Princess Sultana's Daughters

of
religious upheaval.
    I knew that the total value of Amani’s
jewelry alone was well into the millions of dollars, and it had
been given to her by those who loved her and desired economic
security for her future. I promised myself that if Amani genuinely
wanted to provide for the poor, then money would be given to her
for that purpose.
    Feeling depressed and unappreciated for our
generosity, I remembered the millions of riyals Kareem and I had
quietly donated over the years to the poor of the world. In
addition to the required zakah liability, the percentage of our
annual income not needed for our daily living expenses, Kareem and
I contribute an extra 15 percent of our income for purposes of
education and medical care to various Muslim countries less
fortunate than Saudi Arabia. Never have we forgotten the words of
the Prophet: “ If you give alms openly, that is well, but if you
give them to the needy in private, it is even better for you, and
will atone for some of your bad deeds. Allah is aware of all you
do .”
    Thinking of the funds we had provided to
build medical clinics, schools, and private dwellings in the
poorest of Muslim lands, I felt the keen desire to remind Amani of
the enormity of the financial contributions made by her parents.
Had my child discounted our charitable activities as meaningless?
Or was her true desire to turn our family into beggars, like those
who benefited from our great wealth?
    Returning to my bed, I lay quiet for over two
hours, thinking thoughts, discarding wild ideas, not knowing how to
do battle with a force that is higher than any man.
    Darkness had fallen over my room when Kareem
came home from his Jeddah offices.
    “Sultana! Are you ill?” Kareem switched on
several lamps and walked to my bed, peering down at my face with
concern.
    “Your face is flushed. Do you have a
fever?”
    I did not answer my husband’s questions.
Instead, I took a deep, tortured breath. “Kareem, one of your flesh
and blood is plotting the overthrow of the monarchy.”
    Kareem’s face turned from pale brown to
bright red in a matter of seconds. “What?”
    I feebly waved my hand in the air. “Amani.
Today, our daughter held a meeting of young princesses and good
friends. I accidentally overheard her speaking. She is using the
Koran to turn her youthful cousins and acquaintances against the
leadership of our family.”
    Kareem clicked his tongue in the Arab manner
that denotes disbelief. He laughed. “You are crazy, Sultana. Amani
is the least likely of our children to incite violence.”
    I shook my head. “No more. Religion has
strengthened our child. She is beginning to resemble a hungry lion
rather than a gentle lamb.” I repeated to Kareem what I had
overheard.
    Kareem made a face. “Sultana. Believe me when
I say this latest passion is nothing more than a passing phase.
Ignore her. Soon she will tire of her excesses.”
    It was clear that Kareem himself was tired of
the topic of Amani’s religious conversion. I had talked of little
else during the past week. Amani’s passionate embrace of all things
extreme in our religion tortured her mother, while her father
dismissed his daughter’s fervor with a joke and a prediction that
it would be short-lived.
    I realized that Kareem and I would not share
and resolve this latest crisis together as we had in Maha’s case. I
felt the fight go out of my body. For the first moment since giving
birth to Abdullah so many years before, I grew weary of motherhood,
and wondered how many more generations of women could be enticed to
burden themselves with the solitary and thankless procreation,
nourishing, and guidance of the human race.
    With a rasping sound in my throat, I cried
out to my husband, “How lonely is the life of a woman!”
    Fearing that I would react in an extreme
manner to my grief, Kareem patted me tenderly on my back, and
sweetly asked if I would like my dinner served to me privately in
our quarters. He said he would take the evening meal alone with our
children, if that were the case.
    With a sigh of martyrdom, I decided not to
stay alone. I had been in solitude for many hours, and I did not
want to give Amani the idea that her mother was sulking. I pushed
myself off the bed and told my husband I would freshen myself for
dinner and see him downstairs.
    Kareem and I met in the small family sitting
room, and since we were an hour early for dinner, I asked him to go
with me on a stroll in the Turkish bath and garden