Ramadan Arabian Nights 2025: The Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima “The Daughters of the Kings” EP.25

Ramadan Karim

Tonight we will continue our tale, the “Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima", and know the fate of our Halima after what happened to her last night, but first we will have our little chitchat.

As a master folklorist, Taher Abu Fasha frequently drew inspiration from cultures worldwide. Without giving too much away, tonight’s episode will explore a theme that appears in many myths and traditions — the motif of seven magical beings, particularly seven enchanted birds.

The most famous tale of this kind is The Seven Ravens (also known in variants as The Seven Swans or The Twelve Ducks), a German and Norwegian fairy tale collected by the Brothers Grimm.

The story follows a young girl who discovers that she once had seven brothers, transformed into birds by a curse. The misfortune began when her parents, desperate to fetch water for her baptism, uttered words of frustration that doomed the boys. 

On learning of their fate, the girl embarks on a long and perilous journey to rescue them. She eventually reaches the glass mountain where they dwell and, in some versions, sacrifices her own finger to unlock its gate — a final act of devotion that breaks the curse and restores her brothers to human form.

There is also the great Irish saga, the Children of Lir.

What we will meet tonight also reminds me of Tolkien's eagles in Middle-earth.  

Now we will stop talking about honey, and let’s continue our tale.

And without further delay, here is the 697th episode of our Arabian Nights Egyptian radio show—or the 25th night in this year’s tale, The Tale of Fatima, Halima, and Karima.

Episode 25th: The Daughters of the Kings

And when the six hundred and ninety-seventh night had passed, the next night began. King Shahryar once more took his place upon the throne, and soon Scheherazade entered, greeting him with grace. She sat by his side and began to weave her tale, continuing from where she had left off the night before.

Scheherazade said:
“It has reached me, O wise and fortunate King, that when Rima returned to her old ways, the urges of crime overcame her. She sought to destroy Halima just as she had destroyed her sister Karima before her.

So, when night fell, the world grew still, and sleep settled upon all. Rima stole away with Halima. She led her to the same well, rolled aside the heavy stone, and ordered the girl to climb down and draw honey until the jar was full. Halima obeyed, and when she reached up to be lifted out, Rima pretended to help her—but instead slammed the stone back over the mouth of the well, trapping the girl inside to meet the worst of fates.

Then Rima returned to the house like a tongue of fire, and stood at the door, knocking and calling as though she had committed no crime at all.”

Rima (outside the door):
“Open up, Fatima! Open up, Halima!”

Mishkah (from inside):
“Halima?”

Fatima (from inside):
“It’s Aunt Rima!”

Mishkah:
“The woman is asking for Halima.”

Rima (insistently):
“Open, Halima!”

Fatima:
“All right, Aunt Rima…”

She opened the door.

Rima:
“Take this from me, my girl—here, carry what I bring.”

Fatima:
“But where is my sister?”

Rima (putting down the honey jar):
“Help me set it down, my dear.”

Fatima:
“But where is Halima?”

Rima (evasively):
“Halima?”

Mishkah (bewildered):
“Yes—Halima!”

Rima:
“Hasn’t she arrived? Halima?”

Mishkah:
“What do you mean, hasn’t she arrived, Rima?”

Fatima:
“Wasn’t she with you, Auntie?”

Rima:
“She was, my child. But then she left me.”

Mishkah:
“And why did she leave you?”

Rima (shrugging):
“What could I do?”

Mishkah (pressing her):
“Do about what?”

Rima:
“She told me she wasn’t feeling well tonight and couldn’t carry the honey jar. So I said: ‘Go on home,’ and I brought the honey myself.”

Mishkah:
“And that’s all?”

Rima:
“Why else would I be the one carrying it?”

Mishkah (growing angry):
“Rima…”

Rima (snapping):
“Mishkah!”

Mishkah:
“But not Halima, Rima!”

Rima:
“Mishkah…”

Mishkah:
“Rima!”

Rima (defensive):
“Why are you speaking this way? What’s wrong with you?”

Mishkah (demanding):
“Tell me, what have you done?”

Fatima (weeping):
“Where is my sister, Aunt Rima? Where is Halima?”

Rima (indignant):
“You question me? Isn’t it enough that you’ve disgraced me?”

Fatima (crying out):
“My sister! My sister!”

Mishkah (furious):
“Rimaaa!”

Rima (snapping at him):
“Be silent, Mishkah!”

Mishkah:
“No, Rima, not this time. This is no Karima—this is Halima!”

Rima (shouting):
“Mishkah!”

Mishkah (roaring):
“But not Halima!”

Rima:
“Then go ask after Halima!”

Mishkah (desperate angrily):
“Ask whom?” Where should I go? Where should I turn? Halima!!”

Rima:
“Mishkah!”

Mishkah (crying out):
“Halima!”

And Rima shouted in anger, while Fatima wept bitterly, for she had been left alone—her two sisters gone, her home emptied of joy.

And behold—Halima was trapped in the sealed well, surrounded by absolute darkness.

Halima (to herself, trembling):
“What brought you here, Halima? What cast you down so low?”

She wept and whispered:
“My Aunt Rima—she betrayed me. She shut the well upon me and left me! Why, Aunt Rima? What did I ever do to you? Darkness… only darkness. Fear and shadows. I can’t see—I am so afraid. And this well… it feels endless, vast. Where am I walking?”

Halima stumbled forward, for this was no ordinary well.

Halima (to herself):
“How long have I been walking? Keep going, Halima… but why? Why, Aunt Rima? What did you tell me? That I should join my sister Karima? Then it was you—you who destroyed Karima! God protect me from you, Aunt Rima. But where does this path lead? Why does it never end?”

Time passed, and then—suddenly—something glimmered in the dark.

Halima (startled):
“What is that? Is it real, or just my imagination? Something shining… yes! A golden lock! And beside it—a golden key! How strange! A lock and a key together. But why place a lock at all, if the key is still inside it?”

She reached out and felt the surface.

“It’s set upon… a door. A door with no doorkeeper. What could be behind it? Why sealed so tightly? My mind tells me: open it, girl! What more can happen to me than what has already befallen? I will open it—in the name of God.”

She turned the key, the lock gave way, and the door creaked open.

And what she saw was a world unlike any she had ever known.

Halima (in awe):
“Ahhhhhhh… Is this a dream or reality? Here it is daylight—gardens and rivers stretch before me. The sun, the air, the earth… I can hardly believe my eyes! A lake, its waters shining… and on its shore, seven golden chairs—surely for souls of great power. Where am I? Whose chairs are these? And why have I been brought here? Why are they placed by the water’s edge? I cannot understand this mystery!”

Suddenly, the sky above darkened.

Halima (alarmed):
“What’s this? Seven great birds descending…! Where can I hide?”

She slipped beneath one of the golden chairs as the birds landed.

But these were no ordinary birds—no doves, no swans—
They were seven mighty eagles.

Halima, still hidden beneath the golden chair, heard a voice calling out—soft at first, then commanding:

Voice (from one of the eagles):
“Steady now… here, here!”

Halima (to herself, startled):
“Someone is speaking…?”

From above, one eagle cried out as it descended toward the lake:

Eagle’s voice:
“Come down, daughters of kings! Come, descend!”

And from the flock came a chorus of laughter—light, playful, ringing across the waters.

Halima (to herself):
“Daughters of kings?”

Another eagle joined in:

Eagle’s voice:
“Yes, yes—hurry, daughters, hurry!”

Their laughter filled the air. Then, in a dazzling moment, Halima saw them: serpents—seven radiant serpents—sliding down from the backs of the eagles. Their scales shimmered like they wore jewels.

Halima (to herself, aghast):
“Serpents… no, not ordinary serpents. Seven of them! And yet—they laugh, they chatter like maidens.”

One of the serpents spoke, still laughing:

Serpent leader:
“Off with you now, eagles—you’ve done your part.”

Another serpent called:
“Yes, begone! When we have need of you, we will summon you again.”

The eagles beat their wings and soared away, leaving the seven serpents by the lake.

Then their leader turned to the others:

Serpent leader:
“Now, daughters—let us shed the serpent’s form.”

A younger serpent asked, curious:
“Are we to bathe in the lake?”

Leader:
“Of course, Princess. Come now, quickly.”

The younger serpent giggled and wriggled out of her skin:

Young serpent:
“Here goes the serpent’s robe… haaaaaaaaaa!”

Their laughter rang again as one by one, each serpent peeled off her skin, laying it upon her golden chair.

And before Halima’s astonished eyes, they transformed—not serpents, but maidens, radiant daughters of kings.

Halima (in awe):
“By God! They shed their serpent skins—and now they are girls, fair and beautiful.”

The eldest among them, tall and commanding, called out:

Eldest Princess:
“To the water, my sisters. Come, Princess—come, my sister, hasten!”

The youngest protested playfully:

“No, no! Leave me be—I’ll go alone!”

But her sisters laughed, seizing her hands, pulling her into the lake amid splashes and cries.

Youngest (half-laughing, half-pained):
“Ah! Ow! You’re pulling me too hard—my legs, my legs!”

The eldest frowned, commanding:
“Enough! Stop, all of you.”

The girl pouted:
“What? What’s wrong?”

The leader lifted her head, nostrils flaring:
“Don’t you smell it?”

Youngest (confused):
“Smell what?”

Leader (sternly):
“Walk a little… breathe deep. Tell me what you scent.”

The maidens obeyed, sniffing the air.

Leader:
“Well? What do you smell, Zamurruda?”

One maiden (hesitant):
“The scent… the scent of strangers.”

Leader:
“Indeed. The scent of a human. One who is not of us.”

The youngest’s eyes widened:
“A mortal… who dares intrude upon the bath of Queen Yasmine?”

Another cried out fiercely:
“We should tear them in two!”

“Where are they?” shouted the youngest.

And in less than a breath, they found her.

One maiden (pointing):
“There! There, my Queen!”

Youngest (shrieking):
“Seize her!”

They dragged Halima out from under the golden chair.

Queen Yasmine (seizing her arm):
“Come here, girl!”

Halima (pleading, in tears):
“Mercy, my Queen, mercy!”

One maiden gasped:
“By heaven—it’s a human girl!”

Queen Yasmine:
“A mortal? Indeed?”

Halima (sobbing):
“Yes—a mortal wronged, a victim cast aside.”

Queen Yasmine:
“And what brings you here, child?”

Halima:
“It was fate written upon me…”

One of the princesses hissed:
“She has seen us with her mortal eyes. She must be blinded!”

Another declared:
“She touched the golden chairs—she must be cut apart!”

A third cried out:
“She walked upon our ground—she must die!”

Halima (terrified, weeping):
“What have I done to deserve this? I am innocent—I am the wronged, not the guilty!”

Queen Yasmine (coldly):
“Your punishment, mortal…”

Halima:
“Punishment is for the guilty! I am the victim—I have been cast into this doom!”

The sisters pressed closer, demanding answers.

One princess:
“Tell us, then—what brought you here?”

Halima (through tears):
“I did not come by my will. My aunt Rima threw me into the well and sealed it with a stone. She left me to die.”

One princess whispered:
“By the heavens…”

Halima (weeping):
“She left me in the dark, to fear and illusions.”

The youngest sighed:
“Poor, poor girl.”

But Queen Yasmine narrowed her eyes.

Queen Yasmine:
“Is this truth? Or trickery?”

Halima (crying out):
“I am innocent—I am the victim!”

Queen Yasmine (softening, curious):
“What is your name, mortal?”

Halima:
“Your servant… Halima.”

Queen Yasmine:
“Tell me your tale, Halima.”

Another princess:
“Yes—what of this Rima?”

And so, Halima began her story. She told them of her sisters, of her aunt’s treachery, of how Rima had betrayed and destroyed them all.

And as Halima’s voice wove her sorrow, the night drew to its close.

At this moment, Shahrazad realized that the morning had arrived, so she fell silent, leaving the story unfinished.

Here is the 25th episode of our tale, televised

You can check the previous Ramadan Arabian Nights here.

In the spirit of Ramadan, I invite you to support UNICEF’s relief efforts in Gaza and Sudan, as well as elsewhere on the globe. Every pound, dollar, or euro can make a difference.

Till next night inshallah.