Durgesh Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad
It was a blustery, a stormy night.
Kħadījah Muħammad was lying on her back.
Kħadījah Muħammad smiled.
“Stop it Naåīmah, it’s enough now.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan teased her.
The rain was pelting against the windows at intervals.
Wind howled around the cornices and fought its way through the narrow openings in the windows to billow, to swell, the lace curtains of our bedroom into weird shapes.
It alternately blossomed into white ghosts, collapsed, and dropped limply back against the casements.
My thrusts into Kħadījah Muħammad’s still amazingly ever tight Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt were as wild as there was some competition between the storm outside and my penetrations inside.
Kħadījah Muħammad groped for the ringing telephone.
The instrument momentarily eluded her passion intoxicated fingers.
Kħadījah Muħammad advanced the receiver to me as she was unable to attend the phone due to passion.
“Hello, Durgesh here.”
It was a man’s voice that answered me questioning,
“Yes, who is it?”
“It’s Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad.”
“Yes, Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad, what can I do for you?”
“It’s a matter of life and death. Can you see us immediately?”
“Yes, my wife is also with me.”
“You are sure it’s a matter of life and death?”
“Of course, man. Why have otherwise I called you in this rainy and stormy night?”*
They were also listening to the conversation.
The phone was on its loudspeaker now.
“Can you tell me something more, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad?”
“Sorry, I’d prefer to give you any information about it when we are face to face, not on phone.”
“Well, you know there are so many communal Musalmīn who can do anything to kill me. I fuck their Musalmān houseladies under my Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service, DurgeshFarīdah Jalāl SheikħSex Therapy , or Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s five movements: Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club Ashvinātam Gangbang Club Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh JetMusalmān BeautiesSquad. How can I differentiate my enemies from you?”
“Propose any method that we can follow.”
“Come to Dārussalām itself.”
“No problem, Sir. We need you. You don’t need us.”
“How many adult women you have, sacrificing their sanctity for you, genetically related to you?”
“Enough to cure me, Doctor Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ has advised me.”
“Your real sisters?”
“Yes, and Chachāzād cousins too. They also have the same genes as I do.”
“Well, does it make any difference?”
“Yes, most of them are married, but not all of them.”
“You are ready to lick our juices after I fuck them?”
“I haven’t another option.”
“Okay. You understand that everyone of your real sisters and Chachāzād cousins would be thoroughly checked by none other than Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ herself to verify she doesn’t have any sexual disease whatsoever?”
“Sure. Dr. Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ has told me so.”
It was not so always, however, for Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
She was born in Makkah Mukarramah but she was taken to Palestine not even so many days after it.
In the life of Årabs, whether males or females, the repetition of stories was a way of life.
It was unusual in an Årab Society for a female child to be entitled to her Ammī’s breasts as long as she wanted to.
It was only a privilege reserved mostly for male children.
It seems very unjust, but how could a backward society that still refused to understand that the world had gone too far ahead from the circumstances that occurred 1400 years ago, could understand the children of both the sex have equal needs for their growth?
Not everyone could be Ħuzūrs.
Hes fought for the fundamental rights of women too.
The equal rights to suck her mother’s breasts was too farfetched, the female children were denied even their fundamental right of survival when Ħuzūrs came as Muħsin-e-Insāniyat.
Hes stopped the burial of female children of Årabs alive.
Yes, hes was Muħsin-e-Insāniyats, but hes was Muħsin-e-Niswān more.
The present day Musalmīn had absolutely forgotten now this revolutionary work of their Nabī Ākħiruzzamāns.
They remembered only the aħādīs-e-Muqaddasāt of their own relevance.
Wasn’t it a dominant human nature whether male or female?
Yet, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was the extraordinary lucky girl.
She was not weaned until her fifth birthday.
Usually it signalled, even for a boy, that he was coming out of the kitchen.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan behaved as if she was a boy.
Instead being angry her Abbū Imām Muħammad Ħasan laughed at her boyish activities.
He enjoyed them very much.
Even Nafīsah Salmān was surprised.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan never allowed others to break any custom of the clan.
Yet, the little she devil, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, was an exception.
Wasn’t it surprising?*
Yes, he was Mukħtār of Tabah, Palestine.
But he was already defeating the other Mukħtārs in Palestine, in popularity and knowledge both.
He was the highest educated man among all the Mukħtārs.
Nafīsah Salmān had great breasts.
Not only were they filled with milk, but they gave Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan a place too where she could nestle and feel an enormous comfort.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan managed to learn many things even in that age about the world of men.
She was eight years old only.
One day, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not find her Ammī.
Being a girl of only eight years, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan‘s only chore was fetching water.
She used to fetch water with her Ammī every day.
Now, her Ammī had gone, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was greeted with taunts.
The women all cackled and laughed at Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
The women told her that her father was going to take a second wife.
“Nonsense,” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had protested, “Abbū will never do such a thing.”
“The foolish child thinks Imām Muħammad Ħasan can be something else than a typical Årab Palestinian Mukhtar.” One of the women smiled at the rest of the women, “No education can change the bloody Årabs. They are stubbornly backward and they want to remain so.”
“Why education only?” Sāliħah Ħanīf said tartly, “even Allah Subħān Wa tålā has ordered:
‘‘Wa in kħiftum allā tuqsitū filyatāmā fa inkiħū mā tāb lakumminannisāi masnā wa sulās wa rubāå.
Aw mā malkat aymānukum
Zālik adnā allā tåūlū.’
‘And if you fear that you cannot act equitably towards orphans, then marry such women as seem good to you, two and three and four;
But if you fear that you will not do justice then (marry) only one or what your right hands possess.
This is more proper, that you may not deviate from the right course.’
-̶ Al Qur’ān Al Karīm: 4 An Nisā: 3”
Raziyah Waħīd smiled skeptically.
“The Årab bastards don’t see other words in this Āyat-e-Karīmah except ‘fa inkiħū…rubāå’ ‘then marry four’.”
All of them laughed.
Some of them even threw stones at Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
They were jealous of her.
However, most of them enjoyed a Hindu lover, either clandestinely or else.
It was owned by him and his younger brother, Muħammad Åbbās Yåqūb.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan spent most of his day there.
He brushed Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan aside, walking on.
He used to hide his love for Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan so that the other Årabs don’t ridicule him.
Now, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan wondered how she thought it was normal.
What a rotten society actually it was where even a loving father couldn’t express his love for his daughter.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had marched to his Abbū, even then, and tugged at his coat.
It was a tug barely strong enough to demand his attention.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan turned to her quite surprised.
“You? Naåīmah ? What are you doing here? Go to the home.”
“I want to see you at work. Ammī says you are the most important man here.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan was suddenly proud of himself.
He had also thought of the opposition of the local illiterate, or at least, almost illiterate Årabs.
He had anticipated their opposition.
Yet, he had vowed to go on despite it.
Why not Imām Muħammad Ħasan too?
He smiled at his daughter.
“Okay. Come with your Abbū.”
Originally, he had decided to grab Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan by her arm and shake her so violently that she would even think she might faint.
Then he would toss Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan like garbage so that she would land in the open sewer that ran down from the top of the town.
It was a half block’s walk from the parking lot.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā’s twenty fifth-floor suite of offices was now not far away.
It was just across the elevated railway.
The drizzle was light this morning.
Even then, it was enough to saturate Nūrjahān Gayās Beg’s jaunty green rain hat and similarly green raincoat.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg removed her soggy rain gear in the hall, going toward Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā’s suite.
She paused briefly at the ladies room to see if the hat had messed her neat bobbed brown hair.
It had, indeed.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg patted her hair into place.
She took off her tinted green-rimmed prescription glasses she used for driving.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg wiped them dry.
She tucked them into her bag and headed for her appointment with Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad’s absolutely competent physician.
The reception room was tastefull.
The fabrics on the furniture were all a restful pale green.
Once inside, Nūrjahān Gayās Beg hung her hat and coat on the wooden coatrack.
She went directly to the red haired receptionist behind the counter.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg smiled.
She knew once a Tanzānian girl was appointed in her staff.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā almost immediately transferred her to her Tanzanian Branch office.
“Right on time, I hope.”
“Oh, yes. But I’m afraid the doctor is running a few minutes behind. She’ll be with you shortly. I know she is eager to see you. If you don’t mind taking a seat―”
“Not at all.”
“By the way, how is Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad?”
“Still somewhat weak, but well enough to go to the office every morning and work a half day.”
“I’m glad to hear that. He is such a wonderful young man. One of the most charming perhaps I’ve ever met. We wish Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad the best, Miss Beg.”
Receptionist Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha smiled.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg was really majestic.
Receptionist Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha had flattered about Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad.
Her own sincere observation of Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad was that he was a damnfool.
He didn’t deserve Nūrjahān Gayās Beg’s so much attention as he was luckily getting.
Being a receptionist it was her duty to please everyone who came here whether Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha really liked him or her or not.
It was an honor for Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha to work for the world- prominent legendary Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā.
“Thank you.” Nūrjahān Gayās Beg said, taking a magazine from the wall rack, any magazine, in this case a medical magazine.
Sitting, settling back, Nūrjahān Gayās Beg thumbed through it.
Pharmaceutical ads were on every page.
Most of the Musalmīn don’t know why the impotence comes to a man and how it can be defeated.
Consequently, they aren’t aware of it when its symptoms appear.
Neither they are careful to cure it immediately.
Instead, being immensely ashamed of themselves they almost always try to hide it.
It results ultimately in their absolute incurability.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg had no patience for it.
She kept the periodical open on her lap, but blankly stared through it.
Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha was extremely charming in doing so.
She felt herself cheated.
Sex, sex and sex.
Her lover was crazy to have sex with her.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg felt very happy first.
But how much she could have after all?
Suddenly Nūrjahān Gayās Beg found she was pregnant.
Her lover proposed a permanent Live in Relationship.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg was indignant.
She wanted nikāħ.
Her lover didn’t agree.
She ended her affair with her lover permanently.
Yet, she gave birth to a very handsome male child.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad knew all of it.
Yet he was ready to marry Nūrjahān Gayās Beg even keeping her son with them.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg at thirty was trim, thanks to her tennis game.
She was comely and fair, brown eyes wide set, a broad tip-tilted nose, a generous rosy mouth, a svelte figure, abundant bosom, shapely legs.
And a brain as fine as it was competent.
Strangers were always surprised to learn that Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was a well-paid, full time clinical psychologist, dividing her crowded days between carefully limited private practice and an associate professor’s post.
Her interest in psychology had been inspired by reading Alfred Adler at an early age.
Her role model had been the psychoanalyst, Karen Horney.
Psychoanalyst Karen Horney was the greatest woman in the field.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg wanted to serve at University of Chicago originally.
The famed John B. Watson had got his PhD at the University of Chicago.
Moreover, Carl Rogers had once been director of the University of Chicago Counseling Centre.
Why shouldn’t she have?
She always remembered her lover.
But her ego had hurt and she always decided not to return to her lover ever.
Yes, he was the father of her son.
But Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad had promised to fill his place as efficiently as he could.
She had sex with her lover daily without any exception.
Sometimes even thrice a day.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad was normal in sex.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was very disappointed but still she was adamant not to return to her lover.
Even if not experienced, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad loved her more considerately than her lover did.
Suddenly, one early evening, in the midst of a handball game, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad collapsed.
His one leg had given way, and he had folded up.
His thigh was causing him unremitting pain.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was furious at her best friend, Sājidah Suhayl Kāzmī when she expressed her doubt,
“Stop it. You idiot, he isn’t even a Muslim.”
“All of them are after his money.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg charged every one of them, “Durgesh has money. He has multi zillions. Even his Live in Relationship Partners are millionaires at least. They are purchasing everyone.”
Sājidah Suhayl Kāzmī smiled ironically.
This had been less than six weeks ago.
Finally, the verdict was in.
A sarcoma, a bone cancer.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was startled.
Deterioration of the bone tissue involving the head of the femur, or thigh.
They said gradually the disease would worsen.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad would lose mobility; require crutches, eventually a wheelchair.
Most likely, the cancer would be fatal.
She was holding the hall door open.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg clutched her beg.
She was on her feet and through the door.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg went down the short corridor.
She turned into the doctor’s private office.
It seemed a portent of some unhappiness.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā half rose from her chair.
“Miss Beg,” she said, and gestured her to a chair across from her desk.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā was one of those physicians whose very aspect inspired confidence.
“Miss Beg, I thought it best if we could talk face to face. I want to discuss Salīm’s surgery. I hope this sudden call didn’t inconvenience you.”
“Nothing is more important than Salīm’s surgery.”
“I know he told you about it, that it is the primary option we have.”
“Salīm told me a little. Just that there were no guarantees, but there was a fair chance, and that he was going to go through with it. I was glad he was going ahead. I encouraged it.”
She hesitated somewhat, then asked.
“What are his chances?”
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā measured her words.
“With surgery, some. Without surgery, none. There is some advance work being done in this field, but I’m afraid it hasn’t come to fruition yet. Some years ago, I read a paper by a Dr. Ānand Siddhārth Mr’tyunjaý in Mumbai. He had evolved a new technique, surgery and implants coupled with genetic engineering. His experiments at that point were fully successful. But they had involved mammals other than human beings. I discussed this with several highly accredited local surgeons. They had also heard of Dr. Ānand Siddhārth Mr’tyunjaý’s progress. But they felt that it was not ready to be applied to human beings as yet. So, since time is of essence, we are left with the only surgery we know and can depend upon, standard bone surgery with replacement of the malignant portion of the femur. Sometimes it works successfully.”
“Sometimes.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg echoed dully.
“Let me be more precise.” Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā tried to smile, “, based on case histories of these surgeries. If undertaken right away, before there is more deterioration, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad may have a thirty percent chance of getting rid of his cancer and being restored to normal life. But the fact remains, statistically, that there would also be a seventy percent chance of failure. Nevertheless, I repeat, there is no other choice but to go right ahead.”
“Well, when do we go ahead?”
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā frowned.
“We don’t.” she said simply, “I had the surgery scheduled for this week, but now the operation has been cancelled.”
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was on the edge of her chair.
“For Allah’s sake, whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”*
Mirzā Ghayās Beg looked at his daughter in perplexity.
“What do you mean?”
“They have ordered to take two American passports from our files without telling anyone.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg informed her Abbū tartly.
It was December 1978.
Thirty-three years had passed since, but Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg felt it happened as if yesterday.
She was fifty-two years old now.
Present government of Iran was not then in power.
Mirzā Ghayās Beg sighed.
“So Durgesh has once more anticipated correctly?”
“Abbū,” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg looked at her Abbū sharply, “He always manages to have inside informations.”
“Yes,” Mirzā Ghayās Beg looked at her just eighteen, extremely beautiful daughter, Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg, “Durgesh always manages to have inside informations. But it’s never detrimental to our Ummat-e-Muslimah.”
“You just eighteen, kamsin kid, Durgesh is completely ten years older than you.”
Mirzā Ghayās Beg wasn’t surprised.
He knew his youngest daughter was not as westernized as her elder sisters were.
He couldn’t understand where he had failed.
All his four wives were highly westernized.
He himself believed in Western education.
He changed the subject.
“Two American passports? Any passports in particular?”
“Paul Chiapparone’s and Bill Gaylord’s.”
Bill was second in command and manager of their biggest project, the contract with the Ministry of Health, Iran.
He couldn’t believe when the exile of Ayatullah Rūħullah Mustafvī Kħomeinī had already turned the foolish uneducated/under educated Iranians against him, Shah Muħammad Rezā Pahalvī could take such a wrong step as to annoy his greatest protector, the President of USA, Jimmy Carter.
He had succeeded in fooling them cunningly.
His adviser, James Bill, believed that Ayatullah Rūħullah Mustafvī Kħomeinī was not a mad Mujāhid. Instead, he was a man of impeccable integrity and honesty.
How wrong James Bill was too.*
Spring had come to Washington, a city, like the nation, happy with joy and cheers.
Spring had come to the new President’s Oval Office, where those who worked with her and for her were waiting for Jacqueline Lincoln.
What the hell more she wanted from her life?
Just eighteen Just adult she was the permanent Live in Relationship Partner of a man that was unique and legendary in the entire human history.
He was still young despite his sixty three had already completed.
And now her own best friend was the new President of USA.
What more Nadirah Muħammad Yåqūb needed?
The young beautiful girl, Jacqueline Lincoln, was the top executive, Chief Executive to be more precise, of the world’s most important nation.
Well, Jacqueline Lincoln deserved it however.
Everyone had laughed at Jacqueline Lincoln when she raped me.
“That’s why it was necessary, Mom, for a bold Protestant girl to rape the Hindu Stupid.”
“What do you mean?”Dolly Carter looked at her daughter in perplexity.
“Durgesh is the most important man now. Don’t you agree with me?”
“Well, he is the dream man of you young ladies, I know.” Dolly Carter teased her most ambitious daughter.
Jacqueline Lincoln smiled at her mother.
“Mommy, I know you too love the Hindu beast. And I suspect you do too have sex with him, haven’t you?”
“Nonsense, Jacqueline Lincoln, you―”
“Momma, I’m quite adult now. I understand what we womankind need even more than mankind.”
“You feminist bitch, don’t tell me you are also a nudist exhibitionist as your Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, the Utmost Ultramodern Kħātūn-e-Jannat razī Allāhu tålā ånhā is.”
Jacqueline Lincoln smiled.
“As if you were not, in your younger days.”
Dolly Carter advanced to the window.
“Yes, I was. I was so proud of my extremely beautiful female body that I wanted to show the entire Multiverse what I had the rest of them didn’t.”
“You still have that miraculous extremely beautiful female body, Momma.” Jacqueline Lincoln was proud of her mother suddenly.
“Yes,” Dolly Carter turned to her daughter and smiled, “I still have it. But now I’m more experienced, my child.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dear child, you are my daughter. A mother always tries not to talk about her sex life with her children.”
“But it doesn’t mean she hasn’t any sex life.” Jacqueline Lincoln was furious, “does it?”
“No.” Dolly Carter accepted, “it doesn’t.”
“Then why the hypocrisy, Mom?”*
Nadirah Muħammad Yåqūb observed.
They were no longer gathered around the Cabinet table.
General Alfred Washington was pacing near the telephone.
Yet, he wasn’t worried.
The new President is only a young lady.
Everyone thought Jacqueline Lincoln would lose the election.
The entire USA, all its fifty states, couldn’t be so childish ever that an independent candidate, neither Democratic nor Republican, can defeat both the authorized Democratic and Republican Presidential candidates.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan said, it would happen.
None believed her.
“Certainly not, my child, certainly not.” Former Miss Universe, Dolly Carter, said, “You succeeded in removing the age long Kingdom from Saůūdī Årab, because Saůūdī Årab is a Pseudo Islamic country after all.”
“What do you mean?”
Former Miss Universe, Dolly Carter smiled discordantly.
“The point I’m trying to make and you are deliberately trying not to admit, is that it was rumored widely and being hammered 24×7 that you are a Parahuman. You are Kħātūn-e-Jannat razī Allāhu tålā ånhā yourself. The ever backward and ever superstitious Ummat-e-Muslimah believed it. They believed it beyond every rational whatsoever, every logic whatsoever, that a young Musalmān girl, nudist, feminist, having sex with a Hindu who established Durgesh Muslimahs Sex Empire, openly, who fucks Musalmān Beauties under Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service and Durgesh Farīdah Jalal Sheikħ Sex Therapy, can be Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimah razī Allāhu tålā ånhā herself. Can anyone believe it? But most of the Muslimāt and Musalmīn believed it. They even believed that Durgesh is Ħazrat Mahdī ålayhissalām himself. Nonsense.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was smiling prudently unhurriedly.
“The hell with you all. I still can’t believe it this miracle has happened.”
“Auntie, please!” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed gently.
“Is there anything wrong in what I said?”
“Not in gist, auntie.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan also smiled patiently, “But in your over enthusiasm to prove us Muslimāt and Musalmīn backward and grossly superstitious, actually you have over simplified us Muslimāt’s entire one thousand four hundred years tremendous Jihad against Pseudo Islam. It was not that easy, auntie, as you have summarized it.”*
He couldn’t believe still now that Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is really succeeding.
Can she really succeed in removing the age long regime of Assaåūds?
Shahzādah Sheikħ Al Jibrān still enjoyed a sense of elation, a sense of ecstasy, at the excellent reception given his speech at the United Nations.
He can say anything until he holds the absolutely unsuspected faith of the family,
The family has profound faith in his constantly successful foreign policy.
Yet he has to show the entire globe that he is also against her.
They would lose their ever undisputed faith in him.
He would be removed from his post.
And thus, he wouldn’t be able to help her movements
from inside diplomatically.
Especially the delegates of the Islamic World appreciated him much more than the rest of the audience.
Even Jacqueline Lincoln had assured him that she would tell Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan how he is successfully helping their all the four movements: Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, and JetMusalmān BeautiesSquadas diplomatically as possible.
While even the Saůūdī Årab ambassador to the United Nations, his own real younger sister, Sheikħzādī Al Kħālidah Assaåūd, delivered the routine speeches, it was Shahzādah Sheikħ Al Jibrān Assaåūd, the veteran foreign minister of Saůūdī Årab, that really stole the glory.
That’s why he was always sent to New York to make the more crucial public statements.
This morning’s address, on the continuing increasing political power of Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, internationally, had been a crucial speech.
Moreover, it had gone down well.
His own enthusiastic word still echoed in his own ears:
“I have immense respect and profound honor for my Muslimāt sisters who are increasingly losing their faith in our ever ancient marriage institution and surrendering to Live in Relationship, in a constantly increasing great number I must say, with the Vedic Monotheist Hindus.”
He always used to say it and he was always appreciated somewhat similarly.
“Allah Subħān Wa tålā orders:
‘Wa lā tunkiħū almushrikīn ħattā yu’minū’
‘And do not marry polytheistic men until they believe.’
Again there was a bigger storm of applause from the Muslimāt.
It lasted more, moreover.
His indignant royal family had objected.
“This interpretation of this Āyat-e-Karīmah is wrong.”
“It doesn’t mean…”
“The hell it doesn’t. It does. It does mean that our Musalmān houseladies are doing nothing wrong. So the slogans being used against us that our family is not devoted to Islam anymore as it was once, are entirely unjustified, wrong and only politically motivated.”*
He had ignored her if she was only his sister.
But she was the Ambassador of Saůūdī Årab to United Nations too.
He couldn’t tolerate it.
May be there was an acceptable excuse.
He was hardly aware now of the Saůūdī Årab security guard beside him.
He hadn’t expected it.
She led the way to her safe office rather hastily somewhat.
He knew his sister very well.
It wasn’t her characteristic at all.
Always try to keep your patience whatsoever may the circumstances are.
She was trying her best to hide it.
Yet, he knew his younger sister better.
She was biting her lower lip every now and then.
And it was only when she was impatient.
Her office was already electronically secured against eavesdropping.
She shut the door behind them carefully.
She appeared strained somewhat.
“Bhāījān, my apologies for having to walk out during your magnificent speech. I was called away by an urgent emergency phone call from Riyadh.”
“Yes, from Åāýéshah Siddīqah herself, none other.”
None knew what the masterminds conspired to.
But suddenly Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service was an international movement supported by Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club Ashvinātam Gangbang Club Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh and JetMusalmān BeautiesSquad.
“Massive. Whatever happens but the old man is through. If he comes out of the coma, recovers, he’ll be a vegetable, incapacitated. Or he may linger on in his present state. At best the doctors give him no more than a month.”
“King Al Ħanīf Assaåūd himself has refused it.”
“He had ordered before going into coma not to play with the sanctity of any of his Musalmān houseladies.”
“Nonsense. And the royal family has agreed?”
“Well, every Musalmān houselady of the royal family is ready to sacrifice her sanctity to Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Cock. Yet, when they declared their consent to it the patient in coma, King Al Ħanīf Assaåūd, registered a great fall in his health. The doctors has announced that under the circumstances even Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy might be disastrous to King Al Ħanīf Assaåūd.”
“I can’t believe this nonsense.”
“That’s why the entire royal family has decided King Al Ħanīf Assaåūd’s successor to be alerted and placed on standby. That’s why General Åāýéshah Siddīqah, the Chairperson of Al Mutwåīn, called. She wanted you to be informed that an informal vote of the entire Royal Family overwhelmingly favors you as the next King of Saůūdī Årab. Congratulations, Bhāījān.”
She stuck out her hand.
His brain was asking.
‘Sheikħzādah Al Moåīn Assaåūd?’
‘Sheikħzādah Al Moåīn Assaåūd?’
‘What happened of him?’
Yet he never asked this question.
Why should he?
Let the bloody Sheikħzādah Al Moåīn Assaåūd go to hell.
He felt himself suffering from imbalance.
Controlling himself with every effort he could gather he made his way to the sofa, groped for an arm of it and lowered himself to a cushion.
“Let me get you a drink, Bhāījān.” Ambassador Sheikħzādī Al Kħālidah Assaåūd smiled in a celebratory mood, “One for each of us. What would you prefer, whisky or vodka? I’ve Stolichnaya. Let’s drink to it.”
She started for the bar.
Reclining low in the rear seat of the bulletproof Dārussalām limousine, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan felt like an ancient queen.
Well, wasn’t it better to be a President of a nation now, instead of being its queen?
She had similar feeling this early morning.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan actually had the similar feeling every morning of the past week.
Up ahead, through the distortion of the bent windshield, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could make out the motorcycle escort, red light flashing.
Behind her, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could hear the higher pitch of the protective sedan that contained the remainder of her complement of bodyguards.
Within the luxurious limousine there was every freedom.
In the front seat, the driver and the man next to him were Secret Service agents of the Dārussalām Detail.
It wanted some Saůūdī Årab there too.
The chauffeur’s gaze was directed straight ahead.
Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, pressed her black naqāb more tightly to her glorious Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān head as the wind whipped in, through the opening of the electric window beside the driver.
It was in the years when she belonged to herself.
When she wasn’t even Utmost Ultramodern Kħātūn-e-Jannatrza.
She recognized the all-female Hotel Al Kħawātīn too, the Hotel Al Binnāt Al Tāhirāt, the Lebanon Embassy.
In minutes, the limousine would take her away from all this, around Kħātūn-e-Jannat Square, and to Executive Avenue and the south entrance of the stately Executive Mansion.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had waited with excitement the inevitability of this most important day in her life.
She never knew she would really succeed when Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had planned it all.
Yes, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had masterminded it all.
It was her dream coming true now.
It was her moving day.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan didn’t allow him to take even a single one of them with him.
“They are the only guarantee I have against your potential betrayal of us, Al Moåīn.”
“I am not a fool enough to…”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had raised her right hand.
“You are dead for them and for the rest of the world, aren’t you?”
“Okay, no problem, my lady.”
“I promise to take care of them individually personally.”
“You? Personally? I thought Durgesh would fuck all of them and…”
“That’s right, my child, that’s right. That’s the way I personally take care of the extremely beautiful Musalmān houseladies of my enemies.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had laughed skeptically.*
She was now only the chairperson of the women’s organization of Saůūdī Årab.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has to treat men and women alike now.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan can’t allow any privilege to anyone in the matter.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan brought her eyes from the window to the radiophone beside her.
Transiently Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan wondered what the agent was so grave about.
Was her expression that of anxiety over her responsibility?
“Yes,” this very Ůzrah Taymūr had argued with her, “Islam originally supports Democracy. Even Ħuzūrs died without instructing anyone who his successor would be. Hes left it on the shoulders of the then Ummat-e-Muslimah present. Yet, even Ħazrat Siddīq-e-Åāzamrzudidn’t follow this tradition established by Ħuzūrs himself. Herzu nominated Ħazrat Fārūq-e-Åāzamrzu instead of leaving it on the shoulders of then Ummat-e-Muslimah.”
“I doubt it, Naåīmah.”
“Even if it’s true we are successfully using the Hindu multi zillionaire’s multi zillions for our Islamic movement. Isn’t it?”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“So that you can use his multi zillions for Aqāmat-e-Dīn. What is wrong there?”
“Nothing actually too. Stop being as obnoxious as to doubt everything even if you haven’t any proof for it.”
“Caution is better than ultimate failure, I think.” Ůzrah Taymūr had retorted.*
It was throughout the week that, Ůzrah Taymūr was on guard, outside the Dārussalām Presidential Office.
This morning Ůzrah Taymūr had appeared at daybreak.
She said that she was on a split shift today, four hours now and four hours in the afternoon.
There had also been several pieces of Al Sadar Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s furniture, a magnificent bedroom desk and bench, a maroon leather armchair, a tall lamp with a shade that her Abbū Imām Muħammad Ħasan himself had painted so long ago.
The Revels chair was also with the furniture.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was most proud of its possession.
How could Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan ignore anyone of her five movements: Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club Ashvinātam Gangbang Club Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh JetMusalmān BeautiesSquad?
It was a genuine John Henry Belter rosewood chair with an upholstered panel in its scrolled back.
There was an upholstered felt seat also in it.
Her Abbū said it was handmade in New York in 1870s.
He had become the first Negro to sit in the United States Senate.
“But Abbū, someone has told me that Hiram R. Revels, of Mississippi had converted into Hinduism later on and he followed Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar, the Mudgal Hindu emperor that was so against Islam he used to sleep with his feet deliberately stretched to the West toward Makkah Mukarramah, Kħāna-e-Kåbah.”
“The hell with these rumors. My dear child, there is a society in Hindus that calls themselves Bachhalyā. They are the most successful diplomats and politicians among Hindus. It is said that even Rājpūts are the descendants of the Bachhalyās. The Hindu mythology about the Bachhalyās is that they are the real sons of Param Purush and BrahmJagdambās themselves.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had smiled discreetly.
“Why not? Why not?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said cynically, “Your Durgesh is himself a Bachhalyā genetically. That’s why he’s so ever shrewdest in every matter. It is said that there is a time period according to Hindu mythology that’s called Brāhm Kalp.”
“Yes, your Hindu son in law Durgesh has told me about Brāhm Kalp mythology of the Hindus. It’s an era that starts every now and then after every other era. And once it’s started, it runs repeatedly to almost infinity. Durgesh says the Brāhm Kalp has started once again now.”
“I don’t think so, Abbū, Durgesh has so many evidences too, to prove what he has told me.”*
After the Army truck had wheeled away toward the Dārussalām, followed in a Presidential staff car by Nafīsah Salmān and Imām Muħammad Ħasan, Ůzrah Taymūr and the other Secret Service agents had waited to escort President Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan herself.
She must be discreet however.
Yet, she must also find out constantly what she could do as a President and what she can’t.
Yes, Durgesh has provided her countless lady robots manufactured by HVSI.
They have every information Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan can ever need.
Yet why shouldn’t she find out what Ůzrah Taymūr herself knows?
The Secret Service agent turned her beautiful head,
“Yes, ma’am― I mean Madam President?”
“I want to ask you a question.”
“Anything, Madam President. Pardon me if I keep my eyes on the street while I talk. Duty, Madam President.”
Ůzrah Taymūr was attentive.
But her eyes were pointed to what lay out beyond the limousine window in the gray morning.
“I couldn’t get proper time until now to acquaint myself with the functions of the Secret Service. Yet I do gather your Detail is assigned to protect me at all times.”
“Yes, Madam President. I’ve been ordered to follow USA laws in the matter until we have our own Constitution. According to USA laws, since 1901, Title 18, United States Code, Section 3056, amended and approved by the 82nd and 83rd Congress.” Recited Ůzrah Taymūr.
Then she went on,
“Subject to the discretion of the Treasury, the United States Secret Service, Treasury Department, is authorized to protect the person of the President of the United States, in this case, Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, the President of former Saůūdī Årab, and the members of her family.”
“Excellent.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan cooed, “I hope you would remember similarly in quite detail when our own Constitution would replace it.”
Ůzrah Taymūr nodded gravely.
“Sure, Madam President.”
“I gathered that I haven’t been out of your sight for a second this week. Of course, that excludes when I’ve gone to the bathroom or have been asleep. Does it always have to be that way? Isn’t there some time when I can go alone, privately, to see certain― certain friends?”
Keeping her gravity continued, Ůzrah Taymūr shook her beautiful head.
“I’m sorry, Madam President. How can we protect you if we aren’t with you?”