Ramadan Arabian Nights 2025 : The Tale of Fatima, Halima and Karima “ The House and The Dervish ” EP.9

Ramadan Kareem

Before Scheherazade continues her tale and we discover what happened to Fatima, Halima, and Karima after Ka’b al-Ghazal fell into Reema’s trap and married her.

it’s time for a little chitchat and some trivia about this season of One Thousand and One Nights, Egypt’s legendary radio and TV show. It is not a spoiler but tonight, we will meet a dervish. It is another recurring theme or rather character in the One Thousand and One Nights Book that Taher Abu Fasha loved to borrow for his adaptations and inspirations.

Now to trivia.

According to Deepseek AI “Chat-GPT failed to do it”, determining the exact number of mentions of "dervishes" (Arabic: darāwīsh, دراويش) in the Bulaq edition of the Nights book (1835, Cairo) is challenging without a full-text analysis, as the term appears in both major roles and fleeting references.

 However, based on the structure of key stories in the Egyptian recension, there were 30–40 explicit uses of the term dervish in the book and up to 50+ mentions if counting repetitions in dialogue, titles, and descriptors.

There is also mention of Qaron or Korah. In Egypt, there is a widespread belief that Qarun lived in Fayoum and that Lake Qarun (Birket Qarun) was named after him because his wealth was buried beneath its waters when he was swallowed by the earth. This belief is not explicitly mentioned in the Quran or the Bible, but it has been passed down through Egyptian folklore.

There is also Qasr Qarun in Fayoum, which is actually a Ptolemaic-Roman temple dedicated to ancient Egyptian and Greek deities of Sobek and Dionysus, not an ancient palace.

Dedicated to the crocodile god Sobek, worshipped in Fayoum, and Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and festivity, the temple is near Lake Qarun

The name “Qasr Qarun” (Palace of Qarun) likely comes from local folklore linking the site to Qarun or Korah

So without further delay, here is the 681st episode of our Arabian Nights Egyptian radio show—or the ninth night in this year’s tale, The Tale of Fatima, Halima, and Karima.

Episode Nine: The House and The Dervish

King Shahryar took his seat as he had the night before, waiting for Scheherazade. When she arrived at the appointed hour, he welcomed her warmly, admiring her beauty before inviting her to sit before him.

And so, she began her tale once more:

“It is said, O wise and noble king, that when Reema, the cunning old woman, caught wind of whispers about a hidden treasure in that house, she wasted no time. She laid her traps, set her snares, and waited patiently until her prey walked right into her web.

Ka’b al-Ghazal, hearing the rumors she had carefully spread, decided to put an end to all the idle talk. To silence the gossip and secure her position in his household, he chose to marry her—but not before seeking the counsel of his daughters.

Their response? That she should stay.

And so, Reema set her plan into motion. She claimed she had married Ka’b al-Ghazal only for the sake of his children and to quell the chatter. She never stepped into his chambers except in his absence, always under the excuse of tidying up—airing the bedding in the sun, setting everything just right, ensuring not a thing was out of place.

At night, she slept among the daughters, showering them with kindness, treating them as if they were her own. Bit by bit, she won their trust. She played the role well—so well that the girls began to believe in her goodness.

One day, amid their chatter, they spoke among themselves:

‘Blessings follow those with kind hearts. Look at how things have changed for the better! Reema never enters his chambers unless he’s away, she sleeps beside us, cares for us, and has taken on all the work. Our lives have become easier because of her.’

‘True,’ one agreed. ‘You spend your time spinning yarn while she handles everything else. Have you ever wondered how we suddenly found ourselves with such comfort?’

‘Haven’t I always said?’ another chimed in. ‘Good fortune comes with good company! But one thing puzzles me—if she was our mother’s closest friend, why did we never see them together?’

‘Did you ask her that?’

‘I did,’ the girl replied, ‘and she told me that our mother once deeply hurt her.’

‘Then why did our late mother never speak of her?’

Fatima’s mind turned the thought over, circling it like a hunter closing in on prey.

‘Enough, Karima,’ another sister interrupted. ‘It’s obvious you don’t like Aunt Reema.’

‘I won’t hear such talk again,’ she said firmly.

‘Are you going to argue with me?’ their father asked, his voice carrying the weight of his years.

‘You heard her yourself, Father. It isn’t right to speak about her like that.’

‘Did I say anything bad about her?’ Karima shot back.

‘You know such words would upset her. Do you want her to turn against me? Do you want her to hate me?’

Ka’b al-Ghazal listened, his wise gaze sweeping over them. Then, his daughter spoke again, her voice as soft as the evening breeze.

‘Father, would you ever be angry with me?’

His expression softened. ‘May the Almighty never bring sorrow upon you, my child.’

Just then, there was a stir in the air, and one of the daughters’ eyes lit up.

‘She’s here!’ she whispered excitedly. ‘Look, sister, she has arrived!’ as they heard knocking on the door.

But before she could move, her father raised a hand.

‘Wait, child,’ he said.

She hesitated. ‘Are you leaving, Father?’

He gave her a knowing smile. ‘Not for long.’

Then, as if sealing a promise, he added, ‘And soon, your Aunt Karima will return to you.’”

Reema sat in the dim hideout, her eyes locked onto Mishkah, the man who had once been her world but was now little more than a shadow from the past.

Mishkah chuckled as he counted aloud, “Fifteen… Sixteen… Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty!” Then, shaking his head, he muttered, “And what now, Reema? You can twist and turn all you like, reach for the skies or sink to the depths, but in the end, you’ll have to face the truth.”

Reema crossed her arms. “Then face it yourself—give up the money you’ve been hiding! Or do you think you can outsmart me?”

Mishkah scoffed. “Listen to me, woman. I won’t be chained to you, and I won’t stay under your thumb!”

Reema’s voice was firm. “I’m not your wife anymore, and I don’t answer to you. But don’t think for a second that you’re free of me.”

Mishkah smirked. “Oh, please! You really think you can take me on? While I’m still standing strong?”

“And what can you do to me?” she shot back. “You think I’m going to give up this life?”

He laughed dryly. “Oh, it’s clear as day now. The moment you married Ka’f al-Ghazal, everything went downhill.”

“Say it then,” Reema said, tilting her head. “But why do you even care? Are you jealous, Mishkah?”

His face darkened, though he forced out a chuckle. “You’re playing with fire, Reema. But soon, things will change. We’ll have everything in our hands.”

Reema sighed, her voice heavy. “We’ve been waiting long enough, Mishkah. Who knows if it will turn out the way you think?”

Mishkah grinned. “Just wait, a day or two, and everything will be back like before. We’ll have it all again.”

Reema gave him a knowing look and whispered, “And I’ll go back to my old ways…”

That night, as the lanterns flickered and the city settled into its slumber, Ka’b al-Ghazal found himself in the company of men who had come with a single purpose—to buy his house. But he, firm in his resolve, shook his head and spoke plainly:

"My house is not for sale. My daughters will inherit it after I’m gone."

The men, undeterred, leaned in. “Think it over, Sheikh Ka’b al-Ghazal. Would you not reconsider if the price were right?”

Reema and the girls, listening from the other room, exchanged uneasy glances. The whispers of the deal floated through the walls like a creeping shadow.

"Why are they taking so long?" one of the daughters murmured. "I don’t understand… What’s going on?"

"Are they trying to force him to sell?" another asked, suspicion rising in her voice.

Ka’b al-Ghazal remained unmoved. "If you had come asking for my daughters’ hands in marriage, that would have been an honorable request. But this house—this is their home, not mine alone. Their lives, their future, are theirs to decide."

"Alright, alright," one of the men said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let’s talk calmly."

From behind the door, one of the daughters whispered, "Aunt Reema, do you hear them? They’re talking about us."

"Everything will be revealed soon," Reema replied, her eyes narrowing in thought.

The men, seeing that the Sheikh would not be easily swayed, changed their tone. "We understand," one said smoothly. "If you ever do decide to sell, we’d rather buy from you than anyone else."

"But for now," another added, lowering his voice, "let’s focus on the other matter we mentioned."

Ka’b al-Ghazal stiffened. "That is a conversation for another time."

"Of course, of course," they assured him. "Think it over. When you’re ready, you’ll find us waiting—with open hands and open ears."

And with that, they took their leave, stepping into the night with promises lingering in the air.

But in the shadows of that quiet house, not all hearts were at ease.

Once the men had left and the house had settled into silence, Reema and the daughters gathered around Ka’b al-Ghazal, their eyes filled with questions.

"What was that all about, father?" one of the girls asked.

Ka’b al-Ghazal sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to push away the weight of the conversation. "Those men… they weren’t just here for the house."

Reema frowned. "Then what did they want?"

"When they saw that I refused to sell, they changed their approach. They started talking about you girls, about your beauty. Each of them made a proposal—asking for one of your hands in marriage."

The daughters gasped. "Marriage? Just like that?"

"It’s not marriage they’re after," Ka’b al-Ghazal said bitterly. "They only want what comes with it—the house, the land… and something else."

Reema narrowed her eyes. "You mean… the treasure?"

Ka’b al-Ghazal gave a slow nod. "That’s what this is really about. Each one of them is hoping to strike fortune. When they realized I wouldn’t part with the house, they thought of another way to claim it—through you."

"But… is there really a treasure?" one of the daughters whispered, glancing around as if the walls themselves held secrets.

Ka’b al-Ghazal let out a dry chuckle. "A tale. A rumor. A story my late father used to tell, passed down from an even older time."

Reema leaned in. "And what is the story?"

Ka’b al-Ghazal’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a hush. "It goes back to a night long before any of us were born. My father and his companions were sitting in this very house when a dervish—an unknown wanderer—walked in. No one knew where he came from. He sat with them, spoke of things no stranger should have known… and then, he told them of a hidden fortune buried within these walls."

"A dervish?" one of the daughters murmured, intrigued and uneasy.

"Yes," Ka’b al-Ghazal continued. "He described the house’s every detail as if he had lived in it himself. He spoke of signs and markings no one had ever noticed. His words shook them, made them question everything they thought they knew about this place."

Reema inhaled sharply. "And then?"

Ka’b al-Ghazal shook his head. "Then he simply said, ‘All will be revealed in time.’ And just like that, he was gone."

The room fell into silence.

"Since that day," Ka’b al-Ghazal finally said, "this house has been the subject of whispers and greed. Everyone who hears the tale wants to be the one to uncover its secrets."

The daughters exchanged uneasy glances.

Reema’s voice was firm. "And those men tonight… they think marrying your daughters will give them the key to that so-called treasure?"

Ka’b al-Ghazal nodded. "That’s exactly what they believe. And that is why I will never let it happen."

The weight of his words settled over them. Outside, the wind howled through the quiet night, carrying with it the echoes of a mystery that refused to be buried.

The past unfolded like a dream, shrouded in the flickering glow of oil lamps.

In the heart of the old house, generations before Reema and her sisters, their ancestors sat in a tight circle, their voices hushed as they listened to the stranger in their midst.

The dervish stood before them, draped in tattered robes, his presence both unsettling and mesmerizing. His voice was slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of unseen knowledge.

"Peace be upon you."

One of the men shifted uneasily. "And upon you peace… but who are you, traveler?"

"Peace is safety, and safety is here," the dervish replied cryptically. His gaze swept across the room before he dropped his next words like stones into a still pond.

"This house… this very house… it is watched."

A murmur rippled through the listeners. "Watched? What do you mean?"

"There is a treasure here."

Laughter erupted, nervous and doubtful. "Treasure? What nonsense is this, O dervish?"

"Do not mock what you do not understand," the dervish said calmly. "There are signs, symbols, markings—proof of what lies beneath."

The men exchanged glances. The house was old, its walls thick with history. Could there really be something hidden within it?

"A great chest," the dervish continued, his voice turning distant as if peering through time. "It has rested here for years upon years. And beneath it, you will find the faithful guardian."

Someone scoffed. "A guardian? What kind of foolish talk is this?"

The dervish’s eyes gleamed. "You doubt me still? Then lift the chest. See for yourselves."

Hesitant but intrigued, the men gathered around the heavy wooden chest that had sat undisturbed in the room for as long as they could remember. It took several of them to pry it from the floor, their muscles straining as they dragged it aside.

A hush fell over them.

Nothing.

One man exhaled in relief. "You see? There is no guardian—"

Then a sound. A rustling.

And from the shadowed space where the chest had been, something moved.

Gasps filled the air as a massive serpent slithered into view, its dark body coiling in the dim light. Its scales shimmered, its twin horns casting eerie shadows against the floor.

"The guardian," the dervish murmured. "The faithful one."

The men scrambled back, their breaths shallow, eyes wide with fear.

"God protect us!" one whispered. "What is this creature?"

"Do not fear," the dervish said. "So long as you do not harm it, it will not harm you."

The serpent remained still, its piercing gaze fixed upon them.

The dervish turned to the eldest among them. "You see now? This house holds more than walls and dust. It holds a secret older than you can imagine."

The elder’s voice was dry. "And… what is this treasure you speak of? How do we find it?"

The dervish’s expression darkened. "This is not a treasure meant for those who seek it."

"Then for whom?"

"For the one who does not seek… but is chosen."

The cryptic words sent shivers through the room.

One of the men stepped forward, desperate for answers. "Who are you, O dervish? What is this snake with two horns? And how do we uncover this treasure?"

The dervish’s lips curled into a faint smile. "I am Abu Farag, a traveler in a fleeting world… one who has no need for what the earth hides as fortune favors not the one in need. 

He turned toward the door.

"The treasure has been buried since the days of Korah. No greedy hand will ever grasp it. No scheming mind will ever claim it. Only the one who does not seek it… may one day find it."

With that, the dervish stepped into the night.

The men rushed to the doorway, but he was already gone, swallowed by the darkness.

And so the whispers began.

The story spread from ear to ear, growing with each telling. The legend of Ka’b al-Ghazal’s house. The treasure. The guardian serpent. The mystery that none could unravel.

And through the centuries, greed and longing brought many to the doorstep—each hoping, searching, but never finding.

For the secret remained as the dervish had said: hidden from those who sought it, waiting only for the one who never would.

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

Here is the 9th episode of our tale televised

Till next night inshallah

You can check 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 other places in the globe. Every pound, dollar, or euro can make a difference.