A Testimony of a Mosque

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That night she was happy. So the moon, revealing itself perfectly in the dim sky, added to the brightness of her joyful spirit.

“In about a month, I will propose to you,” the man said. His voice was soft, his words simple. The young man was very sincere in expressing his love. But the girl sitting next to him was startled by his words. A shock that triggered the nerves of her happiness.

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“Really, Mas? Does that mean you are ready to fulfill my father’s conditions?” the girl asked cheerfully.

The young man named Fajar had just arrived from the city earlier that evening. His return was to inform Sari, his beloved, that he got a job at a leather factory in Malang, and of course, to let her know that he would soon propose to her. His happiness wasn’t just about getting a job, but also because he now had the ticket to marry his beloved. Sari’s father didn’t want to risk his daughter’s life by marrying her off to a man with an unclear job. Now, with a job secured, Fajar felt he had obtained that ticket.

A month ago, Fajar came with his father to propose to Puspitasari, the daughter of Karim. But he had to leave carrying the burden of disappointment. His father also carried the shame because Mr. Karim refused to accept a farmer like Fajar as his son-in-law. Apparently, the muddy fields where the young man usually worked hindered his love path. Mr. Karim gave him a month to find a job. If not, a young man from the neighboring village was ready to replace Fajar to marry his daughter. He didn’t want his daughter to remain unmarried just because she was waiting for that young man to get ready.

“Yes, I got a job at the leather factory. Joko, the young man who proposed to you, works there too, right?”

Sari nodded happily. She looked at her beloved. Fajar glanced at her briefly, then his eyes returned to the perfectly shining moon in the dark sky.

“Can I kiss your hand, Mas?” Sari reached for Fajar’s hand.

“Don’t, Sar. Wait for the right time. You can kiss it whenever you want.” Fajar pulled his hand away.

Sari blushed. Her feelings of love grew stronger. As for Fajar, he was indeed very quiet. In fact, his silence was his language of love. Sari understood that since they were children. His quiet nature was the charm that made Sari infatuated.

“Sar, I have to go now. I’ll leave for Malang tomorrow.”

“In a month, come back to propose to me, Mas. I don’t want to marry that dark Joko,” Sari said playfully. There was a smile on her lips.

“I promise. We will get married soon. When that month comes back as a full moon, then I will propose to you. I will take you to live in the city. Just like you’ve dreamed since elementary school. Now I have to go back and prepare.”

The young couple left the mosque’s terrace. Their hands waved goodbye. Above them, the moonlight became brighter. The lush trees on either side of the road cast dark shadows. Fireflies fluttered around the rural landscape. Crickets sang joyfully, echoing the hearts of the two lovers. The old mosque witnessed the love story of these young humans in its silence.

***

The lively voices of children studying in the mosque didn’t distract the girl from her thoughts. She used to study in that mosque too. Back then, it was Fajar who taught her to recite the Quran. Her childhood friend grew into a devout young man under the guidance of his father, who was the mosque’s imam. Despite being only two years older, his religious knowledge far surpassed hers. Their nightly meetings tied her heart, leading to a longing whenever Fajar couldn’t teach. It turned out that Fajar felt the same way, and they eventually confessed their love.

The moon was almost perfectly round. Puspitasari became more anxious because her lover hadn’t arrived yet, even though tomorrow was the full moon, the promised day of their engagement. Her chest was filled with anxious feelings, a result of her intense anticipation for her lover’s arrival.

Wrapped in her prayer garment, the village girl sat huddled on the mosque’s terrace, where they often met. The gentle breeze carried her heart’s turmoil. The distant roar of the waves from the southern coast, several kilometers away, added to her restlessness. She feared that Fajar wouldn’t come to propose, and then her father would marry her off to Joko, the man she didn’t love. But her anxiety turned to happiness when a motorcycle roared and stopped in the mosque’s courtyard. She quickly rose to meet her hopeful future husband. After paying the motorcycle taxi driver, Fajar hurried to the mosque. He told Sari that he hadn’t prayed Maghrib yet. Sari noticed a hint of sadness on her lover’s face, but she concluded that it was due to fatigue from the long journey and his rush to pray. Puspitasari calmed herself down.

After praying, Fajar immediately met his beloved.

The village girl’s shoulders shook as she held back her tears listening to the story of her beloved, whom she loved dearly. The gloomy expression she briefly saw earlier was not due to tiredness from the long journey but was the sadness born from the disaster he experienced at his workplace. A massive fire had ravaged the leather factory where Fajar worked a few days ago, destroying almost all the buildings. The factory couldn’t operate anymore. The factory owner was stressed. Thousands of workers lost their jobs. And so did Fajar, the young man from the village, who not only lost his job but also his love.

“Maybe we’re just not meant to be, Sar,” Fajar said softly. “Marry Joko. Maybe your father is right; he’s a capable man who can provide, unlike me.”

“I don’t want to. Let’s just elope, Mas. Marry me somewhere my money-minded father wouldn’t know. I’m ready to go anywhere with you,” Sari said, her eyes brimming with tears. Her voice trembled.

“We can’t do that, Sar. We can’t. Marry Joko. Someday you’ll learn to love him. I’m already happy seeing you happy.”

The couple continued talking for a while.

Suddenly, clouds surrounded the moon. Its light turned gloomy. Just like the hearts of the two village teenagers. Fajar gently stroked his lover’s shoulder. But the girl still sobbed. Then Sari walked away, carrying her sobs. There were no waving hands, only the sound of crying. Yes, the girl continued to cry as she walked away, carrying the sadness of losing her love.

***

The evening song echoed from the sound system, filling the corners of the small village. It was the song of Puspitasari’s wedding to Joko. The celebration was lively. But in another corner, Fajar felt the song was like a dagger piercing his heart. The heartbroken young man was making a bonfire to cook sweet potatoes with his younger brother.

“Did Mas Fajar not come to Mbak Sari’s wedding?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Fajar stayed silent, leaving his younger brother without an answer. The melody of the song suddenly stopped, replaced by the beat of the drums, followed by the echoing call to prayer from the nearby mosques. The time for Maghrib prayer had arrived. From the mosque near their home, they could hear their father’s voice reciting praises, awaiting the congregation.

“Hearts are restless for five reasons,
First, reading the Qur’an with longing,
Second, righteous people gathering together,
Third, performing the night prayer,
Fourth, gathering in the middle of the night,
Fifth, engaging in sweet remembrance at night.
Whichever one of these someone does,
God willing, the Lord will accept.”

Fajar went to the water fountain to perform ablution, his younger brother following suit. Then the two brothers walked away from the bonfire that was cooking sweet potatoes. They left behind the fire that also burned the young man’s heart. Their steps led them to the mosque. Fajar walked, guiding his brother who was struggling with his sarong while carrying a lantern.

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