Princess Sultana's Circle

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.
    I looked at Sara with a
questioning eye, and she shrugged. I had heard that one of our
female cousins had taken an Egyptian dancer as a lesbian lover, and
wondered if the financial gain that dancer had enjoyed had put
ideas into the heads of her associates.
    Chanting female drummers,
dressed in colorful embroidered dresses, followed the dancers. I
recognized these women as Saudis from a tribe loyal to our
family.
    Twelve tiny girls between
the ages of three and six followed the drummers. They were the
flower girls who were beautifully dressed in pink satin dresses
with matching hair bows and shoes. They scattered petals plucked
from purple orchids. From the fragrance that drifted toward me, I
knew these petals to be especially scented with a sweet-smelling
incense. These children were members of our royal family, and their
endearing