Rijiya Gaba Dubu 1 Abdulaziz Sani Madakin Gini

Part 1: The Epic of "Rijiya Gaba Dubu 1"

Written by Abdulaziz Madakin Gini 

The young man ran with all his might through the forest to save his life. He ran while glancing back in sheer terror, though he saw nothing and heard no sound except the terrifying bay of monstrous hounds hot on his trail.
These hounds numbered up to seventy, and they were massive—not like ordinary dogs at all, but rather resembling hyenas due to their immense size, terrifying aura, and intimidating presence. These specific hounds had been specially bred and trained exclusively to guard the high-security prison of the city of Kisra.
In the history of Kisra, throughout the forty years since the prison's construction, no prisoner had ever managed to escape due to its impenetrable security—until this young man named IMHAL IBN IMZANU. Because of Imhal's blistering speed, he had managed to put a distance of about sixty paces between himself and the hounds. However, driven by their relentless tracking and savage training, the hounds spotted him again and surged forward with renewed fury. Imhal frantically increased his speed, glancing back to see them closing in as he bolted through ravines and tangled undergrowth. Moving with such velocity, he practically flew over boulders and fallen, decaying trees.
Imhal simply ran through the wilderness without knowing his destination, direction, or any familiar path. Whenever he recalled the agonizing torment he had endured before successfully breaking out of the prison, he pushed himself harder, convincing himself that death and a corpse were far preferable to being recaptured and dragged back inside. The tortures within that prison were beyond human imagination.
Imhal Bin Imzanu was originally from the city of Egypt. He was of humble birth and had committed no crime. His foster father was a shepherd who pastured livestock in the deep forest, meaning Imhal’s entire life had been spent in the wild. However, at the end of every week on Sunday, they would head into town to buy supplies before returning to their forest hut.
Imhal grew up tough, resilient, and skilled in hunting. No matter how large a herd of animals was, he could easily manage and herd them whenever he took them out to pasture.
When Imhal turned sixteen, he asked his elderly foster father, old Imzanu:

"Oh my father, why have you never told me about my mother? I never knew her, nor do I know how she died. You always just tell me she passed away. Know that I am no longer a little child; I am of age and can handle the truth. You need to tell me what really happened."

Hearing this, old Imzanu’s heart sank. He fell silent, lowered his head, and tears welled up in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. He finally looked up at Imhal and said:

"My son, know that today you have asked about a secret I vowed never to tell you until you reached maturity, so that the shock would not crush your mind."

Imzanu paused again, struggling as if unable to speak. With a trembling voice, he finally forced himself to look at Imhal and said:

"Forgive me, my son, for what you are about to hear from my lips, for it will shock and deeply disturb you. The truth is... I am not your biological father."

Hearing this, Imhal's heart pounded violently, and his eyes instantly turned bloodshot. Without realizing it, tears streamed down his face as he cried out:

"If you are not my father, then who am I? I know no one else in this world but you! You are the one who has fed and cared for me from childhood until now. Why did my real father abandon me with you in the middle of a forest devoid of comfort and safety? Surely, there is no love between me and my father if he cared so little for my life!"

Part 2

As Imhal finished speaking, the old man wept and replied:

"Even I do not know who your father is. Listen closely to the story I am about to tell you; perhaps it will bring peace to your heart and help you accept your destiny.
One morning, while I was out pasturing my animals in this very forest, I spotted two men in a horse-drawn carriage. They were dressed in black with their faces completely covered, heading toward the edge of a vast, exceptionally deep and wide pit. I quickly drove my livestock into the thick underbrush and hid. Fortunately, they did not see me. From my hiding place in the shadows, I watched as they pulled the corpse of a woman out of the carriage and threw her into the pit. Then they immediately jumped back into their carriage and sped away.
Once I was certain they were far gone and would not return, I ran to the edge of the pit and peered inside. To my shock, I saw a beautiful young woman whose throat had just been slit—blood was still gushing from her windpipe, and she was heavily pregnant! Pity flooded my heart, and I resolved to climb down into the pit to retrieve her body so I could bury her properly. Leaving her there to rot near my hut was out of the question.
After thinking for a few moments, I ran back to the hut, grabbed a long rope, returned to the pit, tied the rope securely to a tree, and lowered myself down. When I reached the bottom and checked her body, I discovered she was still alive—her breath was fluttering faintly! Without a second thought, I hoisted her onto my back, strapped her tightly, and climbed back up the rope with all my strength.
I rushed her to my hut, laid her down, grabbed a needle and thread, stitched up her slashed throat, and applied medicinal herbs. Then I pressed my nose to hers to check for breath—there was absolute silence. Heartbroken and exhausted, my hands blistered from the rope, I prepared to carry her out for burial when suddenly she coughed! Her breathing returned. I frantically forced a few sips of medicinal liquid down her throat.
Shortly after, her eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, she panicked and tried to bolt upright, but I held her shoulders down. She tried to speak but couldn't; instead, she burst into laughter, then suddenly scowled and wept hysterically, thrashing around. I realized then that she had lost her mind. It broke my heart because I desperately wanted her to speak lucidly so I could find out who she was and who those men in the carriage were.
For twenty-one days, I cared for her. She lay immobile because of her throat wound, unable to speak—only laughing, crying, and thrashing like a madwoman. I fed her by spoon, and realizing she was pregnant, I regularly gave her cow's milk and nourishing food so the unborn child would be healthy.
Three months passed, and her throat healed completely. She regained her speech, but her mind remained shattered—she spoke only the incoherent words of a madwoman. Whenever I pressed her about her identity or how she ended up in that state, she would just burst into mocking laughter. Seeing this, my pity for her only grew. Seven times I hired specialists in mental illness to examine and treat her, but all in vain. Often, she would slip away into the forest, forcing me to hunt for her. Eventually, I stopped leaving her behind and took her with me whenever I went out to herd or hunt."

Part 3

"When her pregnancy reached full term, traveling with her became impossible, so I stayed behind in the hut with a stock of food and water that would last forty days. Sure enough, on the thirty-seventh night, labor pains struck her in the dead of night. Panicking because I couldn't run to town for a midwife—having experienced a similar tragedy when my late wife died in childbirth along with our stillborn child—I assisted her myself. I cut the baby's umbilical cord, washed him, and cleaned the mother.
She raised the child, nursing him while I resumed hunting and herding. We lived together like this for a year and seven months until the boy began walking on his own.
Then, one day, I returned from herding and searched high and low for the woman—she was gone. She had left her baby sitting alone in the hut, crying bitterly. Panic-stricken, I strapped the child to my back and scoured the forest for her, even though I didn't even know her name to call out to her. For a year and nine months, I searched the forest in vain. Throughout that time, I raised the boy day and night, and we grew deeply attached to each other.
Then, one evening as I was playing with the boy outside the hut, I saw her approaching from a distance! Stunned, I stood up and stared. She was emaciated, her clothes were in tatters, and her skin was darkened from hardship and grime. When she reached me, she burst into tears, dropped to her knees, and begged for my forgiveness as if she had fully regained her sanity. Pity overtook me; I grabbed her shoulders, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her to my chest for the very first time. She clung to me, weeping uncontrollably.
Pulling back slightly, I asked: 'Why did you run away and leave us? Did you forget you left your baby with me?'
She looked at the boy, shook her head, and said: 'I left you a tiny baby, he isn't this big!'
I laughed and said: 'People grow up every day! Still, you haven't told me where you went.'
She cackled with laughter, then suddenly scowled and said: 'I went out for fresh air, and now I'm back.'
Distressed, I said: 'For four years we've been together, yet you've never told me your name, your city, your family, or your origins. Don't you care about the child you gave birth to?'
Hearing this, she laughed hysterically and replied: 'I don't know who I am, and I know no one else but you!' With that, she turned, walked into the hut, lay down, and went to sleep.
From that day on, we continued living together, but she showed little affection for her child—I was the one who cared for him. Sometimes she seemed lucid, speaking calmly, but the moment I asked about her origins, she would snap back into madness.
Two months and three days later, she woke up severely ill with a mysterious sickness. Frantic, I brewed various medicines for her, but they only seemed to worsen her condition. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing hitched. Overwhelmed with grief, I wept and begged her to tell me her origins. She tried to speak, but her body stiffened, her eyes fixed, and she stopped moving. I hugged her and wept bitterly. Seeing me cry, the nearly four-year-old boy ran over and joined me in tears. I mourned her deeply for twenty-one days, unable to eat properly, while dedicating myself entirely to caring for the boy."

As old Imzanu finished, Imhal interrupted, looking into the old man's tear-filled eyes:

"Oh my father, I realize now that the child born of that madwoman is none other than myself! I am truly an orphan with no mother, no father, and no known heritage."

Old Imzanu embraced him, and they wept together. Pulling back slightly, Imhal looked into his eyes and said:

"I will never accept any other father—you are my father. But I have one question: why did you name me IMHAL?"

Part 4

Old Imzanu wiped away his tears and replied:

"The reason I named you Imhal is that throughout the time I lived with your mother until she died, I never once heard her utter the name of any living creature except IMHAL. Whenever it was time to eat, she would call out that name, asking him to share her meal. I understood that whoever this Imhal was, he was someone she deeply loved—perhaps her husband, her brother, or her father.
Secondly, I suspect your mother came from a noble background because the clothes she wore when I pulled her from that pit were extremely expensive—garments worn only by royalty and wealthy elites. My greatest sorrow is that she left behind no token or proof of her identity."

Imhal embraced old Imzanu again and said:

"I will hold my name in my heart and on my lips. One day, this name will help me find my origins."

From that day on, Imhal and old Imzanu continued their life in the forest as usual. However, Imhal now visited the city of Kisra regularly, asking everywhere if anyone knew someone named Imhal. When people asked which Imhal he was looking for, he couldn't explain because he had no descriptor or moniker. Consequently, the townspeople laughed at him, calling him a bumpkin and a wild man because of his shepherd's attire.
One day, as Imhal happened to pass by the gates of the King of Kisra's palace just as the King was coming out for a royal procession, Imhal stared straight at the monarch. Unaccustomed to royal etiquette, instead of bowing and offering greetings, he simply fixed his gaze on the King.
Outraged, the King’s guards pounced on Imhal, beating him to the ground. In a flash of anger, Imhal surged up and effortlessly fought off all twenty guards, knocking them out cold with single punches. Seeing this, the remaining guards drew their swords and rushed to cut him down, but the King barked an order for them to halt.
The King of Kisra dismounted his horse, walked right up to Imhal until they could hear each other breathe, smiled, and said:

"In this world, nothing impresses me more than bravery. I can see you are a warrior, but I want to test your strength against mine. You likely don't know who I am—I am the King of this city."

Hearing this, Imhal dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and said:

"Forgive me, my lord. My entire life has been spent in the wilderness; we only visit this city once a week. Today is the first time I have ever laid eyes on you. Please pardon me, for I cannot fight you."

The King burst into laughter, then his expression turned solemn as he stared intently at Imhal:

"Young warrior, know that across this entire continent there is no fighter or warrior strong enough to match me. For thirty years I have fought, and thirty-three times I have won the CHAMPIONSHIP OF BRAVERY across the thirty-three nations of our continent. Not once has any warrior even grazed my skin, let alone knocked me down. I have seen many fierce fighters in my life, but I have never seen anyone as lightning-fast and hard-hitting as you. I am certain that if we fight, I will defeat you, though I admire your strength. Know this: you have two choices—either you fight me right now, or I order my guards to cut off your head on the spot."

Hearing this, Imhal's heart panicked. He slowly stood up, thinking: I cannot afford to die now before discovering my true identity!
Deciding quickly, he turned to a guard and said: "Hand me your sword." Without hesitation, the guard handed it over.
A triumphant smile crossed the King's face as he drew his own sword. The guards cleared a wide circle around them. The King and Imhal began circling each other, sizing one another up.

Part 5

Simultaneously, both men raised their swords high and rushed at each other, engaging in a ferocious, lightning-fast duel filled with breathtaking skill, resilience, and martial mastery. They fought fiercely for an hour straight, yet neither managed to land even a scratch on the other.
Furious and deeply shocked that this wilderness dweller possessed such elite combat training, the King shifted his tactics, leaping, rolling, and striking from complex angles. To his amazement, Imhal matched every single move flawlessly, as if they had been trained by the exact same master.
Stepping back five paces, the King stopped. Imhal stepped back three paces. They locked eyes for a few tense seconds. Then, the King charged headlong, and Imhal rushed forward to meet him. Just before colliding, both leaped high into the air, unleashing aerial strikes with lethal intent. Deflecting each other's blades in mid-air, their swords clashed harmlessly against the wind, but as they landed, their heads whipped forward—their faces collided hard! Both their noses shattered and bled.
Mid-air once more, they struck again. The King managed to slash Imhal just above his navel, while Imhal successfully sliced the King across the side of his neck. Spurting blood, both men crashed heavily to the ground, utterly exhausted.
Guards rushed forward frantically, wrapping a royal turban around the King's neck to stem the bleeding as his royal physician rushed to treat him. Other guards lunged at Imhal, who lay on the ground clutching his wound, preparing to finish him off.
The King barked a fierce command: "Stop!"
Then, turning to his physician, the King said: "Once you are done with me, go treat that young man."
The physician hurriedly patched up the King and then rushed over to treat Imhal. Fortunately, neither the King's nor Imhal's wounds were deep.
As the physician finished treating him, the King's heart boiled with silent rage and humiliation at realizing that today, this unknown wilderness youth had broken his undefeated streak as the holder of the CHAMPIONSHIP OF BRAVERY for the entire continent.
Once Imhal was bandaged up, he stood, walked over to the King, bowed, and expressed his gratitude.
The King looked at him with a forced smile and said:

"Indeed, you are a peerless warrior, but..."

Summary

In "Rijiya Gaba Dubu 1" by Ibrahim S. Combatant, the narrative follows Imhal Ibn Imzanu, a fierce young man raised in the wilderness by his foster father, old Imzanu. Imzanu rescued Imhal's dying, mentally unstable mother from a deep pit years ago, raising Imhal as his own after she passed away. Driven by a desire to uncover his mysterious origins—stemming from the name "Imhal" his mother constantly murmured—Imhal frequently visits the city of Kisra.
After accidentally showing disrespect to the mighty King of Kisra during a public procession, Imhal defeats twenty royal guards with ease. Impressed by his raw power, the King challenges him to a duel. The two engage in a legendary, hour-long battle that ends in a mutual, blood-soaked draw, shocking the undefeated King and earning Imhal deep, albeit reluctant, royal recognition.

Description

• Setting: The ancient fantasy landscape of Egypt and the fortified imperial city of Kisra, featuring deep, rugged wilderness, high-security royal dungeons, and bustling urban plazas.
• Tone: Gritty, action-packed, suspenseful, and dramatic, blending a classic martial arts epic feel with a compelling mystery of lost identity.

• Themes: Identity and parentage, resilience born of isolation, honor among warriors, and the clash between civilized royal power and wild, untamed strength.

  Analytics

• Character Breakdown:
  • Imhal Ibn Imzanu: A formidable, lightning-fast wilderness warrior raised in isolation, driven by a deep longing to uncover his true parentage.
  • Old Imzanu: A compassionate, humble shepherd who rescued Imhal's mother and raised Imhal with boundless love despite their hardships.
  • The King of Kisra: A legendary, undefeated martial champion whose pride is shaken by an unknown wilderness youth.
• Plot Progression:
  • Phase 1: Imhal's desperate escape from the inescapable prison of Kisra chased by savage hounds.
  • Phase 2: Flashback to Imhal's upbringing in the forest and old Imzanu's tragic discovery of his mother.
  • Phase 3: Imhal's integration into forest life and his quest in Kisra to find clues about his name.
  • Phase 4: The accidental encounter with the King of Kisra, leading to an epic, stalemate duel that establishes Imhal as a peerless martial artist.