Sanadin Kishiya Ne Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

Under the Gathering Storm
 
She walked on, hurrying as fast as she could, seeing how the entire sky had turned pitch-black—a clear sign that danger was looming over the town. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. The thoughts racing through her mind were what wounded her heart the most, especially the words she would use to explain everything to her mother. That worried her more than anything, because she knew her mother was already waiting for her return, and she also knew that her mother would not stop troubling her until she came back with the bucket of roasted groundnuts she went out to sell, not empty.
 
Nothing deepened the pain in her heart more than remembering that her mother had collected everything on credit—from the groundnuts to the eggs—with the agreement that Zahra would pay once she returned from selling. She tightened her grip on the money in her hand; it was all ₦350, the total of her sales. This misfortune had come together all at once. It was not that she was lazy in selling; she simply had no noise or drama in her. When she went to the roadside market, she sat quietly at her spot. If someone did not ask her to sell them groundnuts, she would not call out to anyone—unlike the other sellers who lacked self-control, flirting with men and making gestures to attract young buyers. But when those same young men saw Zahra, even greeting them was too much for her.
 
As the darkness of the approaching Maghrib joined with the darkness of the storm, the place became as dark as if the Isha prayer had already been performed. Only flashes of lightning lit up the town. Everyone hurried, each praying to reach their destination before the rain caught them on the road.
 
Zahra was completely exhausted because of the long distance between the market and their house, and the bucket full of groundnuts she was carrying alone was already hard work.
 
At the same time, Mashkur was walking, pushing his grinding machine. The machine was old, but not too old. He hurried, not wanting the rain to fall before he reached home. Mashkur was a handsome young man, well-built and confident. Just as he was about to reach shelter, the rain suddenly poured down with great force, accompanied by a powerful flash of lightning so bright that it blinded people momentarily, followed by a strong wind. As he hurried along, he suddenly collided with something. Another flash of lightning revealed what had happened: he had hit a girl with his machine, causing her to spill something from the bucket—he did not even have time to recognize what it was.
 
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji’un,” he said as he leaned the machine aside and brought out his phone to turn on the flashlight. The light revealed to Zahra that all her groundnuts had spilled into the flowing rainwater gathered there, with the rain still pounding them.
 
“Ya salam,” was all Zahra could say. She stood up, picked up the bucket lid that Mashkur handed to her, and covered the bucket. Thankfully, the bucket itself had not broken. Without saying a word to Mashkur, she turned and walked away.
 
“Please forgive me, for God’s sake,” Mashkur said softly, holding the edge of his pocket to see if there was any money he could give her, even though he knew there was not even five naira in it. Zahra did not respond—not even an insult. She simply continued walking, as the rain had already soaked her completely. Mashkur shook his head sadly; he knew that if it were another girl, rain or not, she would not have left without demanding compensation. He pushed his machine and left, his heart heavy.
 
Zahra stopped at the entrance of their house, thinking about how her mother would feel when she learned what had happened.
 
“O Allah, bring us help,” she said as she stepped inside.
 
A Mother’s Hope and Pain
 
Her mother was standing at the doorway, waiting for Zahra’s return. As if by divine timing, she saw Zahra enter the house, greeting her as she came in. Zahra hurried into the room where her mother was, placed the bucket down, her body trembling. Her mother’s mouth refused to close in pure joy; seeing the bucket without a single groundnut made her think Zahra had sold everything. Happily, she embraced her, saying:
 
“Welcome, Fatima Zahra, blessed daughter. Allah has helped me—you sold everything. I was here worrying about how I would pay the people whose money I borrowed for this business. If the groundnuts had not finished, it would mean you sold them all—my good child…”
 
Zahra’s sudden burst of tears stopped her mother mid-sentence. She held Zahra and said, “Zahra, why are you crying? Today you made sales—this is supposed to be a happy day.”
 
“Ammi, they didn’t finish selling,” Zahra said through tears that only grew stronger. Her mother’s body went cold. She knew something serious must have happened; Zahra was patient and enduring, and it took a lot to make her cry.
 
Her mother took her hand and made her sit, then sat beside her. “Zahra, be calm. Whatever it is, it is destiny—Allah planned it so. Stop crying. Go and change your clothes first, then come back and tell me everything. These wet clothes will make you sick with fever if you keep them on,” she said, helping Zahra to stand.
 
“Alright, Ammi,” Zahra replied softly. Her sympathy for her mother filled her heart, even though she knew her mother was forcing strength upon herself. Deep inside, she was worried about the debts she could not yet repay.
 
After changing her clothes, Zahra returned and found her mother deep in thought. When Zahra explained everything, crying uncontrollably, her mother held her hands firmly.
 
“Zahra, don’t forget—I am the one who gave birth to you. No one knows your character better than I do. I know you would never hurt me intentionally. I was only thinking about how to repay the debts. If not for this rain, the woman would have come already to demand her money.”
 
Later, Zahra handed over the ₦350 she had earned. Her mother counted it and prayed for blessings, knowing it would barely cover even the cost of firewood, let alone oil and other borrowed items.
 
That night, though food was prepared, Zahra could hardly eat. They later locked the house and went to bed, their hearts filled with worries that delayed their sleep. Eventually, sleep overtook them.
 
In the middle of the night, mother and daughter woke up, performed ablution, prayed, and cried to Allah for help. They continued supplicating until peace settled in their hearts, convinced their prayers had been accepted.
 
Mashkur’s Reflections
 
As for Mashkur, after parking his machine at home, he performed ablution, changed his wet clothes, and prayed Maghrib. He sat afterward, thinking deeply about the girl whose groundnuts he had ruined, feeling intense pity for her and hoping she would not be beaten at home because of what had happened.
 
Later, he joined his parents in their room and found them chatting warmly. Their constant display of love and care for each other always impressed him. Unlike many homes filled with arguments and fights—even in front of children—his parents had lived together for years without him ever seeing them quarrel. That image shaped his own dreams.
 
As he sat there, he prayed silently to be blessed with a wife like his mother. He had no desire to put his future wife through hardship. If she obeyed and respected him, he would give her everything she needed. He dreamed of a peaceful, happy life—one even better than the beautiful example set by his parents.