Gargadan So Part 2 Complete Hausa Novel

A House Gripped by Fear
It was a grand, luxurious living room, so exquisite you would think you were inside the Presidential Villa because of its beauty. A wealthy elderly man was in the room, dressed in majestic clothes, looking to be about sixty-eight or sixty-nine years old. His outfit sparkled as though the fabric had been made with diamond stones. Beside him sat another rich man, also dressed in noble attire, wearing a cap. There were also two women who looked to be around forty-nine or fifty years old, both seated in expensive, elegant outfits that practically screamed wealth.
Anyone you looked at in that room clearly showed signs of deep distress. Not a single person was speaking. The only conversations taking place were the ones each of them was having silently in their hearts. Then the watch fastened around the old rich man’s wrist beeped. The sound made him lift his head and look at the others in the room, who had all also raised their heads to look at him because of the sound from his wristwatch. He opened his mouth to speak, but no voice came out, so he cleared his throat first.
“Uhmm… uh’umm…”
Then he said, “This makes exactly seventy-two hours since we paid the money they demanded from us, yet silence. They have not released the little girl, and they have not called us.”
He then sat down heavily on the chair, looking toward the wealthy women who were crying, though one of them did not let tears touch her face because she kept pressing a tissue to it. The other woman sitting close to her, who looked like her friend from the way she was rubbing her back, said, “Noor is only four years old. Today makes it her fifth day in captivity.”
At once, he sprang up as though he had been pricked by something sharp and hurried toward the door. The other Alhaji quickly followed him and opened the door. Outside stood about ten heavily built security men dressed in military uniforms, arranged in two lines of five.
The Father’s Desperation
Gathering up his flowing robe as he moved quickly, the other man followed him in haste and asked, “Where are you going, Your Excellency?”
Filled with anxiety, and still walking without stopping, he replied, “I’m going to see Khaleelu.”
Just then, some security men opened another grand door for him, and he entered a beautiful sitting room of extraordinary elegance, though it was filled with darkness. He stretched out his hand and turned on the light, and the room instantly lit up. He walked to the lift in the sitting room and went upstairs. Nothing in the room seemed to be running except the air conditioner.
He opened another door. That room too was dark, and he quickly switched on the light.
My God! The beauty of the room was worth recording in the book of world records.
A young man sat there alone on a soft fur carpet, wearing only ash-colored Aritzia joggers and a white T-shirt. He had his back to the door, so all that could be seen was his broad, full back and his thick, somewhat coily black hair, the kind that resembled that of a Fulani boy.
The wealthy man quickly moved toward him, came around to face him, then bent down in great worry and said, “Khaleely, Khaleel, son!”
But the young man did not move at all. The other Alhaji remained standing by the door, watching them.
The older man then reached out both hands and gently lifted the young man’s face. In a soft voice, he called again, “Khaleel.”
Slowly, the young man opened his eyes. They were large and striking, almost like those of a beautiful young woman, framed by long black eyelashes. His eyebrows were also very full and thick, wide enough that one could say the width of one brow was like combining two ordinary brows into one. His hair was thicker than that of many women—not overly bushy, but full, with coiled strands. His lips were pinkish, not excessively so, but full and masculine in a very attractive way. His nose was long and finely shaped.
The way he fixed his gaze on the man—whom anyone could tell was his father—made the older man look as if he were about to cry. He placed his hand on Khaleel’s neck and said, “Just look at how thin my son has become… look at you, Khaleelu. You have not eaten anything except water. Today is the sixth day without a proper meal in your tummy. Which pain am I supposed to bear?”
Then he placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “I came to tell you that I will not sit still and watch everything happen because of these ridiculous kidnappers who warned us not to involve the police, and then I fold my hands and let something happen to you and your daughter.”
Khaleel’s Breaking Point
It was only then that Khaleel managed to speak, and it was clear that only sheer strength of will was keeping him together. Quietly, he said, “Pops, if anything should happen to Noor, I don’t know what will become of me.”
His father quickly replied, “I know, Khaleel. And if anything happens to you, I don’t know what will become of me and your mother. Just wait and listen, Khaleely—”
But Khaleel pushed his father’s hand off his shoulder and said, “Pops, I don’t want to hear it. Don’t involve the police! I don’t care if they want more money. They should keep calling—I’ll give them even if it takes everything I own. I just want my daughter back, Dad.”
His father opened his mouth to speak again, but Khaleel rose sharply to his feet. He was a tall, powerfully built man. Pointing directly at the door, he said, “Leave my room, Pops. I want to be alone!”
His father tried to speak again, but Khaleel pointed at the door once more with force and said, “I said get out. Leave.”