TSUTSAR NAMA BOOK 1 Complete Hausa Novel Document by TSUTSAR NAMA BOOK 1

The shop details requested by the D.C.O. were obtained from the phone line records of the individual. Therefore, during the thorough investigation, it was discovered that it was a new line, and another one had been opened just a month prior. However, no calls were ever made to anyone except for a few to Yaya Musaddiq and Samraah. Additionally, only one number was frequently used to send messages, and all the messages were in code. There was no way to decipher them except by those involved. The way the messages were structured suggested no prior connection between the person using the line and the sender, but evidence confirmed that the same person had used it to orchestrate Samraah’s kidnapping. This unsettled the D.C.O., but he provided the number used for the messages without further explanation. They claimed they would wait until morning, prompting the D.C.O. to request a trace on the number before receiving its details. However, the line was completely inactive on the network, meaning the owner had either destroyed it, deactivated it, or removed it.  

A deep sense of frustration weighed on the D.C.O. as he returned to his desk, realizing that this entire case was shrouded in cunning deception. Whoever planned the abduction of the girl was exceptionally intelligent. He hadn’t acted without meticulously covering all possible traces, making it extremely difficult to identify him. But no matter what, he would eventually make a mistake—and even the smallest slip-up could lead to his capture, God willing.  

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The day he arrived at Abba’s house, his children weren’t there. At that hour, everyone was home—even Nabil, who usually stayed in the hostel, had come for the weekend. Hafizzullah, however, had returned based on Yaya Musaddiq’s insistence. At first, Mum’s face was tense with anger because, truthfully, the issue with Samraah had begun to affect her. The constant police presence at their home had started to take a toll. The D.C.O., observing her closely, said, “I believe we’re close to finding Samraah, God willing.”  

Mum, filled with bitterness, replied, “You people are just troubling yourselves unnecessarily. Wherever she is, she went there on her own. I know her reckless friends—or maybe she’s in some other town, hiding somewhere. But no, you all have to disturb our peace. Samraah this, Samraah that—as if she’s some precious needle, gold chain, or diamond!”  

“But Hajiya, if you knew this all along, why didn’t you tell us earlier?”  

“Me? Dead men keep secrets, not women! When was I supposed to tell you? Besides, I warned her repeatedly. You think restraining her would help? She’s been chasing after men and leaving town since who knows when. There isn’t a hotel in this city or beyond that she doesn’t know. And me? I’ve had to deal with her getting pregnant more than seven times. Now she’ll come back crying about stomach pains, and you’ll see her blood—if not another abortion, then what?”  

The D.C.O. could only listen in shock. Meanwhile, Abba remained silent, but Mum continued ranting, her words sharp like a whip. The D.C.O. glanced at Abba after finishing his notes and asked, “But Alhaji, as her father, haven’t you ever taken any action regarding this?”  

Before Abba could respond, Mum cut in again. “What action could he possibly take? In this house, no one dares challenge her. Besides, her cousin knows everything—he’s her accomplice in all this…”  

“Hajiya, I was speaking to your husband. I’d like him to answer my question.” Mum reluctantly fell silent, pressing her lips together. The D.C.O. turned back to Abba, whose expression showed clear discomfort with Mum’s outburst but helplessness in stopping her. “I’m listening, Alhaji.”  

“Well, the truth is, the whole situation is confusing. But I’ve tried my best—except, as a man, I’m rarely home, so she knows more about these things.”  

The D.C.O. remained quiet, observing Abba’s uneasy demeanor. Yaya Musaddiq, his eyes filled with tears, spoke up in a strained voice: “I swear to you, Samraah has never engaged in immorality. And if not for her job, I can guarantee she has never stepped foot in a hotel. As for her illness, it’s due to her menstrual cycle. But regardless, wherever she is, our prayers are with her. May God reveal her whereabouts and protect her from all harm.”  

Musaddiq’s words sent Abba into a visible state of agitation, as if he had swallowed something bitter. Mum, meanwhile, grumbled under her breath, seemingly wanting to lash out at Musaddiq but restrained by the D.C.O.’s presence. The D.C.O. was satisfied with Musaddiq’s statement and didn’t press further. Musaddiq, too, avoided looking at Abba and Mum again, though a deep pain lingered in his heart over their behavior.  

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The pain is unbearable—worse than before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t taken my medication in five days. I barely noticed when the door opened, my consciousness slipping away from my body.  

The person who entered quickly stepped back, thinking Samraah had died. “The girl looks dead!”  

“Dead?!”  

They all rushed in, panicked. The most composed among them said, “Come see for yourselves!” They followed in chaos. One with a slightly calmer demeanor suggested, “She seems unconscious. Ayo, call the boss, please. You know the strict warnings we were given—we can’t afford to stay silent if something happens.”  

“Exactly, you’re right,” he replied, trying to dial the phone. They all spoke in hushed, nervous tones. Barely two minutes later, he returned with news: the boss said they should all leave the room—a doctor was on the way. They obeyed, and Ayo locked the door as instructed.  

Less than thirty minutes later, the driver brought the doctor. She entered alone after Ayo unlocked the door. After examining Samraah, she called Ayo to help lift her onto the bed. With minimal effort, Samraah regained consciousness but kept her eyes shut, pressing her hands to her stomach and whimpering in pain. She could barely answer the doctor’s questions. Being a skilled professional, the doctor quickly understood the problem. She called the person responsible for the mess, informing him of the medications and injections needed immediately. He assured her it wouldn’t be a problem.  

She wrote the prescriptions and sent them, then continued attending to Samraah until the supplies arrived. It didn’t take long—Ayo knocked, bringing the items she requested. She thanked him, and he left.  

Despite the pain, I couldn’t resist the relief the injection promised. Now, it’s the same. Since I realized what she intended, I braced myself. But when the needle pricked, I couldn’t suppress a flinch. There was no one to hold me steady—no guard dared touch me. She mistook my reaction for fear of the needle and assured me it wouldn’t hurt. I watched as she prepared the syringe, smiling faintly at her reassurance. She took her phone, dialed, and spoke briefly. I couldn’t hear what was said, but soon, the pain overwhelmed me so much that I didn’t even feel the injection. All I remember is her packing her things, and then sleep took me—likely due to the drug’s effect.  

If that injection had been administered with God’s mercy, I would have woken up normally. But surprisingly, the opposite happened. I woke up in the middle of the night with a new, sharper pain—twice as bad as before. The agony was so intense I nearly passed out again. Then, I saw the doctor leaning over me, accompanied by a face I couldn’t quite place—though I felt I should recognize it. The pain blurred my vision, but I was certain I knew that man. I should remember where I’d seen him before…