Dingishin Kwado Book 3 Complete Hausa Novel

Was it really Sahal again? Could he really abandon her? Even though she understood that he was tired of her, she never imagined that his fatigue would lead to such a harsh test.

She had never thought that if they were to part, it would happen in such a way. She assumed he would part with her with dignity, showing respect, after destiny had run its course.

But instead, he gave her a humiliating dismissal and subjected her to a form of oppression that made her blood pressure spike. Yet, she thanked Allah because she, too, gave him a taste of pain for the heart—a form of payback. If one does not know what to say, they also don’t know how to respond.

No matter how harsh his dismissal was, she gathered all her courage to face him.

With a smile, she kept saying, “Alhamdulillah! Alhamdulillah! My Lord, thank You for what You have done for me, thank You for what You are doing for me, and I also thank You for what You will do for me in the future.”

She looked at him and saw a flicker of regret cross his face.

His whole body stiffened again.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t understand anything.

He lay down again. She sat for a long time, quietly observing his slow, peaceful sleep, without thinking of anything else.

Seeing that she couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, she started her prayers. During sujood, she cried, praying for her children, asking Allah to protect them and grant them a blessed life in faith and health.

She sat through the night until dawn, doing nothing but wandering in thought. Where would she go?

Only now did she realize the magnitude of the challenge before her. She cried and prayed for her parents and for Yaya Sulaiman.

When the call to Fajr prayer began, he woke up.

He entered the servants’ room and prayed Alwallah. He also offered his Nafila prayers.

After he finished, he said, “Bilkisu, I advise you to retract the words you threw at me, and I also command you to forgive me, because I do not want you to leave in bitterness, knowing you have nowhere to go.”

Her bitterness reached deep into her bones; she felt like she was being squeezed by various sharp pangs of anger.

But she pretended it didn’t matter, because opening her mouth recklessly would not befit a complete, educated woman. So she stayed silent.

Even when the Fajr call began, she didn’t speak to him.

He went to the mosque, saying, “Consult your heart before I return.”

She followed him with a look of astonishment. Perhaps he didn’t understand the enormity of the insult he had given her. He didn’t realize that even if she had nowhere to go, he had still humiliated her. He had forgotten the words he had said during her dismissal: “Go to your parents who love you and let them dismiss you twice.”

Her heart beat violently. She openly wept over the depth of the humiliation and insult Sahal had inflicted. And yet, it still wasn’t enough for him—he now came to continue humiliating her. Was she only a tool for his house? Was that why he subjected her to different forms of humiliation, while she endured, restrained herself, and forgave him repeatedly? Did he believe she had no choice, no rights?

She shook her head, saying, “Even if our lineage ends, I will never again live under your control. Even if that means I have to sleep on the streets. But Allah has already protected me.”

Her crying intensified—not because of his dismissal, but because of how her life in his house in Funtua had become unbearable. If only her father, Baba Babba, were in the house—she could have gone to him, opened the door, and stayed until she found peace.

But now?

Should she go to Maiduguri to Ansari’s house and live under his daughter’s care? Or to Kano to Yaya Hamida’s house?

Yaya Hamida’s house wouldn’t work either, since she too is under someone else.

“Where should I go, Bilki?” she said in a trembling, tearful voice.

She fell silent, thinking. Her own house came to mind. She had houses in Katsina. She didn’t want to stay in the house they had shared, since he had elevated her as an unmarried woman. She also wished she wouldn’t be alone there. She remembered one of her two-story houses with tenants downstairs; upstairs had been vacant for three months after the previous occupant was transferred for work to Jigawa State. His family hadn’t left until two weeks ago. That week she had gone and had the house renovated, with fresh paint, so it could be rented again with proper compensation.

She found the number of the caretaker. He answered, saying, “Hajiya, I hope all is well?”

In a quiet voice, she asked, “Has the house work been completed?”

Respectfully, he said, “The painting is finished, Hajiya. The kitchen sink wasn’t installed, but I bought a new one, and it’s now at the house.”

She said, “Good. Make sure it’s installed by ten in the morning, and clean the house before Zuhr today.”

“Yes, Hajiya, by Allah’s will, it will be done.”

She put down the phone, feeling relief from the tension. The house was in a good neighborhood, not government-run housing. Only one problem: there was no running water, only a well in the compound. She would have someone to fetch water daily.

She would go with Alti and Alawiyya. Alawiyya’s wedding was just one month away. In two weeks, she would also go to their town.

But the issue that worried her most was the future of Amrah and Faruk. What would happen if they left? There would be no one—no herself, no Farha, no Alti, no Alawiyya.

She bowed her head on the bed, crying for her children.

She didn’t feel she could leave Sahal’s house, but her children’s welfare was her priority.

Then he returned and found her.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Stop crying, Bilkisu. I myself feel empty inside. But your words hurt me and disturbed me. Withdraw them, repent, and I will allow you to continue living in your room.”

She looked at him, tears flowing. She said, “No, Sahal. Our time together is over. Since I understand you don’t love me, and you don’t need me, I have been praying to Allah to bring us a solution. I have not spent years saying I don’t need a man. You have found a solution, another woman, but I have not. Yet, I believe my solution has also come.”

In all honesty, he said, “Wallahi, Bilki, I love you. I still feel for you as I never felt for Hawwah. But I don’t know why I don’t feel desire for you. I long suspected, even touched, young women who don’t match your perfection. But last month, when I heard Sheikh Ibrahim Khalil’s lecture about a man’s desire for his wife being removed even if he loves her, I realized I and you haven’t spent the years to reach this stage. After that, I understood I have a weakness in this matter, unlike you who have strong needs. I felt as if I was giving you the chance to marry, but then I thought it better death should take me before I see you become another man’s wife. But yesterday, when you humiliated me, I had no choice but to let you go.”

She wiped her tears and said, “Our time together is over.”