At the crossroads of legend and history, two vivid images arise from human memory like flames: Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans who rescued France from the rubble of defeat and lifted it on the shoulders of victory, and Dhat al-Himma, the Princess of the Desert and Lady of the Sword who rode the saddle of glory in Arab chronicles, carving an indelible chapter of heroism with her sword’s edge. This is an imagined dialogue between two women of enduring light and unquenchable fire.

Joan of Arc: How wonderful to meet you, O Princess of sands and horses. I heard you bewildered the kings of Rome, and your courage led you to the outskirts of Constantinople.

Dhat al-Himma: And you, Maid of Orléans, your name crossed the waves, and we heard of you: a brave Frankish girl who rushes to aid her people and leads soldiers to a clear victory. What awakened the fighting spirit in you?

Joan of Arc: I heard a call from the heights when I was still a child. I answered the call to aid wounded France, carrying the banner and brandishing the sword against enemies.

Dhat al-Himma: I was born in a time when the nation’s wounds multiplied. I responded to a voice from the earth… a mother’s cry, a besieged weeping, or a humiliated woman’s moan.

Joan of Arc: I fought in Orléans without armor, my faith was my shield. They called me a heretic because I listened to the heavens without the church’s mediation. They burned my body, but they could not burn my conviction.

Dhat al-Himma: And we women, if we take up arms, we are accused; if we win, we are neglected. But I engraved my name in Arab chronicles, not seeking a throne, but defending the truth and preserving the dignity of home and family.

Joan of Arc: I have always dreamed of accompanying a woman who walks like me on the edge between glory and defeat, between victory and loss. I ask you: did your heart ever tremble at the threshold of battle?

Dhat al-Himma: There is no longer room in the heart for hesitation since I saw the child crying in the open, and the hungry calling for help with no response. I was the sword when swords were silenced, and I was the mother when tears dried, and in a time when spirits were rare, I was Dhat al-Himma.

Joan of Arc: Oppression, my sister, does not extinguish the flame but feeds it with heavenly oil. The law of history screams despite silence: injustice does not extinguish light but sharpens it. And the oppressed, when united in a dream, create freedom.

Dhat al-Himma: Come, Joan, let us go together. Let us ignite sparks of hope in the darkness of a long night. Let us be wherever the wounded cry, the hungry moan, a refuge tent burns, and beneath the rubble of every house that still holds the scent of life.