Around five houses away from my home, there is a dumb who often makes me feel slapped. If we look at his body, he looks like other Javanese people, neither big nor small; his body looks proportional.
His age is maybe around 45 years old. But the harshness of life has carved some permanent facial wrinkle on his face, and he looks older than his age. Uh, just call him Pak Warsa. He is the father of two children.
Mr Warsa has a very high spirit. Imagine his spirit like a lick of fire that continues to dance—popping around here and there. Despite his limitations on speaking, he still shows anaesthetizing energy within his soul.
People in my hometown often laugh at Pak Warsa’s behaviour, especially when watching him trying to tell a story. But I know deep in their heart, my neighbour admires Pak Warsa. He is the only person who always loves to put up the flag when August comes.
When the month of independence comes, usually Pak Warsa also came around to our houses. He brought a small book containing a simple column containing our name and some rupiahs before we donated to purchase the plastic flag to decorate our village.
Then, Pak Warsa also put up those small flags. He often puts up the flag alone or is sometimes assisted by his children or many children in the village. Look there! Every August comes, our village looks pretty with decorations of these small flags. And it’s all because of Mr. Warsa!
I always love to listen to him when he tells me something. I observed how he tried earnestly to explain his meaning with a difficult voice for me to understand. I also love to see his hands move randomly, trying to help him convey certain information. But unfortunately, I still can’t understand.
I think Pak Warsa is someone who had indeed been friends with misery. So the word no longer has a scary face. Instead, he seemed to be friendly and taught him many secrets. His face never shows sadness when the person is mocking him. There is no tone of disappointment emanates from his eyes. He still looks like the humble one, Pak Warsa. His hair begins to lose its colour, but it never changes his kindness.
Pak Warsa is doing everything he can. Sometimes he offers to help his neighbours. He was also looking for sought wood that was washed away and stuck at the foot of the bridge. Besides, he often buys fruits and then resells them. He also offers dishwashing services in the celebration of the people. Pak Warsa always moves. He seemed to realize that his move would make him feel alive.
Pak Warsa is Pak Warsa. There are no people like him. He is unique with all things in his life. God deliberately sent him to my village to teach us a lot of the mystery of wisdom.
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In this Ramadan, Pak Warsa still gives me a surprising lesson. He set his sound system in front of his house. Every time I went from the mosque near the house and crossed the front of Pak Warsa’s house, I always felt slapped.
I always grimace when I listen to Pak Warsa recite the Qur’an. First, he chants the verses of God. Then, he reads aloud the Al using his sound system. So his voice is heard very loud—a dumb who recite Al-Quran with his speaker. Imagine by yourself!
Don’t argue about tajwid, tartil, or true-false about letters coming out of Pak Warsa’s mouth. Course, he was defeated by a lot of “normal” people out there. But for me, Pak Warsa was not just reading and reciting Al Quran by text. He is studying and reciting life by singing his heart and feelings with a hoarse and unclear voice.
When I heard that voice, I silently imagined, what was the dumb feeling when reading the scriptures of God? Sadness? Bitterness? Miserable? I wonder, is he also fed up with his limitations? Does he want to protest everything? Or maybe is it the opposite? He feels grateful for what happened, embraces its limitations, and feels sorry for “normal” people who talk too much? I have no idea.
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One night, after tarawih. My mother had said quietly, “Pak Warsa is very smart, le”. I just smiled and agreed on it. So many times, deep down. My thoughts still creeping here and there.
“Buk, maybe between recesses of the Al-Quran, Pak Warsa also smile to imagining and thanking God, who gave him silence… “I whispered myself.
Translated by Dian Ratna Ayu Paramita.