Daudar Gora Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

With great determination, Babiy trudged along the forest path despite the pain he was in. He didn’t move quickly, careful not to collide with the approaching crowd of the Ruman Empire’s entourage. He bowed his head in respect toward them. Hanash and Ummu followed closely behind. With a mixture of respect and deep fear, Babiy knelt on his knees. Seeing this, Ummu and the others also bowed their heads, their bodies trembling—an unprecedented display in the history of the Ruman Empire.

The leader of the entourage fixed his eyes on Babiy. “You, this commoner under the rule of the Ruman Empire, we have come with an important message for you on the orders of the Ruman Empire.”

Babiy lowered his head, folding his hands together. “I am deeply honored to see you. I am obedient to all your commands.”

Though Babiy’s words pleased them, their faces showed no sign of it. He rose, trembling, and went to Ummu’s room. Within minutes, he returned carrying a new, large mat he had bought to spread before them for Arfa’s marriage. The leader of their group stopped him with a raised hand.

“We have come to deliver a message, not to stay. You, this commoner under the Ruman Empire, are commanded by the empire. See the one in your house, she is needed. We congratulate you on being part of the Ruman Empire’s history.”

Babiy and his family were stunned. They stared, frozen in panic. Yet they had no power to speak, let alone ask for more details. Seeing they needed no further response, the man withdrew his gaze from Babiy and turned to Arfa, who was holding hands tightly with someone else.

“Who is the eldest among you?!”

Four words, filled with power and intimidation, escaped one of the entourage, leaving a lasting echo in their hearts. No one could move; they were trapped in the darkness of fear.

The sound of a cruel whip, adorned like a leopard’s skin, made everyone stare in shock. Babiy collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony as the cruel instrument struck him. Seeing the cruelty of the man holding the whip, Arfa stood, bursting into sobs, her body trembling as she cried:

“Nice!”

With a harsh shout, the attendant commanded Fariha and Iffah to rise. They did so, their bodies shaking as their father’s compassion washed over them. He held their gaze for almost ten seconds before turning back to the leader of the entourage. “Her words are true; may God grant you continued health,” he said respectfully. The leader nodded, keeping his eyes on Arfa. “Her father and sibling will be her guardians,” he said, obeying his orders without further explanation.

Babiy and Hanash returned home with a horse and a caravan of goods, accompanied by three camels. Their faces were filled with shock, striking fear into onlookers. Nothing they brought was clear to Ummu, and she wondered if they would ever rise from such despair. Hours passed before Babiy explained calmly:

“I have given her in marriage to Shahan-shan. We didn’t leave until the marriage was completed. These camels and the horse are her bride price.” He finished, his eyes on Arfa.

The statement hit them like a thunderclap. Ummu stumbled backward but Babiy steadied her. He gestured to the children to remain silent and led them into a room. Their father’s orders were paramount; though reluctant, they obeyed, crying together. Their sobs were overwhelming, a flood of tears with no measure. Hours passed, extending until sunset. Then vehicles and the entourage arrived with four imposing women to escort Arfa in full ceremony to the Ruman Empire. Their cries were piercing as they watched their daughter taken away.

Night came, heavy with worry. Only a thief skilled in stealing could grant them a temporary peace—sleep. The next morning, they awoke, expecting news of their sister’s death, but no sign came. The customary year-end cultural festival proceeded without disruption. Yet no one from their family dared peek outside.

Shahan-shan appeared in his usual grand manner, his horse drawing attention. Yet even his splendor could not match the legendary Tajwar Eshaan ibn Haysam Abdull-majeed.

Three months passed. Silence did not bring peace. Anyone observing their household would know something was wrong. Everything had changed; fate had altered their history. They endured hunger, barely receiving proper food. Fruits and scraps sustained them. Night after night, the darkness of Arfa’s marriage haunted them. Iffah experienced terrifying dreams, worsening their anxiety.

All four of them huddled together as the sound of terrifying commotion filled the house. Iffah clung to her mother, tears streaming. Babiy gently touched her hair, speaking her name softly. She lifted her tear-streaked face to look at their father, Hanash, and Fariha, exhaling a shaky sigh and swallowing her sobs, standing to wipe her tears. She pressed against her father’s hand.

“Babiy, I am so afraid, more than ever. Will Arfa be treated like the other women she marries? Will we lose her, as I see in my dreams?”

Hanash shook his head, trying to reassure her. “Dreams are not reality, Iffah. Calm your mind. Arfa is safe, as we are, God willing.”

“But brother Hanash, dreams are sometimes true. On the night Arfa left the house, I dreamt of her. Today, it repeated, no difference.”

Seeing their fear, Babiy smiled with resolve and comforted them. “Demons may try to frighten you, my daughter, but Arfa is safe in her marriage house.”

Unable to continue arguing, yet anxious, they all rose, performed ablution, and prayed in the central courtyard, offering their sobs and fears to God, pleading for protection. They remained in prayer until Fajr. Instead of returning to bed, they waited, tense, anticipating the feared event.

At sunrise, a sound at the gate startled them. Babiy, gathering courage, moved toward it, dragging his feet, while his heart felt a mix of horror and resolve.

“Did you harm her too?!”

The entourage and Babiy heard her voice echo in their ears unexpectedly. There was no fear today, only the courage one feels when facing those linked to royalty. One attendant shouted, “Beware, daughter of a commoner! A well is not a child’s play!”

“If the boy is a ram, so be it!” she replied defiantly.

The spread whip in his hand rose to strike, but Babiy fell on his knees, writhing. She slipped past him, eyes shut tight, whispering: “Forgive her, she is just a girl.”

Iffah knelt before Babiy, crying uncontrollably. As she tried to speak, Babiy covered her mouth, his body trembling. Her body shook as well—not from fear, but from grief and heartbreak. She wanted to speak but was restrained. Without further prompting, the attendants delivered their message:

“Your obedience to the empire has earned you the right to attend your daughter’s funeral. Farewell.”

Innalillahi wa-inna’ilaihirraji’un. Babiy muttered the phrase. Ummu and Fariha cried out, drawing attention from neighbors and onlookers at the gate, aware that rumors rarely escape unnoticed.