Princess Sultana's Circle

know
that this woman was a Zionist attacking our beloved
Prophet!”
    Maysa slumped back into her
seat and moaned at the memory of what she had seen.
    Sara patted her gently. “Do
not tell us, Maysa, if it is so painful for you.”
    Maysa sat up straight. “I
must tell you, Sara! Every Muslim should know this story!” Maysa is
a religious woman, but not so strict as to be annoying.
    Every passenger on the
plane, including Asad and Kareem, remained attentive.
    “ Well, I tell you, I have
never had such a shock. Our curiosity aroused, Mother and I stopped
in front of one of those posters. It took us some moments to
comprehend that what the poster depicted was a likeness no Muslim
should ever live to see.”
    She stared vacantly ahead,
sitting in silence until Sara touched her arm. “Maysa?”
    “ I tell you, Sara. My own
lips hesitate to say the words.”
    I spoke up. “For God’s
sake, Maysa! Tell us! The suspense is driving us mad!”
    Maysa’s face became pale as
she looked intently into the face of each of us in turn. Her voice
lowered to a whisper, “It was a caricature of our Prophet.” She
buried her face in her hands before crying out, “On that poster,
our beloved Prophet Mohammed was shown to be a pig!”
    Every woman on the plane
gasped in horror, then joined in a chorus of screams.
    I struggled to keep my
composure as I clasped Kareem’s hand tightly.
    “ Yes! There it was, right
before my eyes! The Prophet Mohammed depicted as a pig! I tell you,
my heart nearly stopped. And, Mother? Well, she swooned! I had to
call for help to carry her back to our apartment! She has still not
recovered! She is no longer the person she once was!”
    Poor Maysa collapsed
against the back of her seat. “Since that time, I have suffered
horrible nightmares. Each night the Prophet Mohammed comes to visit
me in a dream. In that dream the Prophet has the body of a man and
the disgusting face of pig!”
    “ Oh, Maysa,” Sara murmured
with sympathy. “How terrible for you.”
    Dreams of our beloved
Prophet as a pig! I drew back, regretting that Sara had invited
Maysa to come with us on the trip. I, for one, did not want to be
contaminated by being near to a person with such wicked
dreams!
    Maysa began to weep in
earnest. “I tell you, Sara, it is getting so that I fear to close
my eyes, for I am surely committing the most vile sin because I
cannot prevent this dream.”
    I began to feel remorse at
my initial reaction, so I tried to look more kindly at
Maysa.
    Libby, my Filipino maid,
said, “I recently read a newspaper article which claimed that
enemies of Arab countries were coating their bul- lets with pig
lard to use against Muslims in war.”
    This was a well-known
scandal! Should a Muslim soldier be wounded or killed by such
tainted ammunition, that soldier would be automatically excluded
from paradise. The Islamic religion does not allow Muslims to make
any contact with pig flesh. A Muslim believes that merely touching
the flesh of a pig would keep him or her from entering
paradise.
    Maysa’s muffled sobs grew
louder, and she pleaded with Sara to pinch her if she must—anything
to keep her from falling sleeping and dreaming her blasphemous
dream.
    I prayed to God that He
would eradicate that evil image from Maysa’s mind. Shaking my head
in sadness, I turned around and began walking toward my seat. Just
as I was sitting down, I noticed that Sara’s maid, Afaaf, was
sitting alone and weeping. I motioned to Sara and together we
approached Afaaf.
    Sara touched Afaaf’s
shoulder. “Afaaf, are you unwell, dear?”
    Afaaf’s face was a picture
of complete misery. She tried to speak, but could not. Finally,
after Libby brought her a glass of water and encouraged her to take
a few sips, Afaaf told us, “I am sorry to cry, but this terrible
story reminded me of how our Holy Prophet has been defamed, and in
so many ways…” Afaaf began weeping again, “and his name and his
holy words are often used as a weapon of revenge and evil, even by
his own people. Does that not besmirch our Prophet,
also?”
    Sara nodded, but did not
speak.
    I stood helpless as poor
Afaaf sobbed. If there was anyone in the world who had a reason to
cry, it was Afaaf.
    Afaaf was a refugee from
Afghanistan. Although she had escaped the war in her country, she
could never recover from the terrible losses she had suffered.
Afaaf had lost her entire family. Her parents and one brother had
been killed in the long war that preceded the