Princess: Stepping Out of the Shadows, стр. 9

Many social changes took place across the Arab peninsula under Islam, including security for all, but most importantly the lives of girls and women profoundly improved.

Prophet Mohammed condemned formerly common and brutish practices such as female infanticide. Appalled to observe that Arabians prior to Islam were fixated on murdering their daughters, he spoke out against the heinous practice on many occasions until the monstrous custom was finally discarded by most. It’s such a shocking concept that most women who know of the tradition carry a secret fear of the prospect.

Even I once felt panic and alarm at being buried alive.

This happened after my brother Ali and I had engaged in a physical spat over a toy, a mechanical horse given to me by one of my uncles. I was the victor, keeping what was mine. My brother was furious because he was accustomed to winning due to his larger size, but my cunning powers had overtaken my brother while we were still children. I had easily succeeded in convincing him that I would relinquish my little horse. With a smug smile, he relaxed to walk with his hand outstretched to claim what was not his, but I looked over his back to call out, ‘Mother!’ He froze for an important moment, believing that our mother was a witness to his wicked behaviour, and that’s when I moved as fast as the swirling winds in a sandstorm to conceal my little horse in a top-secret cupboard in my bedroom.

My bewildered brother was unable to find my hiding place and he was so upset that he sputtered in anger before rushing into the back garden. I followed to see him seize one of the gardener’s digging tools to hollow a pit in the flower bed where the sand was soft and malleable.

Bragging about my triumph, I ridiculed him, laughing, ‘No, my brother, I did not hide the horsey in the flower bed!’

Ali grabbed a handful of sand and threw it at me, screaming, ‘Eat this.’

My mouth was still open due to my laughter, thus grains of gritty sand landed on my tongue.

‘Taste it!’ my brother ordered. I well knew his implication even before he shouted, ‘You should have been buried alive at birth, Sultana!’

I tried to spit out the sand and stepped back, ready to make a run for my life should my brother try to force me into a hole in the ground. There were times that my brother truly frightened me. I had once heard my older sisters whispering about the ancient habit of burying baby girls alive in the desert. Given the chance, would my brother really do me the ultimate harm? For sure, I could easily see that he so hated me that he wanted me out of our family, perhaps buried in the big sands surrounding Riyadh.

I was young enough to still cry out for my mother and so I ran looking for the safety of her arms, telling her between tears, ‘Ali wants to bury me in the garden! He tried to make me eat sand!’ I opened my mouth as wide as possible, pulling my tongue out with my fingers. ‘See! See the sand!’ Mother looked but could see nothing because during the excitement I had indeed swallowed it.

‘Darling, Sultana, your brother did not mean the words he uttered,’ my mother reassured me. ‘He is a young boy, foolish at times, and he will regret those words when I speak with him.’

I remember her soft but steady voice as if it were yesterday, as she continued soothing her youngest child. ‘Sultana, hush, child. You will not be buried in the sands. Prophet Mohammed forbade such a thing. It is now a serious crime with punishment.’

I memorized the words she spoke, for I wanted to be ready to teach my brother Ali lessons that he should know.

‘These words were spoken by the greatest man to ever live, the man who was given the wisdom of God directly through angels.’

I felt a rush of excitement because I did not know what this wisdom was but surely longed to learn so I could use such knowledge against my brother when he and I engaged in physical disagreements.

‘Sultana, the Prophet valued his own daughters dearly, and he said these words: anyone who brings up two daughters properly will be very close to me on the Day of Judgement.’

My mother smiled sweetly, kissing my head and my cheeks before resuming the messages she wanted me to know.

‘There is a lovely story relating how the Prophet reprimanded a man once for showing favour to his son over his daughter. This man, in the presence of Prophet Mohammed, kissed his son and put him on his lap but did not do the same for his daughter, who was also by his side. The Prophet objected, telling the man that he was an unjust father and that he should have also kissed his daughter and placed her on the other side of his lap.’

I nodded my small head, comprehending that the revered Prophet had taken up for girls in an important manner.

‘Sultana, there will be no babies buried alive ever again. Let your heart be happy, daughter, and know that in the eyes of God you are as important as your brother.’

My mother sighed as once more she tenderly pulled me close. ‘And, Sultana, your mother prays to God with thanks that I am of this time in Arabia, for my heart would have stopped beating had any daughters of mine been taken to the sands to die.’

It was on that day that I learned from my mother that the Koran makes no distinction between the sexes, considering the birth of the female as a gift and blessing from God, the same as a male child. The verses my mother shared helped to cool my heated heart. But, despite the fact, as I was being pacified I was plotting revenge on my spoiled