The Tale of Princess Fatima, Warrior Woman

by The Tale of Princess Fatima, Warrior Woman- The Arabic Epic of Dhat al-Himma (retail) (epub)

ʿUqba had been raised among the Bani Sulaym, all of whom could still recall the dream his mother had during her pregnancy. She had consulted the wise ones of her tribe about it, and they had predicted: “The boy coming to you is a bad apple. He will cause discord among people, both women and men. He will carry out plots, and his faith will be corrupted. You should keep these things to yourself.”

  When ʿUqba was born, no one ever spoke of the prediction, but his mother found that she could not sympathize with her child. From his youth, ʿUqba ruined everything around her, stirring up trouble first among her peers, and then in an ever-widening circle. When he grew old enough, he departed to travel widely, studying and meeting with scholars. He was known for his cleverness, automatically memorizing everything he ever heard. He became a philosopher, undertaking studies in the Torah, the Gospels, and the Quran. He memorized all the sacred texts and studied all the various schools of thought. Some said that he was a heretical hypocrite, appearing religious on the outside but wholly corrupted on the inside.

  At home, Walid had some sweets prepared, and then he took them to ʿUqba, accompanied by the man who referred him. The sage was home alone. They sat, and ʿUqba and Walid’s acquaintance ate the sweets. Then Walid’s acquaintance said to ʿUqba, “Cousin, I’ve told Walid of your accomplishments. I’m introducing the two of you because there’s something he’d like to discuss with you, and I’d like you to help him with his request.”

  “Certainly.”

  Walid burst into tears, complaining of his passion for his cousin and concluding, “I swear to God, Lord of Love, if you get me what I want, I’ll give you one hundred dinars, a new silk brocade robe, a turban, and one of my finest horses.”

  ʿUqba replied, “You must promise complete discretion in this matter, and not repeat what is said here. . . . Now, who is closest to this cousin of yours?”

  “No one is closer to her than her milk-brother Marzuq. He accompanies and assists her, whether in travel or here in Malatya.”

  “It appears that I can help you.” He reached out and selected a small pouch, taking from it a bit of paste. From this, he handed Walid a pinch the size of a small coin, saying, “Take this. Invite Marzuq to visit you. Give him some money and explain to him that he is to put this in the lady’s food or drink so that you can fulfill your desire. Seeing that she is your cousin and your rightful wife, you are doing nothing wrong or harmful to her. Once he takes the money and administers the mixture, do as you like with her.”

  The mixture was a narcotic ground up with blue sulfur. Simply tasting a speck of it could knock a camel out cold. ʿUqba kept the mixture on hand because he had a penchant for beautiful women. When a woman heard of his great learning and she came to him, he would speak with her and then use the mixture to render her weak and pliable.

  With the mixture in his possession, Walid sent for Marzuq and explained his request: “As you know, Dhat al-Himma is my cousin, and she has been my rightful wife since the days of Mansur. You have seen all that I have endured for her sake. I want you to help me with her. Here is a thousand dinars for you.”

  “What do you want me to do? What are you getting at?”

  Walid explained his needs, concluding, “I want you to slip this into her drinking cup. When she has finished hunting, just bring her some water. This is not dirty money.”

  “I won’t take anything from you. She is your cousin and your rightful wife.”

  Marzuq took the mixture, and Walid prepared for a day of hunting. The next day, Princess Fatima rode out with Walid, through the brush and wild areas near Malatya. Animals bolted ahead of them, and the riders followed. When the day grew hot, they returned to Malatya. Princess Fatima dismounted, feeling thirsty after her morning exertions. Marzuq brought her a cup of water laced with the additive. She took it with complete trust, knowing he would never betray her. No sooner had the liquid touched her tongue than she fell onto her bed unconscious. Walid had made Marzuq promise to notify him when Princess Fatima had drunk the potion. Marzuq told Walid, “What you requested awaits you.”

  “You did it, Marzuq?”

  “Yes, she is on her bed.”

  At the threshold, Walid turned to Marzuq. “You go in first, and lift her hand so I can see if she is really asleep.”

  Marzuq approached Princess Fatima, raised her hand, and then dropped it. Her arm fell like a piece of wood. Seeing his dear friend in such a state, Marzuq regretted what he had done, but it was too late to take back his action. He left with a sinking feeling.

  Then Walid moved forward, his heart beating. He felt like he was in a dream. He removed her trousers, only to find beneath them a set of fitted leather leggings. Faced with layers that attested to Dhat al-Himma’s safeguarding of herself, Walid’s resolve faltered. Fumbling, he grabbed his knife and cut a hole in the leather. He fulfilled his desire until she bled. Satisfied, he left with a sense of achievement.

  Without this intervention, the great lion of a hero ʿAbdelwahhab would never have been born.

  Outside, Marzuq saw Walid’s face and knew what had taken place. He warned Walid, “Get out of here, or God knows what she will do to you when she comes to.”

  Walid told his father what he had done, and Zalim informed his brother Mazlum. Walid said to his uncle, “I better make myself scarce,” but Mazlum replied, “Why run away from your family? Your patience has been rewarded.” He walked to his daughter’s dwelling and sat in front of the door to ensure her safety and privacy.

  Marzuq felt deeply ashamed of his part in the farce, even though he had refused Walid’s money.

  When she woke at last, Fatima tried to sit up but could not due to the lingering effects of the anesthetic. She noted that her head was spinning and realized that she had been drugged. She yelled for Marzuq, “Backstabber! How could you betray me, Brother? You treat me like an enemy!” She drew her sword and fought the urge to run him through.

  Then her father approached, stepping between her and Marzuq. “Daughter, do not do anything you will regret later. There is no shame in what passed. You are not weakened in any way: women were created for men. Accept what has been allotted to you. Embrace God’s will for you.”

  Throwing her sword aside, Fatima fell to her knees, her head bowed. She said, “By the grace of the Prophet and the Light of the Umma, if Walid comes before me, I will kill him, even if I must atone for it in Hell.” She remained confined to her home, refusing to ride. She grew ill, and each of the commanders came to visit her. ʿAbdullah was pained by her appearance, but she showed no sign of recovering from her mysterious illness. She offered no explanations, and her secret remained hidden.

  Time passed, and the time of childbirth neared. Fatima felt the contractions of labor begin. He who says “Be” and it is had ordained a son for Fatima and her community. Fatima was frightened by the pain, but she persevered and was graced with the mercy of Divine support through her labor. At last the child was born at daybreak, with dark eyes, arched eyebrows, and skin like midnight.

  On seeing him, the women present were stunned. One exclaimed, “Lady Dhat al-Himma, your son is Black, but you and the father are both white!”

  Tearfully, another whispered, “Amira, what has befallen you? We all know how careful you are. How could this happen?”

  Princess Fatima replied, “The child is a creation of God, ‘the First and the Last,’ the One who brings low the mighty and raises the weak, who brings life to the dead and death to the living, and who issues white from black and black from white. All I know is God works in mysterious ways.”

  One shameless woman cut in, “Enough of your rhetoric. We don’t always get what we want. If you ask me, you should cut the boy’s umbilical cord and then hide him. You can answer to our Lord on the Last Day. Better yet, the safest route is to be rid of the boy altogether, or you’ll be destroyed because of him.” The others murmured in agreement with the harsh truth in the woman’s wor
ds.

  Princess Fatima roared at them to leave, but they remained. She muttered to herself, “There is no power or strength but God’s. God be praised for forming this life in the darkness of my womb. I am not afraid of the truth. I’m not going to kill myself for being legitimately married, my marriage contract signed by the caliph himself. I am a respectable woman, always living with an awareness of my Maker. I have no need for marriage. People can be angry or they can accept me. Either way, I have no control over their hearts. Clearly whatever is happening here is in hands bigger than mine.” She continued in verse, “The Merciful knows of my innocence . . .

  A man drugged me—altering my mind from its true course.

  That which is Written comes to pass—The judgment of God knows no defeater.

  For thus am I endowed—with a child who outshines starless nights.

  My anger would only increase the misfortune—“surpassing the horizons with misery”2

  I swear by the Family of the Prophet not to kill him—the Prophet taught us better.

  You all know the father of this child—It is the plain truth. . . .

  At this, the women believed her. One said, “We accept your story and the child, but no one else will understand. Let us dispose of him, and we will take care of telling the others that you gave birth to Walid’s child, and it passed away. Everyone dies eventually, and it is very common for little ones. There is no shame in it.”

  Princess Fatima sighed in exasperation. “I told you already that killing a child is totally contrary to Islam. Never suggest that as a solution!” She arranged for a group of nurses to care for him. “He is a gift from God,” she said as she entrusted him to their care until he grew a little older. Together the women named him ʿAbdelwahhab, and they promised to keep his identity a secret.

  The story circulated that Dhat al-Himma had given birth to a child by Walid, and it had not survived. Everyone expressed their sympathies. Walid heard the news from afar, and it saddened him. He had also heard that Princess Fatima had sworn to kill him if she laid eyes upon him, so he kept to one of the castles, avoiding her. She rode every day, but she never saw Walid or sought his company.

  One day Walid visited ʿAbdullah in secret and told him his story, ending with, “Dhal al-Himma has given birth to a son, who did not survive, and she swore she would kill me. I’m afraid of her, and afraid of what might happen.”

  ʿAbdullah shook his head and said, “Lord knows you only wronged yourself, Walid, even if what you did was not strictly illegal. Nevertheless, I’m going riding tomorrow anyway, and I will try to make peace between you.” Walid thanked him and spent that night with ʿAbdullah’s household.

  The next morning, ʿAbdullah rode out with some companions. Princess Fatima was also riding, and she approached to greet ʿAbdullah. He returned her greeting warmly, allowing their horses to fall back behind the others. Then he told her that he knew of what had passed between her and Walid, and he asked if it was necessary for her to insist on bringing discord to the community over it.

  Sighing, she said, “My cousin wronged me, but I do not want him to hold this against me.”

  “I have forbidden him from hurting or blaming you.”

  * * *

  —

  ʿAbdullah returned to Walid and informed him of the conversation. Walid agreed to bide his time, but his heart was sore. He kept his distance from Princess Fatima for weeks, and then months, until ʿAbdelwahhab was four years old. ʿAbdelwahhab took to playing with the other children of the town, hanging from the tent ropes and running about. The woman who cared for him taught him verses from the Quran and basic manners and hygiene. One day he said to her, “Mom, buy me a horse so I can ride among the heroes. When I grow up, I can take care of you!”

  Surprised, she replied, “My son, I am only a servant. Let me ask someone else for you.” She went to Dhat al-Himma and repeated the boy’s request.

  Delighted, Princess Fatima replied, “Sister, bring him to my tent this evening. Let me get to know him, his talents and inclinations. You can continue taking care of him by day.”

  “As you wish.”

  Princess Fatima came to care for her son, and she found herself impatient to see him again. This arrangement continued until one fateful night. One of the women of her household, Salwa, was in love with a servant of Walid’s named Saʿad. One night, when they were together, Saʿad told Salwa that Walid grew upset every time he saw Dhat al-Himma, viewing his marriage as a failure.

  Salwa whispered, “Saʿad, what I am about to tell you is so secret that it could lead them to hate or even kill each other. The amira gave birth to a Black baby. She hid it among the servants so that no one would accuse her of having been with Marzuq. She claims that it is Walid’s child.” No sooner had Saʿad heard this than he rushed to find his master.

  Walid was with his father, Zalim. As they listened to Saʿad repeating Salwa’s tale, their minds began to spin.

  “Bring me the servant girl,” ordered Walid.

  Saʿad returned with Salwa, and they questioned her. Salwa told them of ʿAbdelwahhab, how he was hidden because he was Black, and clearly a bastard. “She put him away, my lord, because she chose a servant over you—she was raised among servants, after all. She prefers them, and would only give herself to one of them.”

  “You spin a fascinating tale, Salwa. How can we prove it?”

  “My lord, come at night with some elders as witnesses. You will find the boy at her side. You will see that he is Black, and that she is hiding her shame.”

  Zalim thanked the girl: “We will not forget this good deed of yours. The next time you see the boy with her, come and tell us.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She returned to Princess Fatima’s home and kept watch. That night, Walid and Zalim gathered together a group of elders. They explained the situation, and the elders advised them to seize the opportunity when it arose. Thus a group of conspirators formed around the shared mission to discredit Princess Fatima. They were pleased to take down one endowed with such bravery.

  Salwa arrived with the news: “She’s holding the bastard now! Her secret is exposed in the dark of night.”

  Walid and Zalim rushed to Dhat al-Himma’s quarters, filled with rage. Walid was the first to enter her home, and Zalim called out, “Fatima! Show us our child! Such a noble woman should not keep such a blessing from us! Show him to us even if he is Black.”

  “This is your child,” she said as she rose. Her eyes took in the crowd. “I see that you brought the whole town.”

  “Show us the child.”

  “This is Walid’s child, ʿAbdelwahhab. I kept him hidden until Walid could grow in his appreciation of both me and the child. I have sworn off husbands, Walid or otherwise. Life is too short.”

  “Indeed, life is fleeting,” rasped Walid, “but where is my child, Amira of the Arabs?”

  “This is your child. Look at him! If his coloring is unusual, considering that his mother and father are both fair, at least he has a heart of gold and can see the world clearly.”

  Zalim threw back his head and laughed. “Dhat al-Himma, where did you get this child? He looks a lot like Marzuq.” He drew his sword and struck her above her chest.

  Princess Fatima pulled her sword from its sheath and snarled, “You sorry excuse for an Arab. What do you think you’re doing? You call yourself a man!”

  Then Walid drew his sword on ʿAbdelwahhab, drawing blood from near the boy’s ear. The boy screamed. By this time, some people had run to inform Mazlum, who came running with a group of warriors, and they imposed order upon the gathering, sending everyone home.

  The next morning, Mazlum arranged for ʿAbdullah to hold an inquest and make a judgment in the case. ʿAbdullah sat on a chair carved from ivory and engraved with gold. Everyone concerned gathered in his majlis reception room.

  Walid leapt up like a madman, his ey
es wild, to address the gathering. Clearing his throat dramatically, he said, “You all blame me for Dhat al-Himma’s folly. Seeing as how she is my cousin, her honor reflects on me, and her infidelity is a personal offense. She renounced me for the preposterous reason that she prefers slaves! Now she has a Black bastard, and she claims it’s mine! The kid is as dark as night, and we’re both fair. How can this be?

  Respectable people, hear me out

  My heart is blazing

  It yearned for her from the start

  Sincerely longing

  You can’t blame me for my doubt

  She’s clearly lying

  Judge between us, figure it out

  Or I’ll die trying.

  All eyes upon Walid, it was as if the world had turned upside down. Like the moment in battle when the sword is drawn and the soul quivers in fear. Mazlum stood listening. Zalim watched Princess Fatima, gloating. All were perplexed. Someone said, “It makes no sense.”

  Another replied, “Have you ever seen two light-skinned parents have a child that dark?”

  Another said, “Take care what you say. That’s not our concern, and there is no way for us to know the truth in this matter. In the end, God made all people, the light and the dark, and this is in God’s hands. In the fields, haven’t you seen how some sheaves of grain can have a hundred grains, while others have none? We have known the amira to be nothing but trustworthy, and impeccable in her devotions and behavior. Anyone who doubts that this child is Walid’s should think again.”

  As the gathering was discussing the matter, Mazlum appealed to his daughter privately: “You have opened us to scandal and called our reputation into question. If you have anything to say, share it now. It could be a matter of life or death.” Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes and spilled over, and he continued in verse:

  Daughter of Mazlum,

  I have cried so many tears over you

  How will I ever live this down?