Princess Sultana's Daughters

seemed the country was finally returning to
peace.
    “How sad,” I said. “It is the end of a
magnificent love story. And now Jafer stands alone against an
overwhelming power.”
    Standing quietly to the side of the room, my
son was an unforgettable figure clad in his white thobe . He
was straight and tall and suddenly looked a man. His face was sad,
and with dramatic intensity, Abdullah said no, that was not the
case. Jafer would never be alone, for he would not forsake his
friend. He was going to visit him in Lebanon.
    Kareem and I refused our son permission to
travel to that country, but Abdullah seemed not to care and said
that he would go nevertheless.
    Such a trip would invite a thousand
calamities! I was miserable as I prepared myself for bed, plotting
to stop my son from his sentimental journey.
    I should have known I would fail, for it is
impossible to rule a son in blossoming manhood. Such youthful
vitality does not easily accept defeat.
     

 
Abdullah
    We will give it unto our children, and they
unto their children, and it shall not perish.
    —KAHLIL GIBRAN
    After the distressing incident with Jafer and
Fayza, I under-went a persistent and depressing change, retreating
into myself. My son, Abdullah, plotted his trip to Lebanon with
such inspired devotion that I came to believe him when he said
nothing would hinder the potentially perilous journey.
    Kareem cautioned restraint, for he said our
son’s ardor would cool when the difficulties of travel to Lebanon
became more apparent. I grew cross with my husband, and with a
voice raised in disbelief asked how he could remain so calm while
those to whom we had given life tortured my mind with grief.
    With a mysterious half smile, Kareem reminded
me that Abdullah’s passport was locked in our safe. It would be
impossible for our son to leave the kingdom.
    For these reasons, my resistance to
Abdullah’s plan was sporadic, unorganized, and ineffectual. In a
matter of days, my once close relationship with my son became one
of strained silences.
    Everyone who lived in our palace fumed and
despaired. While Abdullah packed his suitcases, his sister Amani
mourned to see how little she could do to improve the morals of her
brother and oldersister. Spurred on by her faith, Amani began to
spy on our employees. Horrified by what she called the looseness of
our staff of sixty servants—for there are many secret romantic
encounters among those who serve us—Amani set out with blunt
directness to convert our Christian and Hindu servants into the
superior Muslim faith.
    After a hundred quarrels with my daughter
over her inconsiderate and indiscriminate coercion of those who
practice a religion different from our own, I finally acknowledged
that I had met my match in Amani, who continued to outdistance her
mother in sheer perseverance.
    I spent many hours in the solitude of my
room, mulling over the lives of my children.
    When my three offspring were infants, they
gave my life great joy and meaning. In the days of their early
childhood, only Maha generated chaos, and I had no reason to
anticipate peril at every turn. In those pleasurable times, moments
of parental happiness vastly overshadowed the dark intervals of my
fear and worry over the fates of these small beings to whom I had
given life.
    Now that my children were nearing adulthood,
I came to the frightful conclusion that the only prerequisite to
contented motherhood seemed to be a precarious dependence upon
chance, for nothing I said or did altered my children’s
unpredictable behavior.
    As one who has enormous difficulty adjusting
to failure, I took to my bed, complaining to Kareem that nothing in
my life was progressing as I had hoped. My psychological decline
came at a time when Kareem’s business was quickly expanding. As his
free moments were limited, he was ill equipped to console and
liberate my soul from melancholy, that mental interloper that had
intruded and dismantled my joyful pursuit of happiness.
    I felt increasingly alone. Suppressing every
display of emotion other than self-pity, I began to sleep poorly
and to overeat, gaining unwanted pounds. Continually ignored by
those whom I was attempting to manipulate, I became progressively
bad-tempered with my family and the servants. I even acquired a
disgusting habit of twisting, pulling, and biting on my hair. The
length of my hair became shorter, and the thickness became thinner,
until Kareem, after noticing my habit, sarcastically commented