Princess Sultana's Circle

our Mercedes and
welcomed us profusely, then rushed forward to open the immense
double doors that led into a large reception room. The doorman
stood thus waiting while our driver retrieved the particular gifts
I had selected for this cousin and his wife.
    Once satisfied that I had
the appropriate packages in hand, I moved into the reception room.
My daughters followed along behind me. We were greeted in perfect
Arabic by a lovely young Asian woman who introduced herself as
Layla. She smiled sweetly as she welcomed us as the first guests of
the day. She reported that her mistress, our cousin Khalidah, would
be with us shortly. Meanwhile, she would escort us to the main
residence.
    As I followed Layla, I
carefully took note of everything that dazzled my eyes, as none of
my sisters, nor even Kareem, had visited this so called “Paradise
Palace.”
    We were led down a wide
corridor. The walls were covered in pale yellow silk with a
delicate floral design. The carpet featured many lively patterns of
exotic flowers and wildly colorful birds. It sank under our feet as
we walked.
    Amani suddenly asked Layla,
“Where do you keep the birds that I hear?”
    Only then was I aware of a
distant chorus of birds.
    Layla laughed lightly.
“What you hear is only a recording.” Her voice sounded as pleasant
and musical as the melody of the birds. “The master insists that
every sound heard here be pleasing to the ear.”
    “ Oh.” Amani
replied.
    Master? I thought to
myself. Cousin Faddel?
    Maha began to question the
young woman who was near to her own age. We learned that Layla had
been working in Saudi Arabia for Faddel and his wife, Khalidah, for
the past five years. She proudly added that with her wages she was
very happy to be able to support her large family who lived in Sri
Lanka, in the capital city of Colombo.
    Amani was abrupt with the
question that I hesitated to ask. “Why do you have an Arabic name,
Layla?”
    The young woman smiled once
again. “I am not a Hindu. I am a Muslim. My family descended from
Arab seafarers.” She paused before saying, “Of course, only Muslims
are allowed to enter this paradise.”
    Maha nudged me with her
elbow, but I managed to keep my face composed.
    The long corridor suddenly
opened up into an immense round room. Ornamental columns, lavish
furniture, crystal chandeliers and clocks, priceless tapestries,
vast mirrors and elegant ceramic panels came together in a stunning
overall effect.
    Several low divans covered
in soft-colored silks were neatly aligned under arched windows
composed of intricate triangles of jewel-toned stained glass that
depicted scenes of famous Arab warriors in battle. Sparkling clear
water flowed from a two-tiered, silver-edged fountain. Chinese
porcelain vases were centered on tables of polished mahogany inset
with mother-of-pearl designs. A blue tile floor glistened
underneath the edges of the thick Persian carpets.
    Looking upward, I saw a
magnificent canopy that appeared to arch into the sky. The ceiling
was painted to give the illusion of soft, feathery clouds against a
background of the bluest sky. The overall effect was
breathtaking.
    I could not deny that my
cousin had built the most awe-inspiring dwelling that my eyes had
ever seen. So far, this palace was even more dramatic than any
built by our own King. Surely, I thought, Faddel has attained his
objective. Paradise could not be more beautiful than this
dwelling.
    Layla rang a small bell and
announced that refreshments would soon be served. She then left us
to inform her mistress of our arrival.
    I settled on one of the
silk divans and patted the spot beside me.
    “ Come, sit with me in
paradise,” I joked.
    Maha laughed and sat
down.
    Amani looked at us sternly
as she said, “Paradise is no joking matter.” She frowned in
disapproval as she looked around the extravagant room. “Anyway, too
much sunshine makes a desert.”
    I looked around again, with
a more critical eye. Amani was right! Faddel’s palace was too
perfect! Too beautiful! When the eye sees nothing but perfection,
even perfection loses its power to astonish.
    Just then four serving
girls entered the room. One carried small crystal plates and neatly
folded napkins; others held aloft large copper trays heavily laden
with food. Delighted, I selected a few sugared almonds, while Maha
crowded her plate with tiny sandwiches, delicate cheeses, figs, and
cherries.
    Not surprisingly, Amani
refused every offer of hospitality. The four