Nigurania was a daughter of the youngest sister of the Sultan. She lived in a beautiful house with her parents and her siblings. The women in the sultan family had a lot of privileges that no other woman in the country knew about. Women were not very high regarded in society, and they were typically subdued by the men, who got all the support they could wish for from the Sultan. Men were the ones to rule and keep order, the women had come to earth to serve the man, and in their serving be as humble and invisible as possible. The Sultan and his guards administrated the strict laws with no mercy, whenever it came to women’s subject. They were less regarded than slaves, and barely tolerated.
Only the women of the sultan family were not submitted to those cruel and inhuman laws. Every member of the family ranked higher than anyone else in society, and Nigurania had grown up with more liberty than most men. She learned to read and write very early, she was only about 4 years old, when the Sultan sent her to the family school. She loved to write, and she carried on writing every day in her childhood. When she got in her teens, she started to write poems. Nobody ever did that before, and her parents were not very happy about it. Her father went to the Sultan to get his advice about what to do with Nigurania and her writing.
Nigurania had always been his favourite niece, and he assured his brother-in-law that she would eventually outgrow her poem writing. And he confided that he actually was proud of being uncle to such a talented girl. A young girl who in writing skills surpassed most of his men! Niguranias father was relieved to hear the Sultan’s opinion. And he as well allowed himself to be a little bit proud of his daughter. He had never in his whole life heard about a woman who could write poetry!
Nigurania kept on writing her poems without knowing about the worries she had caused. But even if she had known, it wouldn’t have changed anything. She was not really writing the poems, the poems wrote her. They came to her, obsessed her and demanded to be written. Nigurania looked upon herself as a tool; a tool that blended complete with the poems to become one.
She was very happy and the poems were beautiful and amazing, filled with a remarkable beauty and truth. Most of them were about being a human, about living a life, - and they were filled with hope.
The poems flowed more and more willingly from her hand, and she started to feel an urge to pass them on to the public. Nigurania distributed them wherever she went, and many people felt happiness in reading the poems. She did not try to hide the fact, that she herself had written every one of them.
The Sultan got a little concerned, when his men presented him some of Niguranias poetry. Her poems talked about forbidden subjects, and they had to be considered a threat to his regime.
He asked his favourite niece to come and see him, and he explained to her, that she broke the law by distributing poems like the ones she wrote. He was an honest man, and he admitted, that every word she had written spoke of truth. But that it would be fatal for the society, if people started to adapt the ideas. He was the ruler, and he couldn’t permit his people to get too much independency into their thoughts. Somehow Nigurania was not surprised, but she was not afraid of her uncle. She pulled his beard a little, and told him that she was having so much fun! The Sultan explained to her once again, that he couldn’t approve of her giving the poems to his people, and he begged her to stop before he would be forced to punish her. Nigurania promised to consider it, walked back home, and continued to pass on the poems.
Her poems got more and more popular. People gathered around in the city to listen to them. The professional writers made copies for those who could read, and read them out loud for those who couldn’t. Everyone was told that Nigurania was the writer of these beautiful poems. And everyone who listened to the poems found themselves filled with hope, dreams and love. People loved her poems; they gave faith back to them. They gave them hope and dreams for a better life. Every day people passed the house, where Nigurania lived, with their heads bent to thank her and to honour her.
The poems flowed more and more willingly from her hand. They came to her almost like a beam of light seeking the paper. An amazing world was revealed for her, when she almost in trance let the pen run over the paper. And she had neither the ability nor the desire to stop this stream.
The Sultan had to react. He was very angry with Nigurania, because she made him punish her. He sent a group of soldiers to pick her up an early morning and take her to the palace. He locked her up in the palace in a beautiful 2 room flat. She had to stay indefinitely in this luxury prison. The flat contained everything she could ever need, except for tools to write with and on. The flat was on the top floor of the palace to prevent her from escaping through the windows. The Sultan was confident that he could cure her for her subversion by keeping her there.
But he had forgotten to count on the people. They gave Nigurania their support and sympathy, and the slaves who brought her food, gave her paper and pen as well. Nigurania was very touched by this loyalty and support, and she dared not involve them further by giving them her poems to pass on. She was afraid of their security, and she chose instead to let the poems fly out from her windows. The wind carried the poems and let them fly all around the city. They flied to people to bring comfort, and they flied to people to bring joy. Wherever they were needed the wind took them.
The Sultan had to take a drastic decision. He realized that he was unable to stop Nigurania, and he sentenced her to death. Nigurania was to be beheaded at dawn next moon shift.
The last time in Niguranias life she was busier than ever before. She stopped
sleeping and wrote 24 hour a day. And yet nobody saw one single poem coming out
of the window to the people gathered below. People came every day to honour her,
to comfort her, to show her their respect. The Sultans men went round
continuously to stop them, but new groups kept on coming in huge numbers.
Nigurania saw nothing of this, and heard nothing. She was totally focused on
writing new poems, and when the day for execution rose, she had finished 10.000
poems, each on their own little piece of paper.
She had been hiding the poems ever since she got her verdict, and nobody knew about them. On the last evening they put the cloak on her bed for her to wear for the execution. During the night she sewed 2 huge pockets inside the cloak, and the next morning she filled up the pockets with all her 10.000 pieces of paper, each with a poem written on them.
She held the cloak tightly closed in front of her with both her hands, and waited to be escorted to the execution square behind the palace. She kept her back straight to show that she was not cowed. The executor asked her to kneel and bend her head forwards for the axe. She stretched right out instead and with a joyful scream she opened her cloak. The wind took all 10.000 pieces of paper and let them fly above all the huge crowd gathered there to give her the last support and love. There were poems everywhere in the air, and no man could stop it. They just flew around and around.
She bent her head in triumph and joy. Her mission was completed with success.