Daudar Gora Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Her name is 𝕱𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖆𝖍 by birth, but her parents and all the people around affectionately call her 𝑰𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒉. Her parents had four children, and she is the youngest of them all.

Hanash is the eldest and the only male. Arfa comes after him, Fariha is the third, and then the youngest, 𝑰𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒉.

Their father’s name is Zayyan, though everyone calls him Babiy, and their mother is Jamaima, fondly called Ummu. The land of Ruman is their ancestral homeland, inherited from their parents and grandparents. It is the only place they know and the only place where they live.

As I mentioned earlier, the land of Ruman is a country rich in many kinds of wealth that are traded both within and beyond its borders—gold, farming, livestock, fruits, and many others too numerous to list. However, despite all the blessings Allah has bestowed upon them, this abundance did not prevent some people from living in poverty.

Such was the case with 𝑰𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒉’s family. Her father was a poor man, yet one whose dignity Allah protected. He was a farmer and a herdsman, and among his farming activities was beekeeping. You could find every type of honey in his possession, which was why he dealt directly with the Ruman kingdom. Though they were not wealthy, their father was a man of discipline and caution, and he stood firm in ensuring that his children received both religious and modern education, just like children of privilege.

Their home was a place of beauty and admiration, especially in the way its members related to one another—filled with love and affection. They had no desire except to make one another happy. You would always find them in joy and cheer, for their poverty had never been a burden on their lives nor a stain on their happiness. When one of them was in pain, it was as though all of them were in pain; when one was happy, they were all happy together. They were friends and companions to one another, including their parents.

They had many ambitions in life—some written down, some defined within their hearts, some openly expressed, others hidden deep inside their souls. Some of these dreams were fulfilled, while others—bitter destinies that brought tears flowing even now—had cut short the path to their fulfillment.

The story of their transformation and their rupture began on a day that coincided with the remaining four days before the completion of the annual traditional festival held in the land of Ruman. It was a day their history would never erase, hearts would never forget, and the record of their coming and their passing would never cease to repeat itself, even beyond life itself. 😭

At the end of every month, Babiy delivered three jars of honey to the Ruman kingdom. During the annual traditional festival, however, he delivered ten jars, for he alone was the trusted and approved beekeeper whose honey the king had used since the time of Tajwar Haysam. Even after his death, 𝐓𝐚𝐣𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐄𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐧 continued to accept it. Yet, despite this trust, Babiy was always surrounded by security from different sides, all because of the honey he supplied to the Tajwar.

On the day when only four days remained before the festival’s completion, Babiy’s ill health prevented him from allowing Hanash to go with all of them to the farm hut where he kept his beehives, to transfer the honey into new jars that would be taken to the Ruman kingdom. Who would have known that his appointed time—his destiny and fate—would never allow him to pass through that moment again, not even in a dream? But alas, as the wise say, destiny always overtakes hope.

They left home filled with happiness, for Babiy allowed them into his orchard only three times a year. Not only the orchard—whenever they went out, even just to school, they always did so completely covered from head to toe. His children possessed a hidden, striking beauty that captivated anyone who looked upon them. For this reason, they always dressed in Arab-style clothing, including the niqab; only their eyes and the palms of their hands could be seen.

But on that day, they went out in their natural appearance without their parents’ knowledge. Although they still wore abayas, they did not wear niqabs. If only they had known what lay ahead of their lives, they would have layered niqab upon niqab more than sixty times, if that could have kept away the approaching blade that would sever the golden brilliance of happiness from their hearts.