Princess Sultana's Circle (5 page)

Only a week before, my
eldest sister Nura had been told that Hazrat had caused an
explosion when trying to concoct homemade wine out of grape juice,
sugar, and yeast. Nura said that Hazrat’s elderly aunt swore the
explosion was so loud that she thought the Iraqis were bombing
Riyadh. She took cover under a bed and remained there until she
heard Hazrat wailing and weeping over the lost liquor. There was no
denying that Hazrat’s life was utterly ruined by the very craving
for alcohol that I was now experiencing.

I shuddered. Fearful of
what my future might hold if my secret was ever exposed, I promised
myself that Kareem must never know that I was consuming alcohol in
the morning hours. I had understood long ago that my strength and
boldness were the arrows that had pierced my husband’s heart and
drawn him to me. Surely, the foundation on which our love was based
would crumble should Kareem discover my weakness.

Horrified at the turn my
life had taken, I vowed that I would overcome this progressive and
dangerous desire for alcohol. I began to recite the ninety-nine
names of Allah aloud, hoping that, by proving my devoutness, the
God of all Muslims would take pity on me, and give me added
strength to defeat my weakness. My lips moved as I whispered the
words, “The Compassionate, The Merciful, The Sovereign, The Holy,
The Giver of Peace, The Protector, The Mighty One, The Creator, the
Majestic, The Great Forgiver…”

My sincere devotions were
interrupted by a hysterical Maha. My daughter said that Munira had
just telephoned in tears. The poor girl had confirmed to Maha what
I had already expected, that she had good reason for her silence on
the day her uncles had visited. Munira said that Ali had threatened
to beat both her mother and herself if she dared to open her mouth
in protest about her engagement to Hadi.

Poor Munira also confided
that her daily prayers now consisted of pleas to God for an early
death before her wedding date.

It was then that memories
of Sara’s attempted suicide caused me to rise from my bed. In
coalition with Maha, I discarded one risky proposal to rescue the
bride after another. Finally, we concluded that a simple plan was
best. We decided to hide Munira in our home at Jeddah until Hadi
became so mortified by the reluctance of his young bride that he
would nullify their engagement.

I eagerly telephoned Sara
and told her to come quickly! I was hoping that I could induce my
most intelligent sister to join us in devising further
strategy.

When Sara arrived, she
bewildered me when she balked at the idea, even warning me that she
felt compelled to alert Kareem of my reckless objective.

“
Sara!” I admonished, “You
once traveled the same path as poor Munira. Do your own memories of
abuse not compel you to help save this girl?”

Sara appeared frozen in
place.

“
Sara?”

Sara’s brooding face belied
the calm tone of her voice. “Sultana,” she confessed, “every day of
my life is clouded by what happened during that time. Even when I
am most happy with Asad, a sliver of pain always works its way into
my consciousness.” She paused briefly. “If I could save Munira from
such a fate, I would do it. But only God can save Munira, Sultana.
Only God.”

“
God gave women cunning
minds in order to scheme,” I argued. “How else can we defeat the
evil nature of men?”

Sara placed a light hand on
my shoulder. “You may have the years of a woman on you, my sister,
but in many ways, you are still a child.”

I turned away, so
disappointed and angry that I could not speak.

“
Come, Sultana. Try to
think clearly for one moment, and you will realize that anything
you might do to conceal Munira will only serve to make our brother,
and Hadi, even more determined. If you hide Munira, they will find
her. Then, Hadi will marry her anyway, but by that time his heart
will be filled with anger and bitterness. Her life will only be
worsened by your efforts.”

Like the caged bird that
finally comes to acceptance of its captivity, the lightness of hope
left my body. I collapsed on the sofa and wrapped my arms around my
body. Sara spoke the truth, so, for now, I put aside all thoughts
of extricating my niece. I knew that excluding a miracle, Munira
would be Hadi’s future wife. And there was nothing any of us could
do about it.

After Sara departed for her
own home, I returned to my bed and spent the rest of the day
lethargic with hopelessness.

Nine days passed as
fleetingly as mere moments. The evening of Munira’s wedding
arrived, all too soon.

Although Ali possessed no
love for his eldest daughter, his position as a high-ranking Prince
ensured that Munira’s wedding would be a grandiose occasion,
indeed. The celebration and wedding were to take place at the King
Faisal Hall, a large building in Riyadh where many Saudi royal
weddings have been staged.

On the night of the
wedding, a stream of limousines wove their way to the entrance of
the hall, discharging flocks of veiled women. Our driver stopped at
the wide steps that led to the entrance of the building. Two
doormen rushed to open the doors of our automobile, and my
daughters and I stepped out into a night filled with music. I could
feel the beat of Arabic dancing music drifting through the hall as
we moved toward the stairs.

Although we were all
veiled, I knew that most of the other guests were members of the
royal family, or women whose families had high connections with our
family.

Other than the groom, his
father or brother, the father of the bride, and possibly a Mutawwa,
or religious man, we never see men at this kind of occasion. Men
and women in my country celebrate weddings at separate locations.
Even as we women were gathering at the King Faisal Hall, our men
were congregating at Ali’s Riyadh palace.

As my daughters and I
walked across the threshold into the large hall, a swarm of female
servants dressed exactly alike in red velvet gowns and caps waited
to relieve us of our cloaks and veils. The three of us were
elaborately dressed in expensive designer gowns that we had
purchased the year before while vacationing in Paris. I wore a
black evening dress covered in red Italian lace.

A few days earlier, in an
attempt to distract me from Munira’s plight, Kareem had sent a
trusted Lebanese employee on one of our private planes to Paris for
the sole purpose of acquiring a special gift for me. The ten-tiered
diamond choker was now fastened securely around my neck.

Maha was arrayed in a
lovely burgundy silk dress that draped loosely off her broad
shoulders. A diamond and pearl necklace shaped in the form of
simple teardrops covered the smooth flesh of her neckline. While
selecting her jewelry, Maha had whispered that she thought it
appropriate that even her jewels appeared to weep for her dear
cousin.

Amani was fitted out in a
dark blue gown with a matching jacket. In keeping with her strict
religious beliefs, she had chosen a garment most severe in style
covered up to the neck.

Since our faith regards the
love of jewelry and ornaments as natural and becoming for a woman,
if they are not used to attract men and arouse their sexual
desires, Amani could hardly object to my wishes that she wear
beautiful jewels that night. I had reminded my pious daughter of
what she already knew—other than Hadi, his attendant, her Uncle
Ali, and a man of religion, no men would be present at our
gathering. Once she agreed that her faith did permit her to wear
precious stones free of guilt, Amani selected a charming ruby and
diamond necklace which had been cleverly fashioned to resemble a
cluster of sparkling flowers.

Admittedly, both my
daughters were lovely, and on any other occasion, I would have been
proud to display them.

When Maha and Amani
gathered with female cousins near their own age, I left them and
wandered alone into the vast hall.

The music was so loud and
the singer so shrill that I could only liken the sound to shrieks
of terror! Or was this just my imagination?

I winced. A pillar of light
shone overhead. Such an overabundance of lighting had created a
blinding effect. At Ali’s behest, special decorators flown in from
Egypt had covered the entire surface of the ceiling with brightly
colored lights. Looking around the room, I was astonished at the
gaudiness of the decorations. The room overflowed with lights,
while garish vessels overflowed with gold-foiled wrapped candy.
Velvet swags with no obvious purpose hung from the
ceiling.

Great cascades of floral
arrangements were suspended from gold painted columns, set atop
tables, and even attached to the walls. But the flowers were
arranged haphazardly with no particular design or color theme. Red
roses were bunched with yellow daises, while lilac orchids were
linked with blue carnations. The garishly decorated platform where
Hadi and Munira would view, and be viewed by the wedding guests was
covered with blinking green and red lights!

I was so absorbed in this
expensive but tasteless display that I did not see Sara come
forward from the swarming throng. A gentle arm went around my
waist. “Sultana.” “Sara,” I smiled, “Thanks be to God you found
me.”

With a disapproving look,
Sara nodded at the scene around us. “On this night I am embarrassed
to be my brother’s sister.”

“
For more reasons than the
décor, I too am ashamed,” I agreed.

“
I wish I had helped you
hide Munira,” Sara admitted.

“
Truly?” I
gasped.

“
Yes. Our two hearts are as
one on this issue.”

I embraced my sister and
tried comfort her as she comforted me.

“
You were right not to
encourage me, Sara. Ali would have sifted the very sands of the
desert to find his daughter and hand her over to Hadi.”

I sighed in sad
resignation. “There can be no escape for the daughter of such a
man.”

Hand in hand, Sara and I
began making our way through the room, greeting many aunts and
cousins while we looked for our sisters.

Before the time arrived for
Munira to make her appearance, all ten daughters of our beloved
Mother, Fadeela, had assembled in a circle.

But there was no joy among
us. Each sister was greatly saddened by the reason for our reunion.
Following Mother’s death, Nura, the eldest daughter, had with our
consent assumed the rank of leader of the sisters. She was the
steadfast figure who often guided her younger sisters’ paths by
pointing out the reality of our lives. Stoic and strong, it would
seem that Nura, of all the sisters, had attained mastery over her
emotions. But on this evening, even Nura was subdued with sorrow.
She had accompanied us to Egypt when Hadi’s true character had
become known by our family. Unlike many gathered there, she knew
the corruption of the soul of the man who would soon possess
Munira.

“
This is a sad, sad night,”
Nura muttered with her eyes fixed on the wedding dais.

Sara shuddered at the night
she knew that lay ahead of Munira. She sighed, “If only the dear
girl did not fear men so.”

“
Whether she fears men, or
loves men, this will be a cruel night,” Tahani said
wearily.

I looked behind Tahani and
saw that dear Reema, the fifth child of our mother, was discreetly
manipulating the medical device that captured her body’s waste. The
device was well-hidden under her dress, but the anxious Reema had
formed the habit of compulsively checking and rechecking the
appliance. After her husband Saleem’s brutal assault, Reema had
needed a colostomy, and would never regain control over all her
bodily functions.

Angry at that memory of
still another woman’s suffering at the hands of a man, I asked
hotly, “How is it that we accept all this?”

“
Shhh,” my sisters joined
in unison to stop me from drawing the attention of the women
standing close to us.

“
It is my belief,” I said
through clenched teeth, “that we should be throwing stones at the
King’s palace, rather than attending this shameful
event.”

“
Sultana,” Nura warned, “do
not create a scene.”

I even surprised myself
with my impertinence, “It is you who should be causing a scene with
me, beloved sister.”

Nura did not reply, but she
gave me a warning look.

“
Every woman in Saudi
Arabia should gather as many stones as she can carry,” I repeated,
“and throw them at our men.”

Eight of my nine sisters,
Nura, Reema, Tahani, Baher, Dunia, Nayam, Haifa and Soha, gasped as
one. Only Sara remained silent.

I watched them as they
exchanged fretful expressions.

Seeing the disappointment
etched on my face, and knowing that I was longing for a single
brave act from all of them, Sara stepped forward and took my
hand.

High-pitched trills
suddenly erupted from behind closed doors. My sisters were saved
from further trauma from me as the wedding procession
began.

Trembling with anger and
sorrow, I watched six beautiful dancers advance dramatically
through the open doors. The women were trained dancers from Egypt,
and were fitted out in elaborate costumes that displayed their
voluptuous bodies. When the dancers passed our way, I was startled
by their inviting winks.