THE KINGDOM OF KAJJURA
He sat upon a soft, ornate throne decorated with royal regalia. The courtiers surrounding him bowed their heads, awaiting his command. From one side, the Shamaki lowered his head further, about to speak. Suddenly, from the eastern wall, the skin of a lion—adorned with royal magical inscriptions—split into two. A sharp sword, enchanted and hanging upon the skin, leapt out like lightning and landed directly at King Gambo’s throat. No matter how he tried to move, he felt himself glued to the throne.
He looked to his courtiers for help, but to his astonishment, they were frozen in cruel laughter. In that moment, he saw an elderly man with white hair emerge from the wall. The old man approached with a smile, and before King Gambo could react, he swung the sword and severed the king’s head.
Startled! King Gambo awoke in terror from the dreadful dream, clutching his neck as sweat drenched him.
“May Allah protect you, may Allah grant you long life…” his wife began.
“Fulani, something terrible is about to happen,” King Gambo interrupted anxiously.
Fulani Sadiya sighed deeply.
“I hope this is only a warning from your intuition, my lord.”
He did not reply. Weakly, he rose, prompting her to stand as well, worry etched on her face.
“My lord, where are you going at this late hour?”
“I am going to see the Mallam.”
As he spoke, he wrapped his face in a black cloth, disguising himself. Seeing him reach the door, she hurried after him.
“But my lord, why not wait until morning—”
“If we wait that long, something dreadful may happen to us. As the Hausa say, iron is struck while it is hot.”
Without looking back, he left. He entered through a hidden door inside the treasury of secrets, walking through darkness while lighting his path with a burning torch. At the hut, he paused, took a deep breath, and went inside.
As though unaware of his presence, the Mallam continued spreading sand upon a board before him. King Gambo sat beside him. When the Mallam finished, he looked up and said:
“Since you came in person and not by messenger, I know this is no trivial matter.”
King Gambo removed his face covering and replied,
“Coming myself is better than sending a message, Mallam. And since you see me here, you know there is a grave problem.”
“I have been observing your fate all night,” the Mallam said, staring intently.
“But what is happening, Mallam? I hope this matter will not consume the entire night.”
“Najibullah son of Muhammad son of Najibullah, the Bulukiya Guard!”
At the mention of the name, King Gambo leapt to his feet, his body trembling violently.
“At dawn tomorrow, Najibullah’s blood will enter this kingdom. If you do not stop him, the seed you buried long ago will sprout. His lineage will unveil a secret known only to you, me, and your trusted wife.”
Tears welled in King Gambo’s eyes as he knelt, grasping the Mallam’s knees.
“For the sake of Allah and by the power of the deity I trust most, help me.”
The Mallam smiled.
“I will help you, Gambo, just as I concealed the secret of the religion you truly worship—contrary to the Islam with which you deceive your people.”
King Gambo exhaled deeply as the Mallam continued:
“Your doomsday has arrived unless you destroy Najibullah’s bloodline. The time to possess the three volumes has come. Najibullah will arrive with his grandfather’s confidant, the old man Sulaimanu. Years ago, I told you that only the late Najibullah and old Sulaimanu knew the hiding place of the remaining two volumes within these kingdoms.”
“One is in this kingdom, though I do not know where. Even the jinn that serve me cannot reveal their location.”
“What does Najibullah look like? And old Sulaimanu?”
The Mallam smiled again.
“Why the haste? Even a bride is escorted to the chamber gradually.”
King Gambo pressed on, insisting on urgency. The Mallam eventually revealed that the royal guards had already ambushed them in a dense forest of Badiya.
He handed King Gambo a dark incense and instructed him to halt the incoming captives, fumigate the chamber where they would be confined, and personally oversee the ritual.
“If Najibullah’s blood is present,” the Mallam warned, “the ground will turn red like fire. Kill him. Detain his pregnant wife until she gives birth—then kill the child as well.”
“Why not kill them all at once?” the king demanded.
“Her blood mixed with his will serve as powerful fertilizer,” the Mallam replied. “Bring her to me after the child is killed.”
After receiving full instructions, King Gambo returned to the palace just before dawn.
Fulani Sadiya had not slept. She expressed her worry, and he reassured her, claiming good fortune awaited them. Yet she secretly recalled her promise to King Gidado to expose all of King Gambo’s secrets.
At dawn, King Gambo ordered all four gates of the kingdom sealed and security tightened at the western gate. When news arrived of the return of the chief guard Sale, joy filled his heart.
Dressed in a black cloak and silver crown, he gazed at the sword from his dream.
“With this, I will behead you, Najibullah,” he declared.
As music played and praises were sung, he approached the captives. Najibullah’s heart pounded violently. Old Sulaimanu encouraged him quietly.
“Allah does not wrong anyone,” the old man whispered.
Najibullah remembered his father’s final words, tears streaming as he met the gaze of his pregnant wife, Zainaba. Suddenly, the strong scent of incense struck him. Blood poured from his nose as he locked eyes with King Gambo—who smiled at him with a cruel, faithless grin.
