Kudi Kumbar Susa Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

The Grand Celebration and Royal Durbar
 
Today was a day filled with joy, the pleasant sounds of algaita, kakaki, ganga, and other traditional drums and trumpets completely overtook the large arena.
It was late afternoon, shortly after la’asar, and almost every living soul had come out beautifully dressed, standing and watching the royal horse-riding procession—the Durbar, a royal tradition performed during significant events such as coronations, weddings, or major festive ceremonies.
 
Inside a magnificent white royal canopy, I saw her seated gracefully on a glossy golden chair, dressed in white French lace covered with a flowing transparent golden cloak that trailed to her feet.
Her bold makeup highlighted her extraordinary beauty. Her friends stood beside her in long blue dresses, each holding bridal maid palettes with their nicknames written elegantly on them.
 
In another canopy sat His Eminence, the Sultan of Sokoto, surrounded by district heads, wealthy representatives, delegates of the President, ministers, senators, and numerous distinguished guests.
 
From the crowd pushing forward, two young men emerged wearing green and white garlands, holding a large black and shiny-gold royal signboard. They danced gently to the rhythm of the drums, displaying the board which boldly read:
 
“Sir, Alhaji Aliyu Shettima Bulama,
The Prince of Sokoto.”
 
Even before I saw him clearly, I was already impressed by the elegance of his appearance.
Cheers rose everywhere—it was evident he was the groom. He wore a majestic pure white royal robe, adorned with expensive golden designer accessories, from his shoes to his wristwatch and cufflinks. A beautiful gold-and-black cloak covered him completely.
His horse, decorated with shiny golden fabrics, moved calmly and majestically.
 
He was surrounded by royal guards, drummers, flutists, and trumpeters dressed in colorful garlands.
Praise singers chanted endlessly:
 
“Allah prolong your reign, the Prince of Sokoto, son-in-law to the Sultan.
May Allah bless the souls of Hussaini and Dan Fodio…”
 
As the groom's horse reached the center of the arena, gunmen fired celebratory shots into the air, signaling his arrival.
He was led directly toward the canopy where the bride and her friends waited.
 
The beautifully dressed aunties and bridal friends guided Bride Fatima Zarah Muhammad forward toward her husband’s horse.
She walked gracefully and calmly until she stood before him, while everyone focused on them.
 
Fatima lowered her gaze shyly as praise singers showered her with praises and scented incense as she moved.
 
A gentle soulful sound filled the air as he looked at her with admiration and said:
 
“Tabarakallah… you look so beautiful, Fatima.”
 
She nodded shyly without raising her face and whispered, “Thanks.”
 
Professional photographers immediately began taking portraits from every angle.
She smiled softly, amazed by the crowd—something she had never witnessed, despite being the youngest among the Sultan’s daughters who had married late. But indeed, this marriage brought her great blessings.
 
Fatima Zarah, daughter of the Sultan of Sokoto, was the first among his younger daughters to marry after Aysah, Rukayya, Hafsa, and Ummi.
At 32, beautiful, educated, calm, and unusually patient, she never complained about late marriage.
Strangely, destiny reunited her with her old-time lover, Aliyu Shettima, a former politician—separating them once, and now bringing them together as husband and wife.
 
Not long after, all the remaining ceremonies—including the royal traditional rights—were completed.
The next morning at exactly 10am, the bride was escorted to the airport and flown to Abuja, where her husband’s home was.
 
Upon arrival, another grand celebration awaited them, decorated beautifully under the supervision of the groom’s mother, Hajiya Binta Bulama.
The joy and attention given to Bride Fatima was so overwhelming that a visitor would hardly suspect a co-wife existed—especially since no one had seen her, not even her shadow.
 
Later that night, a convoy of luxury cars—Benzes and Maseratis—escorted them to a majestic mansion in Maitama.
The mansion glittered like daylight, with a gold-plated sign reading “Bulama JNR Residence.”
Inside were:
 
15 luxury bedrooms each with full-sized jacuzzis
 
7 furnished parlors
 
A 55-foot royal dining table
 
Lavish interior décor
 
A fully equipped gym, classy snooker hall, multiple swimming pools
 
A large garage filled with expensive modern cars
 
 
The women escorted the bride inside with care. She wore cotton maroon lace, her face covered with a shimmering veil studded with Swarovski stones, her hands decorated with deep red henna, exuding a powerful traditional fragrance.
 
After the greetings and prayers, they finally left her in her new home.
She sat quietly on the large Italian canopy bed as her sister Rukayya—who worried the most—struggled unsuccessfully to hold back tears.
 
Rukayya had been uneasy since morning, constantly asking where the senior wife was. Nobody had seen her—not yesterday when they arrived, nor today.
 
Magajiya kept warning her:
“This wedding was done peacefully. Control your mouth. Everyone knows about Hajiya Ramat—the first wife. She is feared. Her absence doesn’t mean she isn’t aware.”
 
But Rukayya hated hearing that. She feared the unknown silence of the senior wife.
She complained:
 
“Why hasn’t she shown herself? Eight wives yet she’s silent only because of Anty Fatima? I want to see her reaction. This quietness is scary. No one knows what she’s planning.”
 
Magajiya reassured her:
 
“Don’t worry. Allah changes situations. Her silence means nothing. If she wanted to show her anger, it would be worse—especially since the marriage was hidden from her until the last moment.”
 
Finally, Rukayya sighed heavily.
 
“We just pray Allah lights our way. They say the senior wife hasn’t spent even a day in this house, but I believe, Insha Allah, this house now belongs to Anty Fatima.”
 
“Ameen,” Magajiya replied.
They continued talking until they reached home, then headed to the airport that night to return to the kingdom.
 
The Royal Bride and Her New Life
 
Fatima’s wedding was historic—the first among the Sultan’s youngest daughters to receive such grand honor.
Although destined to marry late, her patience rewarded her with a reunion with her long-lost lover.
 
Her arrival in Abuja brought another wave of celebrations.
Family members, especially the groom’s mother, adorned the event beautifully.
Her calmness and humble nature made everyone adore her.
 
Despite having a co-wife, no one had seen the woman. Her absence caused silent tension among the bride’s sisters—especially Rukayya—yet everyone tried to suppress gossip for peace.
 
The groom’s mansion was a palace on its own, signifying her new status and the luxury awaiting her.
Even with anxiety surrounding the unseen senior wife, Fatima stepped into her new home with grace and dignity.
 
The Hidden Tension and Fears of the Co-Wife
 
As much as joy filled the air, silent fears lingered—particularly concerning Hajiya Ramat, the senior wife everyone feared.
Her complete absence throughout the ceremonies created uneasiness.
Rukayya spoke openly:
 
“How can eight wives exist, and only for Anty Fatima she becomes silent? What is she planning?”
 
But Magajiya calmed her:
 
“The wedding is blessed. Allah has destined it. The senior wife’s silence doesn’t reduce anything. And if she intended trouble, she would have shown it already.”
 
Rukayya, still worried, said:
 
“I just want to know what her reaction will be. Silence is more frightening than anger.”
 
Magajiya reassured her again, reminding her of Allah’s protection and Fatima’s honored status.
 
Eventually, they left Fatima in her new home and headed back to the kingdom, still whispering prayers for her safety and happiness.