Another Prince comes to Agrabah
I’ve continued to work with Reedsy prompts, with this prompt being: “write your story from the perspective of a side character”. I couldn’t get Prince Ali’s song out of my head that week, and I had a great time writing this out — and singing that song the entire time. I hope you enjoy it!
“There’s another prince coming from out of town?” Abdullah groaned, nursing a cup of coffee. He learned to dread these days; streets would get shut down for the inevitable ‘parade’, and markets were closed for a few hours to honor the guests’ arrival to the palace. Even worse, was that guests often demanded rich and exotic foods and wares, and the burden of providing that fell on Abdullah’s — and other merchants — heads. If asked whether they were fairly compensated for this effort, the merchants would double over laughing and crying at the same time; of course, there was no fair compensation! They were lucky to get any returns at all, didn’t they know how blessed they were to help the Royal Family?
“Ah, but this one’s different, dear, I can feel it,” his wife, Aysha, said, wrapping her scarf around her head. “And why is that?” he inquired. She shrugged. “A woman knows these things,” she said, mysteriously.
Sigh. “Well, do you at least know when he’ll arrive into the palace — are you women privy to that information?” She nodded. “He’ll be coming this afternoon, after the zuhr prayer.”
Interesting. Well, might as well head to his stall — those fruits weren’t going to sell themselves. He quickly gulped his coffee and left, calling his goodbyes to Aysha and the children.
Agrabah’s central market felt more alive than usual, and his friends were surprisingly early — normally, Abdullah was one of the first to open his stall in the morning. It was hardly dawn (he had just finished his fajr prayer), and he teased his fellow merchants about their early start. “Well, Hassan? I thought you would normally go to bed by now,” he said, smiling. Hassan frowned, clearly being forced out to run the stall while he still could; best-case scenario, the parade was minimal, but there were days when princes spent ridiculous amounts of money for a parade that would last for hours on end.
“Zaynab forced me out when I was still practically asleep,” Hassan yawned out, rubbing his eyes. Naseem pushed a steaming cup of coffee into Hassan’s tired arms, before sitting down. “Fatima told me that this prince was coming this afternoon,” he said. “Yes, Aysha told me the same thing. How did she know?” “I heard it from one of the traveling merchants at the border,” Hamad pitched in. “I overheard him when I went to drop Hamza off at the caravan.”
The day went by quickly; rumors had spread of a mysterious prince — no one could say where he was from — would arrive in a few hours, and the streets were filling with mothers running their errands early, of children eager to see who is coming, of vagrants looking to make a quick buck from the prince’s entourage and their heavy purses, and of, well, everyone else. There wasn’t much else to look forward to in Agrabah; both the Eid festivals had passed, and people were looking for something interesting.
Make way for Prince Ali
Say hey! It’s Prince Ali
Abdullah heard music drift down the main street; he had stopped to have some tea with Hassan, and turned to see a…a huge mob of people controlled into a procession walk down the street, all led by a large, fair-skinned man who sang to the crowd.
He saw the man practically leap from one group to the next, his voice still too distant to hear. Suddenly, like a cloud moving out of the sun’s way, he sees a massive elephant, wearing a…fez? The elephant carried a rich palanquin, and inside was a young, handsome man.
He heard the voice of a thousand sing:
Prince Ali, fabulous he, Ali Ababwa,
Genuflect, show some respect, down on one knee
Guards — the Royal guards? — dropped to their knees, and his fellow merchants bent as well, automatically paying respect to, well, the wealthiest man they’d ever seen.
While watching this procession, open-mouthed, Abdullah is violently shoved onto Hassan as a force drove ten merchants, magically stacking them into a straight line. This human ladder was tall enough to reach the prince, and Abdullah automatically reached out his hand — was it out of an instinct to balance himself? Was it to greet this man?
He’ll never know, because Prince Ali shook his hand, and right then, Abdullah knew this prince was different. Most other royals he met were cocky, arrogant, proud, and vain. Though this procession did speak to the prince’s vanity, this was the first time Abdullah saw a royal prince with such warm eyes and such a kind smile. Abdullah smiled in response before he — and about 7 other people — fell on the prince, crushing him.
Prince Ali, mighty is he, Ali Ababwa
Strong as ten regular men, definitely
Abdullah felt the prince stand, nay, lift, all of them with ease, as though he is lifting a child to throw in the air. He gracefully lets them all down, sliding down the elephant, and waves before he turns to face the procession once more. Abdullah stood there, shaken. A wave of young men and women carrying golden camels, a whole flock of peacocks, what looked like a hundred Persian monkeys, and a menagerie of bears, lions, elephants — and hundreds, or thousands of people working for him — walked past, singing the song of Prince Ali.
Abdullah hears the slight tones of he charges no fee — he’s generous, so generous, in the distance. He runs behind, to catch the entire parade walk right up the steps and into the palace. The door shuts, and the market falls silent for a few moments, before exploding once more in buzz and gossip.
The rest of the day felt surreal; Aysha proudly showed the gold coins she picked up as Ali scattered them from his royal elephant, and the children ran around singing the prince’s song on repeat: Prince Ali, fabulous he, Ali Ababwa…
Meanwhile, Hassan was attempting to coerce Zaynab to go back to the palace and spy on the new couple — or to see if Princess Jasmine will continue her infamous celibate streak.
A few uneventful days later, Zaynab burst into Abdullah’s house one evening, startling Aysha enough for her to drop the platter she held, containing tea and biscuits for Abdullah and the children. “What’s wrong?” Abdullah yelled, springing up. “Is everything okay? Is your family okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Zaynab panted. “Hassan is watching the kids,” she wheezed out. “Get her some water,” Aysha barked at Abdullah, quickly sweeping up the mess so Zaynab can go and sit down. “ Aysha, I’m so sorry for the mess! Inshallah, Hassan will buy you a new set within the week,” Zaynab promised, after gulping down some water. Aysha waved it away, mopping up the spilled tea. “ Thank you, Abdullah — it’s hotter than the devil outside! But yes, I must tell you of developments at the palace. I got out in the nick of time; things have gone so very wrong for our princess!” and with that, Zaynab burst into tears.
After backrubs and a cup of tea in their fanciest china (their everyday set lay shattered in the bin), Zaynab was able to stutter out a confusing tale of events — of Princess Jasmine rejecting Prince Ali for his cocky attitude, of Jasmine’s late-night tryst with Ali (no one knows where the two went), and Ali subsequently getting arrested after their return; of Ali somehow returning and exposing Grand Vizier Jaffar of attempting to overthrow the Sultan and seize power by marrying Princess Jasmine himself!
Abdullah sat down, his breathing heavy. Jaffar always rubbed him the wrong way, but was ever-courteous to the merchants who supplied the royal palace; he tried his best to pay the merchants what the palace’s budget allowed, and was on good terms with the guards and the staff. It felt odd to know that he was a treasonous snake the entire time. “There’s more,” Zaynab whispered. “I used the servant’s quarters and escaped, but not before I saw the most treacherous, incredible thing.”
She paused, her eyes wide with uncertainty as if she herself could not believe her own story. “I saw Jaffar use magic,” she whispered. “Prince Ali is no true prince but used magic to create his wealth. I saw Jaffar use the same magic to become the Sultan, to become a sorcerer.”
Abdullah glanced up. Magic? The stuff of wives’ tales and children’s stories? He was about to open his mouth with a retort when he saw a red shadow cross Aysha’s face. He turned to see a sky that was burning red, a starless sky that seemed to bloom out of the Sultan’s palace. “I told you, he used magic,” Zaynab whispered, cowering. The children came running inside — Mohammad was crying, and Aeshma kept pointing to the sky, shrieking “Our Qur’an teacher taught us about the end of days!”
Abdullah stood up, his presence silencing the room. Quietly, he took the children, Aysha and Zaynab to one of the rooms inside. He lifted the carpet off the floor of his bedroom and revealed a trap door. He shepherded everyone inside the cool hidden bunker his paranoid brother had insisted they make. “Hassan will be fine,” he assured Zaynab. “Stay with us, it is not wise to leave now.”
There were enough rations for a few days, but with Zaynab included, those rations were severely limited. After two days of living inside the bunker — of little food and even less sleep — the bunker doors were thrown open, and Abdullah blinked in the harsh daylight. Hassan’s face stared down at him, laughing. “I knew you had your brother’s paranoia,” he chuckled. “Come outside, my friend. Things have gotten better.”
After the family had climbed out (and Zaynab almost jumped on Hassan in a mixture of relief and gratitude), Abdullah learned the details. He learned the extent of Jaffar’s treason, of Ali’s wit, and how Ali and Princess Jasmine managed to defeat Jaffar, using his own greed for power. He learned of the Sultan rewriting the laws of the land, to let Jasmine marry Ali — who, in reality, was Aladdin — “wait, the street rat? The one who constantly steals Hamad’s wares and taught my children to climb walls?” “Yes, that very one,” Hassan laughed — and that the two of them were to have a wedding ceremony in a week.
“I heard that there was….magic involved, somehow?” Abdullah asked, dubious.
Hassan looked away. “Fathima confirmed it,” he said. “She said she saw a magical blue creature fly out of a lamp, and save Aladdin and Jasmine, and she saw Jaffar become consumed by magic.” He didn’t look Abdullah in the eyes while saying this, and Abdullah took his words with a grain — nay, an entire spoonful — of salt.
At the end of the week, the entire kingdom — at least, those who could travel and attend — were invited to Aladdin and Jasmine’s wedding, a grand affair complete with dances, music, and a parade of tigers, elephants, and peacocks in the royal gardens. Flying lanterns were released into the sky, lighting the entire palace in a warm glow. Abdullah smiled, drinking laban while his children played — or rather, harassed — one of the peacocks that strayed too close to the family.
“I’m glad Princess Jasmine found her love,” Aysha said, leaning in. “God knows the poor girl has gone through enough.”
Abdullah hummed in agreement and sighed. The way Jasmine laughed when she spoke to Aladdin, reminded him of when he first saw Aysha. He caught the young Prince’s eye and raised his glass, grinning when Aladdin did the same. It looked like Agrabah was set to have a prosperous future after all.
