Princess of Dhagabad, The (33 page)

Probably the most frightening thing on your
approach to absolute power was the sudden realization that no one
in the world could be any kind of authority over you. It was that
realization, and not the burden of knowledge described by the
Agritian sage, that became the first foreshadowing that your chosen
way had a terrible end. You felt that everything that was happening
in the world didn’t and shouldn’t have any reason or purpose
unknown to you, and that it was within your power to change
anything in the world you didn’t like. But then you faced your
first trial.

You knew it was in your power to defeat
anything unfair, illogical, or unreasonable and that none of the
sages and wizards you knew had the power to stop you. And yet, at
the same time, you knew that the world is as it should be and that
no one, however much power he has, should try to change the world
to his liking without knowing the risk of shifting the world’s
equilibrium and causing even greater mishap. Knowing that, you
suffered in frustration with a powerful helplessness, and it was
then that you started to curse the knowledge you had so eagerly
sought before. It seemed that everything you learned only increased
your despair and brought you no satisfaction. Only then did you
finally start to read the Agritian scroll over and over again,
finding familiar feelings in the descriptions of your ancient
predecessor. Only then did you wish there were a power in the world
stronger than you, restraining you, capable of destroying you. But
even then, suffering in the face of your might, you kept searching
for more and more knowledge. And, gradually, the suffering passed,
leaving room for indifference.

In your indifference, as in the suffering you
felt before, you recognized with a shiver all the conditions from
the Agritian scroll. That was the time you really believed you had
made your final step toward absolute knowledge. You knew that the
end was near and could come any moment. But you never wanted to
change your chosen way.

This evening most of the palace sinks into
quiet as usual after nightfall. But in the south wing, the
sultaness is overwhelmed by feelings of both excitement and
sadness. On the one hand, tomorrow when the princess comes of age,
she will merely choose a suitor and become engaged; the wedding
itself will not take place for at least another month. But, on the
other hand, something important in the princess’s life is going to
change tomorrow when her little girl, a child she raised, cared
for, and watched grow into a beautiful young woman, will have to
point out from the palace balcony a suitor chosen by her, or rather
for her, to be her future husband. Thinking of this symbolic moment
when her daughter will pass to adulthood and become a bride fills
her with melancholy.

The nannies, preparing the princess for
sleep, hesitate to leave her quarters. After helping the princess
into her nightdress and serving her usual bedtime glass of warm
cinnamon milk, they sit in the armchairs and on the pillows around
her bed, outwardly busy with their needlework, yet forming an
inward circle connected by their shared ritual. Nannies Zulfia and
Fatima, helplessly lowering their hands, sigh and look into the
distance with their needlework resting on their laps. The young and
headstrong Airagad is embroidering with a determined expression on
her face; but looking more closely, it is easy to see that her
hands are not moving as fast as usual. Old Zeinab, in her favorite
armchair at the head of the princess’s bed, looks at the princess
with tenderness, not even trying to pretend to do anything useful.
The princess, who at this hour usually says good night to her
nannies and calls for Hasan to read a book to her, also feels
caught up in the mood, reluctant to break the atmosphere of silent
farewell.

“Tell me a story, Nanny Zeinab,” she
asks.

“Not about your grandmother again, princess!”
Airagad exclaims and the princess smiles, remembering how, when she
was a little girl, she would never go to sleep without the nanny’s
story about her grandmother and the bottle.

“How quickly have you grown up, princess,”
Zeinab says. “How quickly have you become a bride.”

“Have you ever been married, nanny?” the
princess asks.

“Never, my beauty,” Zeinab answers. “I had a
suitor once who asked for my hand, but your grandmother told me not
to marry him. I was looking after the little sultan at the
time…”

“Did you want to marry him?”

“Of course not!” The nanny waves her hand in
dismissal. “I hadn’t even seen him before!”

“Why did he ask for your hand?”

“I was said to be very beautiful back then.”
Zeinab laughs. “But it was much better to live as a nanny in the
palace than a wife in somebody’s home. Ask Airagad why she doesn’t
get married.”

“What good is it for me to marry?” Airagad
says crossly. “I could just as well decide to bury myself
alive!”

“Stop frightening the princess!” Zulfia
exclaims as her round, middle-aged face becomes even redder. She
shifts her large, strongly built body in the chair, looking at the
princess with kindness and compassion. “Don’t listen to them,
princess,” she says. “There’s nothing wrong with getting
married!”

“Of course, not,” Zeinab agrees,
good-naturedly. “Just wait, princess, we’ll be bringing up your
children yet…”

The princess tries to imagine herself as a
mother and a sultaness, a full-figured majestic woman, the way she
sees her mother. She looks helplessly at her thin arms lying on top
of the blanket, feeling completely incapable of performing this new
role for which she was destined from birth.

She feels that her life, which she always
enjoyed so much, has suddenly gone out of control and is flowing
away into the distance slowly and smoothly, but inevitably, like a
river to merge somewhere with the waiting ocean. She tries to
imagine what her groom, prince Amir of Veridue, will be like, but
the image in her mind mostly resembles her father, the sultan, with
his beard sticking out and his dark eyes shining from beneath heavy
eyebrows, making her fear him all the time. She is trying to
remember what her father looked like when he was younger, and
suddenly she sees in her mind the face of Abdulla, the restless,
unkind apprentice of Hasan from the distant Dimeshq.

The princess shivers, suppressing her desire
to call Hasan right away—trying to remove the unpleasant image from
her memory, trying to convince herself that prince Amir will turn
out to be handsome and kind, perhaps even resembling Hasan himself.
Trying to call forth to her mind a pleasant image of her future
husband, she suddenly realizes that she is unable to remember what
Hasan looks like.

Chapter 20. Ceremony

The turban on the princess’s head is crowned
with a white ostrich feather that wavers whenever she moves. This
dazzling white feather tells the crowd at the palace plaza what is
happening on the royal balcony. Right now the princess is following
with her eyes another procession—rejected. Their banner, a serpent
entwining a lion, is already disappearing under the arch of the
palace gate. No matter who the princess chooses to be her husband,
all the foreign guests will feast at the palace tonight to honor
her seventeenth birthday.

The princess, never before having seen so
many different and unusual people gathered on her behalf, cannot
hold still. All the worries of last night and about the morning’s
preparations have disappeared at this joyous occasion and at the
sight of the plaza filled with people, the bright flags and
banners. The princess feels like the hero of a magic tale,
absorbing every little detail around her. Different processions
float by the balcony one by one, so wondrous that the princess
forgets how curious she was to see the party from Veridue—to find
out what her future husband looks like. She is not feeling a part
of the mysterious ritual anymore. She is twisting and turning back
and forth on her pillows under the canopy while the sultaness
vainly tries to call her to order.

“Prince Musa Jafar Avallahaim spent a month
traveling to bring to the feet of the beautiful princess of
Dhagabad this statue of a dragon carved from northern malachite!”
the master of the ceremonies announces.

Two slaves pull a light cover off a huge
shape on a wheeled platform and the crowd freezes in amazement.
Sunlight bursting into rainbows on the green scales, a black and
green forked tongue hangs between the open jaws of green stone, and
the fiery beryls of the eyes, breaking the uniformity of the statue
by their faceted brightness, bring shivers. Startled, the princess
recalls the Avallahaim myth of the dragon that Hasan read to her
from an old book found in the palace library. The dragon—a mystical
protector and symbol of prosperity in Avallahaim—was described in
the book as a creature with the body of a snake, the claws of an
eagle, the wings of a bat, and the head of a lizard. Transfixed by
the gaze of its beryl eyes, she has to force herself to look away
from this fairy-tale dragon, so real in its green stone flesh.

Enjoying the effect to the fullest, Prince
Musa Jafar, a pale, feeble youth with dark cold eyes, signals to
his suite.

“Aware of the great knowledge and wisdom of
the princess of Dhagabad, Prince Musa Jafar brings to her feet the
oldest manuscript in the great Avallahaim library!” the master of
ceremonies continues.

A venerable old man with a long, white beard
steps forward, carrying a pillow with a golden case on it and,
bowing, holds it out to the balcony.

“Look, mother,” the princess whispers
excitedly. “Do you know that no one is allowed to read this scroll?
Rumors say it bears the secret of eternal life…”

“Nonsense, princess,” the sultaness says. “Go
on, announce your decision. You are making the prince wait.”

With a deep sigh the princess slowly shakes
her head, the white feather wavers and bows to the side, and the
crowd breathes out in disappointment. Alas, this suitor was not to
the princess’s liking, either. Stretching their necks, the citizens
of Dhagabad are trying to see how many banners are still visible at
the far end of the plaza. How many more noble princes are still
waiting to seek the hand of their young princess?

“Prince Said Abdulla Ahmed of Halaby!” the
master of ceremonies announces.

Prince Said carries with him a feeling of
unusual physical strength and might. His skin is blackened by sun
and wind; his slanting dark eyes pierce the princess.

“Prince Said devoted his life to the search
for something as beautiful as the fair princess of Dhagabad!”

“How did he know?” the princess whispers,
pulling an end of her long scarf to the face to hide a smile. “He
has never seen me before!”

“It is just a figure of speech, princess,”
the sultaness whispers back. “Pay attention!”

“Spending years in travels, Prince Said
finally came to the conclusion that the gods haven’t yet created
anything to equal the rare beauty of the princess!”

The princess throws a mischievous glance back
toward Hasan, who is wrapped in a dark cloak from head to toe.

“You see, Hasan, someone is finally
appreciating my true value.”

“I admit, princess, I am blind, foolish, and
appalling, even to myself.” Hasan laughs. “How could I ever miss
something like that?”

“Prince Said brings before her highness two
sapphires, borne by the earth in its very depths to praise the
eternal shine of the divinely blue eyes of the princess of
Dhagabad. Prince Said begs the lady to accept these stones, his
most valuable possession, as a humble gift to her immortal
beauty.”

The prince holds out a box and, keeping his
eyes on the princess, he slowly raises the lid. A deep blue shine
flows out of the box. Even the sultaness cannot hold back a gasp of
admiration. Two large sapphires, sparkling with many facets, for a
moment overshadow the sunlight itself.