Dawood Book Compelet Surayyams

Description

DAWOOD BOOK COMPELETE 

Nurse D.S. Specialist Hospital, First Floor, Arcade Building, Anyerinxs Street, Port Harcourt. 23 December...

Like some kind of wild speed, the specialist hospital’s ambulance rushed into the hospital building’s courtyard. Two brand-new black Mercedes Benz 3600mz2018 models trailed right behind it. Before the ambulance even came to a proper halt, they flung their doors open and rushed out. None of them were in their right minds, driven by an overwhelming panic in their hearts at the thought of losing someone whose life none of them could bear to imagine existing without.

Frenzied, they rushed toward the ambulance just as about five male and female nurses, alongside doctors, swarmed the vehicle. He was brought out swiftly and rushed inside. Right there on the way, they began setting up an IV line and blood transfusion, because a cannula had already been inserted inside the ambulance, and they had started administering injections for the blood he had vomited profusely through his mouth.

In a state of panic that surpassed even that of the hospital’s doctors and nurses upon seeing their chief doctor and the owner of the hospital in such a terrible condition, they followed right behind them until they reached the entrance of the private amenity emergency unit and bustled inside. The door was slammed shut. Dr. Ayub managed to turn back hurriedly, wanting to calm them down, and said:

"Sorry ma'am, you will have to wait here and please calm yourself. Insha Allah, he'll be fine; we'll do our absolute best. Just pray for him."

He turned and hurried back inside along with two nurses who had just rushed over carrying theater supplies.

She stepped back in extreme distress and burst into a heavy weep. Sufyaan, who was standing right beside her, quickly caught her with all his might. He parted his lips with difficulty and managed to utter:

"Please, mum, just pray for him."

She let out a fresh wave of cries, squeezing her eyes shut as she said:

"Ya Allah, bring relief and ease to my son from this calamity! What kind of incomprehensible fate is this..."

Sufyaan quickly covered her mouth with his hand, staring at her with eyes that had turned blood-red from raw panic.

He turned slowly and looked to his side just as Jass arrived, frantic and barely able to see straight due to sheer terror. As soon as he arrived, he froze in his tracks upon seeing the heavy distress written all over every single one of them.

He looked at Sufyaan’s face and saw tears pooling in his bloodshot eyes. Right then, his knees failed to hold him up. He collapsed onto a nearby chair, burying his face in his palms as hot, painful tears streamed down.

Sufyaan lowered his head, feeling the weight in his heart grow heavier as he witnessed the state Jass had fallen into.

The tears he had been holding back rolled down when he raised his head and cast his gaze upon her. She was sitting down; Nana was seated right beside her, holding both of her hands tightly, trying her best to console her amidst tears and intense anguish. It looked as though her sister’s mind was about to snap, because ever since the incident occurred, she hadn’t made a single proper movement, let alone shed a tear. Her eyes were completely bloodshot—Nana would have preferred to see her cry, as that would bring more relief than this terrifying state she had slipped into.

Sufyaan closed his bloodshot eyes, overcome with deep sympathy for ALEEYA. Truly, all of them were in a terrible state, but she had suffered the worst of it. For her, hardship and the bitter twists of fate had long since shattered everything she had.

She had said a permanent goodbye to happiness. Not a single drop of joy remained in her life. Misery, anxiety, crying, pain, anguish, and sorrow were the absolute rulers of her existence now—or rather, the existence of all of them, because they had all long since forgotten what happiness or peace of mind felt like.

In the past, if anyone had suggested they would experience grief, let alone utter sorrow, it wouldn't have dared to approach them because of the wealth, beauty, education, sophistication, pampering, and luxurious life they held in their hands. But behold, everything changes!

Even now, they lacked nothing materially, yet everything had become as good as nothing because peace of mind and true happiness were gone. The wealth, beauty, education, pampering, and sophistication were of no use to them now in life. DAWOOD was a vital part of their lives, the one existence they could never picture life without...

He reached out gently and patted Jass's shoulders, nodding at him reassuringly, while his other hand remained firmly holding Mum, because she was still sobbing uncontrollably—wracked with regret, remorse, and above all, the terrifying dread of losing her only son, her ultimate joy.

They sat motionlessly in tense anticipation for a full hour before doctors finally started coming out. Mum’s tears still hadn't stopped; her eyes were heavily swollen, her vision blurred, and her face—naturally very fair—was stained completely red.

She had no strength left to move when Dr. Jeremy and Dr. Aqeel walked up to them.

Seeing that she was on the verge of collapsing into another fit of panic, Sufyaan held her tighter, trying to soothe her. However, Jass stood up, his body trembling slightly, because right then he was acting almost like a woman, lacking the hard resilience needed for such a moment.

He looked at them with bloodshot eyes, his voice trembling as he asked:

"How is h—" He couldn't finish because a sob threatened to burst out of him. He fell silent, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

Dr. Aqeel patted him with equal concern and said:

"Keep on praying; that is the only thing we can do. You and Sufyaan are doctors, you know how these things swing back and forth, so please just keep on praying for him, because he really needs it..."

They looked at Mum and said in soft, gentle voices:

"We're really sorry, Mrs. Assiddeeq. Prayer is the best thing right now... May God bring ease, we hope."

They turned and walked away, their steps heavy with deep sympathy for the family.

They all sat frozen like the living dead as they watched him being wheeled out into a special room. The staff completed the paperwork and other formalities before everyone cleared out.

She was the first to stand up, supported by Nana because she couldn't stand on her own due to dizziness and a persistent ache that had plagued her for some years now. They made their way to the room.

She approached the bedside, her heart beating frantically. The burning chest pains she had carried for years multiplied tenfold. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't, which caused her eyes to dry out and hollow out hauntingly, making her look prematurely aged.

She stared down at him, her heart heavy at seeing how emaciated and broken illness had made him.

He was a man of supreme, top-tier handsome looks being a half-caste, but his entire appearance had completely altered. His face had sunken and darkened, especially around his eye sockets, and his lips were blackened and parched as though he hadn't touched water in a decade...

Slowly, she whispered:

DAWOOD...

She felt her heart echo the sound of the name she had called out. Right then, her body began to shiver, and her chest threatened to give out, failing to draw breath.

Quickly, Nana—standing beside her and crying softly as if her life were slipping away out of pity for the events spanning all these years—watched on. Everyone else lived lives of happiness and ease, but in just five years, everything had fallen apart. Happiness had become history in their lives; tears and pain were all that continuously passed between them.

Slowly, Mum entered the room, supported by Jass, with Sufyaan right behind them.

One look at Mum would draw immense pity from you, seeing how withered she had become in such a short span of time. Old age had started creeping over her prematurely. Her entire frame had darkened, accompanied by a severe, gaunt emaciation. You wouldn't look at her and recognize Madame Faraah—the famous Mrs. Assiddeeq Damien whose face constantly graced the cover of fashion magazines as the CEO of all fashion empires in Miami.

Beauty, luxury, elegance, awe, and endless wealth—above all, you wouldn't take her for the grand matriarch who had raised the youngest multibillionaire doctor, DAWOOD ASSIDDEEQ DAUDA, whose era reigned supreme, unmatched even now alongside his friends. Today, all of that was gone because from the beginning, they never knew what destiny God had prepared for them down the road.

Absolute silence filled the room. Each of them stared with hollow, blood-shot eyes at Dawood, who hovered somewhere between life and death, completely unaware of who was standing over him.

They stayed like that for a long time before two nurses entered alongside Dr. Shuan Lee, who was Chinese. Respectfully, he asked them to excuse them.

Dejected, Sufyaan and Jass walked back out to the car because Jass needed fresh air to cry his heart out. Sufyaan wanted to cry too, but the heavy weight inside his chest refused to let the tears fall.

Through choking sobs, Jass said:

"Yaan, I don't know how I'm supposed to picture life without you guys in it. I have no one except you, and you have no one except us. We were enjoying our lives, and then everything changed... We lost Maska, whose loss shook our world to its core—a world that has never quite recovered—and now Dawood..."

Sufyaan quickly squeezed his eyes shut and pulled Jass into an embrace, because the cries Jass let out echoed deep within his soul, born of the brotherhood God had forged into their very blood—all four of them: DAWOOD, SUFYAAN, JASSPER, HAYDAR MASKA...

Jass happened to be the most fragile among them, which was why they always pitied him the most.

He wept heavily, and despite all of Sufyaan’s usual resilience, he broke down too. They held onto each other, weeping as their hearts shattered.

As she slowly stepped out of the room, she drifted toward the reception and felt blindly for a chair to sit on...

She slowly raised her eyes and fixed them on the large white glass plaque bearing the hospital's name, hugging her body tightly as it began to shiver violently every time she laid eyes on anything relating to...

She felt someone touch her and instantly curled herself inward toward her legs. The trembling hand touching her told her exactly who it was.

Mum sat down beside her and stared intently at her...

She remembered that beautiful face with its striking white eyes when she looked at her now—how everything about her had withered away. Aleeya, the beautiful young woman who used to trend for luxury, wealth, beauty, style, class, and witty humor—fate and the torture of LOVE had twisted her life, changing her appearance so much that she now looked like an old village matron who could go days without uttering two or three words.

Tears of profound pity for Aleeya rolled down Mum's cheeks.

If her son was trapped in this agonizing illness, then Aleeya was certainly trapped in an equivalent torture, eating away at her soul and spirit. Though stomach ailments were surely worse internally, and Dawood’s case lay strictly in the hands of the Almighty, if all of them were in this miserable state, she knew there was someone who felt the pain and agony far more than anyone else: WHERE ARE YOU, NUR...? That was the phrase she whispered softly as fresh tears broke free.

Hearing Mum’s utterance caused Aleeya to slowly lift her head. Once again, she stared fixedly at the hospital’s sign—for the first time in years—as tears streamed down her face.

She felt the tears burst forth uncontrollably. She closed her eyes without bothering to wipe them away, knowing with certainty that no amount of crying would lighten the heavy burden in her heart. This was a weight God had placed upon her soul, one that would only leave when her last breath abandoned her body.

Wearily, Mum parted her lips and said:

"I pray for recovery and resolution for all our troubles. May God give everyone the strength to bear their trials, because our trial is one and the same if God takes Dawood's life..." She finished speaking as she wiped her eyes, which were deeply sunken, red, and swollen to the point where vision was severely impaired.

Without speaking a word, she raised her head a third time and fixed her gaze on the specialist hospital's sign... NUR D.S. SPECIALIST.

She would never forget how everything had originated—something she could only describe as the very beginning... ##mamugee💋

#Vote #comment #share #and follow...

[12/31, 10:49 AM] +234 706 677 7871: DAWOOD wattpad@mamuhgee

for you surayyahms

2

She closed her eyes once more as hot tears cascaded down again—tears whose burning sensation originated straight from the very center of her heart...

Layestrt, Adamawa. 22 April.

They were Buzaye people of the kind commonly called sadaka yallah due to the extreme poverty and dark layers of grime clinging to their bodies, leaving only patches of lighter skin and faded traces to show they were Buzaye.

They were seated inside the hollow shell of an uncompleted company building that had sat abandoned for years. Age, weathering, and decay were visible all over the structure, even though it had been built solidly and beautifully with pure cement. Its sheer height did not frighten them, as it stood about five stories tall, and they lived right inside it simply because they had nowhere else to go. They lived in constant dread of what they would do if the company owner ever told them to vacate.

Slowly, the elderly man—who had been bedridden and unwell for two years—opened his eyes with great difficulty and fixed them on her...

She sat beside him, resting her head upon her knees, staring blankly at the ground. Anyone watching would know that if they sat there all morning, her words wouldn't exceed two or three: "Baabaa, how are you?", "How is your body?", "Do you need anything?" Those were the only phrases she was known to utter, aside from when she spoke to her tiny younger brother—the only one of his kind in the world. But even then, you would never witness playfulness from her; there was never any laughter or lively movement, only a faint smile.

Throughout his life, he had never witnessed a personality like his daughter’s. Even among the naturally quiet and taciturn, she surpassed all imagination. Back when he was healthy, he used to search everywhere for medicine for her, foolishly assuming she wasn't completely well because she utterly lacked vigor, energy, or talkativeness.

She never laughed, only smiled. Ever since she was born and grew up into a young woman, he had never seen her laugh, and neither had anyone else—only smiles, and even those were tinged with bitterness, though you couldn't look at her face and say she was frowning. You could never catch her looking at you twice; she would cast a single glance at something and immediately look away. This was simply her intrinsic nature, woven directly into her blood.

As for speech, anyone who sat and conversed with her required endless patience, because she rarely spoke unless compelled by absolute necessity. Even then, her forced responses were severely brief. The sheer softness of her voice alone was enough to irritate your soul, making you feel as though she simply didn't care to answer you.

They were profoundly poor—beggars, really, though it had been two full years since they last went out begging due to him being bedridden. They had no money for the hospital, and as for food, it only came when her young brother, BILAL, went out with the other Buzaye children living in the settlement to beg for what they could eat. Sometimes, they would spend the entire day and night without a morsel because she herself was terrified of people. She had been unable to step foot anywhere ever since their mother passed away in the house while giving birth to Bilal. She and Baabaa had raised him ever since she was eight years old. Now he was seven, and he had grown nimble and street-smart enough to scout for food scraps, quickly begging and bringing them back before returning to the streets.

Sometimes, even he wondered if she was quite well, seeing her peculiar lifestyle, but he had grown accustomed to it and understood that this was simply how God created her.

She was remarkably fair-skinned—an authentic, pure-blooded Buzu woman blended with the rich, deep dark beauty of her Hausa mother, since their father was Buzu and their mother Hausa. Her beauty combined the traits of both her Buzu and Hausa heritage, though she leaned heavily toward her Buzu characteristics.

They owned no decent clothing; indeed, she mostly wore whatever remnants their late mother had left behind.

Her striking beauty was the reason people constantly stared at her, which was why her entire body—including her face—was perpetually draped in an old, black lafaya wrapper left behind by her mother. She didn't realize that the very darkness of the black fabric only accentuated her raw, natural beauty, even though poverty and starvation had stripped away more than half of it.

Around her ankle was a stunning, thick antique silver anklet—her mother's wedding dowry which she had worn until her death, passing it down to her daughter. Everywhere she walked, the anklet produced a musical jingle that intensely captivated the attention of any men who heard it. She also wore a matching silver bracelet. She never removed them, nor did she ever intend to take them off unless death parted them from her.

Whenever she walked and their father heard the chiming of their late mother's anklets, it stirred memories of her, because their mother had left behind nothing else save for doubling down on her silence. Up until her death, their mother had never once sat and looked at him for even three minutes; it was always a quick "yes" or "no" whenever he spoke.

He let out a slow sigh, filled with deep pity for his children, knowing that if he passed away, they would have no safety net. That thought constantly weighed heavily on his mind, especially since she was still just a fifteen-year-old girl unequipped to face the harsh realities of the world, and he had no idea what fate had in store for her.

In an extremely soft voice, he called out:

NUR...

Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him with her large, white eyes before gently looking away and saying:

"Baabaa, do you need something?"

He shook his head as tears gathered in his eyes. Seeing this, she closed her eyes again, feeling a sharp ache in her heart, though she didn't know how to express it. Softly, without looking at him, she said:

"Forgive me, Baabaa."

He squeezed his eyes shut as the internal tears spilled over. A bitter, stinging agony gripped his heart, but there was no use in voicing it, because speaking out would change nothing.

They fell silent. Her eyes grew red, and she stood up.

Summary

This dramatic narrative revolves around the tragic fates of two interconnected groups of characters grappling with profound grief, medical crisis, and haunting memories. In the first segment, Dawood Assiddeeq Dauda—a once-celebrated multibillionaire doctor and hospital owner—is rushed into his own facility in critical condition after vomiting blood. His grieving family and close circle, including his mother (Madame Faraah), Sufyaan, Jass, and Aleeya, are paralyzed by trauma, recalling how five years of tragedy turned their lives of absolute luxury, beauty, and wealth into a living nightmare. In the second segment, the narrative flashes back to April 22nd in Adamawa, introducing Nur, a profoundly silent, ethereal fifteen-year-old Buzu girl living in extreme poverty in an abandoned company ruin alongside her bedridden father and young brother Bilal. The common thread linking these broken lives points back to a mysterious origin tied to "Nur D.S. Specialist."

Description

The text is an emotionally charged contemporary African romantic-drama/tragedy written in Hausa (with interspersed English dialogue and narrative framing). It explores themes of sudden reversals of fortune, deep familial loyalty, psychological trauma, and the crushing weight of destiny. The pacing shifts between heart-pounding medical urgency in a modern hospital setting in Port Harcourt and bleak, destitute survival in an abandoned industrial skeleton in Adamawa, highlighting the stark contrast between unimaginable wealth and desperate poverty.

Analytics

• Pacing & Tone: Highly atmospheric, melodramatic, and melancholic. The prose relies heavily on sensory details of grief (swollen eyes, trembling limbs, heavy sighs) to emphasize emotional exhaustion.
• Character Archetypes:
  • The Fallen Elite: Once-powerful figures (Dawood, Mum/Madame Faraah) brought low by inescapable tragedy.
  • The Traumatized Survivor: Aleeya, whose spirit and physical appearance have withered under the weight of accumulated sorrow.
  • The Silent Stoic: Nur, characterized by extreme taciturnity, striking natural beauty hidden beneath rags, and unwavering filial duty.
• Motifs: Water/tears as an expression of internal collapse; physical ornaments (the silver anklet and bracelet) acting as lingering anchors to a tragic past; the hospital/medical setting representing both salvation and despair.

Comments

The author employs a non-linear or shifting vignette style, connecting disparate social strata through emotional resonance rather than immediate plot exposition. The contrast between the clinical, high-end environment of Port Harcourt and the squalor of the Adamawa ruin creates an effective dramatic juxtaposition. The emotional weight centers heavily on the psychological paralysis of the characters—none of them can fully process their current agony because the past has already broken them.

Conclusions

Fate is depicted as an inescapable equalizer that spares neither the extraordinarily wealthy nor the destitute. Whether trapped in a hospital room between life and death like Dawood or huddled in an abandoned building waiting out a father's final days like Nur, the characters are united by a shared lexicon of suffering. The narrative sets up a deep mystery regarding how Nur's identity connects to the specialist hospital and the overarching tragedy that destroyed Dawood's world.

Keywords

Dawood Assiddeeq, Nur D.S. Specialist, Aleeya, Sufyaan, Jass, Madame Faraah, Mamuhgee, Hausa fiction, medical drama, tragedy, poverty and wealth, emotional trauma.

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