Ba Tabbas Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Loving Call on the Road
 
He was driving, and in his soft, perfect voice, he continued speaking.
 
“Please be a little more patient, just a few minutes more and you’ll see your lover—I’m very close now. I’ve missed you so much too, Habibty.”
 
He spoke with deep care, his face carrying a warm, beautiful smile. At a glance, anyone could tell that the woman he was speaking to held a very special place in his heart. She was his wife, Hairat Abar—his one true love, whom he loved more than anyone else. They had gotten married ten months ago and were living in Kaduna, surrounded by love and family. At this moment, Hairat was heavily pregnant; her delivery was expected today or tomorrow. That was part of the reason he was returning late from his work in Abuja. He had stopped to buy baby items as he always did, without complaint or fatigue, and after entering Kaduna, that delay caused his late arrival. Now they were on the phone as he reassured her that he was already in Kaduna and very close to reaching her. He didn’t tell her what delayed him, because he wanted it to be a surprise.
 
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, listening as Hairat’s voice filled the car through the speaker. She poured out her affection, completely turning Mahmoud’s world upside down—telling him how much she had missed him during the two months they were apart, how eager she was to see his handsome face, and how she couldn’t even eat until he arrived safely. He too didn’t relent, continuing to comfort and reassure the love of his life.
 
Sarkar Gangsters’ Team POV
 
“The car is about to arrive—get ready.”
 
The young man, no more than twenty or twenty-one years old, named Yar, said this to another younger boy who couldn’t be more than eighteen. He had just put on a mask with a leopard image and was adjusting the powerful flashlight in his hand. When the boy didn’t respond, Yar stopped walking and turned to look at him, clicking his tongue when he noticed the boy’s entire body trembling. It was clear he wasn’t used to what they were about to do—or perhaps had never done it at all. In fact, this was his first time out since joining the Sarkar Gangsters, a group infamous in the world of terror, cruelty, and theft. Even other gangs in Kaduna and across the country trembled at the mention of Sarkar Gangsters, especially when clashing with one of their members. Most especially Yar—he was a ruthless predator, utterly merciless, capable of committing any atrocity. Even he himself no longer knew how many people he had killed or injured in his short life.
 
“Hey, Zang, I hate nonsense. What’s with all this shaking? Didn’t you know what you were getting into? Are you still a child? Once you joined Sarkar Gangsters and signed in—after reading all the rules, plans, and codes—you should’ve said goodbye to faith, mercy, and fear from that moment on. Do you understand?”
 
He spoke while narrowing his small reddish eyes. After a brief pause, his smile vanished. He grabbed the boy’s hand firmly. Since joining the gang, the boy’s name had changed from Arzang to Zang. Yar adjusted the grip of the small, sharp knife in Zang’s hand.
 
“Look—this is what you’ll use to threaten him. Place it right on his neck. You understand, right?”
 
Zang nodded weakly in agreement, unable to speak, his body still shaking.
 
“Good boy. Let’s go—it’s getting closer.”
 
Yar said as he pulled Zang along. Zang also covered his face with a similar leopard-designed mask, clearly one of their gang’s symbols.
 
They rushed forward and blocked the car from the front. Yar moved to the car and knocked on the window. Mahmoud, shocked and frightened, immediately realized they were the criminals he’d heard stories about. Without arguing, he lowered the window—and instantly, Yar shone the powerful flashlight directly into his face. The sudden glare blinded Mahmoud; he quickly raised his hand to shield his eyes and squeezed them shut. Using that moment, Yar opened the car and dragged Mahmoud out.
 
Mahmoud fell to his knees, his vision still blurred, barely able to make out the two figures looming over him. Zang rushed forward and placed the knife at Mahmoud’s neck while Yar searched the car, collecting every valuable item he could find. Mahmoud didn’t resist—until Yar picked up something that belonged to Hairat, something Mahmoud could never bear to lose. As Yar tried to slip the ring into his pocket, Mahmoud let out a feral cry and lunged, grabbing Yar and struggling desperately to retrieve the ring. Yar resisted, and they began to wrestle.
 
Zang, trembling uncontrollably, rushed forward to intervene—but Mahmoud struck him with a fierce punch to the mouth. Zang staggered backward, nearly falling. When he touched his mouth and saw blood, something snapped inside him. Fueled by rage, he charged forward again. Mahmoud had already succeeded in reclaiming the ring after overpowering Yar, who was struggling to stand, when Zang rushed in and plunged the knife straight into the middle of Mahmoud’s head.
 
At that very moment, Mahmoud was turning—responding to Hairat’s screams. Unknown to him, the entire incident was unfolding before her eyes through a video call. He had never ended the call when he exited the car; the phone had fallen to the ground during the struggle. Hairat saw everything. She screamed Mahmoud’s name in terror—and as he turned, Zang drove the knife into his head.
 
Blood sprayed violently, splashing across Zang’s masked face and staining the phone screen. Hairat let out a piercing scream and collapsed unconscious.
 
Blood, Death, and the Mark of the Gang
 
Mahmoud began vomiting blood, his eyes struggling to stay open. He clutched the wound as blood continued to pour out like an open tap. Someone grabbed Zang’s mask and tore it off, revealing his face. Zang froze in shock, the knife slipping from his hand. He staggered backward as Mahmoud tried to collapse onto him. In panic, Zang picked up the knife again and stabbed Mahmoud in the stomach—again and again—until his face was completely drenched in blood. He finally released Mahmoud, who fell to the ground, groaning and gasping his final breaths. Without mercy, Zang stepped on Mahmoud’s neck to ensure he was finished.
 
Though Mahmoud appeared dead, Zang seemed out of his senses, refusing to stop. Yar, clutching his own injured stomach from Mahmoud’s punch, rushed over and grabbed Zang.
 
“He’s already dead. Let’s go, Zang. Staying here is dangerous—people could arrive at any moment.”
 
Zang took a long breath and shouted loudly, “Dead!”
 
He burst into a wild, unhinged laugh after confirming it.
 
“He died—just like he made me bleed.”
 
He brushed his long hair away from his blood-smeared face, wiped his hands across his cheeks, and laughed hysterically, his teeth stained red. He stomped on Mahmoud’s phone, smashing the screen to pieces.
 
They didn’t leave until they had taken everything valuable Mahmoud had—including the ring that caused it all. Before leaving, they placed a symbolic object bearing the Sarkar Gangsters’ emblem. It was their signature—a mark they always left behind after committing a crime, to declare their involvement. Yet despite this, the authorities could do nothing to them… as if they were protected by some unseen curse.