by The Tale of Princess Fatima, Warrior Woman- The Arabic Epic of Dhat al-Himma (retail) (epub)
How is it your son does not resemble you?
You are accused of infidelity
Is it true?
Princess Fatima had years of experience of not sleeping all night and not eating all day. She had developed discipline for fasting and surviving in harsh conditions, but when she heard her father’s verse, she screamed so loud that she silenced everyone else. “What a travesty! What is this, Father? Are you taking the word of the conniving schemer Zalim and his son who is not to be trusted? I swear the only thing between me and Walid is a blade, but I don’t want his blood on my hands.
I may be confused and suffering,
But the Merciful doubts me not
By the One who established the heavens
And who knows all that passes in secret,
The Powerful who brings about life,
The Compassionate who defends from hurt,
By the Prophet and all his supporters,
Abu Bakr comes first,
Then ʿUthman, “Al-Faruq” who distinguishes wrong from right,
And ʿAli, Muhammad’s cousin, willing to stand and fight,
In memory of the Prophet’s family,
By the holy water of Zamzam and the celebrated cornerstone,
My conscience is clear.
Since my teenage years, I have worked for what is right.
If my child is Black,
This is God’s doing, and we should consider that.
The One Who arrays flowers in such varied colors
Also relieves burdens and heals the heart.
The One turns black hair to bright white
Have you not heard of light skin also turning dark?
I fear for the community that solves a problem by committing a crime.
My soul is at peace, and my patience will not run out.
Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. At this, sly ʿUqba turned to her, saying, “Dhat al-Himma, there’s no need to beat yourself up. Instead, you should keep in mind that when Walid laid with you, you were drugged. After that, Marzuq showed up. He himself is a bastard and, seeing you so available, just couldn’t help himself. Walid is concerned that the child is not his, but it’s not your fault. You weren’t conscious.”
His words made Fatima nearly lose her mind. She drew her sword, saying, “You dog of Bani Sulaym. You jump at the chance to slander someone from Bani Kilab. I should put an end to your meddling,” but the people of Bani Sulaym interceded on his behalf, claiming that they relied on him to be their faqih, a religious authority.
By this intentional provocation, ʿUqba had sought to ensure Walid’s loyalty, counting on the power of tribal ties. Indeed, a group of Mazlum’s supporters had reached for their swords in defense of Princess Fatima. For a tense moment, omens of death flitted through the air.
Then Mazlum called everyone to their senses: “Where are the protectors of girls? Where are the followers of the Lord of the heavens? Where are those who know Princess Fatima as ever-reliable and trustworthy? Have you not heard the words of the One who knows all secrets?
Girls are always under fire,
Especially Fatima and those upstanding
Rumors of their misdeeds spread
Yet they focus on their praying
How many times has she defended you?
How much effort for fairness is she known for making?
She is Dhat al-Himma, known for Honor and Grace: Today she faces
An accusation that would make great hearts set to shrinking
Her son ʿAbdelwahhab
From extraordinary circumstances emerging
His skin may be dark, but through this child
Our Lord is capable of bringing forth the brightest blessings
Be not hasty to judge, for God forgives all sins
The destruction of good souls excepting.
All who heard Mazlum were impressed by his eloquence.
At this, the amir ʿAbdullah engaged Zalim, the amir of Bani Sulaym, in combat. The two tried unsuccessfully to overpower each other all day long. When night fell, the mercy of God allowed those representing Mazlum and Princess Fatima to triumph over Zalim and Bani Sulaym. The lengthening shadows broke up the melee, and both sides retired to their tents.
The amira went home to her son and kissed him on his forehead. Then she scooped him into her lap, saying, “Thanks be to the One who formed you. May he give you patience during this challenging time. I wish, for your sake, that I had never drawn attention to you.”
ʿAbdelwahhab raised his head, tears falling from his eyes. He was intelligent in his youth and would become a leader when he grew up. He had great himma3 and a noble, transparent bearing. At this time, he was only seven years old, crying in honest consternation. He was attuned to his mother, noticing when she rose and when she sat, listening to her and doing as she said. When he touched her arm, she felt that he would be strong and that he would support her with the steadfastness of a mountain.
Fatima smiled, saying, “My son, these hands will do great things.”
“You know, God made me Black for a reason. He knows best.” Then he broke into poetry,
I may look dark,
But my heart is bright enough to light up the world
There is no shame in skin color
Only in undeserving deeds
Pride rests only in actions
That stand up to the test of Judgment.
Proud of her son, the amira replied, “What a smart kid you are! You will go far. My son, ask not about what happened to me. I must ride out this challenge and see what is to be done.”
* * *
—
In the morning, ʿAbdullah rode with the great warriors of Bani Kilab and Bani Sulaym to the home of Zalim and Walid. Gathering them together, he said, “It is time to resolve this dispute.” He gestured for Princess Fatima to step forward, saying to her, “I seek to mediate between you.”
She replied, “Amir, by the One who Knows Hidden Secrets, this boy is the son of Walid.”
He nodded. “I can see that you are telling the truth. The hearts of all those gathered here confirm what we have seen of your integrity and proper conduct. Let not your heart worry. It is for me to remove this stubborn division between you. Walid must recognize the boy as his son, despite his dark complexion.”
“Sir, what would you have me do? What happened between us was a farce. I want nothing to do with him. Walid accused me of adultery in front of everyone, and it was an utter lie. I have drunk from the cup of suffering.”
“I have an idea.” Those gathered turned toward ʿAbdullah expectantly, and he continued. “Let us take the boy to Mecca. We will seek the opinion of the leaders there, and we will agree to abide by their decision.” The crowd expressed their support for this plan. Mazlum and Princess Fatima were hopeful, and only Zalim and ʿUqba found the idea less than satisfactory.
Mazlum appointed five hundred of his men, and Zalim and Walid chose one thousand of their men. ʿAbdullah also took one thousand warriors of Bani Sulaym, and together the entire party set out for the House of Sanctuary (the Kaaba) and Zamzam. As they rode, Mazlum was pensive. He rode a little apart, spontaneously composing poetry:
Here we go, to the ancient sanctuary
Relying on our Prophet
To bring us relief and clarity
From our hardship
Though he is colored darkly
I have seen the boy’s wisdom
May the sacred space bring mercy
Or my daughter will lose her life
Indeed I could lose mine as well, heartily
For what would life be without her?
May they believe her—Be kind, my Lord, Sidi.
When they were three days’ ride
from Mecca, the group camped near a hill that overlooked a fragrant meadow. Water flowed through the meadow among blooming flowers. In the center of the meadow were brocade tents, some set up and others bundled nearby, as well as a collection of swords. The area was controlled by a large clan called Bani Harb. Their leader, Ghashim, was a powerful champion and was nicknamed Shaytan al-Hijaz, “Devil of the Hijaz,” and ʿIfrit al-Barr, “Afrit of the Land.” Zalim and Walid rode down to meet with Ghashim. They greeted him and related their story from start to finish.
Ghashim had only one question: “Whose death do you want more, hers or the boy’s?”
Zalim answered, “If you can do it, leave neither remaining.” He had brought with him a herd of camels, including both mares and stallions. Now he presented these to Ghashim. He and Walid then returned to their tents before nightfall.
* * *
—
On arrival, Princess Fatima dismounted and embraced her father. She said to him, “You know, Father, Walid and your brother Zalim will stop at nothing to get the better of us. Be on the lookout.”
“Surely they’ve done enough already. I’m just worried for you.”
“My heart tells me that they are capable of anything.”
“My brother would never do anything really evil. He would never spill the blood of his own clan, especially not in this place of sanctuary. If it was not for the matter of scandal and reputations at stake, he would not have opposed me.”
They spent that night peacefully, but the next morning they were awoken by shouts. Amid the commotion, someone yelled, “Stand aside, Bani Sulaym. You are not our concern. We are here for Bani Kilab only.”
Then there appeared a giant atop a mighty black horse, like a towering mountain. Behind the giant were more than five hundred warriors mounted on Arabian horses. Fatima’s army of kin walked toward Ghashim and then halted to meet him. As leader, Fatima addressed Ghashim: “Sir, this is a world in which each soul is responsible for itself alone. We came here seeking judgment from the most notable legal experts. I am free of blame in this matter, but there are forces at work here greater than any of us.” Then she broke into poetry:
Ghashim, we meet in a moment of injustice
If not for the equality between us, you would be scavenger fare by now
But unfortunately for you, it’s not me to whom you must answer
Consider the birds of land and sea in all their hues
Among them are black birds, and red, and yellow
There are birds colored unlike their fellows, God knows why
Walid’s role as husband was foul play
If you have any sense of justice, you will let him prove himself in a duel
Make your choice carefully, for the sake of your own conscience.
Ghashim asked those near him, “Who is that?”
“The amira Dhat al-Himma, daughter of Mazlum.”
Ghashim was impressed and found himself in sympathy with her. Turning to Walid, he said, “Go out to her. If she has been wronged, the Lord of the Kaaba will not give you victory over her anyway. If she’s lying and is at fault, then you will win.”
Walid hesitated, knowing that if he met her on the field, she would win. He said, “Let us resort to the court. . . . You know, amir, this woman is not like others. She can outfight lions.”
Ghashim laughed, saying, “I see. What’ll you wager? Name your odds, and I’ll send my slave Kubbash in to fight her.”
“This saddle I’m sitting on—it’s worth five hundred dinars.”
Ghashim shouted, “Kubbash!” A man approached, towering like a mountain, riding atop a Hijazi camel faster than horses. The mighty Black slave answered Ghashim, “Yes, Master. What would you like me to do?”
“Bring me the head of that warrior.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Kubbash attacked the amira. He was known throughout the Hijaz for his fierceness in battle. But it was only a moment before the amira yelled, taking him by surprise, and thrust her spear through his chest.
Ghashim spluttered, “I didn’t want him dead, but she’s just too good. . . . Walid, I’m taken with her, and I want her for myself. Divorce her, or I’ll have you eliminated.”
Stymied, Walid replied, “Sir, God has already parted me from her, for our heads have never laid together on the same pillow.”
“In that case, pronounce her divorced, and she shall no longer be your wife.” Ghashim broke into poetry,
Divorce her, for your case has become too difficult
After all she has done, I must have her
A Black child shames her not
She is a pure and free woman
In my eyes, she is clean
She is free, and her son is free
Divorce her, for I’ve fallen for her
I want only to support her
If you do not give her up,
You will be making your home in a grave.
Walid looked into Ghashim’s eyes and was afraid for himself. “Sir, she is divorced from me.”
Ghashim summoned a shaykh from among his retinue, saying, “Go swiftly to her father, Mazlum, and tell him: ‘The amir Ghashim prevails upon your graciousness to consider his proposal. First, he affirms the innocence of Dhat al-Himma from all charges of indecency because he would like to marry her himself. Second, he is a ruler controlling territory from the Hijaz to Yemen, and would thus provide an alliance for your people in the territories of Sham and Iraq. You will also receive as many camels and other livestock as you request.’ Then go to Dhat al-Himma and tell her that her star is on the rise: ‘The amir Ghashim has requested your hand in marriage and ensured your divorce from Walid. You may have any dowry you wish. He will fight your enemies, bringing their heads to you if you like. You will become queen of the Arabs. If you decline this offer, he will find other ways to persuade you, so consider well your answer.’ ”
The shaykh went to Mazlum, relating his leader’s words. Mazlum, stunned, replied, “I hope that my daughter will agree, but I have nothing to do with this decision. Go to my daughter, and we shall see what she says.”
The shaykh nodded. “Yes, I have a message for her,” and he continued on to the amira, who was riding her horse. The shaykh called to her in greeting. She returned the greeting and approached him so he could deliver his news. “Amira, your actions and bearing have caught the attention of Amir Ghashim. He has spoken profusely of your beauty. May you enhance your goodness by marrying him. He offers you a dowry of ten thousand camel mares and countless sheep, goats, and horses. He has secured your divorce from Walid in front of witnesses. If you wish, he will finish him off. Or he could pardon him, or bring him to you for you to deal with. As you wish. Please consider his offer.”
“Sir, I can see what a generous offer this is. Please convey my response: If I was looking for a husband, I would certainly accept this great and formidable amir. However, I am focused upon my calling. I ride not for prestige but to further the cause of goodness in this world.”
“You do realize that if you were to marry my esteemed amir, all charges against you would be dropped and your name would be cleared?”
“No one can clear my name but the All-Knowing.”
“The amir Ghashim did mention that if you do not accept his offer, he will come for you in any case. You may be putting your family and people in danger.”
“He is not capable of such a thing. If we had not had an internal disagreement, no one from the Hijaz would ever have become desirous of us. If I must marry, then let my dowry be the one who overcomes me on the duel field.
Return to him, saying, Sir Sidi,
Her dowry request is great
If you want her beauty,
You must knock her down in a duel
If you lose this combat parley,
You r
enounce all claims to her
By the One who raised the heavens so ably,
Laying out the oceans masterfully,
And by his Prophet who lived justly,
None shall be my husband but he who bests me.
Returning to Ghashim, the shaykh delivered the amira’s response. Ghashim shrugged, saying, “She just wants to see how serious I am.” Then he arranged a gift to be delivered to her—money from pilgrims who had traveled to the area for hajj. He also captured Zalim and Walid and sent them along with the gift.
The following day, Ghashim sent a messenger to ask for her hand again. The messenger returned empty-handed, so Ghashim descended upon Princess Fatima’s camp. There they faced each other in combat. As they fought, a haze encircled them. Zalim and Walid stood off to the side, observing their tactics. They noted their great skill, until the rising dust obscured their vision. They could hear the give and take of combat, as well as their verbal sparring, but could not see how the light of Princess Fatima’s eyes dimmed, her feet moving of their own accord, or how Ghashim’s scowl darkened, his blows full of anger. And they could not see the sweat pouring from both their brows. The onlookers waited nervously, but the din continued until nightfall.
Then someone intervened, calling for the duel to resume the next day. Ghashim and Princess Fatima parted ways, spending the night on their guard. Before the break of day, the amira did her dawn prayers and mounted her horse. Her people and those of her uncle Zalim followed her, willing to fight with her, but she insisted on continuing to fight alone.
Ghashim arrived at the field, and they faced off once again. As they crossed swords, they moved across the length and width of the field, clashing and clanging, until at midday they began to falter. Again the rising dust obscured them. Ghashim grew dazed from the constant onslaught. The amira stepped up her attacks, closing in on him under the clouds of dust.
Then Princess Fatima let out a shout so loud it seemed to rattle the stones. “You,” she called, “are going down. You double-crossing scoundrel! Today I’m going to teach you what happens when someone comes after me and my family.”