’ud men to send their alcohol or
drug-addicted wives abroad for rehabilitation.

Only a few months before, I
had visited a cousin committed to one of these clinics. The
atmosphere there was one of wealth and privilege. Soft steps and
hushed voices told the visitor that they were in a medical facility
like no other. The doctors and nurses were foreign, as were all the
other staff. To ensure that they were never alone, each patient was
assigned five personal nurses, all women who had grown accustomed
to working with over-pampered royal Princesses.

I had found my cousin in a
large three-room suite where the luxuries of her normal life were
duplicated. Special chefs created the finest food, which was served
on costly china. My cousin continued to dress in expensive designer
gowns while entertaining her closest friends and relatives in the
clinic suites. The only accessories lacking in this new setting
were alcohol and drugs.

Although her treatment
consisted of many sessions with qualified physicians, she was not
subjected to the humiliation—or the benefit—of group therapy, as
are addicts in Western countries.

The cost for this special
treatment at that clinic was over SR 100,000 ($26,000) per week. My
cousin remained in the facility for sixteen weeks, and was
pronounced cured of her habit. Unfortunately, within a few months
of being discharged, she once again resumed her addiction to
alcohol. At last count, I hear this cousin has been treated at her
special clinic on at least five occasions.

Yet, once admitted for such
treatment, whether cured or not, nothing is ever the same again for
the unfortunate Saudi wife. Servants gossip to other servants, and
the truth always escapes. The addicted Princess is looked upon with
great pity by her female cousins, but her husband will usually
reject her, possibly take a second wife, or even seek divorce. As
every Saudi woman knows, divorce brings the loss of everything—her
status and her children. A divorced woman soon becomes socially
isolated and ostracized.

Recently, Hazrat Al Sa’ud,
another royal cousin afflicted with alcoholism, had been divorced
by her husband. Her five young children, who now lived with their
father and his other two wives, had been forbidden all contact with
Hazrat. Her own blood family had renounced her as well, and she now
lived under the supervision of an elderly, blind aunt and two
Filipino servants. Yet the attraction to alcohol was so strong that
Hazrat still took reckless chances at every opportunity in order to
acquire the drink that had brought about her ruin.