Razul A. Ariz
He’s half-sleep while rummaging his phone under the pillow beside his head and snoozes all the ringing alarms he sets before he goes to bed. This is the usual scenario that happens every time he sets the alarm for Fajr’s prayer. They seem battling with his scheduled alarm – whenever the alarm rings, he automatically swipes the snooze button.
Before he sleeps, he conditions himself and plans to do lots of things for the succeeding days but ends up slacking til the sun rises. Thus, he will be waking up with guilt and disappointment from missing intentionally one of his religious obligations – his morning prayer.
That day was a sudden shift from the tide. Long before his alarm was supposed to ring, he woke up as if someone made him do it. As his routine whenever he’s awake, he utters the dua “Alhamdulillahilladhi ahyana ba’da ma-amatana wa ilayhin nushur” – a supplication that offers gratitude to the Almighty for making him awake from his sleep.
For minutes, he stays in a lying position while staring blankly at the ceiling – he thinks about how melancholic life is, as time passes by swiftly yet progress is as torpid as a sloth; he’s exhausted in navigating the essence of life. After he gathered enough courage, he rose from his beddings and the rustling sound of his malung echoed in the dimly lit room.
Thereafter, he fixed his beddings, folded his malung, and put it above the pile of pillows arranged beside the bed headboard. He then grabbed the hanging white thobe behind the door and shook it off to dust any elements in contact with it. There were times, while he was lying on his bed, he felt a bit eerie staring at the spooky figure cast by his hanged thobe as if it was like a mangunsinà sneaking him all the time and perhaps would devour him at any possible moment.
As he walked along the bumpy road toward the masjid, the towering concrete houses were still asleep. A gentle breeze orchestrated by the blinking lights of the fireflies along with the symphonious serenade of crickets greeted him on that dawn which made him clasp his both shoulders as the shudder ran through him. “Hmm, këpya në sënggyup në sámbël ë nya” (hmm, the scent of this breeze is delightful) he mumbled; deep inside he realized how lucky he was for this bare minimum life privilege.
After a short while, the muadhin – the prayer caller, from the distant masjid called the qamat, the second or last call for jamaah before the congregational prayer commences. The line on that qamat saying “hayya alas salah, hayya alal falah” (come to prayer, come to success) gave him a lightbulb moment for his been clamoring for life stability for years without knowing that success is always calling him every day.
As he’s approaching the rusty dilapidated gate eroded by rainy and sunny seasons, the solar street light beside it shuts and paves a melancholic light on his way.
He lifted and swung open the gate which created a clunking sound, echoing on the quiet masjid’s courtyard as its metal panels moved against the hinges. He noticed how long those sagging gate panels covered with worn-out cyclone wire guarding the masjid’s threshold for unnumbered years from the access of stray dogs. He stopped for a while and peeked at the ajar masjid door and the jamaah, perhaps consisting of two, and an Imam about to commence their first raka-ah of salatul Fajr.
In a desire to catch up at the commencement of the prayer, he hastily strode to the washing area: washed his hands simultaneously, gargled water repeatedly, and concluded it by washing his feet. Despite the freezing water, he still managed to finish his ablution in the manner of how it was supposed to be performed. He then hurriedly entered the masjid, uttered the supplication, and proceeded to the saf of the jamaah to pray.
The prayer goes on, and then the imam concludes the congregational prayer by pronouncing “Assalamu alaykum warahmatullah” facing right then left. While, he, as a Masbuq, completes his prayer and stands for his last rakaah. Amid his standing, a spine-chilling breeze sweeps inside the masjid. He suddenly recited out loud melodiously the fatiha and a surah, probably, certain ayahs from surahtul Jin.
As how it ends, the salah concluded with salam and right after that, he read some Dhikr. “Alhamdulillah” he mumbled, painting a curve on his lips as a manifestation of being grateful for his little milestone that day – his salah. He then stood and walked towards the exit and left the masjid.
The imam awaited him outside and tagged along leaving the masjid. Out of concern, he suddenly said “Dátù, umeyka masbuq ta në nya det në mësulën bu i këpëmbátya ta së Fatiha ëndu sëkëb angh” (When we’re masbuq, it is required for us to recite our prayer silently) … “nya tëbya ë di’ ipëdsulën në umeyka ëdën màmum ta” (Not unless, when we have a màmum) he added in a hush and humble tone.
This perplexed him and he didn’t grasp the purpose of why the imam said that. Yet he replied by saying “Uwëy bápa Imam, nëpëngëgyan námi bun i námba së madrasah”(𝘠𝘦𝘴 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘐𝘮𝘢𝘮, 𝘸𝘦’𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘩).
Then, the imam said, “Ah, këgina kë nëpëngëgyan nëngka bun bësën në di’ kë dën pëmbëlumënëy i metu së këgína ëntu kë’ di’ intu pëkëustu.” (I see, since you’ve encountered it in your lesson, you should never repeat how you performed it how a while ago, for it is not accurate).
“Ustu bun mën bási i’ntu bapa Imam, kë ngen pën bësën i ma’mum ku ëntu ë kimëbit së láki këgína. Tu mëngúda ëntu ë nëkëlámbung së mëputi” he explained.” (I think that was accurate bapa Imam, how about that màmum who tapped my shoulder awhile ago – the lad in white lambung).
The imam chuckled and said “mësëbëlëw kë mámbù ë wátà. Sëka bu i másbuq këgína ëntu, da’ dën nëkëtúndug pën së lëka.”(You’re a joker kid. You’re the only masbuq a while ago;no one comes after you) He patted his shoulder and said “Na metu dën ba, tumálus ëku dën.” (Okay, I will go then).
He was left cemented on that road holding his trembling knees as fear enveloped his whole system due to the surge of that horrible information. Yet, after his sanity returned, he uttered to himself while pondering “mëpya pën silán kë pëkëëpas pën pëdsambáyang!” (how fortunate they are for they still dare to pray).