Dingishin Kwado Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

He said bluntly, “Since I didn’t allow it until after I married you, then I have indeed respected you.”

My heart dropped badly, my voice trembling as I said, “Between you and Allah, are you even well enough to be thinking of marrying another wife?”

He smiled and said, “You have no right to ask that question, because it’s not a matter that concerns you.”

In a hollow voice I replied, “Fine. But I won’t agree to continue staying in my house while you secretly arrange accommodation for another woman without my knowledge.”

He shook his head and scoffed. After a while, he sighed and said, “Like I kept emphasizing earlier, whatever you intend with me, I’m prepared for it. You know Abida also endured me and left me with all the flaws she used to carry for me—let alone a small girl like Basma!”

Angrily, I said, “Back then, not Sahal—at that time I loved you. I believed in your sense of justice.”

He lowered his head and said, “Alright. Time will reveal everything.”

With that, he turned and lay down calmly.

As for me, tears spilled freely. I couldn’t stop crying, though I made no sound—silent sobs that weighed heavily on my chest.

It didn’t take long before he began snoring, a clear sign that his heart was at ease.

I stared at him intensely, forming many thoughts about him. Part of my heart even whispered that I should grab a pillow and press it over his head until he stopped breathing. Immediately, I jumped up, seeking refuge in Allah and asking for forgiveness, praying that my heart and mind be protected from destructive jealousy and impulses that could lead to ruin and disbelief.

I headed for the door and left for my room. I sat at the edge of the bed, my eyes dry but my heart unbearably heavy.

I wanted to cry so I might find relief from the jealousy that had swollen within me and spread through my entire body like sharp needles.

Out loud and forcefully, I recited Innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.

No matter how much I turned on the air conditioner and fan, the sweat refused to stop pouring from me.

I paced back and forth in the room, trying to strengthen myself through honest reflection and by forcing my heart to push away distress. I said aloud, “I must not allow a small emotional disturbance to shatter the peace of my heart again.

I have endured something far more severe. What happened in our family home frightened me more than his decision to marry another wife. And that incident has passed, even though things are still not fully resolved. Therefore, I see no trial in life more disturbing than that experience.

And since my heart did not fail me then, nothing should make it fail me now.”

I went into the bathroom and performed ablution. I prayed without much calm, but at least I performed ten rak’ahs. I couldn’t formulate specific supplications; I only kept repeating Innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un and Hasbiyallahu wa ni‘mal wakeel.

Until midnight, I sat on the prayer mat reciting whatever remembrance came to my lips, seeking tranquility for my heart because I couldn’t ask Allah for anything specific. It was near dawn that sleep finally began to pull at me. I forced myself to wake up, performed ablution again to refresh myself, and did not rest until I prayed Fajr.

I felt some relief from the thoughts that had tightly gripped my mind. But once again, I found myself sinking into thoughts of where he intended to keep the bride he planned to marry.

My heart jolted violently when I remembered that we were close to finishing the house construction. The land was his, yes—but about ninety percent of the money used for the building came from my savings. We sold two of my plots to start the construction, and after the money finished, I kept injecting large sums until we reached the painting stage, with only minor finishing work left.

“Disaster,” I said aloud, imagining the magnitude of the scheme standing before me.

When I felt completely overwhelmed, I suddenly began chanting praises to Allah aloud. By Allah’s power, calmness descended upon me, and I fell into a deep sleep right there on the prayer mat.

I enjoyed that sleep deeply, because it had been a long time since I slept so soundly and peacefully. I didn’t wake up until around ten in the morning. I was surprised that I hadn’t even heard the usual movements of the children. I was certain they had come in—Amrah and Alti must have kept them from disturbing me. I later learned that Farha had been coaxed for a long time before agreeing to go to school without seeing me.

I sent blessings upon the Prophet and stood up to go to the bathroom. I bathed immediately, then dressed in a light gown. Just then, Alti gently pushed the door and peeped in. Seeing me standing and already bathed, she entered fully and cheerfully said, “You’re awake, Mahmah? I’m happy you slept well. It was really hard convincing your daughter to go to school.”

I smiled and said, “Farha is my world. I know she troubled you a lot.”

With care, she said, “I made you peanut pap. Should I fry akara for you? I cooked it last night and kept it in the fridge.”

I smiled and replied, “Thank you for your effort, Alti. May Allah reward you for me.”

Her face brightened even more as she said, “Ameen, Hajiya Mamah. May Allah multiply the joy in your heart and on your face.”

I responded, “Ameen, ameen. I’ll bathe properly now—start frying around ten.”

“Alright,” she said energetically and left, saying, “Alhamdulillah!”

After eating, I cleared my dishes and took them to the kitchen. I sat in the living room while Alawiyya went into my room to clean. It felt as though Sahal had been removed from my heart entirely—I didn’t even feel like seeing him.

I stayed in the living room until she finished and sprayed air freshener around the room.

A little later, I returned to my room and sat on the carpet instead of the bed, taking one pillow from the bed. I found myself longing to revisit memories of our past life, to distance myself from thoughts of Sahal and his decision to marry again—a decision he believed he could use to humiliate me if I opposed it.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillow. I closed my eyes and drifted into deep recollections, revisiting events firmly etched in my mind—events whose lessons would serve as warnings.

When I noticed Abida deeply engaged in her studies, I stood up and went to the kitchen to prepare food for us, knowing she wouldn’t speak to me again until she finished her tasks.

The next day, she returned straight to Katsina.

At that time, Sahal’s support for Farouk became very strong. He paid for Umrah for me, him, and all our children. He also sponsored his parents, even though they had gone before. A year after our trip, he sponsored Baban Zaria and his wife—Amrah’s counterpart.

He showed me generosity and care in every way, placing everything at my disposal as if money meant nothing. During this time, I weaned Farouk, and Amrah started school.

My focus turned to writing about things that build the body. For example, I would take an apple and write about its benefits to the human body, its nutrients, and the types of people who needed it most. Sometimes, I wrote about mangoes. All of this was on Facebook, which was my only platform at the time. Before I realized it, I had gained many followers and expanded my snack business.

I became a well-educated, elegant woman, supported by a husband who strengthened my business. Our parents were also well-off; even after marrying us off, they continued to serve us without expecting anything in return—we did so only to seek blessings.

I became a “big madam.” My curves became more pronounced, so I dressed confidently in ways that attracted attention. My skin received the right oils and soaps, and my fragrance was distinctive because I used designer perfumes. All these made Sahal cling to me even more, aware that I suited men wealthier than him in every sense. In fact, he himself was given to me entirely after three full years, through Abida.

Even five years into our marriage, I wouldn’t say I was unhappy because of his marriage alone. There was only one issue: he lacked strong desire. That was the only deficiency, because my own desire was very strong. I accepted the lack of fulfillment as the trial of my marriage.

Strangely, as time went on, the issue worsened. Sometimes, an entire month would pass without him seeking me. Only when my restlessness became obvious would he romance me until I found release.

I began to wonder if his health was declining. I researched foods that could boost his desire and prepared them daily, but nothing changed. I consulted doctors who prescribed medication, but after taking one or two doses, he abandoned them.

At that time, I was still young and feared resorting to desperate measures—like secretly adding things to his drink—afraid he might discover it and accuse me of witchcraft.

The matter was far too heavy to discuss with anyone. I had no choice but to endure, constantly trying to suppress it—accepting it as the destiny Allah chose for me.