Me Kamar Sarki Part 3 Complete Hausa Novel

A’i Saude stood up angrily, huffing, and said, “Hey Malam, I was just saying—”

Malam Habu cut her off, “I asked you what happened between you people. I’m tired of your behavior. I don’t want to hear anything right now. This is enough. I’m not a foolish head of the house. You must change. I’m stronger than my household; stop thinking you can all gang up in one place.”

With shouting and screaming, A’i burst out as if her nose would tear, yelling, “Ayyuririii! Ayyuri yuriiii! People, by Allah’s power, just look—so now you’re saying you’re stronger than your household, Malam Habu the collector? By Allah, hear this early and stop saying it, because if the villagers hear, they’ll laugh at you. You’re only ‘stronger than your house’ with empty talk and bragging, but you don’t give us any real benefit. We live by watching and staring, feeding ourselves with nothing—what do you even give us? You only stretch your eyes begging here and there. By Allah, this is a loss!”

She finished and stormed into the room, continuing with all kinds of insults, leaving Malam Habu standing rooted to the spot like he’d been planted there, hurt by what she said.

Amatu burst into tears and ran into the room. In this world, she hated nothing more than hearing her father being insulted—she could endure anything else but not that. From inside the room, A’i said, “Jamila, come and take this food out so we don’t spill it. It’s you I’ll take with me—I came with you, and this cursed one blocked me when I went to throw the bucket into the well.”

Jamila stood there in shame at A’i’s words, looking at Aisha and Asma’u, and softly said, “Aisha, please forgive us.”

Aisha forced a smile and said, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

Suddenly, Jamila felt a hot slap on her back. She turned in shock and saw A’i, breathing heavily. Before Jamila could speak, A’i descended on her with blows, shouting, “Who are you to say ‘forgive us,’ you bastard? A dog licked a hyena for me—this is not my inheritance you came to eat, you wretch!”

Binta ran out when she heard the blows weren’t stopping. She came and pulled A’i away, who was gripping Jamila like she’d caught a bag, and said, “Haba, A’i, please! Aren’t you afraid you’ll cause internal bleeding with this beating? What did she do to you? Isn’t hunger and exhaustion from work enough? You’ve come to add another pain.”

A’i snorted, glaring at Jamila who was crying as if her soul would leave her. “By Allah, you’ve only seen a little. If your blood is royal, you’ll taste my whip right here—you know my nature.”

She raised her hand again to strike, but Binta quickly blocked her, saying in frustration, “Please, A’i, what is all this?”

A’i raised her hand. “Binta, mind your business. I said she’s my daughter—whatever I do to her, leave me alone.”

Binta fell silent, staring at A’i in disbelief, then said, “May Allah cool your heart.”

A’i then turned to Jamila and said, “You there, Jamila, stop crying. Hurry up, take the basin—there’s water in the big pot. Go fetch and bathe, you hear?”

Jamila nodded, wiped her tears, and left. Binta also left the place, while A’i dragged a chair, sat down, and continued ranting so loudly that even the neighbors could hear.

Malam Habu went into his room without uttering another word. Aisha and the others also went into their room to rest from their exhaustion, especially since Saude hadn’t prepared food for them to sell that day. Jamila prepared the food to sell and went out, still wiping tears, after A’i had earlier warned her not to come back with any leftover food.

With greetings, Binta entered Malam Habu’s room. He was lying on a worn-out thin mattress, covered with a mat, eyes closed as if asleep. Hearing her greeting, he opened his eyes and sat up quietly; just by looking at him, you could tell he was deeply troubled.

Binta placed the bowl in her hand and sat beside him. “Malam, here is food.”

Seeing that he remained silent and didn’t respond, she said, “Malam, please be patient. Stop burdening your heart with worry so high blood pressure doesn’t catch you. Wealth and poverty are both from Allah. No one is born with money; whatever one gets in this world, one leaves behind. As long as there is life, there is hope for one’s share.”

When he still didn’t respond, she gently touched his shoulder and said, “Malam, are you okay?”

He sighed deeply. “Yes, I’m fine, Binta. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

With compassion, she said, “But Malam, please reduce this worrying. If it’s capital, I can lend you ten thousand—buy even mangoes to sell.”

He shook his head. “Binta, the problem isn’t that. I can’t understand what troubles my life—as if I’m cursed. Whatever I touch doesn’t prosper, as if I’m ill-fated. And you know something, Binta—by Allah, since I separated from my parents, there hasn’t been a day they didn’t pray that Allah bless me. I grew up as a young man and made money, big businesses—but suddenly the money melted away, not only mine but people’s money too. I had to sell my lands and farms to repay them. Since then, life turned its back on me, and I’ve never had peace till today, Binta.”

He finished, holding his aching head.

Binta wiped her tears and said, “Be patient, Malam. That too is a test. Try to endure it; Allah will replace it with something better.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Binta. That’s why I was thinking—bring me water so I can bathe; I’ll come out now.”

She stood up and said, “Alright, Malam, eat the food first. Let me heat water, since I feel the weather is a bit cold.”

She said this and pulled aside the curtain to leave. She saw Amatu sitting at their doorway, resting her chin on her hand, staring at one spot in sadness. She was about to speak to her but changed her mind and went on with her work, feeling pity for this family.