Hiyaam Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

By custom and by history, only men worked inside the compound. They harbored an intense dislike for women, harboring no love for them whatsoever. They viewed any connection with women who crossed the boundary from the outside into the inner sanctuary as a potential wrecking ball that would shatter every tradition, secret ritual, and authority they had spent centuries building to secure a future they were still waiting to see.

Their grandfathers had handed this authority down to their fathers after completing their allotted lifespans—for every breathing soul lives out the blueprint of its own destiny, whether good or bad. In turn, their fathers gathered the reins of total control and entrusted them to their sons, whose absolute power, dominance, arrogance, and cold blood surpassed even those who came before them. They lived by a dream, shaped by the absolute fear that same dream instilled in them—a fear that served as their guiding star to navigate the darkness surrounding them. Driven by this fear, they passed strict decrees regarding the staff serving inside the TAJ MAHAL. A roster of nearly 150 men worked there every single day, morning and evening.

They used only male workers because long before their births, it was prophesied to them that a woman would ultimately cause their complete downfall and division.

As usual, the workers were lined up today at the massive exit gate leading out of the Taj Mahal. It was a long line of men, all dressed in identical attire that left no doubt they were wearing a uniform. Each man had his identification number printed on his shirt, and everyone was searched thoroughly upon exiting to ensure no one smuggled anything out.

Her heart pounded violently inside her chest, sending a wave of nervous panic through her entire body. Despite her best efforts, she could not compose herself. Every single day, she entered and exited the Taj Mahal carrying this exact terror, relying on God's grace to escape unharmed.

When the search party finally reached her turn, her breath caught entirely, as if her final moment had arrived. Beaded sweat broke out from every pore of the beautiful body that suffering had utterly degraded—molding her into a completely different appearance, a reflection she herself dreaded to look at in the mirror and no longer cared to see.