A Woman Named Mother
An original story inspired by Disney's Aladdin
by Sedeara
==================================================================
Chapter One
"I'm going to
catch you!" Aladdin yelled breathlessly, chasing
Jasmine down the palace halls. They were playing a game of tag,
and
Aladdin was "IT".
"No you're not!"
Jasmine called over her shoulder. She raced ahead of
him, turned a corner, and disappeared into one of the palace's rarely
used
storage rooms. She moved to the back of the chamber and ducked
down
behind an old trunk.
Aladdin entered the
room shortly after her. His eyes searched it, but he
didn't see her. "Hey, no fair!" he laughed. "This is tag,
not hide and seek!"
He ran ahead so quickly that he didn't notice a rolled up silk rug
on the floor.
He tripped, and in an effort to steady himself, he grabbed onto one
of the
shelves. It was unsteady, and when he leaned against it, it fell
to the ground
with a noisy clatter.
Luckily it was empty,
except for one huge framed portrait that dropped
off. Aladdin rushed and caught it, still laughing. He looked
at the picture in
his hands but couldn't make it out because it was covered with dust.
He blew
it off, sneezing as the particles flew around him.
He stopped laughing
when he saw the painting. His breath caught in
his throat. It was a beautiful woman, obviously royalty,
who looked no older
than sixteen or seventeen. She was wearing fine jewel studded
silk robes of
purple and azure. A braid was wrapped around her head and tucked
behind
her magnificent crown. The rest of her thick black hair hung
to the middle of
her back, with flowers strung through it. Her neck, ears, and
arms were
adorned with jewelry. Her skin was dark, and she
had the most gorgeous
big, brown, sparkling eyes. Her red lips were captured
forever smiling. It
was the smile of a young heart in love.
Aladdin thought she
looked strangely familiar, but he knew he had
never seen her before, for surely he would have remembered. He
read the
name painted in the corner. Amaranth. Was it the
artist's signature, or the
woman's name? Whichever it was, he didn't recognize it.
Jasmine, who was still
crouched down behind the trunk, wondered why
Aladdin hadn't found her yet. She slowly stood up and saw him
staring
intently at the square object in his hands. "Aladdin,"
she said, "what are you
doing?"
"Jasmine," he said
as she neared him, "who is this?"
Jasmine looked over
his shoulder at the painting in his hands. The
smile faded from her face. For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Even though
she had never seen this particular picture, she knew very well who
the woman
was without glancing at the name. "It's my mother," she
answered quietly,
hoping Aladdin wouldn't notice the tremble in her voice. It had
been years
since she had seen a picture of her mother, but she recognized her
just the
same.
"Oh," whispered
Aladdin. "She's beautiful."
Jasmine nodded.
Now Aladdin knew why
he thought he should know the woman in the
painting. He could see Jasmine in her. In fact, they were
nearly identical.
"She looks like you, Jasmine."
Jasmine didn't answer.
No one had ever told her that before, but there
was a time when she had wanted to hear those words. In
a memory, she was
transported back to her childhood.
"I wish I were
as pretty as this lady," a very young Jasmine said as
she gazed admiringly at an unfamiliar face.
"My dear, where
did you find that?" asked the Sultan.
"In that room,
Father," she said, pointing. The Sultan snatched the
picture from her hands and began to leave.
"Father, I want
the pretty picture back! Who is it?" Jasmine asked.
"It's your mother.
You are never to take these pictures out again.
Understand?"
The word
"mother" meant nothing to Jasmine then, but she nodded
anyway, confused. "Father, why are you crying?" she
asked.
"I'm not."
Then he left, leaving a little girl staring after him, still
wishing she looked like that woman named "mother" in the picture.
"Jasmine?" Aladdin
asked, bringing her back to reality. "Is something
wrong?"
She shook her head.
"I was just . . . remembering."
"I didn't know you
remembered her."
"I don't," replied
Jasmine. She realized the pictures were the only
piece of her mother's life that was left. She felt
empty, as if something had
been taken from her that she never had a chance to have.
"Sometimes I
forget I had a mother at all," she admitted, feeling guilty.
"I can see why," commented
Aladdin, "since you keep these pictures
hidden away like this. This is the first one I've ever seen."
"They make Father
sad," she explained, trying to ignore the empty
feeling. She took the painting from Aladdin and shoved it onto
another shelf.
She didn't want to look at it anymore.
"What do you know
about her?" he asked.
"Nothing," she
answered, "except the way she looks, and her name:
Amaranth." Jasmine wished Aladdin would stop talking about her
mother.
The empty spot was growing now that she had to remind herself her mother
was as much a stranger as someone she wasn't a part of.
That's when she
made herself a silent vow to fill that emptiness, somehow.
Aladdin could hear
in her voice that it bothered her, and even though
he was curious, he decided to drop the subject. He tapped Jasmine
playfully.
"Okay, you're "IT"!"
She stared at him.
She had forgotten the game after seeing the picture
of her mother. It didn't seem like much fun anymore. "I
don't feel like
playing," she said. She turned away from Aladdin and left, leaving
him alone
to stare silently after her.
The hot desert sun
beat down upon Jasmine's thin brown cloak. The
hood covered her hair and shadowed her face, and a common passerby
wouldn't know she was royalty. She wanted it this way.
She wasn't in the
mood for the crowds that often swarmed around her when they knew she
was
the princess. She needed to be alone.
Jasmine sighed.
The day was beautiful, but her mood wasn't lifting.
She kept remembering the portrait. She didn't know why, and she
wished she
could forget it.
Is it really important?
she asked herself.
Her answer came
quickly. Yes, of course it is. It's my mother.
But
I've seen pictures before and they didn't make me feel like . .
. this. Is it only
because I'm older now that makes it different?
"Woman, woman!"
someone called. Jasmine turned around. A young
lady was standing behind her. She cradled in one arm a tiny baby
and held
the hand of a small girl that looked about three years old in the other.
"Me?" Jasmine asked.
The woman nodded.
"Will you please take my children home? They
are too young to go themselves, and I must be at my sister's aid.
She has
fallen ill, and I am to stay with her until her husband returns.
I would take the
children with me, but I fear they may catch it."
"Yes, of course I'll
take them home. Where do you live?" Jasmine
asked.
The woman pointed
down the street. "It's that small one there, just
three homes down. Do you see it?"
Jasmine nodded, and
the woman hastily passed the squirming baby into
her arms. Then she let go of the girl's hand. "Go with
this nice woman for a
little while, Kalila, and Momma will be home soon." The child
nodded, let go
of her mother's hand, and shyly held it out for Jasmine's.
"Thank you ever
so much, my friend. I will try to return quickly."
Jasmine watched
her leave, then grabbed onto Kalila's outstretched
hand. "Time to go home!" she said with cheerfulness she didn't
feel. She led
the child to their small house, and they stepped inside.
"What's your name?"
asked the girl as Jasmine laid the already
sleeping baby into his cradle.
"Jasmine," she answered.
"My name is Kalila.
My momma says it's a pretty name, but I think
yours is prettier. Did you know that the princess is named
that? Momma told
me that too. I would like to have a princess name. Do you think
I have a
pretty name?" asked the girl, delighted to have someone new to
talk to.
"I think you have
a beautiful name," assured Jasmine.
"Oh goody! I'm
happy you think so . . . Jasmine, will you rock me?"
Kalila asked.
The question surprised
Jasmine. Taking care of children was not
something she was used to, being an only child and kept in the palace
all her
life. But Kalila was such a sweet child, and Jasmine said, "Of
course I will."
She sat down in a
chair near the boy's cradle, and Kalila eagerly
climbed onto her lap. She leaned her small head against Jasmine's
chest, and
Jasmine wrapped her arms around the tiny body. Jasmine thought
the child
would fall asleep, but instead she began to talk again.
"You a good rocker,"
she said. " Are you a momma?"
"No," she answered.
"I don't have any children."
"Oh. My momma
says she is happy to have children, and that makes
me feel happy too. I love my momma very much. Do you love
your momma
very much?" Kalila asked.
"I don't know," replied
Jasmine absently. She knew she should, but
how could she love someone she had never known?
"You don't know?"
giggled Kalila. "That is a silly answer."
"Well . . ." Jasmine
started to say that her mother had died, but then
decided not to tell this happy child about death.
"Oh, maybe big people
don't have mommas. Do they?" she asked.
"Of course they do,"
answered Jasmine.
"Oh good. I
was afraid when I get big I won't have a momma or poppa
no more. Now I know I will. I don't think I'll ever
get big. Look how little I
am now! My poppa said I would, but I like being small, " she
said. "I would
miss Momma lots and lots. And baby brother would miss her too.
He loves
her, even though he can't tell her so, I know he does, don't you think
so? But
I tell Momma every single day, just so she don't forget. I don't
want her ever
to forget, that's why I keep telling her. Once she said . . ."
Kalila rambled on
about her parents for what Jasmine thought seemed like forever.
She wasn't
listening anymore because it was depressing her. She didn't understand
the
love Kalila felt for her mother. She was afraid she never would.
It hurt to
realize it, but never would she have another mother. She
didn't even have
memories.
Jasmine looked down
at a now silent Kalila. Her thumb was in her
mouth, and she was sleeping peacefully. She could tell the girl
fell asleep like
this often. What is it like, Jasmine wondered, to be
held and rocked by the
woman named "mother"?
That night, Jasmine
lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to
fall asleep. She kept thinking about her day in the marketplace.
When Kalila's mother
had returned she had lavished both children with
kisses, even though they were still asleep. Jasmine had even
heard her
whisper, "I love you," more than once. The woman had thanked
Jasmine,
then paid her with two coins, which Jasmine had given back later without
letting the woman know. She knew they needed it more than her.
I love you.
What was it that made those words so very important?
Aladdin had said them to her, her father had said them, and she had
returned
them. She loved them both dearly, without question.
Did my mother ever
say those words to me? she wondered. But what
bothered her even more, was: if her mother did love her,
did she love her
mother in return? Her thoughts ashamed her. Of course she
should love her
mother. But how could she love someone only real in portraits?
Why is this worrying
me? she wondered. Is it all because of that
picture Aladdin found yesterday? It had reminded her that
she had a mother,
a mother she never knew. She wished Aladdin hadn't found the
painting.
Then she wouldn't have given her a second thought, and now she wanted
to
forget it. But she couldn't.
She sighed and turned
over in bed. Again her mind wandered back to
Kalila and her family. Jasmine knew she had more than they would
ever
have, no matter how hard they worked. So why did she keep wishing
that
was the way she had grown up?
Jasmine's
mother was standing before her, and she was every bit as
beautiful as in the paintings.
"Why do you want
to forget me? I 'm your mother. I love you. Why
won't you love me?"
"I . . . I don't
know you . . ." stammered Jasmine.
"Whose fault is
that? Certainly not mine. It's yours. You haven't
even tried to know me! You have shoved my portrait
to the back of a shelf in
a storage room, the same way you tried to shove me to the back of
your
mind! You want to forget me. Me! I who brought
you into this world! But
it won't work. Do you know why? It is because you are
a part of me, and
that part lives in you still. A part you don't know about
because you are
afraid to find it. Why are you afraid? Why do you try
to forget? Know me,
love me, please . . ."
Jasmine woke up shaking.
It's only a dream, she told herself. She had
never dreamed of her mother before, and it scared her.
The words from it
echoed in her mind: . . . the same way you tried to shove
me to the back of
your mind! Know me, love me . . .
Jasmine realized it
was true, she had tried to shove her to the back of
her mind, and it wasn't working. As she sat up, she noticed that
her room was
dark. It wasn't morning yet. She would have to try to fall
asleep again, which
she didn't want to do.
There's no use
in trying, she decided. She got out of bed,
walked down the hall, and stopped in front of the storage room.
Something
was drawing her to it. She had to see the picture again
. . . that same picture
she wished she had never seen in the first place.
She found it in the
back of the shelf, exactly where she had left it. She
pulled it down and slid to the floor with it in her hands. She
stared at it. This
is my mother, she kept telling herself, yet she felt no emotions,
except regret
that she had never known her.
Empty.
She wanted to cry, but couldn't. "I will try to know you," she
promised the painting. "I will try to love you . . ."
==================================================================
Chapter Two
It was Aladdin who
found her the next morning. She had fallen
asleep curled up on the floor of the storage room. Her hands
clutched the
painting, in the same way a child keeps a blanket held close.
What is she
doing here? Aladdin wondered.
He bent down toward
her and with his hand brushed strands of lose
hair away from her face. "Jasmine," he whispered.
She jerked awake,
and the first thing she saw was Aladdin's face above
hers. "Aladdin, where am I?" She recognized the room but
knew it wasn't
her own. Then she noticed the pain in her fingers and realized
they were
tightly enclosed around the golden frame of the picture. Stiffly,
she let go and
remembered everything.
She had to know her
mother, and she could only think of one person
who might be able to tell her what she wanted to know. She sat
up quickly,
her body aching from sleeping on the hard floor.
"Jasmine," Aladdin
was asking, "why were you sleeping in here?"
She didn't know how
to explain it to him. "Come on, Aladdin," she
said instead. "We have to talk to my father." She scrambled off
the floor and
picked up the portrait. Then she walked out of the storage room
and into the
hall.
Aladdin followed her,
not understanding. "What do you need to talk
about?" he asked as he caught up with her and began to walk alongside.
"My mother," she answered
quickly.
"Are you sure
you want me to come along?"
Jasmine nodded.
Aladdin didn't ask any more questions.
"Father!" she
called when she saw him coming down the hall. "I need
to talk to you."
The Sultan looked
relieved. "Oh, Aladdin, you found her! Where was
she?"
"In one of the storage
rooms," Aladdin replied with a shrug.
"What were you doing
in there, Jasmine?"
"Father, I need to
talk to you."
"Of course, my dear.
Let's go downstairs."
They descended the
staircases until they arrived in the Sultan's throne
room, and he motioned for them to sit down. Then he turned to
Jasmine.
"Now, Jasmine, what is this about?"
Jasmine handed him
the painting. "I . . . I . . . want you to tell me
about my mother," she admitted nervously. She knew he didn't
like to talk
about her. If he did, he would have told Jasmine about her already,
and there
would have been no need to ask.
As he looked at the
painting in his hands, the Sultan sighed. He was
silent for a while before quietly saying, "I knew that one day you
would want
to know about her."
"Don't you want
to tell me?" asked Jasmine.
"My dear, it isn't
that. But, you see, sadly, I know little about her
myself," he said. There was sorrow in his voice.
"But Father, she was
your wife! How can it be that you know so little
about her?"
"We didn't take a
lot of time to get to know each other before we were
married. We were so much in love, we didn't want to wait.
We made no
mistake in our decision to be wed. We were very happy.
But you must
remember, we were married less than two years before . . ." His
voice trailed
off. Jasmine knew what he was going to say. It just hurt
too much to let the
words leave his lips.
"H-how did she die?"
Jasmine asked.
"Let's not talk about
that."
"But I need to know!"
she persisted.
"She was young, she
was weak, that's all. She wasn't strong enough to
go on living . . ."
"But people don't
die just from being weak!" cried Jasmine.
"Amaranth did!"
The Sultan's voice rose.. His anger
surprised Jasmine. Was he trying to hide something?
"How old was she?"
asked Jasmine.
"Seventeen,"
he answered.
Jasmine looked at
Aladdin, and their eyes locked. She knew they were
both thinking the same thing: That was younger than she was now!
Her
mother had been married, had a child, and died, all before she even
reached
the age of twenty. She didn't ask anymore about her death.
Instead she
simply said, "Tell me more, Father."
"She was beautiful,
you can see that in the painting . . . she was kind
and loving. Fun, and full of laughter," he answered.
"What did she like?"
"Flowers . . . she
loved flowers. Your menagerie, Jasmine, was her
favorite place to be when she lived here . . ." the Sultan replied.
"She named
you, you know. Jasmine. Her favorite flower. She
loved the fragrance . . .
the beauty and elegance of it. She tried to explain it to me,
but I couldn't tell
a blossom from a weed."
"Father, how
old was I when she died?" Jasmine couldn't help
bringing up the subject again.
"Very young," was
his brief answer, and he would say no more.
"Did she ever rock
me to sleep?" Jasmine knew the question was silly,
but she had to ask it. "Did she love me?"
"Did she love you?
Jasmine dear, how could you ask such a thing? Of
course she loved you. She was a very affectionate person.
I never knew her
to speak badly of anyone . . ." Once again he stopped talking.
"Father, tell me more,
please," she begged.
"I don't know what
else to tell you. There is nothing left," the Sultan
said. There were tears in his eyes. Jasmine felt he wasn't
telling her
everything. She also knew that he honestly didn't know much about
her
mother, and this bothered him as well as her. She didn't
know enough about
the woman who gave birth to her; she still seemed a stranger.
But where
could she turn for more information? Then she remembered her
mother was
royalty, and asked, "What kingdom did she come from?"
Memory flashed across
her father's eyes. "Astaseez," he whispered.
"Astaseez kingdom."
Jasmine took a deep
breath and made her decision. "Then that's where
I'm going," she said. Her father and Aladdin both stared at her,
dumbfounded.
"Are you sure you want
go?" Aladdin asked her later that day. She
thought he must have asked that question a hundred times. They
were in her
room, and she was busy writing a letter to the Sultan of Astaseez,
her
grandfather.
"I'm positive," she
replied. "Why do you keep asking me?"
"It came as such
a surprise to us. Why do you think it's so important
that you go?"
Something in Aladdin's
voice made Jasmine think he was trying to
make her reconsider traveling to her mother's kingdom.
"Stop trying to dissuade
me! I've made up my mind," Jasmine said.
She tried to explain it to him again. "Aladdin, I feel like by
not knowing my
mother, somehow I don't completely know myself. Father
doesn't know
enough about her, so I have to find out from someone else." She
sighed as
she looked up from the letter. "Maybe you don't understand this."
"Don't say that, Jasmine."
Aladdin's voice was slightly irritated.
"Don't think for even a moment that I don't understand. I know
exactly what
you're feeling. I don't know my parents either, remember?
Don't think that I
don't wonder about them, what they've done, and where they are, because
I
do. What you don't understand is that not everyone has access
to that
information. Not everyone has a place to search like you do.
It would be
impossible for me to find out if I wanted to, which I do, because
no one cares
to keep track of a street rat's parents! But it wouldn't be any
use for me
anyway. Either they both died at the same time, because I remember
neither
of them, or they didn't want me. It's unlikely for them both
to be dead, so I
know the second is what happened. They didn't love me, Jasmine!
They left
me to care for myself, and they wouldn't have cared if I had
died!" He turned
away from Jasmine and faced the window.
Suddenly she realized
she hadn't even considered how this was making
Aladdin feel. She silently scolded herself for assuming that
she was the only
one who felt this emptiness. She rose from her desk, came up
behind
Aladdin, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Don't say that,"
she
whispered. "Don't let yourself believe your parents didn't love
you, because it
would be impossible for them not to. They did,
Aladdin. They had to . . ."
Aladdin shook his
head. Tears formed in his eyes. "Don't try to make
it sound like a fairy tale, Jasmine. I accepted it a long time
ago."
"Oh, Aladdin, I'm
sorry," she murmured. Aladdin turned around to
face her again.
"I didn't mean to
get angry," he said. "I think I was just understanding
a little too much. I don't want you to rush off to Astaseez
without thinking it
over seriously first. You may find things that you hadn't expected,
and they
could shatter the perfect image you hold of your mother's kingdom in
your
mind now."
Jasmine nodded.
She knew that Aladdin understood more than she had
thought, because those were the same fears she was having. Except she
hadn't
spoken them. "I know. But my mother is a mystery to me.
She's shadowed
somehow, and I have to shine light on the shadows, even though they
may be
hiding bad as well as good."
Aladdin took Jasmine's
hand, knowing her mind was made up, and led
her back to the desk. "Let's see what you have done with that
letter," he
said, changing the subject.
"I'm nearly finished."
She bent over the paper and hurriedly scribbled
the closing sentences. "But I don't know how to address it.
Should I say
"Grandfather"? Or should I address it to him by name?"
"Maybe by name.
He may not like being called "Grandfather" by
someone he hasn't met," Aladdin answered.
"Okay." She
wrote the name at the top of the page. "How does this
sound?" She read it aloud to Aladdin.
To His Royal Highness, Sultan Amaranian,
Allow
me first to introduce myself. I am Princess Jasmine of
Agrabah, the only child of your daughter, Amaranth, which makes
me
your grand-daughter. I am almost nineteen, and I am at
an age when I
feel it is important for me to learn about a mother I never had
the chance
to know. I have asked my father about her, but he tells
me that he was
married to her less than two years, and he doesn't know enough
to satisfy
me. I want to know my mother. I want to know the
people she loved.
And so, I am writing this letter to request that I may visit
her kingdom,
where she grew up, hoping to uncover the shadows in my mind.
I await
your answer eagerly.
Love,
Your Granddaughter, Princess Jasmine.
"I think it sounds
fine," said Aladdin when she had finished. "Of
course, I haven't had schooling on writing letters to other kingdoms
the way
you have."
Jasmine refolded the
letter. "I'm going to show Father."
Later, the Sultan
read over it, looking somewhat sad, and gave his
approval. Aladdin came with her when she took it to the royal
messenger.
"This needs to be taken to the Sultan of Astaseez," she told
him. He had
looked at her questioningly, but asked nothing.
Jasmine turned to
Aladdin and smiled nervously. "There's nothing to
do now but wait."
Two long weeks of anxious
anticipation passed before the letter was
answered. Now Jasmine held the carefully folded and sealed envelope
with
shaking hands and a fast-beating heart. Aladdin looked over her
shoulder,
waiting for her to open it.
Her fingers worked
quickly at the removing of the golden sealing wax,
all the while wondering: Was he happy or disgusted?
Does he know a lot
about me, or doesn't he even know I was born? Does he want
to know me,
or does he want to forget me? The outer paper fell to
the floor, and she saw
the elegant handwriting of her grandfather.
My Dear Jasmine,
I was
both surprised and thrilled when I received your letter
requesting a stay in my kingdom. Not a moment has gone
by these long
and lonely years that I haven't wondered about my only grandchild.
My
love for Amaranth was great, and in losing her, I lost my most
precious
treasure. Yet part of her remains, that I may love you
still. I will help you
in any way I can to learn about your mother, who was an extraordinarily
wonderful woman. I look forward to knowing my own young
granddaughter before great Allah wants me to leave this world.
You
needn't send a letter announcing when you will be expected, for
you are
welcome in my kingdom anytime. I hope we may be with you
soon, and I
am awaiting your arrival with much happiness.
Love,
Your grandfather, the Sultan Amaranian
"It looks like you're
going," Aladdin remarked when she had finished
reading the letter.
Jasmine nodded silently.
I look forward to knowing my own young
granddaughter before great Allah wants me to leave this world.
It seemed
as if there wasn't much time to lose.
"When are you leaving?"
Aladdin asked.
"Soon," she
answered. "My grandfather is old, which means I may
not have much time with him. I think I'll pack tonight and leave
early
tomorrow morning."
"Already?
Don't you want more time to think it over?"
"Aladdin, I have had
two weeks which seemed like two years to think
it over. My mind is made up. I don't have second thoughts.
Don't you see?
This may be the only chance I have! I am not going to
lose it!"
==================================================================
Chapter Three
Aladdin was with Jasmine
that night while she packed. They sat
silently, he on her bed, and she kneeling down on the floor, taking
clothes out
of her dresser drawers.
"This really does
mean a lot to you, doesn't it?" Aladdin asked. He
laid already selected articles into one of her beautifully brocaded
bags.
Jasmine nodded.
"Yes. But you must have known that."
"No, I didn't.
I thought at first you were only curious, but I didn't think
it would go this far. I didn't really know you were serious until
you wrote that
letter, and even then . . . I thought maybe you hadn't considered,
then once he
replied, you would decide you didn't want to go after all. But
I should have
known better. I should have known your determination and that
way you
wouldn't give this up," he said.
"Well, you
won't give something up once you've set your mind to
it," she said, smiling at him. "You of all people should know
what that's
like." Her smile faded as she changed the subject. "I don't
think Father wants
me to go."
Aladdin shook his
head. "I don't think so either."
"I don't know why
he doesn't want me to leave. He should be happy
that I want to know about my mother. He should understand.
He loved her
too."
"I don't think it's
just that," said Aladdin thoughtfully. "I can see both
your sides. At first I wasn't too happy about you going, but
now I know it's
important to you. But I see your father's point. I know
what he's thinking,
Jasmine, because the same thing crossed my mind. He's thinking
that he
loves you, and I love you more than anything, so why isn't that
enough?
He's wondering why you can't be happy with that, which is better than
a lot of
people have. He may feel as if he isn't good enough for you,
which is why
you want to know your mother. He doesn't understand why you need
to
search for more, when you have everything you need right here."
"But Aladdin, it's
not like that at all!" cried Jasmine. "You understand,
don't you?"
Aladdin nodded.
"Yes. I have you, and now, that's enough for me.
But I know if I was given even the slightest bit of information
about my
parents, I would be desperate to uncover more. But I don't even
have a place
to search, so I put it out of my mind, accepting that some things we
will never
know."
"You're right.
But it doesn't hurt to try, does it?"
Aladdin shrugged.
"How long are you going to be gone?" he asked.
Just then Rajah padded
into the room. He looked around at the piles of
folded clothes that Aladdin was packing into bags. Then he saw
Jasmine on
the floor picking out more articles.
"Am I forgetting anything?"
Jasmine asked, carefully tucking a small
portrait of Aladdin into her bag.
"I don't think so."
Jasmine saw the tiger.
"Hi, Rajah!"
He knew what was going
on. Jasmine was leaving. He sadly laid
down on the floor, placed his head between his paws, and whimpered
softly.
"Oh, Rajah,"
Jasmine said, "don't worry, I won't be gone long."
It was Aladdin who
was most comforted by the reassurance.
"Good-bye, Father.
I love you," Jasmine said. She bent over her
father to give him a hug.
"Good-bye, dear."
He looked at her face, his own clouded, and he
said, "You'd best be on your way."
She picked up her
three bags and walked with Aladdin down the hall.
She hadn't said good-bye to him yet. For a while, neither of
them said
anything. It was awkward until he broke the silence. "Do
you want me to
hold anything?" he asked, referring to her bags.
Smiling, she shifted
all her bags into one hand, leaving the other free.
She held it out to Aladdin. "Hold this."
His fingers closed
tightly around hers, and he felt that her hand was
damp with sweat, even though the sun hadn't risen to supply the desert's
heat.
"Are you nervous?"
"I'm scared,"
she admitted. "I don't know what I'm going to find."
They walked out of
the palace and into the cool desert morning, where
Carpet was waiting to take Jasmine to Astaseez. Jasmine
flung her bags
onto him, and then turned back to Aladdin.
His arms enclosed
around her body, and he held her close in his loving
embrace. He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin
up to touch his
lips to hers. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too."
Slowly, she pulled
away from him, backing up and climbing onto
Carpet, but he still held her hand. "How long are you going to
be gone?" he
asked again.
"As long as I need
to be. When I feel I've found what I'm searching
for, I'll be home. I'll write you while I'm in Astaseez.
And visit the palace
even though I won't be here, because I think Father needs the company."
Aladdin nodded and
let go of her hand. "Good-bye, Jasmine."
"Good-bye."
She situated herself on Carpet, and it lifted her gently off
the ground. Here we go, she thought. There's no turning
back now.
==================================================================
Chapter Four
The ride on Carpet
through the warm morning sky would have been
pleasant, if Jasmine hadn't been too worried to enjoy it. My
grandfather
wants me to come, she told herself over and over, so why
am I afraid?
By early afternoon,
she was standing before her grandfather's
magnificent palace. Now, instead of riding Carpet, she was walking.
She
wasn't sure how the citizens of Astaseez would react to a flying carpet;
She
certainly had been shocked at her first introduction. Not wanting
that kind of
attention, she had rolled the rug up and strapped it on her back, where
it
resembled a common piece of luggage.
Slowly, Jasmine approached
the large entrance, raised a trembling hand
and knocked loudly on the golden door. What will I say?
she wondered.
What should I do?
Her thoughts halted
as she heard footsteps nearing the door. It was
opened by an older man in fine soldier's garb. The palace guard
stared at her
for a while, before a single whispered word emitted: "Amaranth?"
Jasmine corrected
him quickly, hoping he didn't sense the uneasiness
his mistake had evoked. "I-I'm her daughter, Princess Jasmine,
of Agrabah."
As if broken out of
a trance, the guard said in a very businesslike way,
"Of course. His Highness Amaranian has told us to expect you.
Come in.
Please, allow me to take your bags."
Jasmine passed them
to him, and he led her down elaborately
decorated halls. "I apologize, Princess. I didn't expect
you to resemble your
mother so much. I am quite sorry for the improper way I addressed
you."
"It's okay,"
Jasmine assured him, even though it bothered her. The
remainder of the walk passed in silence. Although Jasmine knew
it was
impolite for guards to converse with guests, the quiet made her
uncomfortable.
To distract her mind,
she examined the corridors surrounding her.
Sunlight sifted through the high windows and reflected off the shining
floors,
which should have made the palace cheerful. Yet, this place was
somehow
different from the one where she'd grown up. There, there were
memories of
a happy childhood and a loving father. But here, it was as if
the bright sun-
light was only a cover-up for whatever lay beneath. Jasmine shivered.
"Amaranian is in his
throne room," the guard said when they arrived at
huge double-doors at the end of the hall. "Wait here, and I will
announce
your arrival to him privately." He slipped through the door and
emerged a
few minutes later. "Amaranian wishes to see you."
As Jasmine entered
the large chamber, she was sure her legs would
give out beneath her. She couldn't keep them from shaking, and she
hoped
nobody noticed. A long carpet lay spread before her, and at the
end of it was
a man on a throne. A woman stood on his right side.
As Jasmine came
closer, it was clear that the woman was younger than the man.
"I am Princess Jasmine,
Amaranth's daughter," she said, bowing low
before her grandfather. He was very thin, and lines of age folded
his face, but
his eyes were kind and wise.
He leaned on a staff,
using it to support himself as he rose from the
throne. "Jasmine!" he exclaimed, embracing her. "How
I have waited for
this moment! I am most grateful that you have come. You
are invited to stay
for as long as you'd like." He backed away from her and smiled.
"Nineteen .
. . My, you look ever so much as Amaranth did."
Another man entered
the room quietly, approached the throne, and
stood at the Sultan's left side. Amaranian immediately acknowledged
him.
"Ah, Yahika," he said. "Jasmine, Yahika came all the way
from the
Kingdom of Tirvaltan when he learned he might have the chance to meet
you."
Jasmine knew Yahika
was royalty by his fine silk robes, even though
he didn't wear a crown or turban. His long dark brown hair was
lightly
touched with gray and rested at the nape of his neck in a low ponytail.
He stared at Jasmine for a moment without moving or speaking.
Then
he stepped forward and bowed to her. "I am Prince Yahika,"
he said. "It
honors me to be in your presence, Princess Jasmine. I knew your
mother
well." He kissed Jasmine's hand.
As he straightened
up, Jasmine met his eyes and froze. Something
indescribable yet familiar flickered across them. What
was that I just saw?
More than kindness, more than appreciation or courtesy . . . yet
something
I've seen before. Where? she wondered.
Who else has looked at me that
way? What does it mean?
"I am delighted to
meet you, Prince Yahika," she said. The Sultan
directed their attention to the woman. She wore a veil that covered
her hair,
but her face was exposed. She's yet unmarried, Jasmine
realized. Her skin
was dark, and she didn't look older than thirty.
"This is my daughter,
Princess Leila." Amaranian nodded at her.
My mother had a
sister! With this knowledge, Jasmine knew Leila
must be at least as old as her father, but she didn't look it.
She offered her
hand to Leila, who shook it stiffly and unwelcomely. "I am pleased
to meet
you," Jasmine said.
Leila didn't reply.
Her face was expressionless, except her eyes,
which were as cold and hard as stone. Jasmine shuddered inwardly
as she
withdrew her hand. Leila's contemptuous glare made Jasmine
shift her focus
back to her grandfather, the only one she felt comfortable with.
"I am sure you have
had a tiresome journey," he said. "I will call one
of my servants to bring you to your room." He hobbled out and
a few
moments later returned with a young woman. Her hair was pulled
out of her
face, and she was finely dressed, even though she was a servant.
"I'll take you to
your room, Your Highness," she said. Jasmine
followed her, closely observing everything she passed. She wanted
to make
sure she would know her way around.
The servant stood
off to the side when they reached the door to
Jasmine's guest room. "Here you are, ma'am."
"Thank you."
Jasmine took her bags from the servant and entered the
chamber.
"Feel free to roam
about the palace during your stay, and if you need
anything, one of the servants will attend to you. I will be back
in a few hours
to show you down to the dining hall, where you will eat supper
with your
grandfather."
The woman left and
Jasmine examined the room. Although decorated
beautifully, it was very large, which made Jasmine feel lonely already.
She
began unpacking her clothes to take her mind off it.
Three hours later,
someone knocked quietly on Jasmine's door. She
had finished unpacking, and was now folding empty bags. "Come
in."
The door squeaked
open, and the servant slipped into the room.
"Supper is ready. Your grandfather requests that you join him."
"Of course."
Jasmine followed the woman out of her room and into a
magnificent dining hall.
Her grandfather, Leila,
and Yahika were already seated at the table.
The Sultan motioned for her to sit at his right hand, and she lowered
herself
into a high-backed chair, which made her feel very small.
"How wonderful to
have you with us at this meal, my granddaughter!"
exclaimed Amaranian.
"I am honored to dine
with you, Grandfather." Jasmine knew this was
proper etiquette for a guest, and she wished she knew how much of it
was
sincere.
She glanced around
the table. Yahika was seated across from her.
When she looked at him, he quickly diverted his gaze, yet she knew
he had
been watching her.
Leila sat beside him,
refusing to acknowledge Jasmine's presence. The
food on her plate was untouched, and she hadn't even lifted her fork
yet.
Jasmine picked up
her own and stirred the food on her plate absently
before she placed a small amount in her mouth. Although it was
delicious,
she wasn't hungry.
Supper was awkward.
Amaranian asked her about her childhood, her
father, Agrabah's trade and property. She answered carefully,
not wanting
him to know she was already homesick, and hoping he got the impression
that
she enjoyed being here.
Throughout the meal,
Yahika never stopped gazing at Jasmine. When
she looked at his face, she saw that familiar statement again.
She wanted to
study it, but she couldn't stare, so she tried to direct her concentration
to her
grandfather's questions.
Leila's focus was
stubbornly fixed on the far wall the entire time. Only
once, Jasmine caught her aunt watching her. That same frightening
look of
hatred was in her cold eyes, and Jasmine was secretly grateful that
she kept
her face turned away from them. Leila excused herself early from
the table
and Amaranian let her go, clearly disappointed. She never had
touched her
food.
When they had finished,
Amaranian told Jasmine she was excused, and
she thanked him for the meal (even though she had eaten very little
of it) and
left the hall.
After supper Jasmine
began to inspect her room, but she soon became
bored. She sat down at her desk and opened all the drawers.
In one of them
she found a large stack of paper. When she took it out,
she noticed a full
bottle of ink on the table. She began to write a letter back
home.
Dear Aladdin,
How is
everything in Agrabah? How is Father doing?
I arrived
at my grandfather's palace today. It is similar to mine,
yet something is different. It's something I can't explain,
but it doesn't
seem as if this palace is filled with happy memories like where
I grew up.
I met my grandfather
today. He seems thrilled to have me here, but
perhaps he is only being polite. I am comfortable with
him--that is, more
comfortable than with the others.
I met my mother's
sister, Leila. I had never thought of the
possibility of my mother having any siblings. Aladdin,
she scares me.
Every time she looks at me, her eyes hold a horrible statement
of hatred.
They are cold and hard, and I wonder if they are always like
that, or if it's
because of me. She hasn't spoken to me yet, and I've only
heard her voice
once, when she excused herself from supper.
I've also met
another man, a Prince. He appears about forty, but
I'm not sure exactly. I don't know what his relation is
to me or to my
mother, because he isn't even from this kingdom. He came
all the way
from Tirvaltan, which is a little over a day away from here by
camel. He
must have come as soon as he learned I might be visiting, because
he was
already here when I arrived.
I have just
finished a fine supper, but I wasn't hungry. It was
awkward; I didn't know what I should say to them, even though
they are
family. Luckily, my grandfather asked a lot of questions
to keep me
talking. I should be retiring soon.
I love you.
Jasmine
After folding and sealing
Aladdin's letter, she wrote a similar one to her
father. She didn't tell either of them about the way Yahika had
looked at her,
because she couldn't explain it. It would worry them both, so
she decided to
keep that part quiet . . . at least for now.
Carpet peaked out
from her pile of bags, and when he was sure that the
room was empty, crept out. Knowing he could get the letters to
Agrabah
faster than any messenger, he jumped in front of Jasmine to get her
attention.
"Carpet!" she
exclaimed. "You startled me!"
He picked up both
letters in his tassels and waved them at Jasmine.
She knew immediately what he offered. "Carpet, will you
take these to
Agrabah?"
He nodded happily.
"You must have been
reading my mind!" She looked out her window.
The sky was dark, and the palace was silent, making it safe for Carpet
to fly.
"I think it would be okay if you went now, but make sure you make the
flight
back when it's dark."
Carpet raised a tassel
in a salute to Jasmine, telling her he would do as
she asked.
"You are so sweet,
Carpet. Thank you."
He nodded, a way of
saying, "You're welcome" and flew out the
window. Jasmine sadly waved good-bye. It wasn't until he
was gone that she
realized what a comfort he had been. He was the only thing familiar
in this
place.
She changed into her
night clothes, then crawled into the over-sized
bed. As she slipped beneath the sheets, her mind wandered back
to Yahika
and the way he had looked at her. The familiarity yet inability
to grasp it
tugged at Jasmine's mind, frustrating her. I know I can uncover
it; the
answer should be clear to me already!
Closing her eyes, she envisioned Yahika again
in her mind. But she
couldn't concentrate, and soon his face faded to be replaced by Aladdin's.
He
didn't speak, only smiled as he gazed at her.
Startled, she sat up. She wasn't sure whether she'd been
dreaming or
not; nonetheless, the vision of Aladdin's face had prompted her to
associate
him with Yahika.
Why am I putting
them together? she wondered.
And then she knew:
Yahika looked at her the same way Aladdin did.
NO! That can't be right! she told herself.
When Aladdin looks at
me, love and affection are in his eyes. I know that.
I suspect I look at him
the same way . . . . Then how can Yahika have that same look
of affection
when he doesn't even know me? How can he look at someone who
he's
hardly spoken to with love? I have to be wrong.
No one has ever
looked at me the way Aladdin does. And yet . . . the
look was the same.
But that isn't right . . . it just isn't . . .
Jasmine lay back down,
more scared than when she hadn't known what
the look meant. I hope I'm wrong, she thought over and
over, I hope I'm
wrong. It has to be my weariness that makes me come
up with such a crazy
idea. Because if what I suspect is true . . . No, don't think
about it. Because
it has to be only a false vision in my mind, exaggerated by exhaustion.
It
can't be real, it can't . . .
And yet, it
crept into her thoughts even after she tried forgetting it . . .
telling her each time that she was right.
When Jasmine awoke
the next morning, her fear had subsided. With
the early morning sunlight warming her before she was even out of bed,
it
was easy to tell herself everything she had been frightened by the
night before
was only her imagination, nothing more.
Breakfast, however,
made this harder to believe.
It went in much the
same manner as supper had. Her grandfather
asked questions and conversed with her, Leila kept her face turned
away from
both of them. And Yahika watched Jasmine. She tried to
ignore him. She
didn't want to be proven right, and she was secretly afraid that if
she allowed
herself to look at him, that was exactly what would happen.
This time, Jasmine
was the first to excuse herself from the table. She
spent most of the day alone. Even though the servant had told
her she was
free to roam the palace, she still didn't feel comfortable. Maybe
tomorrow.
After supper that
night, there was a knock on Jasmine's door. She
answered it eagerly, for Carpet was still gone, and she wanted company.
Sultan Amaranian stood
before her. His breath came in gasps, as if
walking to Jasmine's chamber from his throne room had taken all his
energy.
"Please, come in, Grandfather,"
she said, opening the door wider to receive
him.
"Thank you, child."
He limped over to the bed and sat down. "I just
came to pay you a visit."
"I'm happy for your
company."
"Indeed? Then
why did you keep yourself locked up all day?" he
asked.
"Oh . . . I . . .
" Jasmine didn't know what to say. It didn't seem right
to say she wasn't comfortable here. After all, this could
have been her
home! Finally, she said, "I didn't want to disturb anybody."
"Oh, don't worry about
that. This place is in need of young
companionship, such as you have to offer. Everyone would feel
quite
privileged to spend time with you, I am sure. For you are a fine
woman, like
your mother in so many ways . . . Everyone loved her, as they will
soon love
you."
Immediately Jasmine
thought of her mother's sister. "Not Leila." As
soon as the words left her lips she wished she hadn't said them.
Even though
she felt comfortable talking to her grandfather, she had to remember
that Leila
was his daughter.
"What do you mean?"
Jasmine knew she had
to explain. She sat down on the bed beside
Amaranian. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but . . . when
Leila looks at
me, it's more like glaring . . . and most of the time she won't look
at me period
. . ." Jasmine let out a shaky sigh. "Why is that?"
Amaranian was silent
for a while before he said, "Leila . . . she is a
tough one. She doesn't love easily . . . anymore. Don't
let it worry you,
Jasmine. It's not because of you. She's been like
that ever since . . . For a
long time."
Jasmine wasn't sure
how to reply. Luckily, Amaranian changed the
subject.
"When did you decide
that you wanted to come here?"
"I recently saw a
picture of my mother . . . one I had never seen before.
That got me thinking about her. Then, I had a dream, and in it
I was talking
to her. I feel like a part of me is missing by not knowing her.
. ." Jasmine
nervously smoothed the bed sheets with her hand, not looking up.
She was
afraid Amaranian would be angry that she hadn't come earlier.
It made it
sound like before then she didn't care. But that wasn't true,
it was just that
she hadn't thought about it, which Jasmine realized was almost as bad.
"Yes, I understand."
Amaranian nodded. He rose from her bed. "It's
getting late. This old body needs rest, as does your young one."
As he was
leaving, he turned back to Jasmine. "Make this palace like home
to you,
child. Explore the rooms, know the people. And don't worry
about
disturbing us. Remember, we are family." He left.
Family.
The word echoed in Jasmine's mind. Before she had come
here, the only people she'd thought of as family were her father and
maybe
Rajah. So it was strange to think of these people as family.
Especially Leila.
==================================================================
Chapter Five
The next afternoon,
Jasmine decided to take her grandfather's advice
and explore the palace. She had already been in a number of rooms,
but none
were very interesting. They were guest quarters, identical to
her own.
She turned a corner
and walked down another hall, heading to the room
at the end of it. As she neared the doors, she realized that
it was growing
darker. She looked around her and saw the curtains in this hall
were closed.
Briefly, she wondered why.
Finally, she arrived
at the closed doors. She knocked, making sure no
one was inside, but there wasn't an answer.
The heavy door creaked
as she leaned against it, opening into another
entryway. Slowly, she moved forward and stopped before
long curtains that
divided the entrance and the room.
She brushed them away
and walked inside.
The room was dark,
but Jasmine could see that it was larger than the
guest rooms she had visited. She felt her way along the wall
until she reached
a window, and opened only one curtain. Enough light streamed
into the room
for Jasmine to see by.
When her eyes adjusted,
she saw that she was in another bedroom,
although she had suspected this already. But this was different;
it was not a
guest room. This bedroom belonged to somebody . . . or,
at least it had,
once.
The bed was carved
into the shape of a swan, with an elegant canopy
draped over it. Taking a step forward, she heard a faint crisp
beneath her
foot. She lifted her toes and saw a dry, crushed flower.
She bent to pick it
up.
It was frail and delicate
in her hands, and as she stood up, she noticed
that the entire room was decorated with these flowers.
But none of them
were fresh. Most of them were so wilted that they were unrecognizable.
Vases held plants that would have been gorgeous alive, and yet these
brown
ones with only small traces of pinks and greens had something strangely
beautiful and mysterious about them that made them even better than
if they
had been in bloom.
Whose are these?
she wondered as she trailed her fingers over
leaves that hung on the stems by only a thread. They rustled
and crackled
beneath her hands, as if they were whispering to her.
She turned back to
the swan bed and saw dust covered paintings
hanging on each side of it.
Focusing her attention
on the portraits, she stood on her tiptoes and
brushed dust from one of them. It was a picture of a flower.
Jasmine
recognized it from her tutor's lessons, but she couldn't remember its
name.
She moved to the next
painting, which was bigger than the last and
hung nearest to the bed. This time when she wiped off the dust
she knew
what she was looking at: a jasmine flower. An eerie feeling
enveloped her,
and she turned away from it.
After walking around
the bed, she stopped at the largest of all the
portraits. This one was hidden beneath a sheet that matched the
canopy.
Overcome with curiosity, she tugged the cloth off.
It fell across Jasmine's
arm, but she ignored it as she tilted her head up
to the painting. Gasping, she jumped back. My mother!
No, only a picture.
Jasmine let herself
catch her breath, then came forward again to
examine the portrait. She's younger in this one,
she realized, younger
than in the paintings at home. Fourteen, perhaps fifteen .
. . Usually,
portraits are changed every year . . . but she married and left
home young
. . . this was the oldest she got while living here . . .
And as if the wilted
flowers really were whispering to her, she knew suddenly and without
a
doubt that this was her mother's room.
Shaking and dizzy,
she let herself sink onto the bed. She lowered her
head and rested it on her knees. I'm in my mother's room!
She grew up
here, but hardly . . . she left at fifteen . . . the portrait on
the wall will never
be replaced . . .
The dizziness passed
and left Jasmine with a lingering eerie feeling.
Her mother had been dead for nineteen years; it had been twenty-one
years
since she'd lived in this room. Yet, everything had been left
exactly the same
. . .
Shivering, Jasmine
rose from the bed and scurried to open more
curtains. She suddenly wanted it to be bright.
As she flung the curtains
on the largest window aside, she realized they
were not covering a window at all, but rather served as a doorway to
a
balcony.
Jasmine stepped out
onto it and leaned against the railing. She heard
the twittering of birds before she saw them. Lowering her head,
she
overlooked a glorious garden that she hadn't even known was there.
A stream ran through
it, which had its source in a fountain that had
been made to look like a waterfall. The bright colors of flowers
and bushes
stunned Jasmine's eyes. She also saw a path winding its way throughout
the
garden, and rectangular benches were dotted along it.
The beauty took Jasmine's
breath away, and she knew she would visit
it soon . . . but now she felt drawn back into the room.
With the balcony curtains
open, it was light enough inside for Jasmine
to see easily. She walked over to a dust covered desk that stood
near the bed.
Scattered along its top were more dried flowers and dusty vases.
Her fingers
brushed over the elegant designs carved into it, then her hand stopped
on a
handle, and she pulled it. The drawer slid open slowly.
Inside were piles
of mixed paper, thrown in and not neatly arranged as
she had expected. She shoved them aside and found a small tattered
book.
Carefully, she drew
it out and opened it. The faded writing on the
inside cover read: Princess Amaranth of Astaseez .
Turning to the first
page, she glanced at the words on the paper and
knew it was a journal. She sat down on the bed and began
to read it.
February 17
Today my father
told me Yahika will be coming from Tirvaltan for
one of his visits soon. I am thrilled. It seems
that it has been so long
since we have been together. I know it has only been two
years, but I can
remember when his visits were so much more frequent. I
know with the
war that has been going on in Tirvaltan that it is his duty as
Prince to stay
and defend the kingdom. With his older brother now reigning
in the place
of their father, he must need all the help he can get.
Even though
I am excited, I admit I am a bit nervous too. Yahika
and I were always such good friends, but since I haven't seen
him in so
long I am afraid of what I will say to him. I am also worried
that the war
and the death of his father has perhaps changed him. I
will know soon
enough.
Jasmine raised her
eyes from the words on the paper: This is my
mother's journal . . . I wonder how old she was when she wrote it
. . . She
flipped the page over and glanced at the date, but the year wasn't
included.
She read on.
February 21
Yahika arrived
today. It felt strange when I was re-introduced to
him. He is so different, so much older than I remember.
I was
remembering him as fifteen, but I should have known he
would look
different than he did two years ago.
I don't think
I have changed nearly so much in the last two years as
he has. Yet, he did look a bit surprised when he saw me,
so maybe I have
changed a little. He just seems so much older and so much
more mature.
The introduction
is all we did today. He was shown to his room, and
we did not have time to talk about what's been happening.
I am dying to
talk to him alone, without Father leaning over us, but I will
have to wait
until tomorrow.
He will be here
for three days before heading back. I hope this will
be enough time for me to discover if he is still the same person
I once
knew.
My mother
knew Yahika so long ago, Jasmine realized. It's hard
for me to imagine him at seventeen. And I still don't know
what his relation
is to us . . .
February 22
I got my chance
to talk to Yahika today. We managed to slip out to
the garden after breakfast.
At first, I
didn't know what to say. To battle silence, we made small-
talk. But as we became more comfortable with each other
again, he began
telling me about his kingdom. He told me about the war:
that it was awful
and that even though Tirvaltan had won, many lives were lost,
and a great
deal of damage done to the city. He broke down crying when
he recounted
his father's death. He was slain by an enemy at night while
he slept.
Yahika saw it, for he was heading to the guards, about to tell
them that he
thought an intruder had entered the palace. But the guards
around his
father's bed had already been killed. Yahika's father and
his guards had
most likely been killed by the same man, but the murderer was
never
found.
How awful it
must be to remember a war. He apologized for his
tears; we changed the subject and talked about everything that
had
happened before the war, when we were younger. Soon his
laughter
replaced the sadness in his voice. I am convinced that
Yahika is still the
same man that I remember. Thank Allah.
February 24
Yahika is gone.
Earlier this morning I was heading to his room to
make sure I had a chance to talk to him before he left, and I
discovered
that my father with him. They were whispering about something
that
seemed serious, but I couldn't manage to hear what it was about.
I knew
I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I'm positive that they were discussing
me.
I asked my father
and mother later, but they said that it wasn't
important and that they would tell me when they thought I should
know.
Later, I talked
to Leila in her room. I asked her if she knew.
Because she's older, she tends to know about matters before I
do. But she
shook her head and told me she knew nothing of it.
Leila almost
always tells the truth and is a most trustworthy
companion, but today I had the feeling that she did know and
was lying to
me by telling me that she didn't. Further questioning,
however, did no
good.
March 2
Father told me
that Yahika is expected for another visit March 16.
This seems so soon, less than a month away. I have
become used to being
apart from him for years. I will have become accustomed
to his frequent
visits once again.
Of course this doesn't bother me at all. Yahika is a good man, and
I believe we shall always be close friends.
March 10
I have not written
much. I know I am neglecting my duty, for
Mother wishes me to write every night, simply because when she
was
young she kept her journal daily. She says that it is quite
a pleasure to
read over it again now that she's an adult. But I believe
I would enjoy it
more if it didn't feel so much like a task I had to accomplish.
It seems as
if my whole life is full of things I HAVE to do, or ways I HAVE
to act.
Sometimes I feel like I'm not even myself. Which is why
I am thankful for
Yahika and Leila. At least they understand.
Jasmine paused, painfully
realizing that her mother would never be
able to read over her journal again as her mother had wanted her to.
Then she
wondered about her grandmother: I've never given her much
thought;
Since I don't remember my own mother, I don't give think much of
other
people's mothers either.
Secondly, she considered
how her mother didn't like the feeling that
she had to act a certain way. It's the way I always
felt when I was
younger . . . Mother, I ache to know you. With this page,
you've let me know
there are ways we are alike . . . I somehow feel more connected
to you by
knowing this . . .
And then there
is Yahika and Leila. I can't comprehend Leila
sympathizing with anyone. Yahika, with his quiet ways, would
be a good
listener. Still, what is his relation to me? How did
he come to know my
mother? And why does he feel it's important to know me, too?
March 12
I just came in
from my garden. This is one of its most beautiful
days. The flowers are blooming while the gurgling creek
encourages
them. Out there I am myself. Out there nothing is
expected of me. I can
get down in the dirt, plant the flowers, tend the ones I've already
planted.
For a little while I can forget that I am a princess. I
can feel like a
"normal" person.
I am spending
more and more time out there. I am discovering
how glorious it is to plant a flower and watch it grow, knowing
that I did it
and not a servant. I believe the garden will be looking
truly magnificent
when Yahika arrives.
March 16
I was out in
the garden planting more flowers today. Leila was with
me, as she usually is. We were both down in the dirt, padding
it over
seeds. We talked and laughed, and we were getting so muddy!
Father came
out and gasped when he saw us. When I looked up I
knew why: Standing at his side was Yahika! I had
forgotten that he was
coming today! Leila and I were both so embarrassed.
We felt quite
foolish covered in mud while Yahika was dressed so finely!
When he
looked at us, the surprise showed clearly on his face.
Then he started
laughing and fell to his knees alongside me.
Before we knew
it, his fine silk was mud stained too! Father threw
up his hands and said: "You are NOT what most people think of
as
royalty!" After he left, Leila, Yahika and I smiled
at each other.
Sometimes fathers just don't understand!
Squinting at the words
on the paper, Jasmine realized it was getting too
dark to read. She needed to get back to her room, even though
she was
desperate to know more. She felt like she was transported to
a different time
while she read the journal. She could imagine she was there beside
her
mother, a place she'd never had the chance to be. She sighed.
Later, she
would read more. She slid the journal into the drawer and returned
to her
room.
==================================================================
Chapter Six
There it is,
thought Jasmine happily. I've found it: the entrance to
the garden.
She brushed aside
pale blue curtains, gasping at the sight she beheld.
This was even more beautiful than what she'd seen from the balcony.
The garden was huge,
extending in all directions. All the flowers were
in bloom, and the fragrance of them came at Jasmine from everywhere.
Overhead birds flew, and their calls were like sweet notes from a music
box.
The best part is
that these birds are free, observed Jasmine. They
aren't caged up as my birds were at home; Yet, they're happy
here, so there
is no danger of them escaping, of even wanting to escape.
Sighing, Jasmine stepped
onto the path. Although she had a menagerie
at home, everything here was wonderfully alive and gorgeous.
Her favorite
item in her garden was the fountain; but in this garden,
she couldn't
decide what was best about it. Everything grew together in perfect
harmony.
She continued on the path. Because of the garden's size,
she couldn't
see it all from where she stood, but she didn't care. Now, she
was content to
stroll leisurely along and appreciate everything she saw.
Sitting down beside
the stream, she slipped out of her shoes. She
placed her bare-feet in the water, feeling it rush over her toes.
Flowers grew
all around her, and she reached out her hand to touch delicate petals.
They
were fresh and soft against her fingers. She reached for another,
pulled it
close to her face, and inhaled its perfume.
Then she halted, mid-breath.
Music had suddenly filled her ears, and
she turned around, wondering where it was coming from. When she
didn't
see anyone, she stood up and stepped out of the stream, letting her
feet dry on
the sun-baked stone path.
It led her straight
to the source: Yahika. He sat alone on a marble
bench along the path, holding a small flute against his lips.
His breath
brushed lightly over a hole in the top, and his fingers danced effortlessly
over
the golden keys and tiny holes.
The music filled Jasmine's
ears and fit her mood perfectly. She found it
hard to believe that it all flowed from the tiny flute. How could
a human-
made instrument produce such glorious notes? Jasmine knew how
to play it,
for she had been taught by her tutor how to play almost every instrument,
but
she had never dreamed such beautiful music could be made.
Yahika's fingers pressed
each key gently, and he seemed to do it
without thinking, as if the music were not only part of the flute,
but part of
him.
Silently, Jasmine
moved closer, just as Yahika began another song. It
was sad and yet sweet, as if an angel was crying. Jasmine simply
stood,
watching, too stunned to do anything else. Closing her eyes,
she let the notes
fill her and take her someplace mysterious and romantic.
The music slowly faded.
Jasmine opened her eyes to discover Yahika
watching her, his flute set down on his lap.
"That was beautiful,"
she whispered.
He looked down, with
a small smile and his face slightly coloring,
letting Jasmine know that he hadn't expected the compliment.
"I didn't know
anyone was listening," he said.
"How can you do that?
Where are your music sheets?" Jasmine asked.
"I have some, but
I don't use them often anymore. I play from here."
He placed his hand over his heart. "And that's when I get the most
out of it."
"It was breathtaking."
She paused. "I never knew a small golden pipe
could sound so glorious."
"Thank you."
He set the flute on the bench and picked up a piece of
paper, handing it to Jasmine. "The messenger brought this early
this morning.
He said he found it with his deliveries, but he doesn't know who brought
it. I
guess it's for you."
Jasmine took the paper
and unfolded it in her hands. Two letters fell
out, one from Aladdin and the other from her father. Carpet had
returned the
night before, giving Jasmine a small white flower from Aladdin.
The letters
had been placed with the messenger's deliveries while he slept.
"Who are they from?"
asked Yahika.
"One is from my father,
and one is from Aladdin."
Dear Jasmine,
Carpet
just brought me your letter, and I am now responding
to it. I hope that this reaches you safely.
Everything is fine here, aside from the fact that we miss you
terribly. Your father has been very quiet lately.
I have been visiting the
palace while you are gone, but the Sultan and I have found that
all we can
do is talk about you and wonder how you are doing.
How much longer do
you think you will stay? I know it has only been one week,
but it seems
longer than that.
I'm sure that
your grandfather loves your company. As for your
aunt, to tell you the truth, I always thought of your mother
as an only child
too. Don't worry about Leila. If she doesn't love
you from the start, it's
her loss and not yours. She doesn't know what she will
be missing.
Have you found
out what happened to your grandmother, or what
Yahika's relation is to you?
I suppose your
grandfather's palace may not seem to be filled with
happy memories because you didn't grow up there. Anyplace
you are or
have been has to be a happy place. When you leave, it will
be filled with
your memory, and you will leave all who live there happy with
it.
I guess
I'll close saying good luck with your search. I miss you.
Love Always,
Aladdin
Yahika watched Jasmine
as she read Aladdin's letter, and by studying
her face, knew that he was someone very dear to her. She refolded
it and
glanced up at Yahika. He turned away from her. She
opened the next letter.
My Dear Jasmine,
The Palace
is very lonely without you here. I miss you
terribly. Aladdin is over to keep me company often, but
he misses you
also. Even Rajah is getting lonesome. I feed him,
but he won't eat as
much, and he won't play with us.
Yes, I knew
that your mother had a sister. I am a little worried
about her. She didn't like me much either.
Yahika is still
around there? Is he married yet?
I am pleased
that your grandfather has found your company
enjoyable. He is a good man . . . I should have stayed
in touch with
Astaseez, but so much has happened and I've forgotten.
It is too late to
start now.
I'm sure that
you will begin to feel more comfortable there with
time, my dear. It will take some getting used to.
I never allowed myself
the time to get to know them . . .
They must love
you very much, but remember, I do too. I miss you.
How much longer will you be gone?
Love,
Your father
Jasmine refolded this
one also and set them both on the bench,
reminding herself to pick them up later. She had forgotten that
Yahika was
there until he said, "You are nineteen, right?"
"Almost," she answered.
"And, you are not
married?"
"No, not yet.
I am engaged . . . to Aladdin."
"I see."
Now is the perfect
time to ask about Yahika's relation to my mother
. . .
"Yahika, how did you
know my mother? Was she a friend of yours?"
He sighed, gazing
off into the distance, as if he were about to tell
somebody far off instead of Jasmine. "You could say that.
Yes. We were
friends. Very close friends. We were . . ." His voice
trailed off.
"What?" prompted
Jasmine.
"We were engaged to
be married."
Jasmine wasn't sure
if she had heard him right. "You were engaged to
. . . my mother?"
"Yes."
A thousand questions
filled Jasmine's mind. If they were engaged, why
didn't they marry? And why did her mother marry the Sultan of
Agrabah
instead . . .?
An overwhelming realization
struck Jasmine: This man could have
been my father. If whatever happened to keep them from marrying
hadn't
happened, he would be my father. But then I would be
a different person,
wouldn't I? Perhaps I never should have asked him . . . Yet,
now I have to
know more. "What happened? Why didn't you
marry her?"
He turned away from
Jasmine. "She didn't love me."
I don't understand;
If my mother didn't love him, why did she
consent to the engagement?
"I loved her . . .
I loved her more than anything," he continued, "but
something came between us. I guess she had never loved
me anyway. It
wasn't her fault."
Yahika's eyes were
shining with tears that hadn't yet fallen. Stiffly, he
stood up, picked up his flute, and left.
Jasmine watched
him go, still not understanding what had happened.
My mother seemed to like Yahika in her journal entries, but . .
Then
Jasmine thought of something that, for an unexplainable reason, scared
her.
Was it my father,
she wondered, that came between them?
Two days later, Jasmine
managed to escape to her mother's room. She
hoped that since she knew a little about Yahika, the journal would
tell her the
rest. She flipped through the pages she had already read and
started again
where she had left off.
March 19
It is the third
day of Yahika's visit. He will be staying until the
22nd.
We had a wonderful
time in the garden today. Leila wasn't with
us. I'm not sure why, but she said she wanted to stay inside
this time.
Yahika asked
me to take a walk through the entire garden with him,
for he hadn't yet had a chance to see all of it. I did
this quite eagerly, for it
is not often that I get a chance to give tours to someone who
is truly
interested. We conversed over many different topics.
Yahika has some
quite interesting ideas to contribute while not taking all the
attention for
himself, as most men do. Oh, but now I am labeling, and
I know it isn't
right for me to do this. I am simply speaking from experience,
of course.
My, I got off
track! Anyway, I later tried to teach him the names of
the flowers, but he couldn't keep them straight. It really
isn't hard when
you are with them everyday. He told me that he would like
to visit the
garden daily, and as we were finishing our circle and coming
back to our
starting point, I said that could be arranged, at least while
he is staying in
Astaseez.
Father was waiting
for us, and when he saw us walk back into the
palace together, he gave Yahika and me a strange smile.
I do not know
what it meant.
March 21
Father told me
today that he is glad to see that Yahika and I are
getting along so well. I cannot see why he said this, for
he knows we have
always been friends. I told him, "Of course we are, for
we always have."
And he just
said, "Ah, but growing older can change people. I can
see that it is changing your friendship for the better."
What exactly
did that mean? He seems to see something in our
friendship that I do not, something that for some reason makes
him happy.
What is it?
March 27
Father told me
today that instead of Yahika coming here, I soon will
be traveling with Father, Mother, and Leila to Tirvaltan to see
him.
I cannot remember
ever going to Tirvaltan, for the kingdom hasn't
been stable for many years, and I suppose we stayed away for
my own
protection.
I asked why
he wants me to go, and Father told me it would be a
good experience. He wants me to get to know Yahika in his
own home,
and his older brother would like to meet me as well. Father
also said
something about how I should get acquainted with the citizens
of
Tirvaltan, though I don't know why this should matter.
I suppose as
royalty it would do me good to be introduced to the people of
other
kingdoms, and Father probably hopes I will benefit from it.
We will be
leaving on April fourth.
April 1
Father insisted
that I pack to go to Tirvaltan today. He seems more
excited about it than me. Of course I want to go, but I
guess I would
rather have Yahika here in my home. I would just feel more
comfortable.
Even Leila seems
excited, and although she is a friend of Yahika's, I
don't think she knows him quite like I do. And here's what
bothers me:
Everyone seems to be looking forward to something and seeing
something
that I do not. Everyone knows something that I cannot
figure out. If
that's not bad enough, I know it has to do with me.
April 4
Here I am in
Tirvaltan. I have met Yahika's older brother, Sultan
Jameen, and he hugged me even though we have never met.
He said he
felt already that we were family. I didn't know what that
was suppose to
mean. He also said that Yahika talked endlessly of me.
That was a
surprise. I didn't think he gave me much thought when he was
away from
Astaseez. Yahika looked a little embarrassed
when he said that.
We talked later,
and although he tried to act as if everything were
the same, he seemed to be searching for something in my eyes
the entire
time. The thing that scares me is: I don't know what he
was looking for.
He knows what the others do, though when I asked him he said
he did not.
I can tell that he does. Why is it only me that hasn't
been told?
April 6
All I can
say is that something weird is going on with Yahika. He
watches me constantly, as if he is afraid that I will leave any
moment. He
is still as good a friend as ever, but whatever it is that everyone
knows that
I do not is making them keep close observations on me.
Father asks me
constantly about Yahika and our friendship, and even Leila has
begun
asking questions. Sometimes they appear to be quite satisfied
with my
answers, and other times they don't. They all seem to be
anxiously
awaiting something. I'm afraid I won't know what they are
waiting or
searching for until it is found or has happened, for no one will
tell me.
Leila knows I am getting suspicious; I can usually tell what
she is
thinking.
April 7
I don't know what to think. Today Yahika and I went out into his
own palace garden. It has some quite nice flowers, although
I would
never trade it for my own.
When we were
alone near a huge rose bush, Yahika told me that I
was the most gorgeous flower he had ever seen in any garden.
I didn't
know what to say back to him, but I didn't have time to say anything.
He
leaned over then and kissed me, not politely on the cheek, but
tenderly on
the lips. I backed away nervously. I hadn't expected
it, and now when I
think about it, I hadn't wanted it either. I know we have
always been close
friends, but I don't want to go past that. I love Yahika,
but as a brother or
friend. Surely he cannot feel another kind of love for
me. After today, I
am afraid that he does.
I want to tell
Leila, but I worry of what she might say or how she
may react. I don't feel sure about anything right now.
Jasmine was shaking.
Yahika had loved her mother, even then. She
had always assumed there was no one before her father, and even after
what
Yahika had told her the day before, it was hard to believe. This
entry was
making it real. This entry was making her consider things
she had never
thought of before. It was telling her that not all love is true
on both sides, as
she had naturally tended to think. It was only from her own experiences
that
she thought this way, for when she had fallen in love with Aladdin,
it was true
and real for both of them. Unfortunately, Jasmine now realized
that it didn't
always happen that way.
Once again it was
getting too dark to read any more of the journal. She
slipped back into the drawer and left, hoping to come back as soon
as she
could.
She had just stepped
out of the hall leading to her mother's room when
she saw someone coming toward her. As the figure moved closer,
Jasmine
recognized it as Leila and cringed. She kept trying to think
of her as
Amaranth had in the journals, understanding and loving. But all
she saw was
Leila's hatred . . . Leila's hatred that was aimed at her.
"Good night, Leila,"
Jasmine said, trying to be friendly and ignore the
coldness that came with her aunt.
Leila glared at Jasmine.
"Where were you?" she demanded.
Not wanting Leila to know she had been in her mother's room,
Jasmine
looked at the floor and answered: "No place, really. I was just
taking a walk
through the beautiful halls."
"You are lying," accused
Leila, her glare becoming meaner. Then her
face lost all statement, and she pushed Jasmine aside.
Jasmine's eyes followed
her as she walked further down the hall. And
as always with Leila, Jasmine didn't know what she should think.
=================================================================
Chapter Seven
"Will you be talking
to Jasmine today?" the royal messenger asked
Yahika the next morning.
"Perhaps," he answered.
"Why?"
"Would you give these
to her please?" The messenger waved three
letters before Yahika's face. "That girl moves around so much,
I never know
where to find her," he complained.
"Yes, I will,"
said Yahika. The messenger left hurriedly, off to do
another important duty.
Yahika sifted through
the letters in his hands: all three from Aladdin.
A twinge of jealousy pricked him. When he had watched Jasmine
reading her
letter from Aladdin a few days before, he had seen that he was special
to her.
This was the man she would marry, and most likely by choice,
for he had
caught the love that made her eyes sparkle in the garden.
The idea of Jasmine's
engagement almost made Yahika sick; he was
feeling something for her that he hadn't felt in years . . . that he
had thought
he'd never feel again. It hurt him that she wouldn't be staying
in Astaseez,
where he could be with her. He hated that she might be homesick
for
Agrabah, her father . . . and worst of all, Aladdin.
He sighed. Maybe
if Jasmine weren't reminded of how much the
people at home missed her, she wouldn't become as lonesome for them.
He
felt guilty for what he was about to do, but his fear of Jasmine leaving
was
stronger.
Unopened, he slipped
the letters into his dresser, locking the drawer so
they wouldn't be discovered. He did the same with every letter
that followed.
Jasmine was back in
the room. In her hands, the tattered journal fell
open. She flipped forward, finding the date she was looking for.
April 9
We left Tirvaltan
today. Saying good-bye was very awkward.
Usually I give Yahika a hug comfortably when we part. But
this time it
was different. Everything between us has been greatly affected
since he
kissed me. I did hug him, but I pulled away before I should
have. I hope
he didn't take it the wrong way. I just want things to
go back to the way
they were.
April 10
Today I told
Leila about what happened in the garden with Yahika.
I needed to tell someone, and once I had started, I spilled everything.
I
even told her how scared his kiss had made me feel, and that
I didn't want
to be any more than friends with him.
She was disturbed.
She said, "You know Amaranth, I think you
need to give him more of a chance."
I don't know
what that meant. How can I give him more of a
chance? What kind of chance does he want? It's not
as if I don't know
him. I've given him a chance to find himself a place in
my heart as one of
my dearest friends. I don't want to go beyond that.
When I explained
this to Leila, she said, "Maybe you'll change your
mind. Until then, don't tell Father what you told me."
I agreed
that I wouldn't, but why should it matter to her if I change
my mind? Why should it matter to anyone except me and Yahika?
I'm
still young. I don't need to be looking for someone to
love in that way yet .
. . do I? And why can't I tell Father? Somehow, I
know it will upset him,
but why should it? Questions without answers, this is all
I have.
April 15
Today I went
up to my room right after breakfast. It wasn't long
before I heard a parade approaching the palace. Not sure
what it was, I
went across the hall and into one of the balconies, since my
own balcony
views the back of the palace.
Looking down
from the above, I could see that it was a young
Sultan, perhaps seeking my hand. I hadn't had many suitors
yet, and I
watched him come not knowing what to expect.
Prince Ali, Fabulous
he, Ali Ababwa. The tune immediately ran
through her head. She remembered how she had done the exact same
thing as
her mother: stood in the safety of her own balcony as Aladdin had
approached over a year ago with his caravan. She remembered how
angry
and disgusted she had been by the way he showed off. Did her
mother feel
the same way? The entry had far more left, and Jasmine returned
to it.
The parade stopped
at our palace, and I heard my father talking to
the young Sultan, whom I later found was the ruler of Agrabah.
I know
my mother was there too, but she didn't say anything.
Jasmine stopped again.
This is my father. This is where he came into
my mother's life. And maybe, this is when Yahika was pushed
out.
I had to go down
and see what was going on. The Sultan was in the
throne room, short for a man, but handsome nonetheless.
He had a dark
beard and dark kind eyes to match. But his face was filled
with sorrow.
When I crept closer, I could hear what my father was saying to
him, and
what I heard surprised me. I will tell it now as I remember
it, for it is still
fresh in my mind.
My father
said, "I am sorry, Your Highness, but Amaranth is not
accepting any suitors. She has already chosen her future
husband and
will not pick another over him."
When he said
this, it made me angry. What right did he have to tell
this man that I had chosen a suitor when I have not? And
what was
worse, the poor man looked so disappointed.
He protested,
saying: "At least let me meet her. I have traveled all
the way from Agrabah . . ."
I burst in on
the scene then. I know I shouldn't have, but I yelled at
my father: "Father! Why did you say I had chosen a suitor
when I
haven't? And why are you turning this young man away without
giving
me the chance to meet him? I believe if it is ME he wants
to see, then let
ME decide whether or not to turn him away."
Again Jasmine stopped.
It's almost if I repeated my mother's actions,
but in the opposite way. My mother had came upon the scene
angry because
her opinion wasn't considered, as I had done. Except I had
been willing to
let Aladdin go, where my mother wanted to give Father a chance.
But the
attitude is the same. Without ever really knowing my mother,
I seemed to
have picked up some of her personality traits. She read
on.
The young Sultan
looked a bit startled by my outburst, but I think he
was pleased, too. The man looked so melancholy and sweet
that I couldn't
turn him away. I told him that he was welcome to stay,
and that I would
be honored to get acquainted with him. He seemed both surprised
and
relieved to hear me say this. My father looked at me with
anger, but I
ignored it. What could be so bad about this young man that
they didn't
want him here? It was I instead of Father who showed him
to his room
and told him to have a comfortable stay.
April 16
I got my chance
to converse with the Sultan of Agrabah today. He
is the sweetest man! There is something special about him
that has never
been in another man I have met. It's almost . . . magical.
I cannot believe
my father wanted to turn him away. I am glad I didn't allow
him to.
April 18
Tonight the Sultan
of Agrabah and I had the most wonderful time.
Alone, we went down to the banquet hall and ate a small dinner,
after we
had already eaten our "formal" meal with the family. It
was so much
nicer, with just the two of us. We didn't have to be proper.
We didn't have
to be royalty.
I know I could
do things like this with Yahika, but this is somehow
different. I get a different feeling with him than with
Yahika. After we
ate, we danced to the tune of the Sultan's music box. It
was so . . .
romantic? Is that the word I want to use? Yes, I
think it is. Afterwards
he even kissed me, and it was what I had wanted, because it didn't
scare
me the way Yahika's kiss had.
April 19
Somehow Mother
and Father found out about last night in the
banquet hall. I think Leila knows too.
I now know the
most disturbing news. I went downstairs to say
good-night, and Father and Mother were fighting. I will
write as much as
I remember.
Father yelled,
"Look at what is happening between her and that
young Sultan! This is terrible! How could she let
this happen?"
My mother answered
him: "You know you should have told her,
Amaranian! How was she to know that she was already betrothed
to
another, and she shouldn't let other men into her life?
Yahika knew she
was chosen to be his bride, so why didn't you tell her?
Why? You can't
blame her for taking a liking to that young man. She didn't
know what
you had planned!"
I left then.
Father explained it to me in my room later, even though
I already knew.
I have heard
what I wanted to know, and now I wish I hadn't. I
didn't know I was intended to marry Yahika. So THAT is
what everyone
saw in our relationship except me. And I didn't see anything
because I
wasn't looking for it as they were. And for me, it
wasn't there. But for
Yahika, perhaps it was. He is wonderful, but I cannot marry
him.
Why did I have
to find out now? It is too late. I have already fallen
in love with the Sultan of Agrabah.
How awful it must
have been for my mother to fall in love with a man
and then discover that she was intended to marry another.
And then there
was Yahika. He loved her, and it was true, for him.
I know both from the
entries and what he told me in the garden . . .
April 20
I haven't told
the Sultan of Agrabah that I am intended to marry
Yahika. I couldn't bear it, because then I would have to
tell the Sultan
that I love him. It would be too heartbreaking. I
know I shouldn't put it
off, but I'm going to.
April 21
The Sultan of
Agrabah asked for my hand in marriage today. I said
yes. I know I shouldn't have. I KNOW. But I
couldn't say no, because I
love him too much, and I WANT to marry him. If only I weren't
betrothed
to Yahika! It isn't fair! Why couldn't we have stayed
friends? Why did
everyone assume that we would go beyond that?
I haven't told
father of his proposal yet, but I told Leila. She is
angry with me. She told me I was being selfish and unfair
to Yahika, our
parents, and our kingdom. Who's being unfair to whom?
She should
have told me! I begged and pleaded for her understanding,
but she is
angry and will not give in.
April 27
The young Sultan
has gone home. He is to return in a month for
me. I never did tell him about Yahika.
I told father
about our engagement. He was in a rage. He wouldn't
speak to me for a while, and then when he did, it was to tell
me something
totally unexpected.
Yahika has come
again. He arrived this morning. Later, he was in
my room. He doesn't know I am engaged to the Sultan of
Agrabah, and I
couldn't bring myself to tell him. But he suspects that
something is going
on between us, I can tell that much.
May 2
Yahika left today.
I really don't feel like writing much. The family
is still mad at me for accepting the Sultan of Agrabah's proposal.
Even
Leila won't listen to me. I am also beginning to feel sick.
Even my garden
doesn't make me happy.
May 10
I am depressed.
Everyone is still angry with me.
I can't help
it that I have fallen in love with the wrong man! What
could I do about it?
Leila isn't
the same, and it hurts when she won't listen. She is
disappointed in me. They don't know that he is coming for
me in two
weeks. I am getting eager to leave this place.
May 15
Leila knows
the Sultan of Agrabah will be coming for me soon. I
don't know how she found out. Perhaps she has been reading
my letters.
Now she will talk to me again. She even apologized.
She cried, which
scared and surprised me, saying she didn't want me to leave her
and that
she especially didn't want me to leave being angry. We
were both in tears
by the time I left. We have made up, but it will never
be quite the same
between us.
May 24
This will be
my last entry in my journal, because I won't take it with
me. The Sultan of Agrabah is coming for me tonight.
I keep asking
myself: Do I really want to leave this all behind? My
garden has been my paradise for growing up. Leila has been
my sister
and best friend since I was born. My father and mother
have given me
more than I will ever be able to repay them for.
And Yahika,
dear Yahika, still I haven't told him, and I will be wed
in two days. Never will our friendship be rebuilt.
Someone else will have
to tell him.
Is it right
to throw all this away for my young Sultan, even if I do
love him? I wish I had considered it more when he proposed.
But I
cannot change my mind now. I keep telling myself
how happy we will be
together, and we will, I know we will.
Tonight I will
say good-bye to everyone. I am dreading it. I will
write often, of course, but will that be all? I can visit,
but nothing will ever
be the same. I will close now, and by ending this entry,
I will end an
important part of my life: my childhood, for in less than a week's
time, I
will be a wife.
It wasn't the last
page in the journal, but every page after it was blank.
Jasmine closed the book as a single tear slid down her face.
I never
imagined it happened like that; I never knew the sadness my
mother went
through before her happiness with my father. And maybe there
is more to
the story, but I won't find it in the journal pages. Perhaps
I'll never know the
complete story of my mother . . .
She was so absorbed
by her thoughts, that it was a while before she
realized there was another person in the room.
Hesitantly, she turned
around, and saw the form of a woman in the
shadows. Leila.
When Leila knew
Jasmine had seen her, she stepped forward. "What
are you doing in here?" she demanded.
"This was my mother's
room," Jasmine said, making sure to keep her
voice steady. She straightened up, standing tall.
"I have a right to be in
here."
"You have no right
to anything in this palace," contradicted Leila,
her eyes hateful. "You think you can come here and win us all
over. You
think you can put on a show about how much you love your mother, but
you
didn't even know her! You will break hearts, cause damage,
and leave us
to pay for it.
"No, you haven't rights
to anything here. It isn't yours; it never was
and never will be. You can't waltz in now and claim rights
to it. You have
nothing. Nothing!"
Jasmine backed away
from her. "Leila," she whispered, "why do you
hate me so much?"
Leila glared.
"Don't play stupid. Don't pretend you don't know."
"I don't!" cried Jasmine.
"What have I done?"
Leila didn't answer. "Jasmine, do you know
how your mother
died?" she asked instead.
"She was young . .
. and weak . . ." stammered Jasmine. As the words
left her lips, she knew how foolish they sounded. Amaranth hadn't
died
because of that; people didn't die that way without another cause.
"Is that what
you think?" asked Leila scornfully. "You are a fool.
A pitiful, hateful fool. Your mother died because of you,
Jasmine!"
"What do you mean?"
Jasmine whispered. Fear cloaked her like a
heavy blanket.
"Amaranth knew she
wasn't strong enough to have children. She
knew. But she was so stubborn, that she did anyway.
And then there was
you. She died while giving birth to you! It's your
fault that she is dead!"
Leila cried.
Jasmine felt sick.
I never knew the cause of my mother's death, but
never had I thought it was my fault . . .
This time when Jasmine
spoke, she couldn't keep her voice from
shaking. "Leila, it . . . it wasn't my fault. It wasn't
. . ."
"Really?" Leila
coldly mocked her denial. "If it weren't for you, she'd
still be alive. If you hadn't been born, she'd still
be here!
"And then there is
your father. He intruded on her life, and took her
from the man that loved her more than anything. Did you
know he did
that, Jasmine? Did you?"
Jasmine nodded.
"But my mother loved him."
"Love," scoffed Leila.
"Love doesn't kill, Jasmine."
But it wasn't love
that killed her, thought Jasmine, it was . . . it
was me . . . no . . no . . . .
"And as if that weren't
enough," continued Leila. "Jasmine, look at
yourself! You are Amaranth all over again! The way you
look, the way you
act, it's her again! It's exactly the same! And when you
were born, she
died. You took her life, only so you could keep it for yourself!"
Jasmine shook her
head. "No . . ." she whispered. Stop! I don't want
to hear anymore . . .
"Selfish, selfish,
selfish!" pronounced Leila. "That's what you and
your father are. He took Amaranth, my sister, my best friend,
away from
her home!
"And you, Jasmine.
You are even worse. You took Amaranth's
life! You stole from me the most dear and precious thing
I had. I had
nothing left after her death! Nothing! Yes, I hate
you for it. And how can
you expect me to feel any differently? You killed her!
You are a
murderer!
"I can't stand to
look at your face. You, who are here when Amaranth
isn't. And Amaranth should be. It should be her
instead of you. You
don't deserve to live. You could have died before you were
born and saved
Amaranth's life. But no; instead, you took it. You killed!
Killed! Do you
hear me?" Leila was shaking with rage.
"Get out of this room,"
she commanded. " And don't come back in
here. You have no rights to anything of hers. You have
already taken her
life. Isn't that enough for you?"
There were tears in
Leila's hate-filled eyes, and it greatly disturbed
Jasmine. Her aunt turned and ran from the room, leaving Jasmine
alone to
watch her departure.
Her stomach churned
uneasily. Why didn't Father tell me? Why did
he try to shield me, so I had to find out from Leila instead?
I can't help it
that my mother died giving birth to me . . . Yet, somehow now I
understand
her hatred. I'm beginning to hate myself.
She left the room.
She wanted to cry, but something inside wouldn't let
her. Aimlessly, she roamed the halls, not caring where she was
heading.
Voices emitted one
of the rooms she passed: servants' gossip. She
would have walked away without stopping to listen, but then she caught
the
sound of her name. She crept closer to the doors.
"I still don't know
about that Jasmine girl," one of the servants was
saying. "I think she's odd, very odd."
A different voice
joined the conversation. "Odd isn't the word to
describe her! I think she has something wrong in her mind, if
you know what
I mean. I was passing her room a few nights ago, and she was
talking to a
rug! A rug! Do you believe it?"
"That's not normal,"
commented her companion, a hint of laughter in
her voice.
Yet another voice
broke in. "Well, I think it's terrible how Amaranian
has waited for her all these years, and now she's come when he's almost
on
his deathbed! She came to make herself look good, and nothing more.
Otherwise she would have come earlier."
"I don't want to hear
it, any of you." This voice Jasmine recognized; it
belonged to the servant who had been attending her. "She is a
fine young
woman, and I don't want you to speak in such ways of her. Amaranian
loves
her dearly, and I believe she loves him too. You cannot make
assumptions
when you don't know anything about her."
The other servant
spoke again. "Ah, but Amaranian isn't the only one
she has made love her. There is Yahika. He has a fascination
with her that
can be seen from a mile away. She has him bewitched, just as
her mother
had. History is repeating itself. And she will leave him,
no doubt."
"That's enough, all
of you!" snapped Jasmine's attendant. "I don't want
you to speak another word about her. You should be ashamed."
The room
fell silent, and Jasmine left.
So,
that's what they think of me. Jasmine's throat tightened painfully.
It was all too much: first finding out how her mother had left everything
for
her father, then Leila, the truth about her mother's death, and now
this. For
the first time, Jasmine lost control. She ran down the hall,
screaming and
crying, not caring who heard her.
She managed to find
herself back at her own room again and ran
inside. Sobbing uncontrollably, she threw herself onto the bed.
Then she
remembered what Aladdin had said before she left. It seemed as
if that had
been years ago. You may find things you hadn't expected, and
they could
shatter the perfect image you hold of your mother's kingdom in your
mind
now.
Oh, Aladdin,
she thought, how did you know?
==================================================================
Chapter Eight
Jasmine didn't know
how long she had been lying face down on the
bed. Her sobs had quieted, but her face still held wet trails
of tears. She felt
weak and exhausted.
A quiet knock tapped
against her door, once, twice, three times. Then
someone whispered, "Jasmine?"
I don't want anyone
to see me like this, she thought, furiously
brushing at tears. Slowly, she stood up, trying to smooth wrinkles
out of her
clothes and push back loose hair that had tumbled into her face.
Finally, she
opened the door.
"Hello?" she
greeted, trying to sound pleasant.
Her grandfather came
into the room, and Jasmine noticed that his limp
was getting worse. "Greetings, my dear." He paused, studying
his grand-
daughter's face. "Jasmine, I thought I heard you crying. What's
wrong?"
She sat down on her
bed. "I'm sorry . . . but . . . it's just that . . . none
of this is what I expected it to be."
Amaranian looked surprised.
"I'm sorry it was such a disappointment."
She shook her head.
"No. It's not that. It's Leila and . . . and . . ."
Finding out I killed my mother, hearing how I'm viewed by the servants;
Is
that how everyone sees me?
"What about Leila?"
asked her grandfather.
"Grandfather,"
Jasmine whispered, "I'm sorry. Leila told me . . .
about . . . about," Jasmine paused, steadying her voice before
she rushed on.
"I know I killed my mother.
Leila told me."
"Oh, Jasmine," Amaranian
murmured, "it wasn't your fault. I know
Leila will try to make it sound like it was, but it wasn't. Everyone
that loved
Amaranth experienced pain at her loss. Leila doesn't know how
to deal with
her pain. She thinks all suffering is someone else's fault.
That is why she
blames you. She needs to blame somebody."
"But she wasn't wrong!"
cried Jasmine. "Grandfather, my mother
would still be alive if it weren't for me."
For a moment Amaranian
didn't say anything. Then he admitted, "It
is true that Amaranth died during childbirth, as do many women.
That
doesn't make it your fault. There is no way to change it, and
you wouldn't
want to. Yes, Amaranth's death was hard on everyone. But
look," he said,
placing his hand on Jasmine's face and tilting it up to look at him,
"look at
what she has brought into the world. How can anyone as kind and
gentle as
you be to blame for a death? It happened. It wasn't
your fault, or your
father's, or Amaranth's."
The words didn't make
her feel much better; Leila's accusations were
too strong in her mind. "I don't want Leila to hate me!"
she cried. "What can
I do?"
"There isn't anything
you can do about Leila. Your mother and she
were very close, and she was left with a bitter hatred for everything
after
Amaranth died." He paused. "Don't let her scare you away,
Jasmine."
"I won't."
"You will stay then?"
"For a few more weeks
. . ." stammered Jasmine.
Sadness settled into
Amaranian's eyes. "You miss your home?"
"Yes," Jasmine confessed.
"But, if it weren't
for Leila, would you be happy here?"
How can I answer?
Would I be happy here . . . truthfully? "It is
a wonderful place, Grandfather. I know my mother must have loved living
here."
Amaranian's gaze dropped
to the floor, as he murmured, "If only we
didn't have to give you up . . . if only . . ." Jasmine knew
he wasn't speaking
to her; he seemed to be in his own world. Then he looked up again.
"It is
wonderful being in your presence. I only wish you could stay."
"I don't plan on leaving
too soon," said Jasmine. "I will stay for a
while longer."
"Yes," whispered Amaranian.
"But every "for a while" has to end."
With that, he sadly departed her room.
Even though Jasmine
had come to love her grandfather, this
conversation had scared her. She wanted him to love her,
but she felt
trapped; she was afraid he loved her too much to let her go.
"She misses her home,"
Amaranian told Yahika the next day. "She
misses her father and her fiancé. It's in her eyes, her
voice, her face."
"She isn't leaving
soon, is she?" asked Yahika.
"She said she would
stay for a while. I don't know how long that will
be," responded Amaranian.
Yahika sighed.
"I don't want her to leave. She is special, Amaranian,
just as her mother was . . . "
Amaranian nodded.
"I know. I would like her to stay, too."
"It isn't fair!" cried
Yahika. "We shouldn't be like strangers to her!
Why didn't her father tell her about us? Why did we have to wait
until now?
She stayed in Agrabah all her life. It's our turn to be
blessed with her
presence. We can't let go yet."
"Neither can we keep
her here against her will," answered Amaranian
sadly. "It wouldn't be right."
"I know that.
If only there were some way . . ."
"She will visit again,"
interrupted Amaranian. "When she has gone,
she can return for as many more visits as she would like."
"But she is marrying
soon," said Yahika. His voice went hard to keep
it from cracking. "She will forget about us once she is married.
She will say
she'll come, but . . . Amaranth told us she would return, but after
she was
married, two years passed without more than letters from her.
And then . . .
we never saw her again."
"Jasmine isn't like
Amaranth in all ways, Yahika," said Amaranian.
"She may come again."
"And she may not,"
whispered Yahika. "Amaranian, you have come to
love Jasmine . . . and so have I. When she leaves, it will be
like losing
Amaranth all over again."
"I know," replied
Amaranian. His head bent down and suddenly his
frail body began shaking with sobs. "I know."
They didn't know Jasmine
had been on her way to see her grandfather.
Turning away from the room, she walked back to her own. She never
let on
that she had heard them.
Late that night, Jasmine
lay alone in her room, unable to fall asleep.
As she stared at the ceiling, the conversation between Yahika and her
grandfather kept running through her mind. Losing her will be like
losing
Amaranth all over again.
Trapped.
Again, I'm trapped. I can't stay here forever. I don't
want to stay here forever, even if I do love my grandfather
and will miss
him when I leave.
But after hearing
them, leaving would make her feel guilty. And then
there was Yahika. What he felt for her was frightening.
She had noticed it
from the beginning, but then it had been easy to ignore. Now,
it wasn't.
The more Jasmine thought
of them wanting her to stay, the more
she wanted to be home.
Crawling out of bed, she
remembered the stack of tall paper and
the full bottle of ink. She would write another letter back home.
As she sat down at
her desk, she realized that neither Aladdin nor her
father had been answering her letters, even though she had written
to them
every night. She gave the letters to Carpet, he took them home,
and always
returned with nothing. And she didn't get any from the royal
messenger
either. She was sure they had a good reason for not writing,
but still, she
couldn't help feeling hurt.
She pulled open the
writing drawer and gasped. The stack of papers
was gone, and the ink bottle was empty.
==================================================================
Chapter Nine
Another week passed.
Jasmine received no news from home, and
now she was unable to write to them.
Much of Jasmine's
time was spent with her grandfather and Yahika,
even though she was uneasy with him . . . especially since she'd heard
his
discussion with Amaranian. Although he hadn't said a word about
how he felt
to her, it was hard to pretend she didn't know.
She hadn't returned
to her mother's room; she wanted to spend her time
there, but she was afraid of meeting Leila again. Jasmine had
been successful
in her avoidance; or perhaps Leila had been successful in hers.
She still
caught Leila's glare when they did chance to meet, in the halls or
at mealtime.
But now it was different; now there was a reason.
In the time spent
alone in her room, she often talked with Carpet, if the
servants weren't around. Or she'd lay on her bed, countless thoughts
running
through her mind as she wondered what she should do, how much longer
she'd stay, and what was happening at home. She was occupied
by this one
night when she heard a knock on her door, and it broker her out of
her
thoughtful trance.
She jumped up, wondering
who was there. Her grandfather no longer
made the trip to her room, because he was becoming too weak, so Jasmine
often visited him in his own chambers.
When she opened the
door, it was Yahika who stood before her,
gazing at her in the way that still scared her. Silently, he
entered. Jasmine
tried to read his face, but it had suddenly gone blank; the familiarity
was
gone.
Jasmine closed the
door behind Yahika and turned back to him.
He stared at Jasmine
for a long moment before moving closer and
grabbing both her hands in his. His eyes met hers and held them.
Jasmine
swallowed hard, knowing she should say something before he did but
unable
to find the words.
"Jasmine," he whispered,
"you must stay with us."
"I can't, Yahika,"
she said gently. "I'm heiress to Agrabah's throne--"
"I am in love with
you," he interrupted.
"No," Jasmine
whispered. She shook her head and took a step back.
"You aren't. You are still in love with my mother."
"Marry me, please.
I love you."
Jasmine felt dizzy.
This couldn't be happening. "I-I couldn't," she
stammered, thinking of Aladdin and wishing he were with her.
"You don't
love me," she tried to convince him and herself. "You love the
part of me that
is my mother, but you don't love me for who I really am."
"No, it's you! I love
you," he insisted.
"Yahika, I'm engaged.
You know that," she answered quietly.
"I need you!
Jasmine, we all need you!" he cried. "Without you
there is no heir to this kingdom! Who will rule when your grandfather
dies?"
"Leila is next in
line," she answered, but she knew Leila wouldn't want
it. And what about after Leila? Leila was unmarried and
possibly past her
child-bearing years; Who would inherit the kingdom?
No, my first responsibility
is to Agrabah . . .
"I need to
go home, or there will be no heir to Agrabah's throne. I
am the only child. My father never remarried."
"The kingdom may go
to the man you were engaged to," said Yahika,
grasping for hope. "I am sure the Sultan is quite fond of him."
"No . . . no, that
couldn't happen. He can't inherit." She paused,
realizing that everyone was under the impression that her fiancé
was a prince.
"He isn't royalty," she
continued. "If he were to inherit, it could only be
through our marriage."
The surprise showed
clearly on Yahika's face. "He isn't royalty? Then
how is it that you became engaged? And why go back to him, when
I love
you and I am royalty? Don't you see? I could give
you all you need,
anything!" he promised.
But you're not Aladdin,
she thought. And the person I need is
Aladdin . . .
"The law is different
in Agrabah," she said. "I'm not marrying for the
kingdom's sake. I'm marrying him because I love him . . . more
than I have
ever loved anyone." She was shaking. It was difficult telling
this man who
could have been her father about Aladdin.
Guilt stabbed her
when she saw the pain that flooded his eyes. A
heart broken for the second time . . . First my mother, and now
me . . . I've
broken a heart that had never completely healed . . .
"I am so sorry," she
murmured. The words weren't enough to express
the hurting inside of her, the pain that was only a fraction of what
his was.
"No," he whispered.
His voice was low, trembling. "I'm sorry." His
lips lightly brushed her forehead, and he turned and left without a
good-bye.
Jasmine collapsed
onto her bed, not even trying to stop her tears from
wetting the sheets. She wanted to go home. She was confused
and lonely.
She had come hoping to find a missing piece of herself, and had instead
found
the man her mother was intended to marry, an aunt that wished she had
never
been born, and a kingdom that was afraid to let her go.
==================================================================
Chapter Ten
Amaranian had become
Jasmine's confidant in the time that she
was in Astaseez. In less than an hour after Yahika's proposal,
she walked
quietly to the throne room, wet tears still on her face.
When she reached the
throne room, however, it was empty, except for
a soldier who stood near the throne. Jasmine approached him.
"Could you
tell me where Sultan Amaranian is?"
Stiffly, the soldier
nodded. "He is in his room. He did not feel well
enough to get out of bed this morning."
"Thank you,"
Jasmine said. Amaranian's absence worried Jasmine.
He had often been leaving
the throne room early, or coming in later during the
day, but this was the first time he hadn't come at all.
She rushed down the
hall to his room and knocked quietly on the door.
"Who is it?" inquired
her grandfather's voice.
"Jasmine."
"Come in."
When she walked inside,
she saw her grandfather laying on the bed.
He looked pale and lifeless. Jasmine suddenly forgot about Yahika
to focus
her attention on her grandfather.
"What troubles you,
Jasmine?" he asked.
The scene from before
came back to her. She began telling the story
slowly, then started talking faster and telling more, until everything
had been
revealed. Her grandfather had listened in attentive silence throughout
her
narrative. The only sound was Jasmine's quiet sobs, which she
couldn't keep
from coming.
Amaranian broke the
silence. "You did the right thing."
"There was nothing
else I could do," whispered Jasmine. "I love
Aladdin; I love my home. Yahika is a dear man, but . . ."
Jasmine stopped,
suddenly realizing that she sounded like her mother.
"Jasmine," the Sultan
murmured, "did you know Yahika loved your
mother?"
Jasmine nodded.
"Did you know that
he was intended to marry her?"
"Yes."
"I'm about to tell
you something I'm not proud of, because I need to
share what I've learned from it.
"When I found out
that Amaranth had fallen in love with your father, I
was angry and disappointed. I had her life mapped out and tied
up in a pretty
little package. When she fell in love with your father, it spoiled
my plans
for her. I told her that the marriage was forbidden. I
know now that it was
foolish of me. She wouldn't let me stop her. She left with
him one night,
hardly taking time to say good-bye." Amaranian reached up to
dab at his
eyes.
"She felt like she
needed to escape," he continued, "because here she
wasn't allowed to follow her heart as she would have wanted.
I didn't realize
how trapped I made her feel. I thought I knew best.
I thought the life
had chosen for her was all in her best interest. But I know now
that it wasn't.
No one can decide the fate of someone's life except the person living
it,
Jasmine. I thought I could, and I found myself terribly wrong.
Because of
my stubbornness, Amaranth and I were never close again. And we
never had a
chance to gain back what we had. If I had left her alone, let
her live her own
life, perhaps that special bond would never have been broken."
"My mother never loved
Yahika," murmured Jasmine reflectively.
"But he did love her."
"Yes," Amaranian whispered.
"He had loved her for years. He knew
he was intended to marry Amaranth. It made him happier than Amaranth
ever
realized. He was one to very seldomly voice his feelings, although
he made
no attempt at hiding them either. I think he suspected from the
moment he
found out about Amaranth and your father that something was happening
between them. But he tried to deny it. He was sure he was
to be the one to
marry her and even convinced himself that soon Amaranth would grow
to
love him the way he loved her. When she left with your father,
Yahika swore
he could never love another woman the way he loved her." Amaranian
looked up at Jasmine. "But he has."
"And I turned him
away," she whispered.
"You had to,"
Amaranian told her. "You would not have been happy
with him."
"No."
"Then you did the
only thing you could. If you are engaged to one you
love, you cannot blame yourself for putting him before another.
You listened
to your heart," he said, "just as your mother did. I wish I would
have let her
do that more easily. But now I know that it's the only way
to make the
right decision. You and your mother are more wise than I was.
I thought the
only way to be happy was to know what was coming in the next day, week,
year. I thought you could only truly be happy when you know what
your life
is going to be. I was wrong. Happiness is found in love,
and love isn't
something you can plan. Don't feel that you haven't done the
right thing
Jasmine, for I assure you, you have."
"Thank you, Grandfather."
Jasmine rose, and seeing that he was tired,
said good-night and left.
The next few days passed
too slowly. Jasmine found she could hardly
think of anything except Agrabah. Now, she spent time only with
her
grandfather, although she painfully saw that he was becoming increasingly
weak everyday. He was rarely out of his own bedroom.
She couldn't look
Yahika in the eye. Being around him made her feel
uneasy and a little guilty. She continued to avoid her
mother's room, still
afraid of meeting up with Leila. And she felt more trapped everyday.
"Jasmine?" came
Yahika's voice through her door.
She took a deep breath. She didn't want to talk to him,
but she opened
the door. Not meeting his eyes, she asked, "What do you want?"
"Your grandfather
wishes to see you." There was a slight crack in his
voice.
Is Yahika crying?
Jasmine glanced up, but he had turned away from
her.
"What does he want?"
asked Jasmine.
"He is worse today.
We are afraid . . ." Yahika didn't finish the
sentence. He didn't have to.
"No!" Jasmine
ran out the door and to her grandfather's room. She
knocked softly. No answer. She knocked again, and was greeted
with
silence.
Glancing behind her,
she noticed that Yahika hadn't come with. She
knocked one more time, and when still no one answered, she pushed the
door
open and went inside.
Her grandfather lay
on the bed. His body didn't move. He was paler
than she had ever seen him, and his eyes were closed. Her throat
began to
hurt. There was a sob that wouldn't escape. Please,
don't let me be too
late . . .
Slowly, her grandfather
opened his eyes and tried to focus on Jasmine.
She knelt at his bedside. He held up his weak hand and grasped
Jasmine's in
it.
"Grandfather . . ."
she whispered, rubbing her cheek against the back
of his wrinkled hand.
"Jasmine," he
gasped. "Allah is calling me. I have to obey His will.
But I couldn't leave without saying good-bye to my only granddaughter."
Jasmine's lower lip
began to tremble.
"Jasmine, remember
this," murmured Amaranian. "If you never think
of anything else that I have said, remember always to follow your heart.
Do
not let another decide your fate. The only one in charge of your
destiny is
you. Don't let anyone make you think differently.
Don't let anyone map
out your life for you, as I tried to do with your mother.
And if ever you have
children of your own, don't make the same mistake I did."
"You didn't make a
mistake with my mother," said Jasmine softly.
"You were only trying to
consider her own best interest."
"No, I was interested
in mine." Amaranian suddenly gasped for
breath and gripped Jasmine's hand tighter. His head crashed violently
against
the pillows.
"Grandfather!"
screamed Jasmine.
He opened his eyes
again, but they were no more than slits. "I love
you, Jasmine."
"I love you too, Grandfather."
"Follow . . . your
. . . heart," he whispered again. "Please . . ." But
he
didn't finish.
His hand slipped out
of Jasmine's. His eyes became glassy and stared
at the ceiling. His head rolled to the side and stopped moving.
"No," Jasmine
gasped. "No . . ." Grandfather, you can't leave me!
You're the only one I've come to love in this strange place . .
.
She looked up.
Leila stood in the shadows on the other side of the
room. Jasmine wondered how long she had been there.
She was surprised
to see her but knew she shouldn't have been.
Leila's face held
jealous hatred mixed with profound sorrow. Turning
away from Jasmine, she ran out the door. Jasmine heard her cries
as she ran
through the halls.
Tears filled Jasmine's
eyes as she turned away from her grandfather's
lifeless body. That's when she realized that Yahika had entered
as well. And
she thought she had been alone.
She stood up from
her kneeling position. Yahika's head was hung
down, but she knew he was sobbing. She felt alone, as her own
tears
continued to make their course down her cheeks.
Yahika took a step
forward, then stopped for a moment. His arms
opened, and he pulled Jasmine against him. Knowing they both
needed
comforting, she allowed him to hold her. She pressed her face
against his
shoulder and wept, forgetting that this was the man who had asked her
to
marry him. Now, he was just another human going through the same
suffering as she was, and they were both in need of someone who would
understand.
==================================================================
Chapter Eleven
Amaranian's death left
Astaseez without a monarch. Leila refused
the throne. Yahika wasn't a part of Astaseez; therefore,
Tirvaltan was his
first concern.
Yahika tried to persuade
Jasmine to accept the crown. She turned him
down every time. Even though she knew she'd one day rule Agrabah,
she
wasn't comfortable with the idea of ruling here.
And so the kingdom
was bestowed upon someone unrelated.
Amaranian had had a close friendship with Sultan Stereen, from the
nearby
kingdom of Nateralis. Sultan Stereen had seven children, five
of them men.
Yahika directed the
business between the two kingdoms. Stereen's
second eldest son, Prince Tewfik, was to rule Astaseez. He would
arrive in
less than a week to make the final settlements. Yahika wanted
Jasmine to
stay at least until then.
Jasmine honored his
request, but was becoming increasingly homesick.
How could she feel comfortable around Yahika after he had proposed
to her?
Leila continued to make Jasmine feel unwanted. Servants didn't
think very
highly of her. And the one person she had felt truly at home
with . . . was
gone.
She sighed as she
looked out her window, watching Prince Tewfik's
procession approaching. Deciding to inform Yahika, she rose and
walked to
his room.
"Yahika?" she
called through his closed door. "Prince Tewfik has
arrived."
He came out.
"Yes, I believe you're right. Thank you, Jasmine." His
voice was coldly polite, his speech clipped to the essentials.
He bowed his
head to her, and left to greet the Prince.
Jasmine was about
to follow when something caught her eye. Peeping
out of Yahika's open dresser drawer was a sheet of paper with her name
on it.
She pulled the drawer
out further and found, to her surprise, piles of
letters, every one addressed to her.
Puzzled, she took
the first one out, unfolding it slowly as she
wondered, Why are these in Yahika's room?
She began to read
the letter; it was from her father.
Dearest Jasmine,
We miss
you very much. I admit that your stay has been
drawn out much longer than we'd expected. I understand
that you must
be busy, but why have you stopped writing to us? And why
is it that when
you do you do not comment on anything we have said in previous
letters?
I would like
to know what is happening. Here in Agrabah, business
has been as usual. We had a banquet recently, and
you were much
missed by the guests. Aladdin is hurt that you have not
written him in
such a long while, especially since he writes to you every night.
I told him
you must have a perfectly good reason . . . don't you?
We miss hearing
from you. Please write again.
Love,
Your Father
Jasmine unfolded another letter. This one was from Aladdin.
Dear Jasmine,
How are
you? In Agrabah, we are fine. Why haven't you
written in so long? You told me in one of your letters
that you had plenty
of writing materials. What is keeping you from using them?
Your letters
used to be frequent, but I haven't received one in over a week.
I suppose
you are very busy and don't have much time to write.
Why haven't
you answered my questions of previous letters? Your
father says you've done the same to him. I don't
mean to sound angry,
but I want an explanation. I miss hearing from you.
Have you found
what you have been searching for? Have you
learned much of your mother? I hope you are having good
luck. I think
of you constantly. I miss you very much.
Love,
Aladdin
All these letters . . . I never knew; I thought you had stopped
writing
. . . The drawer was full of proof that they had not. She
read through every
letter. Most of them were from Aladdin and her father, but there
were even a
few from Genie.
Dear Jas,
Hey, what's
happening? Al told me about how you wanted to
find out about your mother, and I say good for you. I remember
my mom.
She made the best chocolate chip cookies . . . .
Your absence
has us all in the dumps. Iago is even grumpier than
usual. And your jolly father hasn't been so jolly.
Since Carpet
is staying with you, you can tell him that I have been
brushing up on my Ping-Pong skills, so he had better watch out
when he
comes home, because I am going to whip him!
Hope to see
ya soon, Princess-woman!
Sincerely,
Genie
The smile Genie's letters
inspired soon faded. I was so hurt when the
letters stopped coming . . . but my friends didn't stop writing.
No, someone
just stopped delivering the letters. And that someone was
Yahika.
She couldn't keep
from being angry with him. He had no right! Yet,
none of them had been opened, which meant that he wasn't interested
in
reading them. He just didn't wanted her to get them.
The letters narrated
happenings in Agrabah: Palace banquets,
marketplace adventures, and much more. But Aladdin and her father
also
told Jasmine exactly how they were feeling: They missed her.
They wanted
her with them. And she wanted to be with them, too. Her
heart longed for
Agrabah.
Follow your
heart, echoed her grandfather's last words. And her
heart wanted more than anything to go home. She knew it was what
she had
to do. She didn't belong here anymore. There wasn't a need
for her to stay.
Prince Tewfik would take over, and Yahika would go home. Yahika
still had
his heartaches, but whether Jasmine stayed or went wouldn't change
that.
Just then the door
squeaked open, and she jumped. Yahika was back.
He stared at Jasmine, saw the letters in her hands. Knowing what had
happened, he looked away from her.
Jasmine said nothing.
"That was Prince Tewfik,"
Yahika remarked, breaking the tense
silence. "The final arrangements have been made, and he will take his
place
as Sultan next month."
Nodding, Jasmine dropped
the letters she had been holding onto the
dresser. "Yahika," she said, looking him in the eye for
the first time since he
had proposed to her, "I need to go home."
"Yes, I know," he
murmured. "We cannot expect to keep you here.
There is nothing left for you in this place. When do you expect
to leave?"
She had already made
her decision. "I'm going tomorrow morning,"
she stated evenly.
"All right,"
Yahika said quietly. He came over to her and gathered all
the letters out of the drawer and off the dresser top. "I'm sorry,"
he
whispered, handing them to her. "Really I am. I didn't
want to accept the
fact that you had another family. One that was more your family
than we
are."
Jasmine clutched the
letters against her heart. There were no words to
express what she felt. Politely, she bowed her head to Yahika
to indicate her
dismissal, and returned to her room to prepare to go home.
==================================================================
Chapter Twelve
Jasmine knew saying
good-bye would be awkward. She came into
the throne room early the next morning with her bags packed and Carpet
slung on her back.
A servant relieved
Jasmine of her bags as Yahika came forward and
hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I
wish this could have been a
better experience for you."
"It was a good
experience," Jasmine assured him. "Yahika, I know
my mother as a person now. I know her family . . .my family
. . . and her
friends. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
Slowly, she withdrew
from Yahika's embrace, and out of the corner of
her eye, she saw Leila watching her from the shadows. She couldn't
see what
Leila was thinking. It was too dark in the corner where she stood,
silently
watching.
Yahika turned to Leila,
and she nodded to him. Then he pulled out a
small tattered book from beneath his cape. He passed it to Jasmine.
"We
wanted you to have this."
Jasmine knew immediately
what it was: her mother's journal. In her
hands Jasmine held a portion of her mother's life and all the emotions
that
went with it. It was the best gift she could ever receive
from anyone. "Oh,
thank you," she whispered.
"So this is good-bye,"
said Yahika, his eyes shining with tears.
"Yes," she murmured.
Her own voice cracked. "Good-bye . . ."
When Jasmine was beyond
the city gates, she unstrapped Carpet from
her back and crawled on, preparing for her ride home.
From her spot high
above the ground, Jasmine could see her
Grandfather's palace in the distance, the place where her mother had
grown
up. She sighed. By leaving it behind she felt she was also
leaving part of her
life behind. A very important part.
Jasmine arrived in
Agrabah by mid-afternoon. She saw Aladdin look
up from her menagerie and wave eagerly to her before Carpet brought
her
down beside him.
"Jasmine!" he
cried, running toward her with outstretched arms.
She flung herself
into his embrace. "Oh, Aladdin," she whispered,
"it's so good to be home."
Then, without warning,
she began sobbing. Tears of happiness and
sorrow wet Aladdin's shoulder, tears for a mother that hadn't had a
fair chance
at life, for an aunt that loved Amaranth so much that she could only
hate after
she was gone, for Yahika, whose heart had been broken too many times,
and
for the kingdom that had wanted to know her all those years, and had
not until
the last. She cried for her grandfather, the first one she had
come to love in
Astaseez . . . The only one she could never see again.
She cried for a family
that would always be distant. And she cried tears of happiness
for those she
loved in Agrabah who would be close to her forever.
Her father came outside
and joined Aladdin's and Jasmine's embrace.
They didn't ask questions. Jasmine's tears told them enough,
for now.
That night, Jasmine
sat alone with Aladdin in her room. She had told
her father and him everything that had happened in Astaseez, including
the
intercepted letters and the proposal from Yahika.
"What do you think
of it all?" Aladdin asked.
Jasmine leaned against
him. "I'm not sure." It was the only truthful
answer she could give him. She still had too many mixed feelings
about
everything that had happened in the last month. But she realized
something
that made the entire trip and everything she went through while she
was there
worth it.
Her fingers ran over
the tattered journal which lay on her bed. She
now knew her mother as a real person. She was no longer just
a painting or a
name. Jasmine knew and felt connected with the woman that had
brought her
into the world, the young princess who had gone through sadness before
happiness, the woman that everyone saw in Jasmine . . . the woman she
could
now see in herself. She no longer felt empty as she had before.
The emptiness was
filled with love for the woman named Mother.
The End
Thanks for sticking it out till the end! You can e-mail Sedeara
at: the_real_sedeara@yahoo.com