Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia

daughter’s story; although demented with
grief, she was unable to convince her husband of the girl’s
innocence. Amal’s father, who had always been uncomfortable with
daughters, was stricken by the event, but felt that the boys had
done only what any male would do under the circumstances. With a
heavy heart, he concluded that his daughter must be punished for
shaming his name. Amal’s brother, fearful of severe punishment for
using drugs, did not step forward to clear his sister’s name. The
mutawas offered the father moral support in his strong stance and
showered him with accolades for his religious conviction.
    The girl would die today.
    Consumed by emotions of sorrow and fear, I
barely heard the continued exclamations of the British nurse. I
felt the miserable decline of my happiness as I imagined the girl’s
innocence and the futility of her mother’s efforts to save her from
a cruel death. I myself had never witnessed a stoning, but Omar had
done so on three occasions and had taken great delight in
describing to us the fate that awaited weak women who did not
carefully guard their honor, which was so prized by their men. I
thought of the vivid description with which Omar had burdened my
memory.
    When I was twelve years of age, a woman in
one of the small villages not far from Riyadh had been found guilty
of adultery. She was condemned to die by stoning. Omar and our
neighbors’ driver decided to go and view the spectacle.
    A large crowd had gathered since early
morning. They were restless and waiting to see the one so wicked.
Omar said that just as the crowd was becoming angry with impatience
in the hot sun, a young woman of about twenty-five years of age was
roughly pulled out of a police car. He said she was very beautiful,
just the sort of woman who would defy the laws of God.
    The woman’s hands were bound. Her head hung
low. With an official manner, a man loudly read out her crime for
the crowd to hear. A dirty rag was used to gag her mouth and a
black hood was fastened around her head. She was forced to kneel. A
large man, the executioner, flogged the woman upon her back; fifty
blows.
    A truck appeared and rocks and stones were
emptied in a large pile. The man who had read off the crime
informed the crowd that the execution should begin. Omar said the
group of people, mostly men, rushed toward the stones and began to
hurl the rocks at the woman. The guilty one quickly slumped to the
ground and her body jerked in all directions. Omar said the rocks
continued to thud against her body for what seemed to be an
interminable time. Every so often, the stones would quiet while a
doctor would check the woman’s pulse. After a period of nearly two
hours, the doctor finally pronounced the woman dead and the stoning
ceased.
    The British nurse interrupted my sad
ponderings when she returned to my rooms in great agitation. The
police and mutawas were taking the girl away for her punishment.
She said that if I stood in my doorway I could see her face, for
the girl was not veiled. I heard a great commotion in the hallway.
Quickly, I fastened my veil around my face. My feet moved my body
forward without thought or intention.
    The doomed one was fragile and childlike
between the tall, stoic guards who led her to her fate. Her chin
rested on her chest, so it was difficult to see the expression on
her face. But I discerned that she was a pretty child, one who
would have grown into beauty had she been allowed the opportunity
to age. She glanced up with dread and peered into the sea of faces
that was watching her with great curiosity. I saw that her fear was
great. There were no relatives to travel with her to the grave,
only strangers to see her off on the darkest of journeys.
    I returned to my suite. I held my baby son
with great tenderness and considered the relief I felt that he was
not of the weaker sex. I gazed into his tiny face with wonder.
Would he too uphold and thereby harden the system that was so
unfair to his mother and sisters? I considered the possibility that
all female babies should be put to death at birth in my land.
Perhaps the stern attitude of our men would be tempered by our
absence. I shuddered and the question came into my mind. How could
a mother protect the young of her own sex from the laws of the
land?
    The eyes of the stalwart British nurse were
wet with tears. She sniffled and asked why I, a princess, did not
intervene in such madness. I told her that I could not help the