Princess Sultana's Circle

longing to see Mother once again,
even if her countenance only came to me in the form of an
apparition, as before in my dreams. But I could see nothing, and
said, “Mother’s not here.” After my sobs subsided, I described my
dream to Sara. For me, the pain of our mother’s death would never
heal.
    “ You see,” Sara remarked,
“your dream proves my words to be true. Mother’s spirit is always
with us. Sultana, I, too, often sense Mother’s presence. She comes
to me at the oddest moments. Only yesterday, when I was looking in
a mirror, I clearly saw Mother appear behind me. I only caught a
glimpse of her, but it was enough to let me know that the day will
come when we will all be together once again.”
    I felt a sense of peace
wash over me. If Sara had also seen Mother, then I knew that Mother
still existed. My sister’s integrity is never questioned by anyone
who knows her.
    Sara and I sat quietly,
both of us remembering the days when we were innocent children, and
Mother’s unending reservoir of wisdom, understanding and love
sheltered us from most of life’s dangers.
    When I fidgeted under the
bedcovers, the two empty whiskey bottles dropped from the bed to
the floor. Sara’s haunted eyes looked toward the bottles, and then
at me. Recalling the reason for the alarm that had brought Sara to
my side, a black depression once again settled over me.
    “ You are on a dangerous
path, Sultana,” Sara whispered.
    I sat and twirled my hair
around my finger. After a time I burst out, “I hate my life of
idleness!”
    “ Sultana, you can do more
with your life. You must take responsibility for your own
happiness. A hobby or occupation that consumed your attention would
be good for you.”
    “ How can I? The veil
interferes with everything I do!” I grumbled, “I can’t believe that
we were unlucky enough to be born in a country that forces its
women to wear shrouds of black!”
    “ I thought it was
loneliness that was driving you to drink,” Sara dryly noted. With
eyes half-closed in weariness, she said, “Sultana, I do believe
that you would argue with Allah, Himself!”
    Filled with unruly
emotions, unsure of the exact cause of my current turmoil, I looked
at Sara and shrugged, “Amani is right, you know. I have been cursed
by the Prophet. And he must have cursed me on many occasions. Why
else would everything bitter in my life come together at
once?”
    “ You are being foolish,
Sultana! I do not believe that our Holy Prophet would curse a
troubled woman,” she said. “Is it a life without problems that you
are seeking?”
    “ Inshallah!” (God
willing!)
    “ You want a life that does
not exist, Little Sister. Everyone who lives has problems. She
paused, then said, “Even Kings suffer problems that cannot be
resolved.”
    I knew that she was
referring to the failing health of our Uncle Fahd, the man who was
the King of Saudi Arabia. As the years passed, he had become
increasingly frail. He was now a man with everything in life but
good health. When he had suffered a serious medical setback
recently, every member of our family had been reminded of our own
mortality, and the fact that all the money and modern health care
in the world could not keep death at bay forever.
    Sara’s firm tone relaxed,
“Sultana, you must learn to bear the pain of life without reaching
for improper solutions.” She nudged a whiskey bottle aside with her
foot. “You have become the slave of a new power, a power that is in
danger of creating even more serious problems than the ones that
drove you to drink!”
    I then divulged my deepest
fear. “Amani might tell Kareem.”
    Sara told me flatly, “You
tell him first. Anyhow, it’s best not to keep secrets from your
husband, Sultana.”
    I looked closely at my
sister. Without a trace of rancor, I realized that I had always
been outshone by her beauty and by her virtue.
    Even though she had been
called from her home unexpectedly, Sara was impeccably dressed in a
freshly ironed silk dress, with shoes of matching color. An
exquisite set of pearls was fastened around her delicate neck. Her
thick black hair was fashioned in a flattering style; her skin
lovely; her eyelashes were so long and thick that she required no
make-up.
    Sara’s personal life
paralleled her perfect appearance. Her marriage to Asad was the
best I had ever known. I had never heard her raise her voice to her
husband, or even complain about him. Many times I had tried to
tempt Sara to confide a