Princess Sultana's Daughters

area.
    Remembering the evening we had shared before,
Kareem thought I was feeling romantic, and his eyes caressed my
face with tenderness.
    I returned his smile, but in reality I wanted
to examine the garden area and see what evidence, if any, my child
had left of her religious meeting with her friends and royal
cousins.
    We entered a large, beautiful courtyard that
had been designed by a famous Italian fashion designer. Over the
years, many of our royal cousins had attempted unsuccessfully to
copy the loveliness of our unique “Turkish room.” A flowing
waterfall situated in the back of the room emptied clear water into
a large circular pool inhabited by many exotic fish. A stone path
circled the pool, and beautiful flowers, tenderly cared for by the
staff of gardeners, lined the walkway. Two raised sitting areas
were located to the left and to the right. Lush green foliage
imported from Thailand was draped over the rattan furnishings,
which were covered in pastel cushions. Glass-topped tables were set
about the sitting areas, and it was a most pleasant spot for our
family to enjoy morning or evening coffee.
    The walls were made of special tinted glass,
but the greenery was so abundant and dense that it shaded us from
the hot rays of the sun. A stone pathway, carved with the faces of
various wild animals, led around the waterfall. I felt sad as I
walked on the face of a giraffe, for I remembered that Kareem had
had the stones specially carved for Amani, as a surprise to our
animal-worshiping child.
    The walkway took us to the Turkish bath area.
Our home in Cairo had such a room, and I had requested the Italian
designer to study that design and duplicate it at our palace in
Jeddah.
    The Turkish bathhouse contained four baths,
each one in a different style and size. Steps led to each bath, and
over one of the larger baths was an arched bridge made of stone.
The water gave off a steam that I watched rise and dissipate into
the cool air.
    My family had enjoyed many wonderful times in
the Turkish baths, and Kareem and I, just the evening before, prior
to our night of romance, had soothed ourselves by enjoying a
lengthy steam bath.
    There was nothing I could see to indicate
that Amani had held a religious meeting in our home. Yet my head
still thundered with the words I had overheard. I desperately
wanted Kareem to acknowledge the seriousness of Amani’s new
passion, for our daughter was now speaking of her desire to become
a female imam, a woman who would minister to other women’s
religious needs. While I wanted my daughter to live the life of a
good Muslim, I had no desire for her to further the bondage of
women under the strictest interpretation of the traditions that so
hobbled females in our land.
    Sensing correctly that Kareem was not
burdened by Amani’s passionate embrace of all that I had fought
against since an early age, I thought to remind him of where such
religious passion could lead, for I knew that my husband was
sensitive to the subject of the Al Sa’uds’ legitimate claim to the
throne and the wealth and privilege that accompanied our envied
position.
    Knowing my husband’s world was firmly
centered in a fashionable life of luxury, which could hardly be
afforded without the vast wealth of the Saudi oil fields, I swept
my hand across the lovely setting of the Turkish bath. “This,” I
said to Kareem, “is what our daughter believes is a great sin, to
enjoy what God has seen fit to provide our family.”
    My husband made no response.
    I pressed him further. “Kareem, we must take
action. Or do you want your own flesh and blood to lead the revolt
that will bring down the house of Al Sa’ud?”
    Kareem, still not believing his daughter
capable of serious mischief, refused to further analyze Amani’s
disenchantment with our royal status, saying only that our daughter
should be left to her consoling faith, even if it was against her
mother’s obstinate resistance.
    Holding me tightly by my shoulders, Kareem
forbade me to mention the subject again, making a ridiculous
statement. “Sultana,” he said, “I decided long ago that each of us
must respect the other’s delusions, or there will be no peace in
our home. Now! Drop this disagreeable subject!”
    *
    After days of soul-searching, I finally
reached the understanding that I was not to blame for my daughter’s
new direction in life. I decided that Amani’s zeal for a cause was
a direct result of Saudi Arabia’s horrendous poverty, which