Ramadan Arabian Nights 2025 : The Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima “ Now, They became Three Orphans ” EP.11

Ramadan Kareem

Reema successfully executed the first part of her devilish plan by poisoning Ka’b El-Ghazal to seize his house. Tonight, we will find out what she intends to do to eliminate his daughters—Fatima, Halima, and Karima.

But first a little chitchat

You will hear and see in tonight’s episode in Arabic this Egyptian popular proverb "يقتل القتيل ويمشي في جنازته" (literally: He kills the victim and then walks in his funeral). This proverb is a widely used expression describing someone who commits a wrongdoing but then pretends to be innocent or even mourns the consequences of their actions. It refers to hypocrisy, deceit, and false sympathy, especially when someone tries to distance themselves from a crime or betrayal they were responsible for.

It is unclear if there is a certain backstory or historical incident related to it, but history is full of incidents that manifested this proverb, whether in the East or West.

There is also this Egyptian term “Ox in a waterwheel” which you will hear tonight. In Egypt, the phrase "الثور في الساقية" (the ox in the waterwheel) is a well-known metaphor used to describe someone who works tirelessly and endlessly without rest or reward. This imagery comes from the traditional ساقية (sāqiya), a waterwheel system that was widely used in Egyptian agriculture since the Ptolemaic era.

You will also hear this word in Arabic “Sahtout”, it is not a fictional currency created by Taher Abu Fasha. The Sahtout (السحتوت) or Suttout was an old Egyptian currency with a very small value used particularly during the Ottoman and early modern periods in Egypt. It was equal to a quarter of a millieme, meaning that one Egyptian pound was worth 4,000 Sahtouts. The coin had the phrase "من ربع عشر القرش" (one-quarter of a tenth of a qirsh) inscribed on it. The name "Sahtout" originated from Syria and Palestine, where it was also used historically.

The term suttout is sometimes still used colloquially in Egypt to refer to insignificant amounts of money.

Now enough of our trivia chitchat

So without further delay, here is the 683rd episode of our Arabian Nights Egyptian radio show—or the eleventh night in this year’s tale, The Tale of Fatima, Halima, and Karima.

Episode Eleven: Now, They became Three Orphans

And so, on the one hundred and eighty-third night of the sixth century, as the next evening unfolded, King Shahryar took his seat as he had the night before. Scheherazade arrived at the appointed hour, her voice like a melody as she greeted him with peace. Then, she opened the door to dreams and resumed her tale.

"It has reached me, O wise and noble King, that Reema was once again overcome by her wicked impulses, reverting to her old ways. The very thought of those young women marrying—forming their own families, gaining strength—filled her with dread. She feared losing the treasure that was hers to control. And so, she schemed.

Now, Reema was a skilled apothecary, well-versed in the secrets of herbs and potions. She gathered select ingredients and prepared a deadly poison, which she slipped into the food. She served one dish to the daughters and another to their father. The man, unsuspecting, ate heartily from his plate, indulging in the sweet treats before him. When the meal was done and conversation had run its course, sleep’s dominion took hold, and all retired for the night.

But when morning arrived, bright and clear, something was amiss. Sheikh Kaab Ghazal, who always emerged at dawn, did not leave his chamber as was his custom. He did not rise to greet the new day. Concerned, Fatima went to wake him, but she soon returned to her sisters, worry etched upon her face.

Haleema was the first to notice. 'What is it, Fatima? What’s wrong?'

'Help me, Aunt Reema!' Fatima cried.

Reema turned to her sharply. 'What is it, Fatima?'

'Father hasn’t woken up yet!'

'And why didn’t you knock?'

'I did—but no one answered!'

'Don’t just stand there—let’s go check!'

They rushed to his door.

'What’s going on? Why hasn’t he woken up?'

'Sheikh Kaab Ghazal! Father, can you hear us?'

Silence.

'What if he’s not inside?'

'How could he not be? Father, open the door!'

But there was no reply.

Panic set in.

'What if something’s happened to him?'

Fatima pounded on the door again. 'Father! Why don’t you answer?'

Their hearts pounded as they listened for any sound from within.

'He’s inside! But why won’t he speak?'

Then, all at once, the dreadful realization struck.

'Father! Oh, Father!'

Tears filled their eyes as they called out to him, but the only answer was silence."

In their secret hideout, away from prying eyes, Reema and Meshkah sat together, the weight of their recent crime still lingering in the air.

Meshkah leaned back, watching Reema closely. "You still look sad, Reema. Mourning the old man?"

Reema sighed. "It’s only natural, Meshkah. A few days of grief—just enough to look proper."

"Understood, understood, understood," Meshkah said with a chuckle.

Reema frowned. "And what’s so funny, Meshkah?"

"There’s an old saying, Reema. One our ancestors used to tell us."

"And what’s that?"

"The one who kills the victim is the first to march in his funeral."

Reema smirked. "As long as no one gets in our way, let them think what they want."

Meshkah’s grin widened. "Well, we’ve taken care of Ka‘b El-Ghazal, and now we’re rich, Reema."

"Exactly," she said, her voice low but firm.

"So," Meshkah continued, "I’ve been with you from the start. What’s next?"

"Ka‘b El-Ghazal is past now," Reema said coolly. "What now?"

Meshkah exhaled. "When do we move forward?"

"Tomorrow morning," Reema answered. "Bring a crowbar and a pickaxe. We’re digging under the foundation. We can’t let all this effort go to waste."

Meshkah nodded. "And the girls? They might try to stop us."

"They won’t. They can’t. What claim do they have? If we handled their father, we can handle them."

"And if the treasure turns up?" Meshkah asked.

"Then we take what’s ours."

"And if it doesn’t?"

Reema shrugged. "Then the whole thing wasn’t worth it to begin with."

Meshkah shifted uneasily. "Fair enough. But there’s still one thing—us."

Reema smirked. "I’ll take you back as my husband."

Meshkah raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And when would that be?"

"When the time is right. Be patient, Meshkah."

He hesitated, but Reema’s sharp gaze silenced him.

"Just don’t forget—tomorrow morning, bring the crowbar and the pickaxe," she reminded him. "We dig at first light."

"Consider it done," Meshkah said, though it was clear who was giving the orders.

The girls sat together, whispering among themselves, when Karima finally gathered the courage to speak up.

"Aunt Reema, how much longer is Uncle Meshkah going to keep digging under the house?"

Reema shot her a sharp look. "Until we find the treasure, Karima. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?"

"But you’ve been at it for days now, ever since the old man passed away," Karima pressed.

"We must find it," Reema snapped.

"You won’t," Karima said. "If it was there, you’d have found it by now. Didn’t the dervish say—"

"I don’t care what the dervish said!" Reema cut her off.

"He warned us—whoever searches won’t find it," Karima muttered.

Reema scoffed. "That’s just mystic nonsense. Why do you care, anyway? Let us dig. It’s none of your concern."

Karima sighed. "Fine. As you wish, Aunt Reema." She turned to leave.

"Stay where you are."

Karima froze.

"I said, stay right here. Both of you."

Fatima and Halima exchanged nervous glances.

"What’s wrong, Aunt Reema?" Halima asked hesitantly.

Reema took a deep breath before finally letting her mask slip. "Listen up, all of you. I don’t have the means to keep feeding you anymore."

The girls stared at her in shock.

"What do you mean, Aunt Reema?" Fatima asked.

"Exactly what I said. I can’t afford to feed three extra mouths. Figure it out yourselves."

Karima’s face went pale. "You’re throwing us out?"

Reema let out a cold chuckle. "I didn’t say that. I said it’s time you pull your own weight. You think food just appears on the table?"

Halima’s voice wavered. "But Aunt Reema… we’ve always depended on you."

Reema slammed her hand against the wooden table. "And for how long do you think that was going to last? Even iron breaks! I’m done carrying you."

The room fell silent.

Fatima whispered, "I can’t believe my own ears…"

"Then listen again!" Reema barked. "I can’t keep up with your expenses anymore. You hear me, Fatima? Karima? Halima?"

The girls nodded numbly.

"So what do you want us to do?" Karima finally asked.

Reema leaned in. "From now on, you work. Each of you. Every day, one of you will go out and sell the thread you spin. And with that money, you’ll buy oil and food. I’m done. I won’t do it anymore."

The girls swallowed their protests. There was no arguing with her now.

Halima took a deep breath and turned to the others. "Fine, Aunt Reema. We’ll start spinning now, and tomorrow, Karima will go to the market."

The others nodded. "Agreed, Aunt Reema."

Reema stood with her arms crossed, watching Meshkah idly leaning on his shovel. "Meshkah, why aren’t you digging?"

Meshkah let out a sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "And why should I, Reema? Digging for what, exactly?"

Reema narrowed her eyes. "You still don’t believe there’s treasure buried here?"

"Believe what? Reema, come on—look around. We’ve been at this for two whole weeks! I’ve dug so much I could’ve reached the other side of the world by now. No treasure. No sign of a palace. Just dust and disappointment."

Reema scoffed. "And did you dig everywhere in the house, Meshkah?"

He gave her a tired look. "You expect me to dig up every single inch of this place?"

Reema threw her hands up. "Of course! The treasure could be buried anywhere!"

Meshkah shook his head. "Reema, listen—"

"No, you listen!" Reema’s voice sharpened. "Keep digging, you fool. Or do you want me to bring in strangers to help us look? Because if that happens, they’ll take a share of what’s ours!"

Meshkah exhaled heavily. "You want the truth, Reema?"

Her voice dripped with impatience. "Are you digging or not, Meshkah?"

He groaned, bending back down to the dirt. "I’m digging, I’m digging. Not like I have much of a choice."

"Good. Now, keep talking while you dig."

He muttered under his breath as he struck the ground with his pickaxe. "You know what I’ve realized?"

Reema glanced at him. "What?"

Meshkah sighed. "I’ve realized this world is nothing but a waterwheel, turning round and round. And me? I’m just a dumb ox caught in it."

Reema burst out laughing. "You got that right—you are an ox, Meshkah!"

Before he could retort, a loud knock echoed through the house.

Reema frowned. "Who’s knocking at this hour? Fatima, go see who it is."

Fatima hesitated before hurrying toward the door.

Reema smirked at Meshkah. "You? Keep digging."

Fatima called out from the door.
"Who is it?"

"It’s my sister, Karima, Aunt Reema."

Reema folded her arms. "Well, well… what did you manage, Karima?"

Karima stepped in, dusting off her dress. "I took the spun wool to the market. The people were kind, Aunt Reema. The moment they saw me, they recognized me, spoke well of our late father, and treated me with generosity. They said—"

Reema cut her off, unimpressed. "Are you telling me a story, or are you getting to the point, Karima?"

Karima sighed. "Fine. I sold all the wool I had, bought more yarn, bread, and oil, then came straight home. That’s all."

Reema eyed her suspiciously. "Is that really all? You think I won’t count, Karima? You think you can fool me?"

Karima straightened her back. "I sold the wool for half a caroon, just like they used to buy from Father."

"And the yarn? How much?"

"Ten suttout."

"And the bread?"

"Five suttout."

"And the oil?"

"Three suttout."

Reema’s eyes narrowed. "Then where’s the rest, Karima?"

Karima hesitated before holding out two remaining coins. "Two suttout left."

Reema snatched them up. "I’ll take those."

Karima huffed. "Why do you count every last coin like a tax collector, Aunt Reema?"

Reema scoffed. "And where else am I supposed to go, Karima? Listen up, all of you. Divide the food carefully—this is your breakfast and your lunch. Today Karima went to the market, tomorrow it’s Halima’s turn."

Fatima’s face fell. "We’re eating bread without a dip, Aunt Reema?"

Reema shrugged. "No money, Karima, no luxury. But you can split the oil—half for dipping, half for the lamps so you can work at night."

Fatima gasped. "We’re spinning day and night, Aunt Reema?"

Before Reema could respond, a sudden, sharp cry echoed through the house.

"Reema! Reema!"

Everyone turned toward the voice—Meshkah’s voice, filled with urgency. They rushed toward him, finding him standing over a hole in the ground. His breath was heavy, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Half-buried in the dirt, something glinted in the dim light.

A box.

Half-hidden. Half-revealed.

And here, Scheherazade realized the dawn had come, and she fell silent, leaving the tale untold.

Here is the 11th episode of our tale televised

Till next night inshallah

You can check previous Ramadan Arabian Nights here.

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