Princess Sultana's Circle

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