Ramadan Arabian Nights 2025: The Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima “The Valley of Herbs and Plants” EP.28

Ramadan Karim

Tonight, we will continue our tale, the “Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima", and know what Halima will find at the Valley of Herbs and Plants, but first, we will have our little chitchat.

The Magical Valley of Herbs and Plants plays a role in tonight’s episode. Contrary to what one might assume, there is no mention of a magical valley or garden where plants speak in the original Arabic version of One Thousand and One Nights.

Those magical speaking plants appear instead in tales that were added to foreign-language translations of the book around the turn of the 18th century — in what later came to be known as the “orphan” Arabian Nights tales.

Nevertheless, believe it or not, the idea of speaking plants does have deeper roots — both in Persian culture, the cradle of the Arabian Nights, and in medieval Islamic intellectual tradition.

In Persian literature — and later in Ottoman and Arabic writing — there existed a genre known as munāẓara, or “disputation,” which featured debates between inanimate objects or living beings. Within this tradition developed what might be called a subgenre known as the “Debate of the Flowers.”

In medieval Persian poetry and prose, the rose speaks, the nightingale replies, the cypress boasts, and the tulip laments. These were not fairy-tale fantasies, but symbolic dialogues layered with philosophical and mystical meaning.

Whether in Persia or in Al-Andalus, these “speaking” plants were not magical beings in the literal sense. Rather, they were imagined as speaking through lisān al-ḥāl — the “language of their state” — a silent eloquence that praises God, as all living beings do according to Islamic tradition and the Holy Qur’an.

“And We made from water every living thing,” says the Holy Qur’an in Surah Al-Anbiya (21:30).

Medieval Islamic philosophers such as Avicenna (Ibn Sina) and the Ikhwan al-Safa (Brethren of Purity) classified the soul into hierarchical levels. The vegetative soul (al-nafs al-nabātiyya) represented the most basic level of life, attributed to plants, which possess the capacities for growth and reproduction.

Because plants require water to grow and thrive, some Andalusi scholars argued that they must share in the same “essence of life” as animals and humans. To them, water was the carrier of the divine life force.

And now, without further delay, here is the 700th episode of our Arabian Nights Egyptian radio show—or the 28th night in this year’s tale, The Tale of Fatima, Halima, and Karima.

Episode 28: The Valley of herbs and plants.

And when it was the completion of the Seven Hundredth Night of Shahrazad’s wondrous tales, and the night that followed, King Shahriyar took his seat as on the evening before. Shahrazad arrived at her appointed hour, and in a voice sweeter than the nectar of dreams and clearer than the purest wine, she resumed her tale and arranged her words like jewels upon silk.

Shahrazad said:

“It has reached me, O fortunate king of wise judgment, that when Queen Yasmine, Queen of the Serpents, heard Halima’s story and the fate of her sister Karima—and all that Reema had done to them—she resolved to end all doubt. She turned to Abu Farrag.

“He brought a vessel filled with water and whispered over it certain sacred names. When the Queen and Halima gazed into it, they saw the Island of Forgetfulness. They saw Karima imprisoned in Sultan Golan’s palace. They witnessed what passed between her and Prince Zahran. They saw, too, Prince Karwan’s illness—the illness that confounded the physicians of the age—and the reward the Sultan had proclaimed for whoever might cure his son.

“And Queen Yasmine agreed to accompany Halima to the Valley of Herbs and Plants.”

The Queen brought forth the Serpent Robe and a wide brass tray. With them, she and Abu Farrag carried Halima through the air until they reached the valley. When they arrived, Abu Farrag began muttering and murmuring beneath his breath.

“Enough, enough,” he said at last. “You have done your part. Now depart. May God bless you.”

Queen Yasmine looked around at the vast shadows.

“We have crossed great distances,” she said.

“The hour is late,” Halima added.

Yasmine turned slowly. “Is this the Valley of Herbs and Plants?”

“It is, O Queen of the Serpents,” Abu Farrag replied.

Then he raised his hands and cried softly, “Give, give—O Most Merciful, O Most Compassionate…”

He turned back to them.

“Do you know what you must do now?”

“Exactly,” Halima answered.

“And do you know what you must do now?” Queen Yasmine countered.

“I, my lady?” Abu Farrag shrugged. “I have done all I can.”

The Queen’s voice sharpened.

“Justice must return to its rightful owners. The criminal must face her reckoning. The jewel of the crown that Reema took—it belongs to Karima. It is not fitting that a criminal profit from her crime.”

Abu Farrag sighed. “The world gives nothing to the needy.”

“You will go now,” the Queen commanded, “and retrieve the crown jewel.”

“The crown jewel?” he repeated.

“The one Reema stole.”

“And Halima?” he asked.

“I shall wear the Serpent Robe,” the Queen said calmly, “and sit within the tray in the form of a serpent. Halima will carry me.”

Halima nodded. “Let us begin, my Queen.”

“Begin?” Abu Farrag cried. “Begin what? What do you think you are doing?”

“We will do exactly as you instructed,” Halima replied.

“You cannot enter the Valley of Herbs while the moon is hidden,” he warned. “You must wait until it rises and casts its light upon the trees. The serpents must see their Queen elevated upon the tray. Only then will none dare harm you.”

Halima turned to the Queen. “Did you hear, my lady?”

Abu Farrag calculated the sky with his eyes.

“You have an hour… perhaps two.”

“Then we wait,” Queen Yasmine said. “Go now. Bring the jewel Reema stole. Halima and I shall remain here.”

“I hear and obey,” Abu Farrag replied.

“At once,” the Queen added.

And Abu Farrag departed—
gone, gone—
on the wings of the wind.

And in the house of the daughters of Ka‘b Al-Ghazal, in the land of humans, unrest was already stirring.

Mishkah stood at the door, knocking urgently.

“Open up, Fatima! Fatima!”

The door creaked open.

“Uncle Mishkah?”

“Is she here? Reema— is she inside?”

“No,” Fatima replied. “Aunt Reema went out.”

Mishkah glanced over his shoulder, lowered his voice, and stepped inside quickly.

“Come, come, Fatima.”

“Come where?” she asked, startled.

“Get up! We must save our skins. Neither you nor I should remain here another moment.”

“Uncle Mishkah…”

“Do you even know where your sisters have gone?”

Fatima’s eyes filled with tears. “I weep for both of them.”

“And now it’s your turn,” Mishkah said sharply. “Don’t throw yourself into the fire with your own feet. Move!”

“Let me at least gather my clothes—”

“Listen to me,” he cut in. “Reema is hiding Karima’s crown jewel in her room.”

Fatima froze. “Reema?”

“Yes. We go in, we find it, we take it, and we leave this country. We sell it, disappear, and free ourselves from Reema and her cursed schemes.”

He seized her hand and pulled her down the hallway.

“Careful! Let go!” she whispered.

“Are you afraid of me? Put your trust in God, girl.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming—just let go.”

He stopped before Reema’s chamber.

“This is her room.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll open it.”

The door was locked. Mishkah forced it open with a shove.

“There. Come.”

They stepped inside.

Fatima looked around nervously. “Where is the jewel you spoke of?”

“Here,” Mishkah said, striding toward the corner where Reema had hidden it before. He pointed eagerly. “Here! Look— here—”

His voice faltered.

The space was empty.

He stared.

“The… the jewel?” His voice trembled.

“You don’t see it?” Fatima whispered.

“I know she hid it here.”

“Maybe she took it with her?”

“Or maybe she moved it,” he muttered, panic rising. “But where?”

“Where?” Fatima echoed anxiously.

They began searching the room frantically—pulling open drawers, lifting cushions, overturning small chests—

And suddenly—

“Meshkaaaaah!”

Reema’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

He spun around, pale.

“Reema…”

“Yes, Reema!” she shouted, storming into the room. “What are you doing here? You—and Fatima? God above! You’re stealing the jewel?”

“Where is it?” Mishkah stammered. “What happened?”

“Where is it?” she shrieked. “Don’t move—either of you!”

Her eyes darted wildly across the room.

“The jewel! The jewel! The jewel!”

“Perhaps you moved it somewhere else?” Mishkah suggested weakly.

“I just placed it here with my own hands!” she cried. “And if I hadn’t caught you trying to steal it, I would have sworn no one else could have taken it—”

Her voice broke.

Her face drained of color.

And with a gasp of shock, Reema collapsed to the floor—unconscious.

Mishkah stepped back, shaken.

“Ah… ah… this is how crime ends,” he muttered darkly. “A beggar living in misery while she sits on riches that would have saved them both…”

Fatima knelt beside Reema.

“She’s fainted!”

“Throw water on her,” Mishkah said impatiently. “Or leave her.”

“Have mercy…”

“Would you spare the serpent that bites you?” he snapped.

“Uncle Mishkah…”

“She’s in your hands now. Wake her up.”

And there she lay—

Reema, fallen—
while the missing jewel remained nowhere to be found.

And Abu Farrag returned to the Valley of Herbs, where the moonlight had begun to spill like silver across the leaves.

“Your Majesty, Queen of the Serpents!” he called out.

“Abu Farrag!” Halima answered eagerly.

“Ahh,” he replied in his familiar tone, “and yet the world gives no ease to the needy!”

Queen Yasmine fixed her gaze upon him.
“What have you done, Abu Farrag?”

Without a word, he extended his hand.

In his palm lay the great Crown Jewel.

“There,” he said calmly.

The moonlight struck the gem, and it shimmered like a captured star.

“Give it to Halima,” Queen Yasmine ordered. “She will return it to Karima.”

“At the command of the Queen of the Serpents,” Abu Farrag said, placing it carefully into Halima’s hands.

Halima gasped softly. “The moon has risen, my Queen!”

“Then prepare the tray,” Queen Yasmine replied. “I shall wear the Serpent Robe.”

Before Halima’s eyes, Queen Yasmine draped herself in the enchanted robe—and her form rippled, shifted—

Until she stood transformed into a great serpent.

Halima instinctively whispered, “In the name of God, the Most Merciful…”

The serpent laughed—a clear, musical laugh.

“Are you afraid, human, because I have taken the form of a serpent?”

“If I were alone, I would tremble,” Halima admitted. “But your presence reassures me, my Queen.”

Abu Farrag chuckled hoarsely.

“Bring the tray closer,” he told Halima. “So Her Majesty may sit.”

Halima obeyed, placing the wide tray upon the ground. The serpent Queen glided forward, coiling gracefully into its center.

“Enough,” Queen Yasmine said. “Now lift me upon your head, human, and carry me.”

“With honor,” Halima replied.

“Safe travels,” Abu Farrag added.

“You will not come with us?” Halima asked.

“Nothing shall harm you while you carry the Queen of the Serpents,” he assured her. “Her presence shields you.”

“And yet the world gives no ease to the needy,” he added under his breath.

“Come,” said Queen Yasmine.

“Our trust is in God,” Halima whispered.

And together they entered the Valley of Herbs.

The earth itself seemed alive beneath their steps.

“Walk this way,” Queen Yasmine instructed.

Then—
A sound rose from the soil.

Voices.

The plants were speaking.

“Glory be to the One who brought us forth from black earth—
In shapes and colors manifold!
Glory be to the One who made our cure within our own leaves—
Cloud of the world, cloud of the world!”

Halima shuddered. “This is truly the Valley of Herbs…”

“You hear them, do you not?” said Queen Yasmine.

Halima looked down—and froze.

Serpents.
Vipers.
Coiled bodies gleaming in the moonlight.

“They are everywhere…”

“Do not fear,” Queen Yasmine said calmly. “As long as I sit in this tray, you are protected.”

Halima watched in awe as the serpents rose upright on their tails, bowing.

“They are greeting us,” the Queen explained.

Suddenly Halima stepped on a plant by accident.

A voice cried out beneath her foot:

“I am the juniper plant! I cure the persistent ailment!”

“See?” said Queen Yasmine. “Every herb declares its name and its virtue.”

“Glory be to You, O Mighty One…” Halima whispered.

“Do you remember the name of the plant we seek?” the Queen asked.

“Of course—Sardan. The Sardan plant.”

“It shall reveal itself.”

They walked deeper into the valley—
Halima carrying the tray high upon her head, the serpent Queen coiled and watchful.

“Look, human,” said Queen Yasmine.

“It is as though all the herbs of the world grow here…”

“Keep walking.”

Then—

A voice rose clearly beneath Halima’s foot:

“I am the Sardan plant!
I cure the Sardan disease!
I am the Sardan plant!”

Halima gasped. “There!”

“That is the one,” Queen Yasmine said firmly. “Lift your foot and silence it.”

Halima stepped back and knelt, quickly gathering what she could from the plant.

“Here—here—”

“That is enough,” said the Queen. “We must return to Abu Farrag.”

Halima straightened, clutching the precious herb.

“And yet the world gives no ease to the needy,” she murmured softly.

“Abu Farrag!” Queen Yasmine called out.

From the shadows came the reply:

“And yet the world gives no ease to the needy!”

“Abu Farrag!” Halima echoed.

“Have you brought the cure for Prince Karwan?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “The Sardan plant.”

Abu Farrag stepped forward, nodding gravely.

“Then, with your permission, Queen of the Serpents, I shall prepare the paste from its seeds. She must disguise herself as a physician and go at once to treat the Sultan’s son.”

The moon shone high above them.

The cure was now in their hands.

And fate was beginning to turn.

Abu Farrag took Halima aside and prepared for her the healing ointment—compounded from حبّ السردان as prescribed in the hidden sciences. When it was ready, Halima disguised herself in the garments of a young male physician and set out toward the realm of King Golan, Sultan of the Jinn.

In the great pavilion of King Golan, the court stood in tense expectation.

“Do you know this physician, Jaljan?” the king asked.

“We do not know him, my lord,” Jaljan replied.

The king frowned. “Strange indeed. How does a physician dare present himself, knowing that should he fail in treating the prince, he will pay for it with his life?”

“Shall we dismiss him, my lord?” Jaljan suggested.

“No,” said King Golan after a pause. “Admit him.”

Jaljan called out to the guards, “The physician, by order of the Sultan!”

Halima entered, disguised in the form of a dignified young man. She bowed and said in a deliberately deepened voice, “Glory be to you, O King of the Jinn.”

“You are the one who has come to heal Prince Karawan?” the king asked, studying her closely.

“By the will of the Most Merciful,” she answered steadily.

“You know what will befall you if you fail?”

“I have read the proclamation and I know its terms.”

The king regarded her youth and said almost regretfully, “My son, you are young and fair. It would be a shame to lose your life.”

“I am bound by your proclamation,” she replied calmly, “and by your promise—and your warning.”

The king sighed. “Your fate rests upon your own shoulders.” Then he called, “Jaljan!”

“At your command, O King of the Jinn.”

“Take him to Prince Karawan.”

Jaljan gestured respectfully. “This way, master physician.”

As Halima followed him, she whispered softly to herself, “God’s relief is near… O Near One, O Responder.”

Thus she entered upon the prince and found him broken and laid low, his strength diminished and his spirit faint. From her satchel she drew the ointment she had prepared from the Sardan seeds and stepped toward him to begin the treatment—

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

Here is the 28th 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