A Duniyata Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

The Seclusion of Sabreena
 
Wrapped in a large towel and another cloth that covered her body completely from head to toe, she stepped out of the toilet connected to the lounge, returning into the main sitting room which had now become her sanctuary.
 
This was a secluded place within their house, originally her father’s quarters. Since his passing, no one had really used it anymore. The family home was large enough for everyone, so the upper floor where his lounge was became a place that was only opened for cleaning, or whenever there was a family gathering.
 
Now, that upper lounge had almost become hers alone. Ever since she began the ritual of body treatment, she hardly came downstairs. The quarters had been sealed off for her, supplied with everything she might need—food of all varieties, though none of them appealed to her. Eating itself had become one of the punishments Mamma Bahijja forced on her. Even if she refused to eat and insisted firmly, Mamma Bahijja, who always stood in the place of a mother, would seek out something else and hand it to her, warning her:
 
> “You’re going to marry, Sabreena. You’ll enter a husband’s house. Your skin is being treated but inside your body is being neglected? Don’t you know how hunger ruins a woman’s beauty?”
 
 
 
Each time she said this, Sabreena would feel like something was choking her throat. Didn’t they realize? Didn’t they see that this marriage they talked about held nothing but confusion? A scattering of ambitions, and the burdens of fulfilling the desires of many lives caught up in it?
 
Now, having returned from bathing after yet another body treatment that always felt like fire pressed against her skin, everywhere she walked or sat she left behind a trail of overpowering fragrance. A stubborn scent, strong and clingy, that refused to let go of the body or anything that came near it.
 
Her once bright, glittering eyes had now sunk low and dim. She raised them slowly, staring at the body beautician busy adjusting the fire that would burn the incense smoke to cleanse her again. Speech had become a burden for her. Thought and reflection too—everything in her mind circled around only one haunting question:
 
“HOW WILL THE GAME PLAY OUT? Who will she face among the faces, the voices, and the spirits surrounding this game?”
 
When she thought of Mariya Maamah, something stirred deep in her chest. Her body gave her a heavy message she did not understand. Yet another part of her heart told her Mariya had only barged into her life recklessly. She did not truly know who Sabreena was, nor what she was capable of.
 
And the thought of Muhammad Fu’ad alone—just his name inside her mind—was enough to trouble her spirit. The easiest thing she could imagine was to destroy all bonds and ties within their marriage. But divorce? That was in his hand. And that answer only deepened her fear with each passing day.
 
She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath—then two voices came into her head:
 
> “The incense is ready. Do you want me to hand it over so you can sit and let the smoke envelop you?” said the beautician.
 
 
 
> “Take this before the smoke finishes,” said Mamma Bahijja, handing her a golden bowl.
 
 
 
Sabreena raised her pale eyes and looked at Mamma Bahijja, then at the bowl. She dared not refuse outright, so she reached out, accepted it—and slyly set it aside when she turned.
 
As the smoke wrapped around her body, her heart searched desperately for a way out of the fate coming in just five days. The presence of Mamma Bahijja had blocked every plan she had considered for escape, no matter the warnings her uncle had given her—that there was nowhere on earth she could run from Mai Jadda. She had dismissed those warnings as childish talk.
 
“Adda, you haven’t drunk it yet,” said Huda, sitting beside her, who had been involved in nearly every preparation.
 
Sabreena closed her eyes again. Huda’s voice reminded her that not one of them opposed the marriage. On the contrary, all seemed to welcome it, considering the prosperity it promised them.
 
Another voice rose within her heart:
 
> “Calm yourself, Sabreena. Do not do anything that will bring suspicion on you. Do nothing that Mamma Bahijja cannot wash away from you when you return from that game.”
 
 
 
She opened her eyes and looked at Huda until Huda herself looked away, embarrassed. Yet Huda read her gaze and quickly reached for the bowl, offering it. Sabreena stared at the mixture—it was unknown, but she was sure it was another waste of Mamma’s money. Still, she lifted it and sipped slowly. The bitterness crawled into her ears though her tongue tasted nothing. Her heart clenched with resistance.
 
The Consultation of Maamah
 
The long journey, climbing and descending, entering hidden valleys—none of it mattered to Maamah. Her hope was placed entirely in the man to whom she entrusted her affairs. She had tied her ambitions and future to him, confident he alone would deliver victory.
 
Today, seeing him again confirmed her belief. Though he was disheveled, drained from the demands of those who relied on him, his bloodshot eyes still reflected a darkness of rebellion, sin, and corruption. There was no mercy in him, no trace of compassion.
 
He spoke:
 
> “There are many complications. Many challenges. Many events that may come. Her star shines brightly but is difficult to penetrate. She has a true burden of destiny. She is rare, and only she can merge with his star. Their stars are bound together—your aim rests in her. But beware… I see a mistake. I see regret. I see a great overturning, a veil of dark destiny covering the path.”
 
 
 
Maamah’s heart thudded. Hajja, listening too, placed her hand on Maamah’s shoulder, but Maamah pulled away. She would hear no delay, no warning, no alternative now. Victory was close, and she would not allow any discouragement.
 
> “But there is light of success, even a little?” she asked.
 
 
 
He nodded coldly.
 
Encouraged, she said, trembling:
 
> “Success is success, no matter how small. From small victories come greater ones. Do everything possible—place the girl in my hand before Fu’ad. She is the step, she is the ladder, she is the key. Through her, I will reach my greatest ambition!”
 
 
 
> “It is done!” he replied, his voice sharp and final.
 
 
 
Relieved, Maamah exhaled, while Hajja too sighed silently—though questions still burned in her:
 
What kind of complications? What kind of darkness? What regret? What mistake lies in this choice?
 
Yet she remained quiet. No interference was allowed in his work.
 
The Rising Talk of Fu’ad’s Marriage
 
It was no longer a secret—everyone was talking about it. The grand wedding of Muhammad Fu’ad Jadda, owner of Jadda Diamondchore Resources.
 
From whispers to confirmations, the news spread quickly. Proof came from the preparations overseen by Farouq Musaddiq Saddiq and their family head, Alhaji Hamza Kibiya.
 
From Saddiq’s friends, the word spread—then before long, it filled every corner of social media.
 
Although the announcement came suddenly, it was news hot enough to shake hearts, especially of young women—many of whom lived in longing for him. Daughters of wealthy families who had always dreamed of reaching him, whether through politics, wealth, or family ties. Others—beautiful women of status—knew they had no chance, yet they still loved him in silence.
 
The news sparked endless discussions. Every post of the golden wedding invitation, shining with luxury, attracted floods of comments:
“Who is the bride?”
“Where are the free wedding pictures?”
But none appeared—only rumors, fake testimonies, and leaks of the dowry gifts, enough to fuel gossip and envy.
 
Yet those at the center of it—Fu’ad and his bride—were not people of social media. She only used phones when missions required it, discarding lines once she was done. Fu’ad himself had no time for such things. His work consumed him. Even his WhatsApp was rarely touched unless urgent matters demanded it.
 
And even when free, his life’s security requirements kept him away from public exposure. Privacy was everything at the level he had reached.
 
One late night, when his work eased, he sat on a bean bag, sipping warm wolfberry tea and chewing its fruits. For no reason, he felt like peeking into the world again. With a hidden personal account, unknown to anyone, he scrolled—while the world gossiped endlessly about his wedding.