Princess of Dhagabad, The (32 page)

You look into the well with her, knowing that
you won’t see your reflection in the water and never believing for
a moment you will see in there something important for you. With
one part of your all-knowing being you see all that the princess
sees in the sparkling surface of the water. But another part of you
is looking into the well by yourself, and the two visions—against
all you have ever heard about prophecies, against all judgment,
against all knowledge—blend into one. With a special double sight
that makes the vision much deeper and more dimensional, you see as
if looking from two places with two pairs of eyes, the sinking
crimson sun, endless sands, ghostly garden, and ancient temple…
You are present in the desert as if in a dream beyond suffering,
seeing every detail, every grain of sand as clear as ever. And,
holding her hand, overwhelmed by a long-forgotten feeling of
surprise, you realize that by some strange will of the ancient
magic, you, an all-powerful djinn, and she, your mortal mistress
are seeing one and the same thing in the prophetic depths of the
marble well…

You lied, saying that you didn’t look into
the well during your first encounter with the labyrinth. You lied
because the vision sent to you foretold your end, but you realized
it only when it was already too late. Back then you saw in the well
the surface of a dune with its grains of sand right before your
eyes as large as rocks. You saw the crimson haze on the horizon
with its deadly beams coming straight at you. You saw beyond the
crest of the dune closest to you endless waves of sand and the
approaching blast of the merciless wind that shifts the rippled
crests from place to place according to its ever-changing whim. You
saw your future, and knowing nothing of eternal suffering, were
unable to interpret that vision.

How can you interpret the vision sent to you
now? Is it your destiny to return to the desert, to continue your
terrible suffering because your spirit is unable to submit
completely to its new form? Will the princess become a djinn as
well, since she sees the same vision as you do? Were you mistaken
when you couldn’t see any signs pointing out her passage to
absolute power? Can you do something to help her avoid the same
end, even if it requires you to stop revealing the most sacred
mysteries of the world and sharing your knowledge—even if it takes
giving up the new something that you feel every moment you spend
with her?

By the law of Dhagabad she will soon become
the property of her husband and her life will be filled with duties
that will occupy all of her time and all her mind—duties that will
make her forget her hunger for knowledge. Although you still don’t
believe that she will become a djinn, you know she will never lose
her passion to learn. And, despite your strangely intense regret
that she will soon be unable to spend time with you, you know that
you must make a solemn oath to help her however much you can in her
chosen path.

Can an all-powerful spirit be interested in
the deeds of mortals? Can you, who know the truth about the world,
who have seen the depths of eternity with your own eyes, pay
attention to such minor things as a mortal girl, even if you are
her slave, even if you spend almost all your time with her, even if
she is the daughter of a sultan and the most beautiful woman in the
world?

Did those millennia in the desert really
cloud your mind? Aren’t you exasperated by your slavery? Aren’t you
despairing at the thought that with all your power you cannot lift
a finger without the wish of your little mistress? Aren’t your
dreams troubled by thoughts of the grandeur that you gained and
lost and aren’t the nightmares about the piercing beams and
shifting sands torturing your soul? Perhaps you are finally
doubting whether the way meant for you was really the way of
knowledge and not the way of the mortals. And what finally broke
your will was not the suffering in the endless desert, but
gentleness, kindness, and beauty.

Can any immortal really know what is the
strongest power in the world, the power that defeats suffering,
pain, and loneliness? Maybe this power is infinite knowledge. That
is what you have always thought. But another possibility now crawls
into your mind and grows, easily gaining more and more space among
the infinite number of things inside it.

What if you were deceived? What if the
strongest, most overwhelming, most victorious power is really the
ability to feel friendship, closeness, and unity with another
living creature? Such is this friendship, this closeness, this
unity, that you don’t care that this creature is mortal, weak,
fragile and helpless; you don’t even care about the future. All you
care about is being together with this creature, so weak, so
imperfect and yet so close to you.

And for this feeling that grows inside you,
this feeling that is possibly stronger than suffering, wisdom, or
immortality—this power that everyone feels in his own way and calls
his own name—poets and storytellers that think it important to
invent a name for everything, find a single, improper, and awkward
word—love.

Chapter 19. The Chosen Way

The princess rises to her feet, watching the
curtain move to the side, watching a procession of women solemnly
enter her quarters. She knows that this is not a usual visit from
her mother and nannies and that the serious expression on her
mother’s face, reflected in the faces of the slave women and
nannies comprising her suite, bears upon something very important.
The princess throws a quick glance back to make sure that Hasan is
still with her, supporting her. He has also risen to his feet,
having put aside the book they were reading.

“Princess,” the sultaness begins solemnly. By
the slight trembling of her lips the princess can see how hard it
is for her to maintain this slow, measured manner of speech. “You
know that tomorrow, on your birthday, you must choose a suitor from
among a number of princes who will come to Dhagabad to seek your
hand.”

“Yes, mother,” the princess says, suddenly
feeling small and defenseless.

“You also know that although it must appear
to be your choice, you have to choose the suitor selected for you
by the State Council of Dhagabad, with the approval of your father
and myself.”

“Yes, mother,” the princess says even more
quietly than before. She knows very well the whole procedure of
selecting a suitor, but for everyone in the room, including the
sultaness and even the princess herself, there is a special
significance in this ritual, a mother instructing her daughter on
the eve of her coming-of-age.

“Your suitors will bring rich and exotic
gifts,” the sultaness continues in her measured voice. “But
remember: you mustn’t accept gifts from anyone except the suitor
you choose.”

The sultaness pauses; and the princess stands
absolutely still with her eyes wide open, unable to even nod at
this moment of high tension, waiting for her next words.

“Your chosen suitor will be prince Amir of
Veridue.”

These words fall like a burden the sultaness
has been forced to carry a long distance, until it was finally time
to bring it into her daughter’s quarters and drop it at her feet.
The tension in the room visibly subsides as the women start to stir
and sigh. Old Nanny Zeinab shakes her head, and the princess sees
tears sparkling in the deep lines under her eyes.

“Yes, mother,” the princess says again,
feeling it her turn to say something.

The sultaness looks away uneasily. She wants
to get past the formalities, to step forward and to hold her
daughter in her arms—the daughter she was forced to raise almost
like a son, the daughter she will soon have to let go. But there
are still some details they have to discuss, so she hurries to
finish with them as soon as she can.

“Tomorrow morning Zulbagad and other slave
women will bring your outfit. You must appear on the balcony
exactly at noon.”

“Will you be there, mother?”

“Of course I will, princess. Your father and
I will sit beside you on the same balcony, but you will have your
own canopy closer to the railing. You may talk to me, but you must
try to pay more attention to the ceremony.”

“What if the suitors don’t come, mother?” the
princess asks.

The sultaness cannot help smiling. It seems
her naive daughter doesn’t realize how precious she is—the only
heir to the throne of Dhagabad and a rare beauty on top of that. It
seems she doesn’t understand what an upheaval there will be
tomorrow on the palace plaza on her behalf.

“Of course they’ll come, princess,” she says.
“Most of them are already here, setting their camps at the city
walls. Tomorrow there will be more princes in Dhagabad than you
could ever imagine!”

The princess sighs. Her role, the choosing of
a suitor, stepping on the path she was born for, doesn’t raise any
questions in her mind. She has known for many years that it would
be like this, and now she is flattered at the thought that tomorrow
there will be princes in Dhagabad who have come for her sake. She
turns to Hasan and meets his encouraging gaze.

“Where will Hasan sit, mother?” she asks.

“Hasan…” The sultaness stumbles—she foresaw
this question but failed to prepare for it.

The princess feels her hesitation and
addresses her mother with an air of finality.

“I want Hasan to be with me, mother.”

Looking at her, the sultaness remembers the
moment, five years ago, when the princess disobeyed her for the
first time, refusing to order Hasan to go back into his bottle in
spite of her knowing exactly what the consequences would be.

“You know how the Veriduans feel about
djinns, princess,” she says helplessly. “Prince Amir’s
great-grandsire died at the hand of a djinn…”

“I want Hasan to be with me, mother,” the
princess repeats even more firmly.

“Very well.” The sultaness gives up. In the
depths of her heart she completely understands her daughter’s wish.
After all, Hasan is her best friend, and tomorrow’s events are
probably the most important of her life. She doesn’t feel it right
to try to deprive the princess of her djinn at such a time. But as
a responsible person she must think of some precautions.

“Let Hasan wear a long cloak with hood,
princess,” she says. “Even if you want him to be near you, it is
not necessary for him to attract any extra attention.”

“But, mother…” the princess begins, as she
hears Hasan’s quiet voice behind her.

“Let me wear the cloak, princess. I am
certain it will be better that way.”