Halin Rayuwa Book 3 Hausa Novel Complete

LIFE'S CIRCUMSTANCES
I ran persistently through the darkness of the night, weaving through alleys and narrow paths without feeling any fear or letting the night’s darkness overwhelm me. It felt like I was running for my life. I didn’t stop anywhere until I reached the doorstep of Yaya Khadija’s house, despite the considerable distance between our neighborhoods.
I knocked just once before I heard Yaya Ibrahim’s voice asking who it was, a sign that they too hadn’t gone to sleep.
"It’s me," I answered, my voice trembling with fear and exhaustion.
Immediately, I heard him trying to unlock the door. Without questioning me, he stepped aside to let me in. But I couldn’t move until he spoke again:
"Come in now!" His words felt like a command or a reminder.
I entered Yaya Dija’s living room, seeing that the door was open, but I didn’t find her there. So, I walked further into her room and found her on her prayer mat, deeply engaged in prayer with tears streaming down her cheeks. I sat silently, waiting for her to finish. Even Yaya Ibrahim didn’t enter the room; he went elsewhere. Only after she completed her prayers and supplications did she turn to face me.
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A Test of Fate
This disaster has reached its peak, but I still haven’t lost hope that one day it will be in the past, merely a story to tell. The root of all this turmoil was the loss of our mother.
For the first time, Yaya Dija openly voiced this truth, and as soon as she did, she broke into tears. I joined her, crying together over our pain.
Yaya Ibrahim pushed the door open and entered.
"Dija, what kind of senseless behavior is this? How can you both be wailing in the middle of the night? Is this the first time something like this has happened to people? What makes your case any different? You’re sitting here crying over something that is out of your control. If fate has determined this marriage, do you have any way to stop it? I don’t like this lack of patience."
He reprimanded us harshly before leaving for his room. I, too, stood up, went to the bathroom, took a bath, and returned to find Yaya Dija lying on her bed. I climbed in beside her.
We lay in silence for a long time. I began to think she had fallen asleep when she suddenly asked, "Maryam, are you still awake?"
I answered, "Uh uh."
"What happened? Why did you leave?"
I didn’t hide anything from her—I told her everything that had happened that night.
She abruptly sat up in bed. "Did you say you gave him your virginity?"
Before I could explain, she pounced on me, hitting me with forceful blows.
"You mean to say that because of Mubarak, you put yourself in harm’s way?" She wept as she hit me. "What kind of love is this, Maryam?!"
The sheer fear of what Yaya Dija had done to me made me endure the pain without protest. This had never happened between us before.
"Who is he for you to sacrifice your virginity?" she scolded. "What madness is this? What kind of foolish girl are you, not valuing your own dignity?"
Once she calmed down from hitting and crying, she kept scolding me. Her words were like knives piercing my soul. I curled up in a corner as she continued to mutter:
"You’re just a fool. You’ve ruined your life and disgraced us. By morning, the whole town will hear of your shame."
She didn’t sleep the entire night, nor did she stop lecturing me.
The next morning, Yaya Ibrahim dressed up in an elegant outfit and left for our house to attend my wedding to Alhaji Nalami as planned.
My heart sank with dread. I knew Yaya Dija was also unsettled by his departure, though she hid her emotions by keeping a stern face.
Deep inside, I wondered: If Mubarak had accepted the gift I gave him, would things have turned out differently?
I tried to act normal, helping Yaya Dija with chores, hoping we’d return to how we used to be. But when I noticed Yaya Ibrahim’s absence from the wedding, I nervously asked, "Why didn’t he go?"
"He had to," she said. "Otherwise, people might suspect something. And besides, our father summoned him. If he didn’t go, it would be seen as a great insult."
I nodded.
As we sat in the living room after breakfast, my body trembled as I anxiously watched the clock. The wedding was scheduled for 7:30 AM, and now it was almost 10 AM. What was delaying Yaya Ibrahim?
We sat in silence, waiting, until Yaya Ibrahim finally walked in. We both stared at him, waiting for him to speak, but he was unusually quiet.
His expression was unreadable—neither happy nor sad. My heart pounded.
"Is everything okay, Baba?" Yaya Dija asked, concerned by his silence.
He exhaled and sat down, taking off his outer robe. "There was a big commotion," he said.
We leaned in, eager to hear more.
"The youth of the neighborhood disrupted the wedding with stones, sticks, and chaos. The wedding could not take place."
Yaya Dija let out a sigh of relief and immediately fell into prostration, thanking God.
He watched her, then continued, "They thought Maryam had escaped again and returned to Mubarak. So they stormed his house and searched everywhere for her. When they couldn’t find her, they went to his parents' house. Even when his father told them she wasn’t there, they didn’t believe him.
His mother then went to the police and brought an entire vehicle full of officers, claiming Mubarak’s parents were covering for him, helping him ruin girls' lives in their home. That night, the police arrested Mubarak and detained him.
The neighborhood youth got furious, believing she had insulted their elders. So they retaliated by disrupting the wedding.
By the time the wedding guests had arrived, the mob attacked them with stones and sticks, scattering everyone. They even attacked the groom’s delegation. Mubarak himself was beaten so badly that we had to rescue him from their hands."
Yaya Dija scoffed. "A man crying for help? That means the rumors are true—he’s not even man enough!"
Yaya Ibrahim frowned. "What nonsense is that? Just because he cried for help doesn’t mean he’s weak. If you were in his situation, you’d do the same."
She shrugged. "Maybe."
He stood up and left for his errands.
I looked at Yaya Dija.
"See, everything is in God’s hands," I said.
"Exactly," she agreed. "God is the ultimate planner."
Even though Yaya Ibrahim’s news gave us some relief, we knew we were still in the middle of a storm. We could only pray and wait for what would come next.
Four days passed, and I slowly recovered from my trauma. That was when Yakumbo Halima visited. Yaya Dija had sent word to her, knowing she would be worried.
As we sat together, catching up over food, she sighed and said, "As for Malam Habu, he’s in serious trouble now.
"What happened?" Yaya Dija asked.
"They say he collapsed in the market this morning and had to be carried home unconscious."
Yaya Dija and I gasped.
She continued, "See? Some men have no power over their own fate. If you mistreat others, karma will find you."