Rubutacciya Part 1 Complete Hausa Novel

A Rainy Evening in Kaduna
 
It was a rainy Thursday evening in Kaduna. The skies had opened up with a downpour so heavy it seemed it might crack rooftops. People scattered for shelter. Within minutes, the rain stopped—just like that. Those who had taken cover started emerging, many heading toward mosques, as the call to Isha prayer was near.
 
In this weather, people bundled up—some in thick clothing, others, like the poor and the almajirai, crouched in corners or wrapped in thin cloths. The cold touched everyone differently.
 
Alhaji Lukman’s Drive Home
 
Alhaji Lukman sat calmly in the driver's seat, navigating the smooth asphalt despite the growing traffic. His face showed no frustration—just weariness. The only thing on his mind was home. He longed to freshen up and pray before Isha caught them on the road.
 
He glanced at his dashboard clock: 7:30 p.m. “We’re late,” he murmured. Cars were piling up on the overpass, so he decided to descend and take the road under the bridge, hoping for a quicker route.
 
His wife, Hajiya Salma, glanced up from her newspaper, glasses perched on her nose. Their 15-year-old son Sultan stared out the window, his mind clearly lost in thought. He loved rainy weather—it filled him with joy.
 
A Quiet Family, Loud Thoughts
 
Since leaving his grandmother’s house in Jaji, no one had spoken. Silence was normal for them. They were intellectuals, selective with their words. Their home was known for quiet—visitors often left frustrated, saying it felt like no one lived there.
 
Sultan finally broke the silence. “Abba, could you stop near that junction? I need to pee. And maybe get some snacks.”
 
“No, Sultan,” Hajiya Salma interrupted gently. “Hold it till we get home. Those places are filthy—you could get infected.”
 
But Sultan, restless, said nothing. Lukman eventually parked near the station. Sultan stepped out with a water bottle in hand, looking for a discreet spot. But everything was muddy and foul. He hesitated, disgusted, but the urge was too strong.
 
The Cry Under the Truck
 
After relieving himself behind a large truck, Sultan began rinsing his feet when he heard something strange—a breath, shallow and near. His heart pounded. He froze. Then a voice whispered:
 
“Help me… Water… I’m dying…”
 
Trembling, Sultan crept toward the sound. His body shivered, not from cold but fear. Peering under the truck, he saw nothing—yet the voice persisted.
 
Then, a figure appeared—a man in a singlet, holding a kettle. Sultan, shaken, pleaded, “Please sir, I heard a voice crying for help under that truck.”
 
The man scowled. “What are you doing here, boy? Leave before I curse your family!”
 
But Sultan blocked his path. “Please, just look. Someone’s under there.”
 
The man finally muttered, “That’s Saudat. She sleeps under the truck. She’s pregnant—probably in labor. She’s a disgrace in a hijab. Came here with sin in her belly. Two days now, she hasn’t moved.”
 
Sultan’s Mercy
 
Sultan ignored the insults. His eyes locked on the shadow under the truck. “Pregnant?” he whispered, more to himself. With courage he didn’t know he had, he approached and knelt.
 
“Aunty, do you need anything? Please, speak to me.”
 
Tears rolled down his cheeks. Her eyes opened weakly, landing on his tear-streaked shirt. She whispered:
 
> “I know I won’t live. But if my child survives, I want the world to know who did this to me. Promise me… take this bag… there’s a book inside. Give it to someone who can tell my story. Expose the man who destroyed me. Please… free my unborn child from his curse.”
 
Sultan nodded through tears, overwhelmed. He reached out—then suddenly someone yanked him back.
 
Back to the Car
 
The stranger dragged Sultan away roughly. “Alhaji, take your son and go. That girl’s a disgrace. Don’t let her infect your family.”
 
Sultan fell to his knees in front of his father. “Abba! Please! She’ll die if we leave. Let me help her. Please, Abba.”
 
Alhaji Lukman stood speechless. Hajiya Salma’s face was frozen in disbelief. The man who dragged Sultan kept ranting, “That girl has HIV, from fornication. Don’t be foolish.”
 
Lukman said nothing. The family quietly returned to the car.
 
Haunted by Silence
 
Back home, Sultan’s younger siblings, Hafsat and Haidar, rushed to greet him. “What happened to Yaya Sultan? Why does he look broken?”
 
No answer came.
 
Sultan walked straight to the bathroom, performed ablution, and prayed. Then he lay on the prayer mat and fell asleep, using his arm as a pillow.
 
In his dreams, he cried out:
 
> “Umma! Abba! Please don’t kill her! Leave my Aunty Saudat alone!”