Ramadan Kareem to all Egyptian Chronicles readers.
Tonight, we will learn how al-Nu’man’s children come to their senses and stop fighting over their father’s throne.
But first, it is time for our little chit-chat.
Tonight’s chit-chat will not be about how history turns into myth, but rather about one of Egypt’s legendary actors who plays a role in our tale.
Tonight, I will speak about the late Egyptian legendary director and actor Nour El-Demerdash, who voiced Daw’ al-Makan.
Nour El-Demerdash was one of Egypt's most versatile figures in the world of performing arts, leaving a lasting mark on theatre, cinema, radio, and television over nearly five decades of creative work.
Born on November 12, 1925, in Tanta, in the Gharbia Governorate of Egypt, El-Demerdash first earned a bachelor’s degree in commerce in 1955, followed by a bachelor’s degree from the Higher Institute of Theatrical Arts in 1956.
He began his theatrical career working under the renowned Egyptian theater pioneer Zaki Tulaimat, an experience that shaped his disciplined approach to acting and storytelling.
On screen, Nour El-Demerdash became well known for portraying the charming young romantic lead — the charismatic playboy — in the 1950s
His cinematic portfolio in the 1960s as a supporting actor was extensive, and his notable acting appearances included films such as Too Young for Love, The Seven Girls, Leilet el-Eid, and Shari'a Al-Hob, among many others.
He was not merely a face on screen, however — he also stepped confidently into the director's chair, helming a wide variety of productions. His directorial work spanned films and television series, mostly hits to this day, demonstrating a creative range that few of his contemporaries could match.
His years of active work in the industry spanned from 1949 to 1994, a remarkable testament to his talent.
Beyond his own career, Nour El-Demerdash is also remembered for his personal life, particularly his marriage to the celebrated Egyptian actress Karima Mokhtar.
The two formed one of Egyptian entertainment's most iconic couples. Together, they had four children — three sons, Moataz, Ahmed, and Sherif, and a daughter, Heba — several of whom went on to build careers in media and the arts themselves.
His son Moataz became a prominent television presenter and news anchor, while Ahmed followed in his parents' footsteps as an actor. The family's legacy in Egyptian culture is thus multi-generational, with their influence continuing well beyond Nour's own lifetime.
Nour El-Demerdash passed away on February 7, 1994, in Cairo, Egypt, at the age of 68. He died while filming the hit spy television series Falling in Beersheba after suffering a severe heart attack, in a dramatic end for a man who was dedicated to his craft until his very last days.
Till this day, Nour El-Demerdash stands as a symbol of the golden era of Egyptian drama.
Now, enough chit-chat.
Let us now see what is going to happen in the 106th episode of One Thousand and One Nights, as originally broadcast on Egyptian State Radio.
EP.15 Reconciliations
The One Hundred and Fourth Night
When it was the one hundred and sixth night, King Shahryar once again took his seat as he had the night before.
At the appointed hour, Shahrazad appeared, greeted him with the finest of salutations, and resumed her tale.
She said:
“I have been told, O fortunate king, wise in judgment…”
When King Sharkan and Prince Daw’ al-Makan, the sons of King Al-Nu’man, rode out to the battlefield and stood face to face, their swords raised against one another, their sister rushed between them.
Nuzhat al-Zaman threw herself between the two brothers, stopping them before their blades could fall.
Then she revealed the truth.
She told them how the old crone had deceived them both — how the trap had been laid so the brothers would destroy each other.
She commanded them to sheath their swords and gather their ranks.
When Sharkan heard the voice of his sister, memories and grief flooded back to him. His anger began to fade, and he listened to her words.
He remembered his daughter Qadr-wa-Kan, and suddenly everything became clear.
The old woman who had turned him against his brother…
was the very woman who had murdered his father.
She was the Stormbreaker — the mother of King Hardoub, the woman known for calamities and schemes.
At that moment Sharkan reached out his hand to his brother.
Swearing by their father’s blood, the two brothers embraced — and wept.
Together they entered the City of Al-Nu’man, where the royal council was convened.
When all had gathered and silence filled the hall, Daw’ al-Makan rose and stepped forward to address the court.
The Royal Council
Daw’ al-Makan called out:
“People of Al-Nu’man!
People of Al-Nu’man!
Members of the royal court!
Ministers and nobles!
Commanders of the armies!
Guardians of the frontiers!
Let it be known to all:
I am the younger brother.
My brother Sharkan is the elder.
I have ruled only as a steward — but he is the rightful heir.
There will be no war between us, no battle for the throne.
Sharkan — come forward.
Take the crown and the royal scepter.
O King of the Age.”
The council erupted in noise and cheers.
But Sharkan rose and addressed the court.
“People of Al-Nu’man!
Members of the court!
Ministers, nobles, commanders, guardians of the frontiers!
I, Sharkan, son of King Al-Nu’man, declare before this council that I relinquish the throne to my brother—”
“Sharkan!” Daw’ al-Makan interrupted.
Sharkan looked at him calmly.
“Daw’ al-Makan… I was wrong. Let me make amends and prove my sincerity.”
But Daw’ al-Makan shook his head.
“Sharkan — the throne that almost divided us will now unite us.”
“We have greater matters before us. Great tasks lie ahead.”
“We must avenge our father.”
“We must take revenge!”
The crowd roared in response.
“Death to King Hardoub!
Punishment for the Stormbreaker!”
Sharkan turned to his brother once more.
“Daw’ al-Makan — take the crown and the scepter, O King of the Age.”
The crowd echoed the title:
“Daw’ al-Makan, King of the Age!
Your command is law — and we obey!”
Sharkan raised his voice with a new command.
“Proclaim throughout the land: war and jihad.”
Daw’ al-Makan answered:
“Set the date.”
“We are ready,” Sharkan replied.
“The men?”
“The men are ready.”
“The horses?”
“And the camels.”
“The weapons?”
“The swords and the spears.”
He continued:
“Let every man finish his affairs, bid farewell to his family, and come to receive his weapons — ready for war and struggle.”
Daw’ al-Makan asked:
“When do we march?”
Sharkan answered:
“Ten days are enough.”
“After ten days…”
Later, Sharkan sought out his sister Nuzhat al-Zaman.
He spoke to her quietly.
“I gave up the throne to your brother Daw’ al-Makan.”
Nuzhat al-Zaman replied calmly:
“The throne belongs to its rightful owner, Sharkan.”
Sharkan sighed.
“I never even met Vizier Dandan. If I had crossed paths with him, I might have killed him. He came by one road while I came by another… and the old crone deceived me.”
He paused, his voice softening.
“I don’t want anything now, Nuzhat al-Zaman. I only want to see Qadr-wa-Kan.”
His sister looked at him steadily.
“What do you want with Qadr-wa-Kan?”
“My daughter Qadr-wa-Kan is not your daughter, Sharkan.”
“She is the daughter of the Chief Chamberlain.”
Sharkan looked stunned.
“The Chief Chamberlain’s daughter? And how does the Chamberlain treat you?”
“Praise be to God,” she answered.
Sharkan lowered his head.
“Then forget what I did.”
Nuzhat al-Zaman shook her head.
“Even if I forgot… Qadr-wa-Kan would remind me.”
“Time heals,” Sharkan said quietly.
But she answered with pain in her voice.
“The wound in my heart has no healer. And it will never truly mend.”
Sharkan hesitated.
“Nuzhat al-Zaman… I have a question.”
“What question?”
“A question I’m afraid to ask.”
“Why?”
He looked at her carefully.
“Did you… tell this secret to Daw’ al-Makan?”
“Yes,” she replied.
Sharkan was shaken.
“Why? Why would you do that, Nuzhat al-Zaman? Why wound him too? Isn’t what we’ve already suffered enough? Let the burden remain between the two of us.”
But she answered firmly:
“Daw’ al-Makan and I are more than brother and sister.”
Sharkan fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke again.
“I will leave with my brother to avenge our father.”
“My heart tells me… I may never return.”
“So before I go, I want you to forgive me.”
He looked at her with sorrow.
“My sister… forgive me, Nuzhat al-Zaman.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“May God forgive you, Sharkan.”
Not far from the palace, a strange commotion was unfolding in the streets.
A man was shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Hey! What are you doing? That’s not how you treat people! Have mercy!”
A soldier pushed him forward.
“Move along, garbage collector!”
“Yes, I’m a garbage collector,” the man shouted indignantly. “And my name is Karkoub!”
“Yes, yes… Karkoub,” the soldier said impatiently.
“What do you mean yes, yes?” Karkoub protested. “Why are you arresting me?”
One of the soldiers muttered to his companion:
“For two months we’ve been doing this. Every day we arrest some garbage collector and bring him in, and every time the prince says: ‘That’s not the one.’ Then he finally told us the man he’s looking for is a garbage collector named Karkoub.”
The soldier turned back to the prisoner.
“Your name is Karkoub, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s Karkoub… but I still don’t understand what’s going on.”
“And you don’t need to understand,” the soldier snapped.
“So why are you arresting me?” Karkoub demanded.
“Why?!” the soldier said. “You’re under arrest — that’s why! Looks like you’re asking for trouble. Grab him!”
“Careful there!” Karkoub shouted as they dragged him along.
“Take him by force!”
“Listen, if you’re soldiers of the Sultan,” Karkoub yelled, “then I’m a friend of the Sultan!”
“A friend of the Sultan?” the soldier laughed. “We’ll deal with you soon enough, you rascal!”
“Just wait!” Karkoub grumbled. “I’ll show you. Now walk ahead of me!”
Meanwhile inside the palace, Sharkan spoke with Daw’ al-Makan.
“Why are you late, Daw’ al-Makan?”
“I’m coming down now,” Daw’ al-Makan replied.
“How are the troops?”
“This will be a day to remember,” the prince said. “I will command the right flank, and Al-Battash the left…”
At that moment a soldier entered.
“The garbage collector, my lord.”
Daw’ al-Makan sighed.
“You bring me a garbage collector every day! Haven’t I told you I’m looking for someone specific?”
“But this one,” the soldier said, “is named Karkoub.”
Daw’ al-Makan’s face lit up.
“Karkoub?! Then that’s the man! Bring him in immediately!”
Sharkan looked puzzled.
“I don’t understand. Why were you searching for him?”
“He once did me a kindness,” Daw’ al-Makan replied. “And a kindness must be repaid.”
The soldier shoved Karkoub inside.
“Go on — there he is.”
Daw’ al-Makan exclaimed joyfully:
“Uncle Karkoub!”
Karkoub froze in shock when he saw the prince seated like a king.
“Uncle Karkoub?” he stammered. “I mean… my lord… Your Majesty! Is this how you repay kindness? With beatings and insults?”
Daw’ al-Makan turned angrily toward the soldiers.
“They beat him?!”
“Yes!” Karkoub said indignantly. “They beat me and humiliated me!”
“But I brought you here to repay my debt,” Daw’ al-Makan said.
“Debt? What debt?”
“To reward you for your kindness.”
Karkoub muttered under his breath:
“You hear that? Something’s not right here…”
“Sit down, Uncle Karkoub,” Daw’ al-Makan said warmly.
“Well… if you insist…”
“Why did you disappear?” the prince asked. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“You were the one who became busy, my lord,” Karkoub replied. “And I didn’t want to impose myself.”
“Impose yourself?” Daw’ al-Makan said. “How could someone who does a good deed ever be a burden?”
Karkoub shrugged.
“Look at me… and look at you. I’m just a garbage collector trying to make a living. Look at the clothes I’m wearing.”
“A man is not judged by his clothes,” Daw’ al-Makan replied kindly.
“Your kindness brings you closer to me, and your good deeds raise your standing.”
“Uncle Karkoub, I owe you — and I intend to repay that debt.”
Then he asked:
“How is Aunt Karkouba?”
“She’s fine,” Karkoub replied. “Thank God, the garbage business treats me well — it’s practically alchemy!”
Sharkan burst out laughing.
“Listen, Uncle Karkoub. From today onward, you will be part of my own retinue.”
Karkoub blinked in disbelief.
“A garbage collector… in your royal retinue? How am I supposed to stand among your warriors?”
“I’ll send men with you,” Sharkan said. “They’ll escort Aunt Karkouba to the Palace of the Columns.”
Karkoub’s eyes widened.
“The palace?!”
“And you will ride with us,” Sharkan continued.
“Ride where?”
“To war.”
Karkoub nearly fainted.
“War?! I’m no fighter! I don’t know how to stab, and I certainly don’t know how to fight!”
But Sharkan laughed.
“We are marching to fight King Hardoub, and I consider you a good omen, Uncle Karkoub.”
Then he raised his voice in command:
“Beat the drums!
Prepare the horses!
Saddle the mounts!
Call the men to arms — for war and battle!”
The drums thundered, and the soldiers’ cries rose across the camp.
And so the armies began to move.
They marched like wild beasts unleashed —
a sea of men and iron flowing across the desert.
At their head rode the two kings:
Daw’ al-Makan and Sharkan.
And among them rode the garbage collector Karkoub.
Together they advanced, drawing closer to the lands of King Hardoub.
“My lord—”
But at that moment, the rooster crowed.
And before the tale was complete, the dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent until another night.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank You for your comment
Please keep it civilized here, racist and hateful comments are not accepted
The Comments in this blog with exclusion of the blog's owner does not represent the views of the blog's owner.