Izzar Mulki Book 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Mysterious Convoy
 
Several sleek cars sped by at a breathtaking speed as if they were about to tear through the asphalt.
Their destination was the Presidential Villa, and even from a distance, the guards at the gate noticed their aggressive approach and quickly opened it for them.
 
As soon as they parked, soldiers swiftly surrounded the car in the middle — the most beautiful and luxurious among them.
For about fifteen minutes, no one came out. I began to wonder if perhaps the car was empty. Just then, the door opened slowly, and a well-built leg stepped out — the skin was so fair it shone under the sun.
 
A few moments later, the owner of the leg fully emerged.
“Wow, Masha Allah!” I murmured in awe — the young man was extraordinarily handsome.
He looked to be around thirty-five, tall but not too tall, light-skinned, and perfectly built.
Though I couldn’t see his face at first, I could tell from his carriage that he carried the aura of nobility and power.
With soldiers following him closely, he walked majestically into the vast presidential hall.
 
When they reached the middle of the hall, he motioned for them to stop with a slight wave of his hand. They obeyed immediately.
He then walked on alone toward an elderly woman seated on one of the grand chairs.
She glanced at him from the side and said softly, “Come closer, Sangami, my handsome one.”
He frowned slightly and turned toward her, revealing his strikingly beautiful face — fair, flawless, and graceful, the kind of beauty one might call otherworldly.
 
The Grandmother’s Words
 
“Granny, why do you keep calling me that? It doesn’t sound good,” he said, tightening his expression.
She smiled faintly. “If I shouldn’t call you Sangami, then what’s your name? You look strong on the outside, but where is your real strength? You only have the form of a powerful man, not the substance.”
 
He looked at her silently, confused by her words, though he was used to her cryptic manner of speaking.
Then he moved closer, sat beside her, and gently held her hand.
“Granny, what do you mean by all this? I don’t understand you,” he asked politely.
 
She sighed deeply. “Of course, you wouldn’t. But tell me, how can it be that after three years of marriage, there’s no joy, no fruit from it? Or is it that you’re not well?”
Her words stunned him. Without replying, he stood up quietly and left the room.
 
“Sangami!” she called after him, but he didn’t look back.
She shook her head and muttered, “You’ll come back before I leave. I’ll make sure your father looks into your condition, because I don’t believe you’re fine.”
 
Nafisa’s Pain
 
He walked straight to his bedroom but didn’t see his wife, who had been sitting quietly in the parlor.
She soon followed him inside. He was changing his clothes to take a shower when, unexpectedly, she hugged him tightly from behind.
Annoyed, he pulled away, grabbed the bedsheet, and wrapped it around himself — he was wearing only his boxers.
 
He pushed her gently, and she fell on the bed as he went into the bathroom and shut the door.
She sat there silently, her heart heavy with tears.
“What kind of marriage is this?” she murmured. “Three years of marriage, yet my husband doesn’t want me to even see his body. He treats me with coldness and pride. What am I supposed to do, I — Nafisa?”
 
I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. She was quite beautiful, fair like him, though not nearly as striking.
 
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Sangami stood under the running water, deep in thought.
How could his grandmother demand that he expose his nakedness to his wife? Why did Nafisa have no shame? She could undress before him without hesitation.
But as for him — never. Even he felt shy before his own reflection, let alone before a woman.
He always showered with his boxers on, only removing them when covered with a towel.
 
“Hmmm,” I whispered to myself, “this is strange indeed. Sangami, your ways are truly mysterious — let’s see how your story unfolds.”