A long-forgotten, passionate tale crafted for discerning and intelligent young minds Written Ali Al-Kasimi and translated by Hassane Darir
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The Exalted Sultan
Once upon a time, there lived a Sultan of immense power and unparalleled honor, a ruler renowned for his wisdom and vast knowledge. As the monarch of a prosperous Muslim kingdom, he was affectionately known as the Emir of the Believers. His nation, blessed with a rich civilizational history and a prime geographical location, was encircled by vast seas and traversed by wide, flowing rivers. Its people, celebrated for their generosity and courage, thrived on trade and agriculture.
Officially recognized as the 23rd supreme Sultan, he was lovingly called The Exalted Sultan by his subjects. His reign was distinguished by valor and strength. He repelled invaders, expelled occupiers, and restored the independence and unity of his kingdom. Known for his unwavering commitment to justice, he established a constitutional framework for governance and formed a Shura Council, whose members were elected by the citizens to legislate laws.
The Exalted Sultan tirelessly worked to advance his nation and improve the well-being of his people. He prioritized their fundamental needs—ensuring food, shelter, clothing, and security for all. He constructed expansive trade routes and substantial dams to irrigate fields, laying the foundation for economic prosperity.
A passionate advocate for education and the pursuit of knowledge, the Sultan founded numerous schools and universities and dispatched student delegations to advanced nations to learn modern sciences and technologies. He surrounded himself with scholars and writers, adorning his palace with a magnificent library brimming with manuscripts and books.
The Sultan's reverence for knowledge and scholars was legendary. Every year, during a designated month, he gathered the finest intellectuals from across the world at his palace. Each scholar was allotted a day to ascend a beautifully crafted pulpit and deliver a lecture on ethics to an audience comprising the kingdom's ministers, commanders, and dignitaries seated humbly on the ground.
The Sultan himself sat among them, crouching like a lion on a green carpet, flanked by his eldest son on his right and his youngest on his left. By taking this humble position beneath the scholar's pulpit, the Sultan imparted a silent yet profound lesson in humility, respect for scholars, the glorification of knowledge, and the importance of applying the fruits of scientific research.
Dressed in traditional Arab-Islamic attire, the Sultan’s presence was marked by elegance and symbolism. On the little finger of his right hand, he wore a ring adorned with a radiant blue stone, inscribed with the words: "None prevails but God."
The Amiri School[2]
The Sultan's profound dedication to science and his unwavering passion for knowledge were especially evident in the upbringing of his crown prince. He firmly believed that the progress and advancement of the nation hinged upon its leadership. As the saying goes, “When the king is righteous, his subjects will be upright and thrive, for people follow the example of their rulers.”
To ensure his heir received the best education, the Sultan established the Amiri School, a special institution located within the royal palace. He decreed that twelve boys of the same age as the crown prince, representing all social classes of the Sultanate, be selected to study alongside him. The only condition was that they must be among the brightest young minds. Among them were the sons of farmers, laborers, shepherds, doctors, and others, reflecting the diverse fabric of the nation. The Sultan extended the same initiative to the education of his younger son and his little princess.
To provide an unparalleled learning environment, the Sultan selected the most prominent scholars to serve as educators at the Amiri School. He outfitted the school with state-of-the-art laboratories, top-tier sports equipment, and the finest musical instruments. Taking a personal interest, the Sultan supervised the school’s examinations, cultural activities, and graduation ceremonies, ensuring it served as a model for all other schools in the Sultanate.
The Sultan believed that governance was a profession requiring expertise and preparation. Leaders must be trained in the principles of statecraft—managing the nation’s affairs, fostering its prosperity, and maintaining harmonious relationships with citizens and foreign nations. This conviction underpinned his decision to establish the Amiri School as a center of specialized education for his crown prince.
The Sultan issued clear instructions to the school's director and teachers to treat all pupils fairly and equally, with no distinction between a prince and a commoner. He insisted they be provided with the finest education, access to the latest sciences, and training in the most effective skills. The curriculum included renowned languages, rigorous research, and practical work, all designed to shape them into virtuous individuals and exemplary leaders.
In addition to these directives, the Sultan gave a special recommendation regarding his crown prince. He requested that the school’s director and teachers maintain a record of the prince’s questions and intellectual inquiries. This register was to be reviewed weekly and presented to the Sultan himself. During regular one-on-one meetings with his son, the Sultan would address these questions, offering guidance on matters of politics and governance. He shared with the prince the secrets of leadership, the principles of serving the people, and the methods of governance that elevate a nation.
Secrets of Sorrows
The crown prince was a remarkable young man—intelligent, handsome, and blessed with extraordinary physical strength, rare intellectual acumen, and refined compassion. Despite his noble status, he chose to dress like ordinary people. On the index finger of his left hand, he wore a ring adorned with a green stone, and inscribed on its inner circle with the words: "Knowledge is enlightenment."
From an early age, the prince displayed a deep concern for the poor, the needy, and the marginalized in society, including the disabled, the elderly, and orphaned children. He frequently visited impoverished neighborhoods, attentively observing their conditions, inquiring about their needs, and offering help whenever possible. His actions endeared him to the people, who affectionately called him “the beloved prince” or “the prince of the poor.”
The beloved prince possessed a radiant presence—a handsome face with harmonious features and an aura of charisma. Yet, those who gazed upon him noticed a subtle veil of sadness in his expression, like a gentle shadow tempering the brilliance of sunlight streaming through a window. Rarely was he seen laughing; instead, a polite, subdued smile illuminated his face most of the time—a smile that conveyed a blend of warmth and sorrow.
This underlying sadness concerned the Exalted Sultan, who struggled to understand its origin. Seeking answers, he secretly instructed his personal physician to examine the prince. The doctor returned with reassuring news: “My Sultan, your son, the prince, enjoys unparalleled physical, mental, and emotional health.”
The Sultan’s advisors offered various interpretations. Some suggested that the prince resented the constant surveillance and restrictions imposed by his security detail, as he naturally gravitated toward freedom, preferring to mingle with the people and roam without the constraints of guards. Rumors circulated within the palace that the prince had attempted several times to leave unaccompanied. Each time, his guards—fully armed and vigilant—quickly followed and surrounded him as soon as he exited the palace.
Another rumor claimed the prince had resorted to disguise to evade his escorts. On one occasion, it was said, he slipped out of the palace dressed as a chef’s assistant, passing unnoticed by the guards. However, when his absence was discovered, his security detail mounted their horses and dispersed in all directions, urgently searching for him.
The director of the Amiri School and its teachers had their own perspective. They believed the expression on the crown prince’s face was not sadness, but a reflection of his constant contemplation of the immense responsibilities awaiting him. His thoughts were often consumed by ways to alleviate the suffering of the poor and improve their lives.
The Sultan himself may have contributed to this thoughtful demeanor. During their private lessons, he posed probing, philosophical questions designed to encourage deep reflection. These questions often had a profound purpose, such as:
“Can a person’s wealth and comfort endure if others remain poor and hungry?”
“How can you help the poor escape the curse of poverty and achieve the blessing of prosperity? Do you give them a fish to eat each day, or do you teach them how to fish, enabling them to rely on themselves and preserve their dignity?”
These queries were more than lessons; they were puzzles that instilled in the young prince a sense of duty, a relentless drive to seek solutions for the betterment of his people. The beloved prince's thoughtful demeanor, though tinged with sorrow, was a testament to his profound sense of empathy and his determination to carry the weight of his future responsibilities with wisdom and integrity.
The Wonderful Sparrow
On the beloved prince's tenth birthday, the Exalted Sultan presented him with a rare and thoughtful gift to bring joy to his heart—a beautifully ornate silver cage containing a magnificent bird. This bird was unlike any other, with vibrant feathers, a sweet fragrance, and a melodious voice that could sing like a dove or a nightingale. Sometimes, it even mimicked human speech like a parrot, greeting the prince with the phrase: "Good morning, little prince." Every time the bird spoke, a smile graced the young prince's lips.
The prince cared deeply for the bird. He filled its water vessel, replenished its grains, and gently stroked its soft feathers with his fingertips. Over time, the bird became his constant companion, a cherished friend who brought warmth to his days.
One afternoon, the prince reclined on a sofa in his office, gazing through the large windows that overlooked the palace’s lush garden. Outside, the sun bathed the world in light, the trees were heavy with fruit, and flowers of every hue perfumed the air. Birds flitted freely from branch to branch, their songs blending harmoniously with the gentle rustling of leaves swayed by the breeze. The scene stirred a longing in the prince's heart.
He thought to himself: “Can I desire freedom for myself and yet deny it to another? Can I truly love this bird while keeping her confined?” He reflected deeply, knowing he loved the sparrow from the depths of his heart and believed she loved him in return. Her vibrant green eyes, the calmness of her wings under his touch, and her rhythmic chirping whenever he stepped away all spoke of her affection. Yet, doubt clouded his thoughts.
“Would she still love me if she were free?” he wondered. He desired a love born of choice, not captivity. True love and freedom must coexist. “If I love her as I claim, I must also grant her the freedom to choose”.
The prince also recognized that freedom comes with responsibility. Freedom without action is meaningless, and action leads to change. With freedom comes accountability for one's choices and deeds.
With these thoughts, the prince rose from his seat, his steps slow but purposeful, reflecting his resolve. He approached the ornate silver cage and gazed at the sparrow with sorrowful eyes. Opening the cage door, he gently placed his hand inside. The bird, sensing his intention, calmed under his touch. He lifted her tenderly, walked to the window, and looked out at the open sky, the tall swaying trees, and the vast expanse of the palace gardens.
With a deep breath, he released the sparrow into the air. For a moment, she hesitated, her wings fluttering in uncertainty, before soaring upward. She flew across the garden and landed gracefully on the branch of a tall palm tree near a cluster of golden dates.
The palace guards, witnessing the scene, quickly reported the event to the Exalted Sultan. That evening, during their usual lesson, the Sultan addressed his son:
"I have heard, my son, that you released the sparrow from her cage. This is a noble act, one that reflects your love for freedom. Freedom is indeed a sacred and wonderful gift, a natural right bestowed upon all beings. However, remember this: true freedom lies in choosing between good and evil."
The Sultan continued, "My son, there is no such thing as absolute freedom. A person’s freedom ends where the freedom of others begins. To ensure freedom benefits all, it must be governed by laws that balance individual liberties with the rights of the community. Without such structure, freedom can devolve into chaos, turning what should be a blessing into a curse."
To illustrate, the Sultan shared a story:
"Two young men once argued heatedly. One of them, carried away by his passion, used hand gestures to emphasize his points. As he pointed his finger at the other’s face, it accidentally touched his opponent’s nose. The second young man calmly remarked, ‘Your freedom to move your finger ends where my nose begins.’"
The Sultan’s words left the young prince thoughtful, reinforcing his understanding of freedom as not only a right but also a responsibility—a balance between personal desires and the collective good.
The Prince's Dreams
The beloved prince often dreamed in his sleep. These dreams were reflections of his thoughts, his worries, and the challenges that preoccupied him. For the prince, a dream—whether born of night or day—was essential. He believed that many great endeavors began as mere dreams. After all, how could human life proceed without the power of dreaming?
One night, as the prince lay in bed, he thought of the drought that had gripped the land for two long years, leaving the people anxious and yearning for rain. His thoughts then turned to the wondrous sparrow he had set free. Would he ever see her again? Slowly, drowsiness enveloped him, and a soothing relaxation spread through his body. Closing his eyes, he drifted into sleep.
In his dream, the prince saw his extraordinary sparrow. She spread her radiant wings and soared high into the heavens, passing through clouds until she reached the skies above. There, her wings began to stretch wider and wider, transforming into a vast umbrella whose shadow covered the earth. The sparrow's feathers started to scatter, forming a magnificent rainbow that arched from the heavens to the ground, glowing with seven brilliant colors: violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red.
Then, to his amazement, the feathers turned into raindrops. At first, they fell lightly, tapping gently against his window. The sound grew louder as the rain poured down, awakening the prince. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the window.
The tapping continued. When he looked out, he could hardly believe his eyes—the wondrous sparrow was there, tapping on the glass as if waiting for him to open it. Was this still a dream? Could it be real? In the blur between reality and dream, the prince’s heart raced.
The sparrow smiled and greeted him, “Good morning, my beloved prince.”
The prince’s voice trembled with joy as he replied, “Good morning, my beautiful sparrow.”
He flung the window open, cupped the sparrow gently in his hands, and pressed her close to his chest. Her tiny heart beat rapidly against his palm. Overwhelmed with emotion, he brought her closer to his lips and kissed her shimmering green eyes before releasing her once more into the open air, granting her the freedom he himself so deeply cherished.
As the sparrow disappeared into the wide expanse of the morning sky, the prince felt a profound peace settle over him. “I did not lose her when I set her free”, he thought. “Freedom did not break our bond; it strengthened it”. She had returned, not out of obligation, but from a true longing born of love and devotion.
That morning, the sparrow made herself at home in his hands, resting peacefully without any chains. The prince thought of the poet Al-Mutanabbi’s words: “Whoever finds kindness is bound by it.” Indeed, the sparrow had chosen to stay connected to him, not through force, but through love.
The wondrous sparrow made it a habit to visit the prince each morning. She would alight on his window, wake him with her cheerful call, and bid him good morning. She gazed at him with affection before fluttering her wings and soaring back to her nest in the tall palm tree.
One night, however, the prince was abruptly awakened by a terrible nightmare. In the dream, three monstrous vultures with bare necks, razor-sharp beaks, and cruel talons descended from the sky like bolts of lightning. They attacked the palm tree, clawing their way toward the sparrow’s nest. The vultures sank their talons into the sparrow's delicate neck, attempting to capture her and drag her away.
The sparrow flapped her wings with all her might, desperately trying to escape the grip of the dreadful vultures. The prince, filled with terror and desperation, ran toward the tree. His heart pounded as he reached its towering trunk, but before he could act, the sparrow broke free and soared toward him.
When she landed, she nestled near his ear, as if whispering a secret only he could hear. The prince gently cupped her in his hands, holding her close to his chest, where her tiny heartbeat mirrored his own. He thanked God for her safety, realizing with immense relief that it had been nothing more than a nightmare.
The prince vowed silently to always protect the sparrow, cherishing the bond they shared—a bond built on kindness, trust, and the freedom to choose.
The Prince's Love
The prince grew into a handsome young man, known for his noble character, sharp intellect, and broad education. As he matured, his concern for the well-being of his people deepened. He frequently visited the markets to ensure that food supplies were abundant and fairly priced, making them affordable for all. On these tours, he was accompanied by officials and men of authority. Yet, the prince noticed that many people hesitated to speak freely in the presence of such company.
To address this, the prince began disguising himself as a common laborer. Slipping out of the palace unnoticed, he wandered through neighborhoods and villages alone, observing his people’s lives firsthand. He found comfort in these excursions, believing his people meant him no harm.
The prince’s sense of duty had been shaped by his father, the Sultan, who taught him that power must be exercised with justice and compassion. A wise ruler, his father said, helps the weak and weary, combats oppression, and fosters security and prosperity. In return, the people’s love and loyalty would grow, creating a harmonious and flourishing realm.
Sometimes, the prince would leave the palace on horseback, accompanied by guards and attendants. But, eager to travel unnoticed, he would outpace them, using his skill in horsemanship and sharp wit to evade their pursuit. Once alone, he would dismount and walk through the poorer neighborhoods or remote villages, disguised, seeking to understand the hardships of his subjects.
One day, while disguised, the prince ventured far from the capital and reached the outskirts of a small village. In a meadow nearby, he heard the soft, haunting notes of a flute. Following the sound, he found a young shepherdess sitting by a stream under the shade of a great oak tree. Her flock grazed peacefully, and a loyal dog sat watchfully at her side.
As the prince approached, the dog barked sharply, ready to defend its mistress. The shepherdess raised her staff, calming the dog with a firm gesture. Though the dog retreated, it kept a wary eye on the stranger.
The prince greeted her, and she returned his greeting with a quick glance. Their eyes met, and the prince felt his heart race. Her piercing green eyes stirred a memory—did they remind him of his beloved sparrow from childhood? Searching for words to prolong their meeting, he asked her about the village. The shepherdess, however, seemed unimpressed by his questions.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for in the village,” she said curtly. “I don’t have time to talk.”
“And what keeps you so busy,” the prince asked, smiling, “besides tending these gentle lambs?”
“I have plenty to do,” she replied. “After finishing my weaving, I practice reading from this book.” She pointed to a book lying beside her.
Intrigued, the prince asked, “Why didn’t you go to school to learn to read?”
“There’s no school in our village,” she said, her tone sharp with disappointment. “There’s one in the neighboring town, but it’s too far away.” With a wry smile, she added, “The authorities build schools in cities and forget about villages like ours.”
Moved by her words, the prince offered, “Would you like me to help you read your book?”
The shepherdess gave him a pointed look, “You can help me by leaving.”
Despite her abruptness, the prince admired her straightforwardness and strength. As he bid her farewell, she called after him, her tone playful, “May safety always be with you.”
Her natural manner and candid speech struck him deeply. Unlike the formal courtesies and excessive flattery he was accustomed to, her words felt sincere and unpretentious.
On his return to the palace, the prince couldn’t stop thinking about the children’s lack of access to education in villages. That evening, he invited the minister of education to dinner. The minister, a dignified elder with a thick beard and spectacles, listened attentively as the prince began to speak.
“My father, the Sultan—may God protect him—has always taught me that justice means treating all citizens fairly and equally, regardless of their station or circumstances,” the prince said. “Education is a right for every citizen, and it is our duty to provide it to all, no matter their age, wealth, or location.”
The prince continued, “Villages and rural areas need schools just as much as cities. Without access to education, these communities suffer, their productivity declines, and their people face greater hardships. Neglect forces many people to migrate to cities, where they live in misery, creating new challenges for urban administrators.”
“I know you are committed to the Sultan’s directives and have worked tirelessly to establish schools across the Sultanate. However, I’ve discovered that some small villages and remote areas still lack schools for their children. I propose that your department draft a decree to make education compulsory, presenting it to the advisory council for approval as law.”
“Additionally, I suggest compiling a list of underserved villages and estimating the cost of building schools in these areas. This could be included in the upcoming budget proposal, allowing construction to begin in time for the next academic year.”
The minister, impressed by the prince’s insight and passion, replied respectfully, “As you command, beloved Prince. Thank you for highlighting this noble cause. I will ensure your vision is realized.”
The Prince’s Memoirs
That night, the prince could not sleep. A strange sensation, one he had never felt before, stirred within him—a delightful ache in his heart, a yearning that refused to be quelled. He longed to return to that village, to see the shepherdess again, to linger in her presence, as though he were weary with thirst and she the only spring to quench it. He wanted to hear her voice, with its lilting village accent, as melodious as the flute she played. Her smile, shy and radiant, revealed neat, pearl-like teeth, while the blush in her cheeks bloomed like spring flowers. When she smiled, dimples danced on her face, making her beauty even more enchanting.
The prince yearned to share his feelings with a trusted friend, yet the wisdom of his father, the Sultan, held him back. His father often said: “Your chest, my son, is the safest place for your secrets. If your chest cannot hold them, others’ chests will hold them even less. A secret shared beyond two people is no longer a secret. Keep your own counsel, and the choice remains yours.”
The emotions surging within him were overwhelming—like a rushing spring, a runaway river, or a flood sweeping away all in its path. The weight on his heart demanded release, yet he could share his thoughts with no one. Rising from his bed, he went to his office, opened his diary, and let his feelings spill onto its pages. Writing was his refuge, a solace that lifted him beyond the confines of the palace. With pen in hand, he soared to a vast, limitless space, weaving an ideal world out of words. In that world, he painted dreams with letters and gave melody to his hopes with sentences. His words described what no eye had seen and no ear had heard before.
That night, he wrote:
Tuesday, 4 Rabi’ al-Awwal
I saw her today—the beautiful shepherdess. She was radiant, like the brilliance of a star, like a gentle breeze, free and unrestrained like a sparrow.
I do not know why her wide, dewy eyes reminded me of my wondrous little sparrow. Was it because they are green too? No, I don’t think so. The color green is everywhere—in gardens, fields, and pastures, even in stagnant, lifeless waters. Perhaps the similarity lies in their clarity and expressiveness. Like the sparrow’s, her eyes reflect a noble emotion.
The eyes are the mirror of the soul, revealing through their gaze the affection or animosity hidden in the heart, even when the lips remain silent. Eyes have their own language, one that is more eloquent and honest than words. Today, her eyes spoke to me of pure love. They stirred my heart, awakened my soul, and revived my spirit.
She shares with my beloved sparrow not only the greenness and clarity of her eyes but also her love for freedom and movement. Just as the sparrow flitted from branch to branch, from tree to tree, so too did the shepherdess dart about, her every motion infused with purpose.
I watched her as she chased after a stray ewe, guiding it gently back to the flock. Then, she hurried to a lamb that had stumbled into a puddle, lifting it tenderly to its feet. Her movements were graceful, light, and free—like a butterfly with translucent, colorful wings. She seemed to flit among the wildflowers, touching their petals, kissing their stems, and sipping their nectar to sustain herself.
The prince closed his diary with a deep sigh, his heart both lighter and heavier at once. Through writing, he had given voice to his feelings, yet his longing for her remained, stronger than ever.
The Shepherdess and the Nation
The prince remained restless, his mind caught in the undertow of a new and unfamiliar emotion. For days, he grappled with its mystery, striving to understand its nature and origin. “Is this noble emotion stirring deep within me what they call ‘love’?” he wondered. “Love, they say, is like a breeze—we feel its presence but cannot see it. It manifests itself in longing, in the ache to be near the beloved.”
But why had he fallen in love with her, of all people? “Is it because she is beautiful?” he mused. “And what is beauty? Does it lie in the object itself, or does it emanate from the beholder? Is beauty an objective truth, defined by harmony, simplicity, coherence, brilliance of color, and purity of form? Or is it a subjective experience, shaped by one’s tastes, inclinations, and memories?”
These were the questions he penned in his diary that night.
At the height of his contemplation, a startling realization struck him: his love for the shepherdess was not unlike his love for his nation. Indeed, it seemed as though the girl had become the embodiment of the nation itself. His lifelong devotion to the land, cultivated since childhood, now coursed through his feelings for her—with all the same intensity, nobility, and fervor.
He could not explain how this association had taken root in his soul. He had loved his nation before he even understood its meaning. When he was a boy of no more than five, he had first heard the word from his father, the Sultan, who spoke it with reverence and passion. At the time, the child’s mind had equated “nation” with “mother,”[3] a term of comfort and boundless care.
But as he grew older, the prince noticed that his father used the word “nation” in contexts beyond what “mother” could encompass. Gradually, the young boy began to imagine the nation as a beautiful, ethereal maiden whom his father adored, a beloved he sought to please, honor, and serve.
When the prince’s understanding matured, he realized that the nation was neither mother nor maiden but something greater: a collective entity, cherished and idealized. Accompanying his father on royal duties, he observed how the Sultan spoke with reverence to ministers and officials, urging them to serve the nation. Standing respectfully behind his father’s chair in the Shura Council, he listened as the Sultan opened every speech with the phrase: “My beloved nation.”
The phrase resonated deeply with the prince. It seemed to him that the bond between his father and the nation was profound and enduring, a unity so complete that they almost became one. The words of the poet came to his mind:
I am the one I love, and the one I love is me;
We are two souls that have settled in one body.
The young prince felt this unity as he observed his father. It was as if the Sultan and the nation shared a single spirit, a common will, and a unified purpose, mirroring another verse:
His soul is my soul, and my soul is his;
If he wills, I will, and if I will, he wills.
One day, while attending lessons at the Amiri School, the young prince resolved to better understand this concept of “nation.” Breaking his usual preference for silent reflection, he raised his hand when the teacher asked if there were any questions.
The teacher, a venerable sheikh with a sharp mind and a kind demeanor, welcomed the rare inquiry with enthusiasm. “Go ahead, my beloved prince,” he said, smiling warmly.
The prince’s question was simple but profound: “What is a nation?”
The sheikh paused thoughtfully, adjusted his turban, and began. “A nation, my beloved prince, is, linguistically, a group of people. As Allah Almighty says in Surah Al-Imran:
Let there be among you a nation that calls for good, commands what is right, and forbids evil. Those are the successful.[4]
Or in Surah Al-Qasas:
When he arrived at the water of Madyan, he found there a nation watering their flocks[5]…
In this sense, ‘nation’ refers to a community of people. However, in its technical and political sense, a nation is a group bound by shared ties—whether physical, cultural, or spiritual—living within a defined geographical area.”
The sheikh elaborated, explaining that nations are united by bonds such as language, religion, shared history, and common goals. He described how the strength of a nation lies in its unity, its solidarity, and the collective will of its people to work toward a better future. “A bundle of sticks resists breaking, but scattered, they shatter easily,” he said, reciting the old adage melodiously.
The young prince thanked the sheikh with genuine appreciation. That day, he gained a deeper understanding of the nation as an abstract yet profound concept—a collective of shared identity, purpose, and hope.
Years later, standing at the cusp of manhood, the prince found his thoughts returning to that lesson. What bound him to the shepherdess seemed to encompass all the bonds the sheikh had described: shared purpose, love of the land, and a longing for unity. Yet it also carried something else the sheikh had not spoken of—an overwhelming yearning to see her, to hear her voice, and to confess his love.
The prince marveled at the strength of this emotion, which blurred the lines between his love for the nation and his love for her. Was it her honesty, her courage, her loyalty, or her ambition that made her feel like the embodiment of everything noble and pure in the nation? Or was his heart simply incapable of separating one love from the other?
Love, after all, defies reason. It follows no logic, submits to no rules. What he felt for the shepherdess was as vast and as uncontainable as his devotion to his nation. In her, he saw not only the essence of the land but also the hope and future it promised.
And so, the prince accepted the mystery of his emotions. The mind might wrestle with the heart, but it could never prevail.
The Prince’s Book
After three long days of anticipation, the beloved prince finally managed to slip away from the palace unnoticed, disguising himself to avoid the watchful eyes of the guards. He hurried toward the village, his heart racing with the excitement of seeing her again.
At the agreed-upon spot, he found the shepherdess sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree. She leaned her back against the sturdy trunk, completely absorbed in a book. Her serene posture, framed by the sunlight filtering through the leaves, made her look like a living painting. When she noticed his approach, she looked up, her expression a mixture of astonishment and concealed relief.
"You’ve returned again," she said, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Don’t you have work to keep you busy?"
The prince smiled warmly, his charm and radiance unmistakable even in his simple disguise. His voice was gentle as he replied, "Good morning, my dear. I’ve brought you something—a book that might help you learn to read faster. It would bring me great joy if you accepted it as a gift."
Her eyes widened in surprise, not just at his words but at the refined, eloquent tone in which they were delivered—so different from the rough speech of the villagers.
From the leather satchel slung over his shoulder, he produced a beautifully bound book. The shepherdess hesitated for a moment before taking it from his outstretched hands. When she opened it, her face lit up with a smile so bright it rivaled the sun, her beauty magnified in that moment. The prince's heart leaped with joy at the sight.
The book was adorned with vivid illustrations accompanying the text, each picture telling part of the story. It was a tale of Sinbad’s maritime adventures—his journey to a remote island filled with wonders and challenges.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.
The prince inclined his head modestly. "It’s my pleasure."
The shepherdess marveled at the man before her, who seemed so out of place in the humble village. Why would this handsome laborer take it upon himself to provide her with books and help her learn to read? She could not understand his purpose, yet she felt drawn to him, both intrigued and comforted by his presence.
After a moment’s hesitation, the prince asked, "May I know your name?"
"Shams," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. "My name is Shams."
The prince repeated the name softly, savoring its sound. Shams[6]. How fitting, he thought. She radiated warmth and brilliance, far surpassing the moon’s cold and borrowed light. He said aloud, "Pleased to meet you, Shams. My name is Taha."
From that day forward, the prince made it a habit to visit the village pasture every week, always in disguise as a humble construction worker. Shams’s loyal dog, which had initially barked at him with suspicion, now greeted him like an old friend, its tail wagging happily at his approach.
With each visit, the prince brought her a small gift: a bouquet of wildflowers, a box of sweets, a new book, a pen and inkwell, an embroidered handkerchief, a delicate container of kohl to enhance her already striking eyes, a silk shawl, or a finely crafted handbag. The gifts reflected his refined taste, yet he ensured that none appeared too extravagant, for fear of raising suspicion.
His father’s words echoed in his mind: “A gift opens hearts, softens feelings, and strengthens bonds of friendship and affection.”
As their meetings became more frequent, the prince began teaching Shams things she had never imagined—a world beyond the confines of her village. She listened with rapt attention. Her thirst for knowledge was boundless. To him, it seemed as though she were making up for lost time, striving to break free from the limitations imposed by her simple life.
The prince was amazed by her intelligence and her perceptiveness. She absorbed new ideas with ease, her sharp mind grasping even the most abstract concepts. With each passing day, their bond deepened, and their affection for one another grew stronger.
Yet, for all her feelings, Shams could not bring herself to confess her love. Her shy nature and the unspoken boundaries of their worlds held her back. But her luminous eyes betrayed her emotions, speaking the words her lips could not.
And though the prince was bound by secrets of his own, he found in her company a rare and precious solace. In her presence, he was not a prince burdened by the weight of a kingdom but simply Taha—a man discovering love for the first time.
The Beloved Falls Ill
One day, upon returning from the village, the prince was summoned by the Exalted Sultan. The Sultan ordered him to travel immediately to a neighboring country to negotiate over a recent border dispute that had nearly brought the two nations to the brink of war. The Sultan often entrusted his heir with such “field missions,” accompanied by advisors, to provide him with experience and deepen his understanding of politics.
This time, the Sultan shared some wisdom with his son, saying:
“Wisdom demands resolving problems through diplomacy and goodwill—replacing hatred with love, and enmity with friendship. War should be avoided, for it takes innocent lives, leaves women widowed, destroys crops, dries up milk, and harms both people and the land. It often creates more complex problems than those it seeks to solve.”
Then, he recited the verse from the Quran:
Not equal are the good and the evil deeds. Repel evil with that which is fairer, and then he between whom and you there is enmity shall be as if he were a loyal friend.[7]
The Sultan added, “Do not forget that the duty of good neighborliness extends not only to adjacent houses but also to neighboring nations. Our Prophet (peace be upon him) instructed us to honor even the seventh neighbor.”
With that, he handed his son a letter of goodwill for the neighboring Sultan, along with gifts. He instructed him to stay as a guest for a while to strengthen ties of friendship with the Sultan, his family, and the dignitaries of his land.
The prince's mission lasted an entire month. In those days, modern means of communication such as telephones, fax machines, or emails did not exist. Thus, it was impossible for the prince to inform Shams of his absence, and she received no news of him. He soon began to feel an intense longing to see her, for absence magnifies yearning. Though he tried to remain patient, his longing overwhelmed him, burning his insides, melting his soul, and filling his eyes with unbidden tears.
As soon as he returned from his mission, he slipped out of the palace, evading the guards’ watchful eyes, and rushed to the village. However, at their usual meeting spot, he found neither Shams beneath the oak tree nor near the stream, nor in the fields. His eyes scanned the surrounding valleys and vast green meadows, searching among tree branches, flower stems, and bird wings, but all he found was disappointment. He neither saw her nor glimpsed even one of her sheep. Overcome with worry and haunted by fears and doubts, he entered the village and began asking about Shams.
A young boy informed him that she was bedridden and ill, and directed him to her home. The village had no doctor, as most physicians preferred the comforts and higher earnings of city life, often forgetting that medicine is a noble humanitarian service meant to alleviate suffering, whether in cities or villages. Thus, the prince mounted his horse and rode back to the city. He visited the Sultanate’s chief physician, a trusted confidant who adhered to the ethics of his profession and kept the prince’s secrets. Together, they returned to the village.
He knocked on Shams’ door. Her mother opened it, asking, “Who is it?”
The prince greeted her respectfully and said, “We heard that your daughter is ill. My companion here is a skilled physician who would be delighted to examine her and prescribe treatment or provide the necessary medications he carries in his bag.”
The woman welcomed them warmly, thanking them as she led them to the room where Shams lay. The prince’s heart raced as he stepped across the threshold, his eyes widening with anticipation. She was lying in bed, her face pale, her cheeks sunken, her eyes closed, and her body frail and emaciated. A little girl, no more than three years old, sat on the edge of her bed, gazing at Shams with deep sorrow. When the prince saw Shams in such a state, profound sadness gripped his soul, and his heart broke with grief. “My God,” he thought, “how has this vibrant flower withered? What has befallen her? What ails her?”
The doctor checked her pulse and placed his hand on her forehead to measure her temperature while she slept. Turning to her mother, he said, “This girl has not been eating well for some time.”
“Yes,” the mother replied, her voice trembling. “She lost her appetite about a month ago, stopped eating altogether, and all my attempts to get her to eat have failed.”
As the sorrowful mother spoke to the doctor, her voice grew louder, as though defending herself against a silent accusation. The sound of her voice roused Shams, who opened her eyes. Seeing Taha kneeling beside her, she could not believe her eyes. She rubbed them with her fingers, as though chasing away sleep and dreams. When she realized it was real, a radiant smile spread across her lips, one she could not suppress despite her effort.
The prince gazed at her with yearning eyes, silently asking the cause of her illness without uttering a word. Shams looked back at him with weak eyes, heavy with unspoken reproach. Without speaking a single letter, her eyes seemed to say:
“Is this how you vanish without farewell after becoming the light of my eyes, the air in my lungs, the water that quenches my thirst? Is this how you retreat from my life, like a gentle wave embracing the shore only to recede? So, this is how you drift away, taking loyalty, kindness, and generosity with you, leaving me only anguish and sorrow? Without you, nothing has flavor; without you, nothing has color; without you, nothing holds meaning. Separation is bitter; its days as long as an eternity. Your absence shattered me, and I began to think you left me out of indifference. I have run out of patience. If patience could be bought, I would have pawned my soul to purchase it. Oh, if only you knew how much I prayed and pleaded with my Lord for your return!”
The prince understood everything her eyes conveyed, as though a poet had described their silent conversation:
“I asked her, though no words were spoken,
She replied, her silence unbroken.”
He did not know how to apologize for the pain he had caused her. He remained silent, his head bowed, as though saying:
“By God, this parting was never my choice,
The days decreed it with their silent voice.”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes with a gaze full of regret, weakly saying, “I was traveling.”
At that moment, her mother entered the room, carrying a tray with tea and sweets, which she set before the prince and the doctor. She said, “I made these sweets today, and I hope you will like them.”
The prince responded with utmost politeness, “Thank you, madam.”
Then he pointed with a smile to the girl sitting on the edge of the bed and asked the lady, “And is this little one also your daughter?”
“Yes—no, I mean, yes. I took her in, raised her, and love her as my own. She is an orphan who lost her parents and needed the care of a family.”
The prince thought to himself, “Oh my God, the souls of these poor people are filled with noble emotions of love, tenderness, and compassion—emotions that often find no space in the hearts of the rich”. Turning to the little girl, he asked with a smile, “What is your name, little one?”
Shyly, her eyes fluttering, she replied, “Sudah.”
The prince carried her tenderly in his arms, holding her close with affection. In response, she planted a kiss on his cheek, filling his heart with joy.
The doctor took a bottle of medicine from his bag and said to Shams’ mother, “Let your daughter take a spoonful of this medicine three times a day. It will restore her appetite and strengthen her body.”
Little did the doctor know that Shams’ remedy was neither a potion prescribed by a physician nor a charm crafted by a magician. Her cure lay in the presence of her beloved. A single glance from his eyes brought warmth and life to her veins; a smile from his lips restored color and health to her pale cheeks.
When the prince and the doctor left, the doctor turned to the prince and asked, “Your Highness, may I seek your wise counsel on a matter that has divided us doctors?”
“What matter is that?” the prince asked.
“If a patient suffers from a terminal illness with no hope of recovery, should a doctor tell the patient and their family the truth so they can make arrangements, or should they ease the patient’s burden by sowing hope in their hearts? The doctors are divided, each side presenting compelling arguments. I remain undecided.”
The prince paused and then said, “I recall a saying of the Prophet (peace be upon him): When you visit the sick, give them hope of a long life.”
He then fell silent for a moment, looking pensively into the chief physician’s eyes, and asked, “But does this have anything to do with Shams’ illness?”
“No, Your Highness,” the doctor replied hastily. “It is merely an ethical question we face in our profession. Thank you for guiding us on the right path.”
That evening, the prince returned to the palace, burdened with sorrow. Not only had he unwittingly caused Shams’ illness, but he also began to ponder the plight of all the sick villagers who lacked access to proper care. He thought deeply about how to provide medical services in the Sultanate’s villages and countryside. “Our universities must not only train doctors but instill in them a spirit of patriotism and pride in their profession as a noble humanitarian service,” he thought. “Every young doctor should spend at least three years in the countryside. Authorities must build clinics in villages and equip them with necessary medicines and tools. Renowned urban doctors must dedicate a day each week or a week each month to visit rural areas and offer their expertise to those in need”.
That night, after going to bed, the prince had a strange dream. He saw himself as a medical student at a university, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. On the first day of the academic year, the dean of the medical school stood in the grand lecture hall, delivering an opening lecture dedicated to the ethics of knowledge and the profession. The dean said:
“The finest knowledge is that which serves. And the truest words are those one observes.
Serve the poor and needy with your knowledge. Aid the weak and destitute, for knowledge without action is like a tree without fruit.”
The prince responded in his dream with heartfelt glee: “At your service, O wise dean!”
He then dreamed of riding his horse to the village and entering Shams’ home. He found her lying in bed. He felt her pulse with his fingertips and, for the first time, touched her hand. His palm trembled, and his heart beat wildly, like the wings of a bird caught in the rain. He placed his fingers on her forehead, leaned over, and kissed her radiant brow for the first time. His lips quivered as she whispered, “You are the cure, you are the healing, you are the water, and you are the air.”
Shams rises from her bed, light and graceful, and runs to the vibrant fields. She dances joyously among the blooming flowers, twirling in harmony with the swaying branches, delicate blossoms, fluttering butterflies, and singing birds. Her movements flow to the rhythm of the babbling brook and the gentle whisper of the wind. The prince, captivated, joins her, lost in the enchantment of the moment.
Leaves drift softly from the trees, cascading around them like blessings. Crowns of flowers descend gracefully, accompanied by an abundance of fruits that seem to celebrate their joy. Suddenly, feathers begin to sprout from Shams' arms, transforming them into radiant wings. She becomes a magnificent bird, spreading her right wing to invite the prince to climb aboard. Holding him close to her beating heart, she soars into the sky, carrying him with her.
Together, they glide through celestial realms—racing with falling stars, brushing against shimmering galaxies, and weaving effortlessly past fiery meteors. As they traverse the heavens, moons pass by, pausing to kiss them as if borrowing their light.
At last, Shams gently returns to earth, placing the prince tenderly in his bed. With the first light of dawn and the melodic call to prayer filling the air, he awakens with tears glistening in his eyes. Rising, he performs ablution and offers two rak'ahs of prayer—for God and for love.
The Prince's Letter
The prince awoke at dawn, consumed by anxiety and haunted by doubt. Could the doctor have concealed the true nature of Shams’ illness? Was his ethical question merely a veiled attempt to gauge the prince’s emotions? Could the dream he had last night, vivid and poignant, have been a sign of her impending departure from this world? The thought struck him like a dagger: if Shams were to leave him, what would become of him? How could he endure the loss of the only soul who had awakened such noble emotions in his heart, the one who brought light, color, and meaning to his life?
Longing burned within him, an unquenchable flame that urged him to express the feelings he could no longer contain. With trembling hands, he picked up his pen and began to write:
"Dearest Shams,
When I met you, I found the purity and sweetness I had always sought. You are the embodiment of sincerity and innocence. Your presence fills the world with wonder, joy, and beauty. When you speak, your words envelop my soul in warmth, and tenderness blooms within me. Watching you stride gracefully behind your sheep, I see the boundless path of freedom stretching before me, and my spirit soars among the clouds, carried by dreams. In you, I have found myself, my freedom, and the face of my nation. My soul and yours are inseparable..."
He paused, the words flowing easily yet weighed down by the burden of his secret. Despite his yearning to open his heart completely, he could not bring himself to reveal his true identity. The letter remained incomplete, his truth suspended between ink and silence.
The Soldiers and the Prince
At last, the chance came for the prince to leave the palace in disguise and visit Shams in her village. He found her as he always did, sitting beneath the sprawling oak tree, her sheep grazing nearby. A book about Sinbad’s voyages rested in her lap. She looked up and greeted him with a smile, her eyes alight with joy.
As they conversed, their laughter mingling with the rustle of the breeze, the distant sound of horses’ neighing startled Shams. The jingle of reins, the clink of armor, and the crack of whips echoed closer with every moment. She looked up to see a group of soldiers riding toward them, their foaming horses galloping hard. What puzzled her was Taha’s reaction—he did not turn to look, nor did he seem alarmed.
The soldiers arrived, their horses snorting and pawing the ground as they encircled the pair. Shams’ heart raced in fear for Taha’s safety. Gripping her staff, she stood protectively beside him, ready to defend him with her life. Yet he remained calm, his composure unbroken.
Her confusion deepened as the soldiers dismounted and saluted Taha with precision, their leader stepping forward to address him.
“Your Highness, the Sultan, your father, urgently requests your presence,” the soldier said, his voice firm yet deferential.
Shams stared at Taha in disbelief, the words crashing down on her like thunder. “Your Highness”? What could this mean?
The prince’s face remained composed, though shadows of embarrassment and sorrow flickered across his features. The soldiers’ sudden arrival had thwarted his plan to reveal his true identity to Shams. Turning to her with an apologetic smile, he said gently, “I must leave now, but I will return soon to explain everything.”
He mounted his horse with practiced ease, the leader holding the reins. With a signal, he urged the steed forward, galloping away in a rising cloud of dust. The soldiers followed close behind, their movements disciplined and swift.
Shams stood rooted to the spot, her staff falling to her side. She watched until the dust settled and the last figure disappeared on the horizon. Her mind swirled with unanswered questions and emotions she could not name. The image of Taha’s smiling face lingered, a bittersweet memory etched in her heart.
Shams’ Thoughts
Shams was swept up in a storm of thoughts, her young, radiant mind whirling with questions and emotions. So, Taha was the prince—the Sultan's son. Why had he hidden his identity from her? How had he found her, of all the girls in the world, and fallen in love with her? And how had she grown so attached to him? Surely, this bond would only bring her heartache. Was this her destiny?
How could she possibly marry a man like him? They were worlds apart, separated by an unbridgeable chasm of status and circumstance. Her dreams, once so vivid and full of promise, now lay shattered—scattered like the dust stirred by the prince’s departing horse. Here, in the harsh light of day, her dream came to an end. Hope crumbled, collapsing like a fragile sandcastle swept away by the relentless tide of reality. She would remain alone, her days steeped in the bitterness of disappointment, living only with her memories and carrying sorrow as her closest companion.
If only he had been just the man he had pretended to be—Taha, the humble worker. They could have married, living a simple life filled with love and contentment. But had he deceived her? No, she couldn’t believe that. His eyes, his every glance, had spoken of sincerity and unwavering devotion.
Her mind teetered between despair and pride. Her doubts and fears burned like an unquenchable fire, yet beneath the ashes, a flicker of triumph took root. She felt an unexpected surge of pride. How she wished the other shepherdesses, the girls of her village, could know the truth—that Shams had been chosen by the prince himself. She, among all the maidens in the land, had captured his heart. In that moment, she longed for the whole world to know of her place in his affections, a testament to her beauty, her grace, and her singular charm.
Overwhelmed by this mix of emotions, Shams rose to her feet. She spun around as if carried by the rhythm of her thoughts, her movement like a joyous dance. Her voice rang out, clear and exultant, as she declared to the world around her:
"O laurel bushes, O nightingales of the trees, O stars of the sky, O waters of the valleys—did you see how the prince looked at me as he bid me farewell? Did you notice how his eyes, his lips, and every part of his soul declared his love for me, Shams?"
The Prince’s Gift
The prince felt a deep sense of gratitude and obligation toward Shams. Events had taken an unexpected turn—he had never meant to mislead her or take advantage of her trust. When he first disguised himself and met her, it was part of his royal duty to observe the conditions of his people firsthand. Yet, as their affection for one another blossomed, he resolved to disclose his true identity at the right moment.
Now, he felt the need to offer her something meaningful—something that reflected the depth of his feelings and his newly revealed identity. He hoped the gift might ease the pain he had caused, for gifts, as he had learned, could soothe hearts and mend misunderstandings.
Gathering a collection of precious jewels—accumulated over the years as tokens of honor and celebration—he wrapped them carefully into a bundle. Then, once again in disguise, he left the palace and made his way to the village.
Beneath the shade of the great oak tree, Shams sat silently, without a book or her knitting. Her thoughts seemed distant, her gaze weighed down by worry. He greeted her warmly and took a seat beside her, his tone gentle as he explained the reasons behind his disguise. His signature, charming smile remained ever-present as he spoke.
“I have brought you something,” he said, his voice soft but eager. “A bundle of jewels for you to choose from as a gift.”
He opened the bundle, spreading its treasures before her. The array was dazzling—a constellation of precious stones and rare metals glimmered in the sunlight. There was the rich glow of yellow gold, so alluring to many, and the luminous luster of pure white pearls, fit for the finest necklaces and bracelets. Silver, pristine and radiant, lay beside fiery red agate and emeralds of the deepest green. Vibrant sapphires in hues of red, yellow, blue, and green sparkled like drops of captured sunlight. Red coral, painstakingly harvested from ocean depths, gleamed alongside beads of warm, golden amber.
Yet Shams showed no sign of awe. Her expression remained calm and composed as she carefully retied the bundle, as though these riches were no more than fleeting trinkets. She did not know that scholars and philosophers defined “substance”[8] as that which exists in and of itself. But she felt, with quiet certainty, that the man she loved was far more precious than any of these treasures. What value did jewels hold without the human soul? For she believed the human spirit to be the most precious jewel of all.
Handing the bundle back to him gently, she said with quiet conviction, “No, thank you.”
The prince blinked, surprised. “Don’t you want anything?” he asked, his tone edged with disbelief.
Shams met his gaze with a sincere smile. “I want your well-being,” she replied simply.
For a moment, the prince bowed his head in thought. “What a rare and extraordinary jewel she is”, he mused. She needed no gems, no precious stones, no ornaments to enhance her. Her golden hair was its own treasure, gleaming like the finest strands of gold. Her perfect, pearl-white teeth shone with natural brilliance. The ruby-red hue of her lips, the emerald-green glimmer in her eyes, and the ivory grace of her long neck surpassed any crafted adornment.
But more than her physical beauty, it was the purity of her soul and the sincerity of her affection that truly defined her worth.
In that moment, a saying his father, the Sultan, had once shared came to mind: “Fire tests pure gold; gold tests the loyalty of a woman; and a woman tests the integrity of a man.”
He looked at Shams with newfound admiration, realizing that her love and character were treasures no earthly jewel could ever match.
The Prince's Dilemma
That night, sleep evaded the prince. His thoughts were consumed by a decision that would shape his future. Not long ago, his father, the Sultan, had spoken to him—not as a ruler to a subject, but as one man to another, or as a friend to a trusted companion.
“My son,” the Sultan had said, “you have reached manhood, and it is time for you to marry. Marriage is a noble tradition. It brings peace to the mind, stability to the heart, and ensures the continuation of our lineage. I will not impose a bride upon you; the choice is yours, for I trust your sound judgment. However, I do prefer that you marry the daughter of the neighboring Sultan. Those who accompanied you among the advisors have praised her beauty, her manners, and her intelligence. A union with her would also strengthen the bonds of friendship between our nations.”
In the world of royalty, marriages often served as political tools—alliances forged through unions between neighboring royal families or between rulers and tribal leaders, ensuring peace and loyalty. Yet, the prince felt no pull toward such arrangements. He had made up his mind: he would marry one of the daughters of the people.
No woman occupied his heart or thoughts but Shams. Her presence had awakened a new vision for his life. But he could not ignore the obstacles their love would face. Shams was a child of nature, as free and untamed as the breeze or the birds that soared through the skies. She had lived her life in the wide-open embrace of the fields, under the vast canopy of the heavens. Could she ever adapt to the confines of the palace?
He imagined her life within the royal walls. She would be like a rose severed from its stem—plucked from her natural environment and placed in a vase for display, destined to wither. Her days would no longer be her own. The solitude of the palace chambers would weigh heavily on her, and the constant presence of maids and attendants would encircle her like an inescapable chain. Her freedom to wander the fields would be replaced by the measured steps of a royal procession, and guards would shadow her every move.
The prince’s thoughts turned to a question that had haunted him since his youth:
How can a person desire freedom for themselves while denying it to others? Is it possible to restrain the freedom of those you love?
He remembered the bird he had freed as a child. He had released it from its cage because he loved it enough to grant it the sky. Could he now do to Shams what he had refused to do to that bird? Could he love her sincerely while confining her to a life of constraint?
He yearned for a relationship with Shams that honored mutual freedom, not restriction. Just as the loyalty of his people should arise from their free will and not from coercion, so too should love grow from choice, not compulsion. He envisioned Shams as a constant light in his life, not a possession to be controlled. She should be as untethered as the sun, which sets each day only to rise again, freely bestowing its warmth and light upon the earth.
He longed for Shams’ love to resemble his mother’s affection for him—the tender devotion of a free spirit, not the forced submission of the enslaved. To love her was to let her remain unbound, vibrant, and radiant, just as she was when they first met.
The Three Choices
The prince wrestled with the weight of his dilemma, his thoughts caught in a relentless cycle. At times, he heeded the voice of his heart; at others, the voice of reason; and still, at others, the voice of conscience. Within him, a fierce conflict raged—duty clashed with love, leaving him with only three possible paths:
The first choice was to follow his love for Shams and embrace freedom above all else. This would mean abandoning the palace and his royal duties to live with her in the village. Together, they could bask in the simplicity of love and freedom. Yet, this decision would mean forsaking the responsibilities he had been groomed for his entire life and betraying the trust and expectations of his people.
The second choice was to remain true to his responsibilities and marry Shams, bringing her to live within the palace, bound by royal customs and traditions. However, this would inevitably suffocate her free-spirited nature, transforming her into a shadow of herself—a once vibrant and joyful soul reduced to sorrow within the confines of the palace walls.
The third choice was to sacrifice his love for the sake of his people, leaving Shams to her life and freedom. But this would shatter her heart and condemn her to deep sorrow. It would also mean breaking the sacred bond they shared, betraying promises of love and trust. Such a choice would condemn him as well, leaving him to endure a lifetime of regret, heartbreak, and longing.
No matter which path he considered, the outcome seemed unbearable. Unable to reconcile the irreconcilable, the prince found himself paralyzed. That night, he recalled the words of a poet that resonated deeply with his plight:
“There’s no great harm in what I bear;
Time wounds, yet time can also repair.
I stand perplexed, unsure, confined,
Between the clear and the undefined."
In his torment, he resolved to postpone the decision until the morning, clinging to the faint hope that the light of day might dispel the darkness of his dilemma. Perhaps the sun would illuminate a path he had yet to see. Or perhaps, somewhere out in the world, a wise girl or clever young man who had heard or read of his story might offer a resolution—a solution that could mend both his heart and his honor.
*
Questions on the Story’s Themes and Objectives
What is the significance of the annual lecture series at the Sultan’s palace?
How would you define “politics”? What does it mean to you?
Why do you think sorrow lingers on the young prince’s face?
Why do humans dream? How would you explain dreams? Have you read any books about dream interpretation? What distinguishes a dream from a nightmare? How do daydreams differ from dreams during sleep? Is there a clear boundary between dreams and reality? What was your most recent dream?
The narrator describes the prince as “physically fit, charming, and highly cultured,” and believes a person consists of body, spirit, and mind. Do you agree? Or do you think a person is made up of only body and spirit, or body and mind?
What does “authority” mean to you? Why do people either respect or resent authority?
Why do you think the shepherdess chose the flute? What is your favorite musical instrument, and why?
What is a “secret”? Is it better to keep it to yourself or to share it with a trusted friend? Why?
How do you define beauty? Do you think beauty is subjective or objective?
If you were a doctor treating a patient with a terminal illness, would you prefer to tell them the truth or withhold it? Why?
What is the significance of giving a gift? When is the right time to give someone a gift? How would you choose the perfect one?
What are the key reasons behind the prince’s dilemma? How would you resolve his predicament?
***
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[1] This is a translation of Ali Al-Kasimi’s عصفورة الأمير, literally the Prince’s Sparrow (published by Librairie du Liban Publishers in 2005). After consultation with the writer, we opted for the present title.
The Prince's Jewel is a captivating and emotionally charged story that showcases Ali Al-Kasimi's vivid imagination, elegant prose, and extensive knowledge, delivering a compelling narrative that delves into profound aspects of our civilization, including humanity, love, beauty, dreams, freedom, justice, tolerance, development, power, and nationhood. Presented in an engaging and accessible manner, The Prince's Jewel appeals to both young readers and adults, making it suitable for leisure reading as well as educational settings. It invites readers, especially the bright youth, to explore deeper perspectives on life, expand their understanding, and experience a memorable literary journey that will leave a lasting impression.
[2] The Princely School
[3] The Arabic words for nation (أمة) and mother (أم) form a minimal pair.
[4] Surah Al-Imran (Quran 003:104)
[5] Surah Al-Qasas (Quran 028:023)
[6] Shams is the Arabic term for the Sun.
[7] Qur’an 041:034
[8] In Arabic, the terms for jewel (جوهر) and substance (جوهر), in the philosophical sense as opposed to accident or property, are complete homonyms, hence the pun is lost in translation.
