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Far away in the land of arabia, in a kingdom by the desert, is a Princess, who goes by Qadira. She was born with talent and skill, the hands of a physician and the mind of a skilled herbalist. Simply put, she is a healer. Then there is Prince...
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WHEN QADIRA WAS A CHILD, her mother would tell her stories of fallen kingdoms. Qadira assumed them to be fairytales, but as she grew older she came to realise that her mother had been repeating to her not stories, but fragments of history. She taught her morals and ethics, religion verses culture, she taught her the flaws in a ruler, she taught her betrayal, she taught her love, and all the consequences of unbridled power. Then she would put Qadira in political scenarios and ask her what she thought was best. Qadira would guide her mother through the scenario, based on whatever her mother and her politics classes taught her, and she would wait for her mother's disapproval, but it never came.
There was one scenario that she couldn't forget. The one which conflicted with her.
"Say there was a King, who raised a monster. An unfeeling prince. A weapon in his standing. This monster of a prince is a threat to humanity. What do you think?"
"About the King? Or the Prince?" she asked Qudsia.
"Either."
Qadira tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I wouldn't blame the Prince, mother. He was made what he is because his father is the monster, not him. What kind of man in his right mind raises a child like that? I would certainly think destroying the father would be the best option. The prince did nothing but obey, and—well actually, a monster does not exist anyway, mother."
Qudsia had frowned. "Why do you think a monster cannot exist?"
"Monsters are men like Abu Lahab, cursed in the Qur'aan and doomed to hell. But the rest of the ummah has been given another chance, mother, we sin and we repent. Is that not what our deen encourages us?"
"But there's no way of knowing that the prince won't be a threat. It might not be his fault, but he is what he is."
"Hearts change mother," Qadira argued stubbornly. "Only الله can choose who he shouldn't forgive. We have no right to be unforgiving."
Qudsia was eerily silent for a moment. "Do you truly believe that?"
Qadira nodded.
Qudsia smiled and patted her red curls. "You're doing well, my heart. But sometimes sacrifices must be made, and I hope you remember this in the future."
It all daunted upon her, that perhaps her mother had left hints through these stories. She didn't want to believe it though, because every single story had the most tragic ending. As a child, she began to detest being an imperial figure. She hated the crown. She hated that she wasn't her in fairytales, the girl who had nothing, but ended with everything. In Qadira's case, as her mother often told her, she would begin with everything, and if she didn't have the courage to hold onto it, she would lose it all.
