Abbana Part 3 Compelet By Autar Alheri

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ABBANA BOOK 3 COMPELET BY AUTAR ALHERI 

The moment Abba finished speaking, he and Anti stood up and went upstairs. It was left with just me and Ya Omar, as Maryam Jamila had also climbed off me and followed behind Anti. Both of us kept our heads bowed, because I felt as though Abba had placed Mount Uhud squarely on my head, binding me completely with his words.
As for Omar, his thoughts were entirely different from mine, known only to him and his Lord. Today wasn’t the first time he was hearing me say I loved someone else. In fact, he had heard it before anyone else, ever since I was fifteen years old in Mambila—the day we went to Garba’s tea table. Since that very day, he had carried the bitter ache of it in his heart. But today, hearing Abba reiterate it, even begging him to have patience with me so we could settle things gradually—treating it as if Abba was forcing him to marry me—made him feel utterly unfortunate, like a man devoid of anything a woman could ever love.
The bitterness he felt in his soul caused him to swiftly raise his head. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes and said, "Boddo, feel free with me. It's your Ya Omar. I know you don't love me, but please... don't hate me because of him, I beg you. I know I'm a loser, I know it, but set your mind at ease. By Allah's grace, as long as I am alive, I will not allow Abba to force you into this marriage."
He finished his words with a choked voice, remembering that Boddo regarded a marriage to him as forced—as if she viewed him as a problem in her life.
In slow motion, I raised my head and looked at Ya Omar. The veins on his head stood out prominently—as is typical with fair-skinned people—and his eyes were heavily bloodshot. I had never seen him in an emotional state quite like this before.
Suddenly, all the guilty conscience in the world seemed to crash down upon me, crushing me. Was what I was about to do to Abba and Omar—for the sake of someone I didn't even know, someone I wasn't even sure existed—truly right? Was I about to make a grave mistake that I would later be completely unable to fix?
"Ya Umar, I have never hated you, wallahi, believe me. I just never associated marriage with the two of us. I never gave you the status of a husband because I preferred you to remain my pillar of support—someone I could always run to if my husband ever offended me. I only love you as a brother, not as a husband. I'm sorry, Ya Umar, I'm very sorry. I know it will hurt, but you don't know how much it deeply hurts the culprit (I know it is painful, but do not seek to uncover how much more painful it is for the one who committed the act). I know, Ya Omar, whether we marry or not, you will stand by me. Please help me find him; I have no clue where to start. I may sound selfish, but that is the bitter truth, my own fate. I am speaking with absolute sincerity. There is no room for anyone else's love in my heart except his. I didn't start loving him all at once; I loved him even before I realized it. Day and night, he has been hunting my dreams and every corner of my heart for seven long years, yet I do not know him, nor do I know where to find him... Yet I'm craving for him!"
I buried my face on the dining table and began to wail loudly. Omar, his body visibly trembling, drew closer, lifted me up, and before I knew what was happening, I found myself throwing my arms around him, hugging him tightly, weeping and begging for his forgiveness.
Omar sat there completely frozen in shock. This was the first time such physical closeness had happened between him and Boddo since they reached puberty. The sudden reaction of his body confirmed to him that he loved Boddo with a pure, real love—not the sibling kind she felt for him. He deeply yearned for her to be his wife and the mother of his children, but alas! Look at the words pouring from her mouth regarding another man—the very Boddo he had loved since her birth.
We remained in that embrace for a long time before Ya Omar summoned his masculine strength, gently pulled me away from his body, and used his handkerchief to wipe my face. He said, "Alright Boddo, I understand. Stop crying and calm your heart. I won't go along with Abba to marry you by force. I will find a solution for us that won't make him angry with you. But your situation is too complicated, Boddo. Even if I want to help you, I don't know where to begin. If today you knew this man, knew where he was, and he loved you back, it would be fine. But I cannot comprehend your words about not knowing him or never seeing him except in dreams—this is unbelievable! I want to help you, but I don't know how, since I cannot enter your dreams to see him or speak with him. I wish he's real... I would have spent all my strength pleading with Abba..."
"Wallahi he is alive, Ya Omar! And he is a human being just like anyone else. Just give me time and I will find him, as long as you keep your promise to plead with Abba. With my own ears, I heard his voice on the radio after my dream."
"The radio?" Omar asked, his voice filled with a heavy mix of astonishment and the troubling thought that this unseen love was driving Boddo out of her mind. "And you were told that he is the one from your dream? Was it a divine revelation or what?"
At that point, I began to feel irritated by his questions, which seemed designed to test my sanity. But knowing that Omar truly intended to help me, I calmed my heart and narrated everything that happened that day, including the issue of the Jinn (Rukiyya) and the spiritual intervention Anti had Abba arrange for me.
Despite the heavy situation Ya Omar was in, he couldn’t help but chuckle and said, "Boddo, so where exactly do we start looking for Mr. Radio?"
I glared at him, thinking he was trying to paint me as crazy, and said, "If you are serious about helping me, Ya Omar, let us start by touring the radio stations in Abuja. And you can ask Abba which station he was listening to on the day I fainted. I swear to you, the moment I see him, I will recognize him at first glance, and the moment I hear his voice, I will know it."
Omar covered his face with his palms, a painful smile flashing across his lips. He said, "Let's assume we find him at one of the radio stations we visit, and let's assume you recognize him—what do we say to him, Boddo? 'Mr. Radio, come and marry Boddo because she dreams of you and loves you?' You are beyond that, Boddo, as a Fulani girl from Mambilla. Don't you think doing that would tarnish your dignity as a cherished daughter of the Mambilla Fulani, the granddaughter of Malam Dalhatu Gembu and Saudatu Ummati of Mambilla? If Ummati hears that you went out hunting for a husband on the streets of radio stations, don't you think her proud Fulani heart could fail out of grief for you? Because Ummati does not tolerate shame or the lowering of dignity regarding her bloodline. If you will take my advice, do not ever attempt to look for him anywhere. Learn to have patience with love and learn endurance. For I understand your love for him is extremely hot. Keep it in your mind that if he is destined to be your husband, Allah will bring him to you wherever he is. If Allah has not destined him to be yours, Boddo, love doesn't kill. Why not marry me and give it a try? My love will be enough for both of us. I do not require a romantic response from you, nor do I desire your body. I will only love you Boddo till eternity and actualize my love alone...!!!"
I burst into tears, covering my ears with my left and right fingers, crying out, "Ya Omar, there is no such thing between us! I cannot do it, I cannot deceive you. If I marry you out of pity, I can never give you the love you desire from me."
"And that is why I told you I do not need your love; mine is enough for me. I am not marrying you just to take advantage of you; I am marrying you so we can continue our lives together just as our Abba wishes, until the time comes when your perception of me changes and you find a space for me, no matter how small, from the space Mr. Radio occupies. I will be glad and grateful."
Umar had ceased to amaze me; instead, he filled me with wonder and deep pity. Seeing that I was speechless, he knelt further before me, placed his palm on my right leg, and said:
"Do you agree, Boddo?"
His eyes were pleading, his pink lips moving gently as if the words weren't even coming from him.
"I will try to buy myself a home in your heart while we are together. If he shows his love in dreams, I will show mine in reality. He is a coward, Boddo—a weakling, since he cannot manifest himself in reality and only sneaks through dreams to drive you crazy. Boddo, I am Omar, the son of Asshe and Hassu, the son of Gidado and Mamman, the grandson of Ummati. Is this strong bond of ours not enough for you to consider and sacrifice a stranger's love for it? I will leave you with this to think about from now until you finish your exams. I won't bother you with any talk regarding this matter again, because I want you to focus your mind entirely right now. Three months are enough for you to give us a verdict, and whatever you decide, Insha Allah, I will accept it. I will also make sure Abba accepts it; I will use the deep love he has for me to ensure you get whatever you want."
That night, I couldn't sleep for even ten minutes. I tossed and turned on the bed, recalling Ya Omar’s words. Truly, I was in a state of utter confusion, but I failed to realize that my only way out at this critical juncture was to leave the choice to Allah. I failed to remember to stand up and ask Allah to make the best choice for me and not leave me to my own devices.
Instead, I was more inclined to wish that the Almighty would just reveal him to me quickly. If he appeared, everything would become easy, because Omar never breaks his word—since he said he would appease Abba for me, he would definitely do it. Ya Omar would make Abba marry me off to him, and Anti would make Abba understand so Ya Omar could marry someone else within the family. I didn't want to recall a single word from Omar’s speech because they only made me cry. That night, too, we parted with heavy tears, as I was unable to give him an answer.
The next day, I didn't see him around the house, nor did I hear any word of him. I got ready and went to school with a heavy, lifeless body. I sat for today's exam, but I knew within myself that I was a loser. For three whole days, I didn't see Umar again. It was only later that I overheard Anti on the phone with Anti Nasara, mentioning that he had traveled and would spend three months before returning.
Whatever Umar’s wisdom was for abandoning our house, another part of my mind whispered that it was to give me the space to study. Aloud, I muttered, "May Allah bless you, Ya Omar. Whether you are here or not, this exam is a total failure. Its name is Fatima Tara (F9×9)."
We finished WAEC and transitioned into NECO. It was during NECO that Ko'oje noticed something and alerted me—she said I was drawing a radio on my mathematics answer sheet! I quickly checked, and indeed, I was drawing a radio along with the names of Nigerian radio stations that I knew written in capital letters.
After we left the exam hall, Ko'oje grabbed my hand, looking as if she was about to burst into tears. "Aishatu Mamman Gembu, what have you turned yourself into these days? A math paper, and you are drawing a radio? What is your connection to a radio? Are you in your full senses?"
I looked down directly and said, "I'm in LOVE, Ko'oje. Sincerely in love, an unimportant love too!"
Azima Salim Ko'oje gripped both of my hands tightly in hers and said, "How did it become unimportant?"
"Because my Abba is going to force me into a marriage with Ya Omar, Azima. They refuse to believe that I love a real human being, a child of Adam and Eve. They firmly believe I am suffering from a Jinn affliction or a mental issue."
"And I believe that my friend would never lose her senses because of a man. Who is he? Who is that lucky guy? Tell me who he is! Does he know you love him?"
"He doesn't know, Ko'oje. I am drumming and dancing all by myself. To make matters worse, I don't even know where he is!"
"Then what is his connection to the radio you are drawing on a mathematics answer sheet?"
"He's a Radio Presenter, I guessed."
Ko'oje widened her large eyes, staring intently at me. "You said you don't know him, so how did you come to know that?"
"My goodness, are you a lawyer?"
She laughed and said, "Exactly, that's what I hope to become. As for you, here you are on the yardstick of ruining your future completely."
I opened my eyes and looked at her thoroughly, and she said, "I have never heard this fable of yours. Wallahi, I thought the boyfriend was around with you, or maybe he wasn't accepted at home. That's why I stood by listening to you. It turns out you are just living on delusions and illusions. Before it gets worse, I will tell Anti to take you to the hospital so immediate action can be taken, and then next year you can retake your papers."
Furious, I walked away and left her calling my name, but I didn't even turn back. I walked quite a distance before sitting on a fallen tree log to cry my heart out. Ko'oje was my last hope, but look... now she too was saying I was experiencing delusions, even adding hallucinations to it.
I knew myself, and within the little knowledge Allah had granted me, I knew I was perfectly sane. This was simply the nature of my trial, or perhaps the destiny of my life, which differed from that of any other woman. I lived my love in dreams and imaginations. Our own love tragedy is unbelievable to anyone with a sound mind.
Suddenly, I heard a car horn. Raising my tear-stained eyes, I looked toward where the car was parked. It was Anti, who had come to pick me up herself today because I had told her I only had one paper to write.
I spotted her standing far off near the car with Ko'oje, the two of them talking while looking toward me with pity written all over their faces. I stood up, walked over to the car, and climbed in. Anti bid farewell to Azima, placed Nadia on my lap, and drove off. We took the road home from Mabushi.
Anti drove the car slowly, as if she didn't want us to reach home. Suddenly, she diverted the car down a completely different route until we arrived at a massive hospital. Picking up her bag, she told me to follow her. From reading the name on the building, I instantly realized it was a psychiatric hospital. A deep wave of bitterness choked my chest and I refused to step out. Eventually, I just placed my hands on my head, burst into tears, and cried out to her, "Are you also going to label me as mad?" Anti panicked. The people around, however, were well-accustomed to seeing people like me, so they didn't pay much attention to us.
I watched Anti pull out her phone to make a call from a distance. Within moments, a refined-looking doctor stepped out accompanied by two burly psychiatric nurses. The nurses calmly said, "Follow us peacefully into the doctor's office. If you resist, we will put you in the 'guard room' and lock you up." Upon hearing that, I swallowed my tears completely, resolving within myself to stay calm; if their tests proved I was perfectly fine, everyone would leave me in peace.
The doctor opened his fridge, took out a carton of chilled fresh milk, poured it into a tumbler, and handed it to me with a warm smile. This was after he offered me a chair facing him. Anti remained standing over in the corner. I couldn't reject his kind gesture; if nothing else, there was no look of judging me as a madwoman in his eyes. Since I was already starving, I accepted the milk and drank it all. He poured more for me, and I finished that too. Closing my eyes, a sense of profound calm washed over me. He offered me a chair closer to him, and I sat down while stealing glances at Anti. He opened a file and asked:
"What is my little sister's name?"
"My name is Boddo," I answered very curtly, my face tight.
"Siyama, right? Meaning... Ramadan? How can a beautiful girl like you say her name is Boddo?" His remark made me burst into a brief smile, and Anti smiled too, albeit filled with worry. She told him that Boddo meant 'beautiful,' and I added, "Aisha-Siyama is my name."
The doctor said, "Ah, now I see. Siyama, your mother brought you here on the suspicion that you are experiencing delusions, is that true?"
"Well, even if I tell you that I am perfectly fine, you won't necessarily believe me, since they say the majority carries the vote."
Dr. Amir smiled gently and said, "Sometimes, the majority aggregates together to choose the wrong action, which ends up troubling all of them. Meanwhile, the few who chose differently turn out to be on the right path. Therefore, Aisha-Siyama, relax your mind. I am not among that majority looking at you as someone who is mentally unstable. I am sitting on the fence, watching how the election conflict unfolds. When it's over, as a psychiatrist, I will pass a true judgment between you and them."
A sudden smile escaped my lips. I felt inclined to agree with what he said. Another part of my mind whispered that it was merely the typical cleverness and wisdom doctors use when they want to draw out the truth. Dr. Amir asked:
"Aisha-Siyama, what is troubling you so much that you are drawing a radio on your NECO answer sheet? An answer sheet for mathematics, no less?"
"Whatever you think of me is correct." I gave Dr. Amir a brief answer. I had stopped defending myself against the madness they had already pinned on me; instead, I would just accept whatever medication they gave me, though I wouldn't actually swallow anything that could harm me. I would just throw it away.
Despite all the doctor's tactics, I refused to say anything further. In the end, I broke down in tears before him and said, "Doctor, I accept everything they claim about me being mad, but if they force me into this marriage, I will kill myself."
"Now we've reached the root of the matter!" Anti interjected. In Anti's mind, I had reached the critical stage of depression that triggers suicidal thoughts in a patient. Or so she thought.
Dr. Amir tucked his pen behind his ear, watching me intently. "You refuse to tell me what is truly bothering you, yet I know you are perfectly sane, even when you speak of suicide. But always remember that you are a Muslim woman who believes that Allah Subhana gives and withholds, and He has commanded us to be obedient to our parents. You are in love, right?"
I raised my eyes and looked at him, saying neither yes nor no. I made a silent vow never to speak of my Dream Husband to anyone ever again. I would only do what brought me peace of mind: searching for him.
The doctor said, "Aisha-Siyama, forget him. Face your exams—it is your future. Obey your parents, stop stressing your mental well-being, and face your reality. You are still young; right now is the opportunity you have to build your life. Do not let this chance pass away in vain within a dream that may not necessarily become reality."
I simply nodded my head to him, my only wish being for him to discharge us. He looked at Anti Wasila and said, "Your daughter is not suffering from delusions, nor does she have any psychiatric illness. However, she needs a lot of rest, like a long, deep sleep. Stress has overwhelmed her due to the infatuation she has harbored in her heart. If she gets enough sleep, she will gain peace of mind. Therefore, I will only give her a sedative injection and prescribe some simple drugs to relieve her stress."
Aunty Wasila let out a deep sigh and said, "Doctor, you heard her talking about suicide, yet you are calling her healthy."
The doctor replied, "Then do not force her into marriage since she doesn't want it. Women commit acts far worse than suicide over forced marriages; some get into prostitution or run away from home. Therefore, for Allah's sake, let her be at peace and give her time to forget him gradually." Anti countered:
"Doctor, ever since I came to her father's house, she has been talking about this man she loves. Have you ever heard of someone loving an unseen entity? It has been going on for five years now and she has never stopped. Therefore, I don't believe she will stop, even if she sleeps for a thousand days."
Dr. Amir asked, "Siyama, where is he? Have you ever met him in person?"
Tears welled up in my eyes and began to roll down, touched by the deep concern and sympathy with which he spoke about my distress.
"I actually don't know, Doctor. I don't know."
Dr. Amir said, "Give me the permission to become your advisor regarding him. Meaning, whatever you feel or experience, you call and tell me alone, not anyone else. And before you execute any decision regarding him, consult with me first. I am with you, Siyama. You are perfectly healthy, but you are battling an infatuation that you have harbored for so long that it has manifested in your dreams. In reality, whatever we fixate our minds upon before going to bed is what we see in our sleep. But there is no actual man coming to you in your dreams; it is merely an imagination that you have held onto for so long that it turned into fantasies. You can rid yourself of this fantasy and infatuation through behavioral therapy alone, which I will place you on (counselling), so it doesn't cause any harm to your brain."
"But Doctor, I have no desire to remove these dreams from my heart because I find solace in them. I prefer to continue living within my dreams; they are sweeter to me than anything because they ease the loneliness of waiting for him. I am certain that sooner or later, my heart tells me he will come. The dreams you want to rid me of are what help me wait for him. I am not the only one bearing this burden, Doctor. Believe me, I am not just enduring empty suffering as you all assume. I believe that our hearts are jointly connected internally."
Dr. Amir smiled and stood up to prepare the injection. He had fully understood everything he needed to grasp: she believed her fantasies and infatuations of many years, and separating her from them abruptly would be difficult until she achieved actualizing them.
He finished preparing the syringe, walked back, and said, "Give me your hand, Siyama, I will give you an injection that will ensure you get sufficient sleep."
True to his words, from the moment we got into the car, I fell into a deep sleep. Allah favored me, as both tomorrow and the day after were exam-free days. Sleep is truly a mercy and a blessing to mankind; my lack of it for the past two days had contributed to shattering my composure and worsening my infatuation.

Abba looked at Anti, who was busy trying to set up his food. "Where is that daughter of yours? I haven't seen her since yesterday."
"The doctor gave her an injection and she is sleeping."
"Is she unwell?" he asked, wrinkling his face.
Anti replied, "Her health—"