1

IN THE NAME
OF SUFFERING
A Collection of Short Story Essays
That Evoke the Mournful Voice of Grief
of The Coronavirus Era

DENNY JA

CERAH BUDAYA INDONESIA

2021
2
In The Name Of Suffering
Denny JA

ISBN:

Publisher:
(PT Cerah Budaya Indonesia)
Menara Kuningan lLT. 9G
Jalan HR.Rasuna Said Kav V Blok X-7, Jakarta Selatan

3
 PREFACE

A SHORT STORY ESSAY:

WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS ITS PURPOSE?
WHERE DID IT COME FROM?
A New Genre Elicited by the Coronavirus Era?
Denny JA

In this one era, why are there so many “atom bombs”?

This may be the appropriate expression to describe our collective mindset in

the era of the Coronavirus pandemic. The news has shocked us repeatedly.
Among these news items are events that we had never before experienced in
our lifetime.

In Indonesia, Friday prayers were canceled. Umrah pilgrimages were indefi-

nitely postponed. Communal prayer sessions were suspended. Even an on-
line Eid was introduced.

Thousands of mercenaries could be dispatched, and hundreds of cannons

could be deployed. But it was previously inconceivable that Muslims could be
compelled to skip Friday prayers at the mosque three weeks in a row.

Yet the tiny Corona Virus was able to accomplish this.

Another explosion was detonated. The world experienced its worst economic
crisis since the Second World War. The economies of many nations experi-
enced recession and broad economic contraction. Layoffs occurred every-
where. Social distancing. Working from home. Large-Scale Social Restric-
tions… What else could happen?

This global crisis had not yet begun to subside when the impact of other re-
lated implosions was felt locally. In Jakarta, three hundred men were quar-

4
antined in a mosque. On one hand, the burial of corona virus victims was re-
jected by cemeteries. On the other hand, plastic body bags containing victims
were opened by grieving family members; the bodies of these dead peo-
ple were embraced and even kissed. Around the world, hundreds of front
line doctors have succumbed from contact with corona virus patients in
hospitals and clinics.

Wow! Too many “bombshells”. The news media has covered pandemic-re-
lated events according to basic journalistic standards of reporting, with their
usual focus on answering: who, what, where, and how.

But what about the voice of the victims? What about their agony and screams
of pain? It’s an inner drama that is too deep to ignore, yet ordinary journalism
seems unprepared to imagine this inner world.

This situation has given birth to short story essays. True stories certainly need
to be recorded. However, short story essays appear specifically to raise and
intensify the imaginative aspects of this inner side. Short story essays are thus
innately different from standard journalism.

In order to make the inner side more touching, it may be embellished and dra-
matized. Characters and places can be altered to make the plot more riveting.
The supporting atmosphere is not difficult to imagine.

The important thing is that short story essays invoke actual events to produce
a more touching reading experience, one that elicits greater contemplation,
which is more uplifting and moving!

-000-

I experimented with writing short story essays. Within a week, the ideas for six
short story essays were born. So intensely did I investigate various “explosive”
events. It was as though inspiration had descended from the sky to articulate
my movements.

5
A new form of dramatization was born, a true story that is fictionalized. In a
short story entitled: “Brother, I am Quarantined at the Mosque,” the original
plot was derived from the news that 300 men had been quarantined in Jakar-
ta’s Kebon Jeruk Mosque.

This first short story essay describes the drama of the Tablighi Jamaat who had
arranged an event there. The leader had actually exclaimed: “Don’t be afraid
to gather in the mosque even though it may be attacked by the Corona Virus.
If we die in the mosque due to the Corona Virus, then the mosque is the best
place to die.”

Tablighi Jamaat activities in many countries had become a vector of contagion.

Besides gathering in large numbers, they also ate collectively from large serv-
ing dishes, thus facilitating the transmission of the virus.

Their assemblies were widely reported, and many members were apprehend-
ed in India, Malaysia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and the Philippines.

This interesting background information is included in my short story essay. But

I also present inner emotions that are not dispensed through the news; that
inner mood is fostered by fiction, imagination, and my own composition style.

It is already revealed in the short story essay that the story is mere fiction.

So, I conjured a character named Eko who was in the mosque. I told the story
of his inner journey through his involvement in the Tablighi Jamaat.

He was originally a secular liberal. Then his wife, his soulmate, died. The “love
of his life” was no longer there. His nightlife was shaken. But soon he turned
into a true believer of a certain Iman (‘belief”).

I also talked about his close relationship with his older brother. And how his
brother, who Eko used to look up to as a superhero, became helpless in the
new pandemic era.

6
In the middle of the night, his older brother lost all hope. And even if he still
had hope, he was now helpless.

In the short story essay, fact and fiction are combined and assembled. Basic
facts can be found in the footnotes. In short story essays, the function of foot-
notes is crucial as the backbone of the story line.

However, the characters, plots, and conversations in short story essays are
completely fictional. By presenting fiction, writers can feel free to imagine as
far and as wide as the blue sky. The author is also free to “add spices” to make
the plot more touching.

I repeated a similar pattern in five other short story essays.

-000-

As expected, this pattern for writing short story essays immediately attracted
other writers. Now writers, short story writers, and poets from Aceh to Papua,
as well as neighboring countries are getting involved. Together they want to
record the inner voice of the corona virus era in their own short story essays.

An anthology of these short story essays will soon be compiled and published.
A filmmaker is even ready to convert some of the stories in this first collection
of short story essays to film.

Some are also interested in organizing a short story essay competition for
Southeast Asian writers. The citizen journalism community is pursuing this
at an even faster pace. Citizen journalists in Indonesia want to compete in
recording the joys and sorrows of the month of Ramadan in the era of the
corona virus. They want the entries in this competition to be written in the
format of the short story essay.

Hence, a higher need arose for a Short Story Essay Guide. What is a short
story essay? How is it different from ordinary short stories? What elements

7
should be included in a short story essay? What is IN and what is OUT? And
why do we need short story essays in the first place?

Because I have written eight short story essays, and I wanted to use them as a refer-
ence, I have formulated five essential characteristics of these short story essays.
First: Short story essays are fictional accounts derived from true stories.
The birth mother was an actual historical event. Thus, it’s not entirely
fiction. The essential background events are real; the story characters,
though realistic, are fictional.

By itself, short story essays are different from journalism, where fiction is
taboo. Short story essays are also different from standard short stories,
which can describe any fantasy without having to refer to real events and
characters. Thus, short story essays, like essay poems, incorporate a com-
bination of fact and fiction.

Second: In short story essays, the function of footnotes is vital. Thus, if foot-
notes are not included, it is not a short story essay.

The footnote represents evidence of the authentic historical context of the

original story before it was fictionalized. Footnotes aren’t just about adding
information or clarifying vague words; the footnote is the mother of the
short story essay.

Of course, not all short story essay footnotes are like that. Some footnotes
simply function as providers of supplemental information. However, at least
one footnote must perform the primary function of documenting the histori-
cal context and subject of the background story.

Third: Short story essays comprise a combination of two genres, the short sto-
ry and essay. It is a short story with the taste of an essay, as well as an essay
that has the taste of a short story.

A short story is a form of fiction. The essay in the sense that it exists here is
not an essay in the general sense but an essay that could be called an aca-

8
demic paper. It is an essay that is based on research. To demonstrate that the
source of the information is valid, it must be documented as a footnote.

Fourth: Similar to ordinary short stories, the length of a short story essay
should be approximately 1,000-2,500 words, or 6,000-10,000 characters. This
limit is rather loose. The length should not be too short lest it lose its dramatic
effect. On the other hand, it shouldn’t be too long either because the writer’s
purpose should be to express one chief impression.

Short stories are different from novels.

In one short story essay, if the benchmark is my initial six short story essays,
each of these compositions should be accompanied by 5-10 footnotes.

Fifth: Use communicative language that is easy to understand. These short

story essays should disseminate literature to a broad audience.

Albert Einstein said that if you want to know how communicative your ideas
are, share them with elementary school children. Then ask a pupil to share the
idea with another elementary school student. If they can understand each
other, you have successfully used communicative language.

Short story essays, like essay poetry, have a similar philosophy for language
usage: the easier it is for ordinary people to understand, the better. Converse-
ly, the darker and more complex the language is, the more ineffective it is in
communicating ideas to a wide general audience.

These are the five principles, which could synergistically be called the basic
guidelines for writing a short story essay.

So, is this kind of short story a different creature from previous short stories?
Short story essays are part of the world of short stories. Just as koi fish are
part of the fish world in general.

9
Similarly, the short story essay has its own character just as koi fish have a
distinctive character. What is the character of the short story essay? The char-
acter is a combination of the five characteristics listed above in one unit.

-000-

Is the short story essay useful? Is the short story essay even a new genre? Is
this form of short story original? I will leave these questions completely to
public debate. Of course, no matter how great an innovation appears to be in
history, nothing is entirely new; nothing new is created entirely in a vacuum.

However, the short story essay, based on the five principles above, has been
adopted and emulated by scores of other writers. It has become the basis for
use as the format of a competition, and this appears new.

Short story essays have no ambition other than to provide an additional liter-
ary medium for communicating.

In the current era of the corona virus pandemic, short story essays are gaining
momentum. There are so many dramas, so many true stories that can be ren-
dered in fiction to make them more contemplative.

The era of the corona virus pandemic will be remembered for many things.
One of these may be a sea of inspiration that motivated writers to compose
short story essays.

April 2020

10
 Table of Contents

PREFACE
A Short Story Essay: What is it? What is its Purpose?
Where did it come from? 4

CHAPTER ONE
“Bro, I’m Quarantined at the Mosque” 12

CHAPTER TWO
The Doctor Reached the Mountain Peak 21

CHAPTER THREE
I Actually Visited Wuhan 28

CHAPTER FOUR
Lebaran Online 34

CHAPTER FIVE
The Social Activist Demanded that the Minister Resign 40

CHAPTER SIX
Notify the Mayor!
Tell Him That a Local Citizen Has Died from Hunger 48

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Baker’s Heirloom Javanese Dagger 58

CHAPTER EIGHT
The Collapse of Our Rural Community 67

11
 CHAPTER ONE

“BRO, I’M QUARANTINED

AT THE MOSQUE”
It was a brief text in my private WA message service. Short but heart rending.
“Brother, I’m being held in quarantine at the mosque. God willing, I’ll be fine.
Take care of my wife and children.”

I instinctively called my younger brother, Iman, who had sent the text. He
didn’t pick up. I called again. He still didn’t pick up. I called three more times,
but he never picked up.

I replied with the text: “Iman, pick up and take your brother’s call.” But this
text also remained unread and unanswered.

I immediately searched for information on Google. Online media had report-

ed that 300 members of Tablighi Jamaat had been quarantined at a mosque in
Kebon Jeruk. They came from various regions of Indonesia. And as many as
78 members being held there were foreign nationals.1

The entire group had been quarantined because three members had tested
positive for the corona virus.

“I can’t believe it” I complained in my heart. It turned out that in this large
group of Tablighi Jamaat members, all of them were being held in quarantine.

It had been five years since Iman had joined the Tablighi Jamaat.

1. This short story essay was inspired by true events, embellished by a plot that involves fictional
characters. It is true that more than 200 members of the Tablighi Jamaat sect, including 78
foreign men, were quarantined at a mosque in Kebun Jeruk, Jakarta.
https://www.vivanews.com/berita/nasional/42832-ratusan-orang-dikarantina-di-masjid-ke-
bun-jeruk-tiga-positif-corona

12
I immediately contacted Iman’s wife. I spoke with her 9 year old and 7 year old
children, trying to calm them down.

For a long time I sat silently contemplating Iman. He was my beloved younger
brother. I looked at the painting he had made twenty years ago, which was
still hanging on a wall in the living room.

I was now 57 years old. Iman was eleven years younger. I was not only his
eldest brother but I also served as my father’s successor. He had died when I
was 21 years old, and I had taken his place in the household.

The painting portrayed a moment when Iman and I were walking at the edge
of the rice fields in our hometown. At that time, Iman was only seven years
old, and I was eighteen.

His foot was lacerated by a sharp stone near the rice field. The distance from the rice
fields to our house was about 500 meters. I had to carry Iman as he cried in pain.

I carried him behind on my back with his two hands grabbing my neck. I held
onto his two legs with my hands.

Time and time again, I would calm him down. “It’s enough Bro, don’t cry. I will
always take care of you.”

When he got older, he painted that moment. He gave the painting to me it

when he graduated from high school. Iman lived at my house when I got mar-
ried. And I paid for his college education.

What especially moved me in the painting was the caption: “My brother is
always my superhero.”

“Thank you Brother,” he said as he handed me the painting. “I don’t know how
to repay my debt.”

13
I hugged Iman, my younger brother. “Brother, you don’t have to be burdened
with a debt of gratitude. You’re my brother. I would gladly risk my life to
protect you.” Iman wept. He is sentimental. He gets sad easily. He gets
emotional easily.

-000-

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was really worried. Had Iman caught the corona
virus? The problem was that an effective drug had not yet been found.

The clock on the wall pointed to 2:00 in the morning. I tried to remember the
moment five years ago that compelled Iman to join the Tablighi Jamaat.

From the days of his childhood until he finished college, and even after he
got married and had children, Iman was not a devout religious believer;
he rarely prayed.

This situation changed after his first wife died. Cancer had claimed her life.
His wife had been the center of his existence, the sunshine of his life. “Lia is
the love of my life, Brother,” Iman told me.

For a month, Iman mourned her passing. He hardly went to the office. I heard
rumors that he frequented night clubs for distraction and entertainment. He
drank heavily and got drunk. He played around with bar girls.

I once decided to speak privately with him. “Iman, how long will you contin-
ue to torture yourself? Lia is gone. No matter what you do, Lia isn’t coming
back.” “Life goes on, bro. Your two children are still small. You have to move
on, my dear brother. Life has so many possibilities. The horizon is endless.”

“Don’t keep your bird pent up in a cage. Open the door. Soar high. While
you’re still young.”

At the dining table, in my house, Iman lay face down and sobbed.

14
Another six months passed by before Iman came to see me again. This was a
completely different Iman. His beard was long. He wore a white Afghan shirt.
His pants were short and baggy. And he was wearing a white cap. He brought
some siwak wood to clean his teeth.

A large spot on his forehead looked bruised. It appeared that he banged

his forehead against the floor so often during prayer that his forehead had
turned dark.

I was shocked. “Iman, what happened?” It wasn’t just his physical appearance
that had changed. His face was bright and self-assured.

He said succinctly: “I’m on a constant pilgrimage with the Tablighi Jamaat.”

“Ha? How are things going with that? You have traveled very far. From one
end of the spectrum to the other.”

Iman told the story of meeting an old friend. “I feel like this friend was sent by
God to save me,” he explained.

“How come you didn’t tell your brother from the start? I’m not just your
brother, you know! I’m also your father’s successor.”

“Sorry, Brother,” said Iman. “I was hesitant to tell you until I felt more secure
in my new situation. Now I’m finally ready to talk about it.”

Seeing Iman at that moment, I had mixed feelings. I felt good because he
looked strong and happy. But I was also concerned. I doubted that the path of
the Tablighi Jamaat was indeed the true choice of his life. After all, I knew very
well that from childhood until the death of his wife, the heart of my younger
brother had always been secular and liberal.

Iman continued to speak about his new life in the Tablighi Jamaat. He quoted
a hadith, which stated the need to develop a lifestyle like the Prophet. This is
what distinguished his group from other communities.

15
In any year, said Iman, he would need to take about 40 days off from work and
family to travel and proselytize.2 The Tablighi Jamaat is centred in India. They
are present in approximately 150 countries, and their nominal global mem-
bership approaches 80 million.

They preach in different cities. Sometimes, they travel abroad and preach in
other countries. Wherever they go, they are welcomed by the local Tablighi
Jamaat network in that city.

“I expect to marry again next month, Brother,” said Iman. “Really? Who
is your future wife? Why didn’t you introduce her to your brother first?”
I asked teasingly.

“Amir chose her for me. I’ve met my future wife only once. I don’t even know
what she looks like since her face was fully veiled. Only her eyes were visible.
But I trust Amir.”3

Amir was the nickname of the Tablighi Jamaat leader for the Southeast Asian
region. The followers were instructed to be completely submissive to him.
The only exception would be if Amir invited his followers to pursue a path that
was contrary to Islam.

Iman also told me about their unique tradition of communal dining. When-
ever they ate a communal meal, 5-7 men would sit in front of a large tray of
food. They would eat together from one large serving platter, each using three
fingers to scoop up the food.

2. The lifestyle of the Tablighi Jamaat is discussed at length in the article:

https://ojs.unikom.ac.id/index.php/visualita/article/down-load/1115/pdf
3. This short story essay was inspired by true events, embellished by a plot that involves fictional
characters. It is true that more than 200 members of the Tablighi Jamaat sect, including 78
foreign men, were quarantined at a mosque in Kebun Jeruk, Jakarta.
https://www.vivanews.com/berita/nasional/42832-ratusan-orang-dikarantina-di-masjid-ke-
bun-jeruk-tiga-positif-corona

16
Iman described with pride the strong egalitarian ties of kinship that connect-
ed Tablighi Jamaat. Generals and corporals, tycoons and laborers, clerics and
reformed felons would sit together and eat from the same tray.4

“Iman,” I said. “You know your brother’s attitude. I love you. It is your life.
Just make sure that you choose a lifestyle that is in accordance with your soul.”

“So I would like to impart one piece of advice, my younger brother,” I said.
“Don’t turn off your critical mind. Always keep your horizons open.” Life is like
a rainbow. It is multicolored; it is colorful. Think about it.”

-000-

We are three brothers. I’m Darta, now 57 years old. I have two younger broth-
ers: Wahib, who is 48 years old and Iman, who is 46 years old. Thus, Iman has
an older brother who is only two years older.

For both Iman and Wahib, I am the eldest brother and my father’s successor.
Our mother died 10 years ago.

Iman and Wahib did not get along very well, probably because their two-year
age difference had resulted in sibling rivalry.

At the same dinner table, shortly after Iman had joined the Tablighi Jamaat,
Iman and Wahib argued about religion. Unlike Iman, who worked as an engi-
neer, Wahib was a religious school graduate. He had even pursued a doctor-
ate in Islamic studies in the United States.

Meanwhile, Iman was self-taught, he mostly learned about Islam from his new
colleagues and their leader, Amir.

4. See: https://ojs.unikom.ac.id/index.php/visualita/article/down-load/1115/pdf

17
Wahib said, very loudly: “Iman, the way you imitate the Prophet is incomplete.
Why do you only emulate his dress and behavior? Why not go even further?
For example, you could also ride a camel. After all, the Prophet rode a camel.”

“Also, don’t use a cell phone. The Prophet didn’t use a cellphone. What you
have taken from Islam is merely ashes, not its essential fire.”

Iman was no less fierce in his retort. “Wow, we’ve just had different teachers,
but we’re both militants. I’m militant with my Amir. And you are militant with
the secular ideas of your liberal American professors.”

“Besides, how can you tell which is the ashes and which is the fire of Is-
lam? That’s just your interpretation. Maybe the fire for you is actually
just ashes,” said Iman.

“The fire of Islam is the core values of the Koran,” said Wahib. “There is an
Islamicity Index that has identified and measured Islamic values. It turns out
that Islamic values are more prevalent in Western societies.”

“Clean government, advanced science, social welfare programs, protection of

civil rights, and freedom… Those are Islamic values.

“That is the fire of Islam. And that is in the Western world, where people wear
business suits and miniskirts. The type of dress doesn’t really matter. Sporting
a beard or mustache is not the essential issue.”

As usual I had to intervene. If it was an intellectual debate, Iman would surely

fail to keep up with his brother, who had a doctorate in Islamic studies.

But Wahib had abandoned any further interest in pursuing academic studies.
For Wahib, religion was merely an object of study. Conversely, for Iman, reli-
gion had become a way of life. Iman felt a profound sense of religious passion.

-000-

18
That afternoon I called Wahib. I needed a partner to discuss Iman’s situation.

“Wahib, try to explain to me, your older brother, what has happened.”

“Brother,” said Wahib. “The Tablighi Jamaat represent a vector of spread of

the corona virus in many countries, not only here in Indonesia but also in In-
dia, Malaysia, Pakistan, and even in the United States.5

“Why should it be like that? What is it about the Tablighi Jamaat, compared
to other religious organizations, that makes them more contagious?” I asked
curiously.

“Two things, Brother,” Wahib replied.

“The first is the attitude of the Tablighi Jamaat leaders at their international
headquarters in India. They have not only persisted in organizing international
travel during the pandemic, as well as gatherings of their followers in mosques
in many countries.

“They have also said, ‘if we die as a result of the virus, then the mosque would
be the best place where we could die’.

“Second, whenever Tablighi Jamaat meet, each group of six followers eat to-
gether from one tray. And they don’t eat with a spoon but directly with their
hands. You can easily imagine that if one man is infected with the corona
virus, at least five other people will immediately be infected.”
“Wow.” That was my only comment.

5. The following sources confirm that members of the Tablighi Jamaat sect have infected people
with Covid in many countries as a result of their global mobility:
https://www.outlookindia.com/india-news-coronavirus-pandemic-live-updates-647-new-cas-
es-linked-to-tablighi-jamaat-event-us-italy-spain-china-france/350034
https://suara.com/news/2020/03/25/120645/10-tki-di-malaysia-positif-corona-diduga-
tertular-peserta-jamaah-tabligh
https://detik.com/news/internasional/d-4966379/dampak-virus-corona-pakistan-karanti-
na-20000-anggota-jemaah-tabligh

19
Online media reported that some members of the Tablighi Jamaat had been
transferred to Wisma Atlet, an isolation facility in North Jakarta, which two
years earlier had housed hundreds of athletes. The mosque in Kebon Jeruk
was heavily guarded by the police and army.6

The number of members of the Tablighi Jamaat infected by the virus con-
tinued to increase. Initially only 3 people, then it increased to 39 people,
then 74 people.7

I was still unable to contact Iman’s cellphone.

I looked at the painting again. Again, I read the words that Iman had written
many years ago: “My brother is always my superhero.”

I said in a sad voice, “Iman, my dear brother. In the face of the Corona Virus,
your brother can’t be a superhero. I’m sorry, but I am helpless.”

The night was getting darker. So was my heart.

April 2020

5. Many Indonesian policemen and military personnel guarded the mosque that was under strict
quarantine:
https://sukabumiupdate.com/detail/ragam-berita/nasional/67138-Tentara-Ikut-Berjaga-Begi-
ni-Kondisi-144-Jemaah-Tablig-Diisolasi-di-Masjid
7. The number of Tablighi Jamaat members who have been diagnosed with the corona virus is
mounting:
https://www.tagar.id/73-jemaah-ta-bligh-masjid-kebon-jeruk-positif-corona/

20
 CHAPTER TWO

THE DOCTOR REACHED THE

MOUNTAIN PEAK8
Death is not just a numerical entry in a statistical table. That was my response

when I read the news that more than 100 doctors in Italy had died due to
exposure to the corona virus9. Or in Indonesia, where 24 doctors may have
already died from Covid-1910.

Doctors are not just data. They have a family. A doctor may have a wife and
children who love him. He may have a brother like me who is very close to him.

I’ve been working from home for two weeks. That’s not a difficult thing. But
losing Cahya, my older brother, a devoted doctor, was really shocking. I have
not slept well for the past few nights.

When Cahya died, he was immediately taken from the hospital to the
cemetery. I could only watch from a distance with his wife, children, and
grandchildren. I was unable to visit him during the week before he died

8. The characters in this short story essay are entirely fictional. However, the story develops the
same spirit that was embodied in the authentic story of Dr. Jean-Jacques Razafindranazy, a he-
roic French doctor who returned to work although he was already 68 years old. He was beyond
retirement age, but he returned to active duty at the hospital in Compiegne in order to assist
his colleagues. He responded to the French government’s call for more medical personnel, but
he paid the ultimate price when he became the first French doctor to succumb from the novel
corona virus in March, 2020.
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/22/he-sacrificed-himself-tributes-to-first-
french-doctor-to-die-from-coronavirus
9. The number of Italian medical personnel who have died from exposure to the corona virus has
surpassed 100:
https://www.thelocal.it/20200409/more-than-100-doctors-have-now-died-in-italys-coronavi-
rus-outbreak
10. Twenty-four Indonesian doctors have died as a consequence of exposure to the corona virus
while working in hospitals and clinics:
https://www.indozone.id/0ysxeX/tangani-pasien-virus-corona-24-dokter-di-indone-
sia-meninggal-dunia

21
due to his seclusion in a hospital isolation ward. When he died, he was
also wrapped in a plastic bag. I never imagined that I would part with my
brother in these circumstances.

On the third day following his death, we conducted a modest tahlilan ceremo-
ny. Doctor Bambang, his best friend, was also present. Bambang had taken
care of my brother when he was in isolation.

After the tahlilan, Bambang whispered to me. “Jak, there’s a message from
your brother.” I was shocked. “Yes, Dr. Bambang. What’s the message?” Bam-
bang said: “It’s not very clear,” he uttered. It just sounded like “Please tell
Jaka. I reached the top of the mountain.”

I fell silent. It was a phrase Cahya used to repeat when we were teenagers. I
was now 57 years old. Cahya was 59 when he died, two years older than me.

Although we were brothers, we were also playmates. Many of my friends

became his friends. And his friends became my friends.

Since his death, it has taken hours for me to fall asleep at night. Shared mem-
ories from childhood kept resurfacing.

I said in my heart. “Cahya, my dear brother. There is much that I regret

that happened at the end of your life. You were just like you were before.
Stubborn. Obstinate.”

“If there’s anything I’m grateful for, it’s that you realized your quest from long
ago. You felt like you had finally reached the top of the mountain.”

-000-

I remember when I was a high school freshman. Cahya was in his junior year in
high school. Uncle Beni often visited our home. He was very good at telling in-
spirational stories. We got many life lessons from Uncle Beni. He was a soldier.

22
“There is no greater happiness for a soldier,” said Uncle, “than to die in the line
of duty. People who live to fight have more meaningful lives. Like a climber,
they must advance until they reach the top of the mountain.”

This was the first time I had heard the idea of the need for people to reach their
mountain peak. My brother Cahya was very happy with this idea. Over and over
again he repeated: “My life’s accomplishments must reach the top of the mountain.”
He said to Uncle Beni. “Uncle, I too wish to reach the top of the mountain. But I
don’t want to fight like a soldier whose mission often entails killing other people.”

“I want to be a peace fighter who heals people. I aspire to become a

doctor by profession. My dedication to helping patients will be as lofty
as Mozart’s panache when he played the piano. And just as intense as
Van Gogh when he painted.

Our family read a lot. Since high school, we knew about Mozart, Van
Gogh, Sigmund Freud, and William Shakespeare. Uncle Beni also exerted
a lot of influence.

My older brother started to admire the medical profession because he

watched the Dr. Kildare series on TVRI every Thursday night. Richard Cham-
berlain starred in the film. This young doctor was smart, handsome, and espe-
cially liked by female patients.

When the TV show was on, my brother’s attention could not be distracted.
Indeed, he often made me sit and watch it with him.

I don’t remember the details anymore. But there was one scene that I
still remember. Once, Dr. Kildare examined a pretty young woman who
was a bit flirtatious. “What pain are you feeling?” asked Dr. Kildare. The
young lady replied, “I am willing to declare any illness as long as I can be
your patient.”

My brother and I laughed. Dr. Kildare became my brother’s idol. He once said:
“Jaka, for me doctors are soldiers in peacetime. Doctors battle against disease.”

23
“If a doctor dies in the line of duty, it is just as noble as a soldier dying in carry-
ing out his duties; they have both reached the top of the mountain.”

-000-

In 2020, Cahya was 59 years old. In early January, he had already retired.
What else could he aspire to?

He acquired a medium-size clinic. It provided a comfortable income since he

was no longer working. He had received recognition as a pulmonologist.

However, in March, when the corona virus first emerged in Indonesia, he de-
cided to become active again as a medical doctor. Once more, he wanted to
examine and treat patients.

His wife, children, and grandchildren protested. “Dad, there are a lot of young
people out there. You’re not young anymore. Father’s immunity is much re-
duced. Do you want to kill yourself?”

Cahya just laughed, hugging his beloved daughter who always acted like a su-
pervisor. “My dear,” said Cahya. “There are very few medical personnel who
specialize in respiratory illness. A pulmonologist like your father is needed.”

“Coronavirus is like an enemy who wants to take over our country. Each doctor
is like a soldier. He is at the front lines of the battlefield. The enemy is advanc-
ing in plain sight… Why would I run and hide?”

“What if Dad catches the corona virus?” asked his daughter again. “My dear,”
said Cahya, “your father is a pulmonologist. I know how to protect myself.”

As usual, when his heart was set on doing something as a doctor, Cahya could
neither be deterred nor dissuaded.

-000-

24
Cahya was back on duty. He spoke with me almost every day. He often called
me just to vent his frustration.

As a senior doctor, he often felt disappointed with the careless statements of

the Indonesian Health Minister. The minister blundered by not taking early
action and by making impertinent statements.

For example, the minister had challenged the reputation of a Harvard Uni-
versity epidemiologist who contended that Indonesia already had hun-
dreds of cases of the disease. Conversely, the health minister contended
that Indonesia was allegedly free of the corona virus due to prayer and
divine intervention.11

Two weeks later, President Jokowi himself announced that the corona virus
had claimed a victim. A month later, the death rate from the corona virus in
Indonesia was already among the highest in the world.

Cahya also complained about the lack of medical facilities and equipment at
a referral hospital. There was one isolation room with an area of only 3 x 4
square meters, which was occupied by six patients.12

Although it was not yet certain that any of these six people would test positive
for the virus, the small size of the room and the fact that each patient had flu
symptoms increased the likelihood that one patient would infect everyone
else in the isolation room.

11. The Indonesian Minister of Health disputed the contention of a Harvard University health
expert who alleged that Indonesia already had many unreported cases of corona virus. Health
Minister Terawan asserted that Indonesia remained free of the disease for a number of reasons,
including divine intervention “since Indonesians like to pray”:
https://liputan6.com/health/read/4177135/menkes-terawan-tantang-harvard-cek-virus-coro-
na-di-indonesia
12. Medical facilities at referral hospital were unsatisfactory.
https://megapolitan.kompas.com/read/2020/03/16/11543851/rsud-rujukan-pemerintah-un-
tuk-tangani-virus-corona-kurang-memadai-ini?page=all#page4

25
Some of Dr. Cahya’s patients had standard blood and thorax tests that
came back with good results. But they hadn’t been swab tested. The PCR
tests that specifically detected corona virus infection were not yet avail-
able. As a result, in the early stages of this pandemic, it was often unclear
whether patients were presenting with corona virus or some other respi-
ratory illness with similar symptoms.

Patients were requested to wait many days in the hospital. They were forbid-
den to go home. It was precisely because Dr. Cahya was continuously in the
hospital that he was eventually exposed.13

Cahya himself worked long hours with great dedication. “Jaka, the number of
medical personnel is not enough to meet the needs of the patients. I some-
times have to stay overnight at the hospital. I only get 2-3 hours of sleep.14
Some doctors are exhausted and sleep on the floor.”

My guess is that Cahya became careless as a result of physical and mental exhaus-
tion; he was thus inadvertently exposed to and infected by his own patients.

-000-

When he entered the isolation room for the first time, Cahya sent a WhatsApp
message: “ Jaka, I want to leave a message for Rani.”

I received the text message a week before his death. I later assumed he al-
ready had a foreboding omen about his impending fate.

13. See Footnote 5.

14. Medical personnel were overworked and exhausted.
https://news.okezone.com/2020/04/01/525/2192620/curhat-dokter-saat-pandemi-corona-be-
ban-kerja-bertambah-tidur-tak-bisa-nyenyak
In China, some overworked doctors slept on the floor at their hospital.
https://detik.com/health/berita-detikhealth/d-4881579/kelelahan-tangani-pasien-virus-coro-
na-dokter-di-china-tidur-di-lantai-rs

26
Rani was his favorite granddaughter. She was only 8 years old. Rani was living
with Cahya and his wife after she lost both of her parents in a car accident.
Two of Cahya’s other children were married and living in their own houses.

That day, I invited Rani to play at my house. I asked her what she wanted to be when
she grew up. “I want to be like Grandpa Cahya,” she said. “I want to be a doctor.”

“Listen, my dear,” I told Rani. “Just choose according to whatever beats in your
heart. But whatever you choose, push yourself to the top of the mountain.” I
repeated her grandfather’s favorite line several times.

“Yes, Grandpa Jaka,” replied Rani happily. I hugged Rani. Oh my God, it felt like
I was hugging my brother’s soul.

April 2020

27
 CHAPTER THREE

I ACTUALLY VISITED WUHAN

The hospital looked quite mighty, even majestic. It was 140 years old. When
it was founded in 1880, it was named the Central Hospital of Wuhan, and thir-
teen years later, it was renamed the Catholic Hospital.

“Are you sure, brother?” asked Dadi, my assistant. He looked nervous as he

took off his mask and gloves. “Thank God, Dadi. We’re finally here,” I greeted
him as we entered the old hospital.

“This is a historical place. The first case of the novel corona virus was authen-
ticated in this hospital. The ophthalmologist Li Wenliang15 was working here
when he became the first doctor to discover the virus and warn his colleagues
about it. He succumbed to the disease on February 7, 2020 at the young age
of 34. Our source is ready to do an interview here.” I said again.

“We’re protected, aren’t we?” Didi asked one again. He sprayed his clothes up
and down with disinfectant. I also sprayed my own clothes.

We were standing in the front yard of the hospital. When he started to

enter the lobby, Didi murmured again, “Brother, the hairs on my neck are
standing up!”

I remained silent as I walked towards the lift. The hair on my neck was also on
edge. I shouted in my heart, “Why is the hair on my neck standing?”

15.The true story of Li Wenliang was the inspiration for this short story essay. He was the first
doctor who confirmed the presence of the novel corona virus at his hospital. This young doctor
succumbed to the virus in early February, 2020.
https://www.scmp.com/news/china/society/article/3049561/dr-li-wenliang-who-was-he-and-
how-did-he-become-coronavirus-hero

28
I had been around the world. I had visited many magnificent and historic
places, but this was the first time I felt the hair on my neck stand at attention
as I entered a building.

I convinced myself that this was the fruit of my own self-deception. I knew that
I was visiting a historic but ominous place. This hospital, in Wuhan, was the
original epicenter of the epidemic, which by now was afflicting 200 countries
and territories around the world.

But this place also recorded the first beat of a new peculiar era. Civilization
in the future would never be the same as it had been even after the Covid-19
pandemic was over.

-000-

A week ago, I completed the first draft of my book on Dr. Li Wenliang. My as-
sistant, Dadi, had edited the punctuation and grammar. “Ready, Bro! It’s time
to complete the manuscript.” Dadi calls me Older Brother. He said it was an
affectionate nickname he gave to older people he respected.

“Dadi!” I exclaimed. “Covid-19 is a major event in the history of human civili-

zation. Only rarely in human history has humanity experienced an epic event
of global magnitude like this.”

“Thus, the book I’m writing must also be a masterpiece. Monumental events
must also be recorded by prodigious works that are well-researched. It is im-
possible for us to produce an original piece of literature if all of the informa-
tion is just taken from secondhand online sources.”

“So how are you going to do that, Bro?” Dadi asked.

I replied, “I will have to go to Wuhan. And feel the aura of the city for myself.
I want to immerse myself in the vibe of the city, its atmosphere. I will be able
to see the life of the city with my own eyes.

29
“That’s the only way to truly experience the spirit, soul, and mind of these
tragic events! I want to breathe the air of Wuhan. Drink the water. Take a
shower there. Pee there. I want intimate contact!”

“What?” Dadi responded, absolutely shocked. “You really want to go to Wu-

han? Are you serious?” Dadi sometimes gets rather apprehensive. He had
been working with me for ten years already. He knew that I was reckless.
Stubborn. Militant. And totally dedicated to my work.

“Wuhan is no longer under lockdown. Life there has returned to normal,”

I exclaimed.16

“But you don’t have to go with me, Dadi!” I recalled that Dadi had just lost his
beloved uncle to the corona virus. Fortunately, Dadi didn’t catch the disease.
“You can stay here, but please help me book plane tickets and a decent hotel,
and also arrange a list of places for me to visit.”

“No, brother, I want to accompany you. I promised. I want to be involved in

your work. Perhaps even more so if you are actually going to Wuhan,” said Dadi.

“Are you certain?” I asked him suspiciously. “You’ll get emotional there. You’ll want
to avenge your uncle’s untimely death.” But Dadi replied, “No, Brother… I am pro-
fessional. I can separate work from personal emotions and considerations.”

We chose the places in Wuhan that we would visit. In addition to the Central
Hospital of Wuhan, we planned to visit the Central China Normal University.17
Doctors had bravely gathered there to defend Li Wenliang, when he was con-
demned by the Chinese government.

16. Although the lockdown in Wuhan was terminated, the residents of this city were not yet free to
pursue their previous routines.
https://cnnindonesia.com/internasional/20200413103404-113-492942/lockdown-berakh-
ir-warga-wuhan-merasa-be-lum-nikmati-kebebasan
17. Many academicians gathered at this university to defend Dr. Li Wenliang:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Central_China_Normal_University

30
We also arranged a visit to the Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market,18 which
had remained closed since New Year’s Day. This was a place where aquatic
and other live animals had been sold. This is where the corona virus was
alleged to have originated. Supposedly from a bat or a pangolin, which were
not sold there. By late 2019, the virus acquired the ability to latch specifically
onto human epithelial cells in people’s lungs.

“Don’t forget we want to visit a certain hotel. I don’t know its name yet. Dr.
Lin Wenliang quarantined himself there. He didn’t want the respiratory dis-
ease he was suffering from to spread to his wife and children.19 Especially at
that time, when his wife was two months pregnant.”

“Don’t forget, Dadi. I really enjoy gardens. Find the best parks in Wuhan. We
will sit there at the end of our trip and review the essential aspects of each
interview. We will need to relax, too.” I said.

-000-

We had been in Wuhan for 4 days. This was the last day. We sat and relaxed in
the Wuhan Botanical Garden. This park was only established in 1956. But for
me, what was important was fresh air and the verdant scenery, which loomed
as high as the sky.

“Dadi, give me some input. What is the main message we should convey
about Dr. Lin Wenliang?”

Dadi replied, “According to your expertise since you hold a doctorate in the
field of Public Policy. On the policy side, we could make headlines.”

18. This “wet market” was alleged to be the initial site in Wuhan where the corona virus was first
found:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huanan_Seafood_Wholesale_Market
19. When he realized that he had been afflicted with the new virus, Li Wenliang moved to a hotel
to ensure that he would not infect his pregnant wife and children:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Li_Wenliang

31
Dadi continued, “Right, Lin Wenliang was the first doctor to discover this virus,
two weeks before the outbreak became apparent. The communist govern-
ment detained and silenced him; instead of thanking him, they reprimanded
him for spreading false rumors.”

“As a result, the government’s response and initial efforts to contain the virus
were too late. The virus had already spread throughout the city and its inter-
national airport. Even when the government locked down Wuhan, its people
had already been walking around and traveling outside the contaminated city
for more than a month ,” said Dadi.

“Look at the consequences! The deplorable policy of this authoritarian gov-

ernment has exposed tens of millions of people throughout the world to the
virus,” continued Dadi vehemently.

“This type of policy was ‘too little, too late’, just the opposite of how the spread
of SARS was handled and curbed in early 2003, when a similar respiratory dis-
ease afflicted 8100 people in 30 countries. As a result, the world currently
languishes. Civilization cries. This point is good, Brother. As an important
lesson for every country.” Dadi concluded his remarks.

“Yes, Dadi! But don’t forget the more touching messages. The tragic side of
Doctor Li Wenliang. He was the first doctor to discover the virus. He was ap-
parently the first doctor to be infected,” I responded.

“He ended up dying in a stressful situation. He was a hero because even

though his efforts were strongly curtailed by the government, he did not stop
researching the virus. He never stopped treating patients. He died on the job.”

“But Dadi, before coming to Wuhan, I really intended to write a non-fiction

book. A public policy book. Once I got here, there was too much drama, trag-
edy, and irony for me to witness on my own.” I said again.

“I want that drama to be reflected in my work. But a non-fiction book con-

cerning public policy will not provide a sense of drama. I have consequently
decided to write it all down in the form of a novel.”

32
“Ha! Are you sure you want to write a novel? Isn’t it supposed to be a public
policy book?” Dadi was confused.

-000-

On the plane ride home to Jakarta, I was mostly silent. Dadi also remained
quiet. The silence let me rage inside.

The effect of the visit to Wuhan was something that I hadn’t expected. The
tears, the fear, the anger, and the hope that I heard immediately became thick.

I can still recall Li Wenliang’s best friend crying during my interview. He told
me that thousands of people were forced to stay at home. Many Wuhan res-
idents found their doors barricaded from the outside so they couldn’t get out
if they needed to. Many of them died in their homes.

Wuhan was impossible to forget. It also turned me into a novelist.

April 2020

33
 CHAPTER FOUR

LEBARAN ONLINE
It was tragic. Heartbreaking. Unimaginable. I don’t know what other words would
best describe this story, the perplexing story of my best friend, Eko.

I will never forget the day I visited his older brother at his house where Eko had
been living. I attended the three-day tahlilan prayer sessions for Eko’s death in
addition to 5 days for the death of his mother. Both had died from exposure to the
corona virus and were buried in their hometown, Wonosobo.

“Please forgive Eko if what he did was wrong,” his older brother repeated while
hugging me. He knew very well that I was Eko’s best friend. I thought there might
be more to Eko’s personal story that he hadn’t told me.

I’m a firm person. I’m strong and I rarely cry. But in his brother’s arms, I cried and
sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh my God! And the way this all ended was so cruel.”

Both Eko’s body and that of his 68 year old mother, who died a few days earlier,
were rejected and not allowed to be buried in the public cemetery. For some
reason, people believed that even when a corpse was already interred in the
ground, it could still be contagious. There were even those who claimed that
the corpses of people who had died from the corona virus could bring misfor-
tune and calamity to the village.

My goodness! The bodies of Eko’s mother, who had lived there all her life, as
well as Eko’s, were rejected by their own neighbors. Fortunately, the village
head in Wonosobo donated some of his own land, an area of 1,785 square me-
ters. He said, “Please, if any people from this village die from Covid and are not
permitted to be buried in the public cemetery, just bury them here!”20

20. This short story essay opens with the news that the dead bodies of corona virus victims were
not permitted to be buried in some public cemeteries in Java.
https://sumbar.antaranews.com/berita/346392/prihatin-jenazah-covid-19-dito-
lak-war-ga-kepala-desa-ini-hibahkan-lahan-untuk-pemakaman

34
Eko had left Wonosobo fifteen years previously. He had been living with
his older brother in Jakarta, just 50 meters from my own house.

Eko was 33 years old, just two years younger than me. He had never mar-
ried. I learned from his brother that Eko had contracted the corona virus
in Jakarta and had inadvertently infected his mother when he visited their
village to see her.

-000-

Following the tahlilan, I sat alone on the veranda. Here, whether in the after-
noon or in the middle of the night, Eko would often visit.

I began to recall various moments with Eko. It was 2:00 in the morning, and I
couldn’t sleep. I was still thinking about Eko. Right here on this veranda, we
used to sit and drink coffee; I remembered those moments.

My name is Darta. But Eko always called me Bro. “That’s cool,” he said “Let’s
call each other Bro. Like Americans.” I let him call me that because it made
him feel comfortable.

On this veranda just a month before his death, Eko told a story. “Bro, I’ve
been having rather strange dreams lately, all involving my mother. Last night, I
dreamt that my mother was sitting alone on the moon.”

“On the moon?” I asked. “Yes, bro… I pondered it for a long time. What does
it mean for my mother to sit alone on the moon. I think it meant my mother’s
death is coming, bro. Soon…”

Eko continued to speak at length about his mother. How much his mother
loved him. How Eko also loved his mother very much. Trying to restrain him-
self, Eko’s tears pooled in his eyes.

I tried to console and reassure him. “Ko, that’s just an interpretation. The ap-
pearance of the moon in a dream can be interpreted in many ways. Why did

35
you choose to interpret the dream as meaning her impending death?”

Instead of subsiding, Eko’s sobbing became even more intense. “I have to go home
to the village, bro,” he said. “This may be my last chance to hug my mother.”

“Look, Eko… These are not normal times. We live in Jakarta, the epicenter of
the corona virus in our country. You could possibly transmit the virus to your
own mother.” But Eko quickly replied, “I’m clean, Bro. No viruses.”

“How do you know you aren’t carrying the virus?” I asked. But Eko replied,“-
Look! No symptoms at all. I’m not short of breath. I’m not feverish. I’m not
coughing or sneezing…”

“That’s not necessarily the case, Ko. Right now you have no symptoms. Per-
haps because your natural immunity is strong… But we don’t know for certain
if the disease has entered the cells in your body. Moreover, it takes nearly two
days to travel from Jakarta to Wonosobo. Even if you’re healthy when you
leave, you may catch the virus on your way there.”

That was my last conversation with him. The next day I did not see Eko, nor
did I ever see him again. His sister said, “We also advised and forbade Eko to
travel home. But Eko wouldn’t listen… He kept saying that Mother often came
to him in his dreams. Like she was calling out to him.”

“When we woke up this morning, Eko had already left. He must have gone
early in the morning. Because we warned him not to go home… I guess he left
quietly while we were still sleeping,” said his older brother.

-000-

On this veranda, I remained silent for a long time. I tried to figure out what
caused Eko to have had such strange dreams lately. Always about his mother…

I suspected it was caused by economic difficulties. A year earlier, Eko had

been reasonably prosperous. A friend and he had two motorbikes that they

36
operated with Gojek. And he also owned his own motorbike. Together, Eko
and his friend shuttled packages and passengers across the city. And they
shared the profits from their Gojek operations.

However, shortly after the corona virus broke out, their fortunes sank, espe-
cially when news spread that some Gojek motorcycle jockeys were afflicted
with the virus. Indeed, an official response from the Gojek company con-
firmed that one of their tens of thousands of jockeys was infected.21

This case had happened far away in Batam. But this bad news had gone viral.
People did not care if it involved a Gojek driver in Batam or any other place. In
their head, people thought Gojek was no longer safe. If you ordered food or
had clothing and gadgets delivered through Gojek, you might catch the virus!

On this veranda, Eko also told me that during the last few weeks, his income
had dropped. “The economic consequences of the virus have reached my
stomach, Bro! I’m having a hard time buying food.”

Eko needed money, so he considered selling his motorbikes and moving. “May-
be in this corona virus era, we may live more comfortably in the village, Bro.”

But it wasn’t just a matter of financial difficulties. Eko was also disturbed by
the threat posed by government sanctions that prohibited congregating in
mosques. He was an observant Muslim. On the other hand, I was more le-
nient on religious issues. Regarding religion, we agreed to disagree.

I remember Eko expressing remorse. “I’ve been absent from Friday prayers
three times already, Bro. It’s certainly not that I don’t want to go, but the
mosque just isn’t holding Friday prayers anymore.”22

21. Gojek admitted that one of their motorcycle jockeys had contracted the virus. This news went
viral and resulted in a steep decline in the use of Gojek services.
https://katadata.co.id/berita/2020/03/06/gojek-akui-2-mitra-driver-ojol-dalam-penga-
wasan-terkait-virus-corona
22. Many large mosques in Indonesia officially canceled Friday prayer services, although this
decision was justified by religious arguments that prioritized safeguarding people’s health.
https://cnnindonesia.com/nasional/20200403071121-20-489835/penjelasan-mui-jika-mus-
lim-tak-salat-jumat-3-kali-saat-corona

37
“Sorry, Bro… I’ve been forced to change course.” He said, “Bro, this era has
canceled our routines. Why are we more afraid of the virus than God? Three
times without Friday prayers in a row; that’s like committing a sin, Bro!”

I instinctively laughed. Eko was angry to hear me taunting him. “Eko, that’s
the rule in normal times, but this is a pandemic era. Times are not normal. I’m
sure the angels will understand.”

Eko was upset. The group that organized morning prayers at his mosque had
disbanded. He said excitedly: “I’m one of the founders of the morning prayer
service at the mosque. People must rise up and do something.”

Eko had never missed the early dawn prayer service for more than 40 days
running at the mosque. He was respected by his group. However, congregat-
ing in mosques was no longer permitted.23 Eko said: “Pro-government clerics
were now encouraging people to pray at home.”

But regarding religious ritual, people like Eko had suffered the consequences.

Many had been quarantined for 2 weeks at a mosque. They couldn’t leave.
There were 300 Muslim men at the mosque, including 78 foreigners.24 A few
worshipers had tested positive for the corona virus, so the entire Tablighi Ja-
maat congregation was quarantined.

-000-

I had been thinking about Eko for a long time. The strange bad dreams he ex-
perienced very likely resulted from frustration and disappointment in the real
world. Covid-19 caused economic dislocations. And the religious rituals that
he cherished and followed were now banned.

23. Large-Scale Social Restrictions (PSBB) also made it impractical to hold early morning prayer
services in mosques. https://www.republika.co.id/pylm37313
24. A large mosque in Kebon Jeruk was quarantined.
https://metro.tempo.co/1324908/corona-sekitar-78-wna-dikarantina-di-masjid-kebon-jeruk

38
Eko focused on the healing qualities of his mother’s love. “Mother loves me
very much,” he said. This compensated for Eko’s current experiences in the
real world, which had become harsh and cruel.

But why had he become so desperate to return home and thus jeopardize the
health of his beloved mother?

I remember talking about the Eid holiday that followed the end of the Rama-
dan month of daily fasting. “Come on, Eko. Once in your life, you won’t have
to go home. Eid is approaching. Lebaran online. It’s cool. You will never expe-
rience this again in your life. The PBNU also supports observing Eid online.”25

“Bro, there is no real online Lebaran. How can you celebrate Eid online? You
can’t hang out with your family online. You have to go to the village, kneel
before your mother, and kiss her hands. There’s no other way to feel that
vibration. It can’t be done online.”

Reflections and memories of conversations with Eko came and went. It was
dawn. I shed tears. “You went too soon, Eko!”

“I intend to observe Eid. I will observe Lebaran online with you, Eko. But not
via video call. Not via Zoom Meeting.”

“We will hold an Eid session together, not online but through prayer.”

Eko’s apparition keeps returning to me. Tears keep falling.

April 2020

25 PBNU has come out in support of celebrating Eid/Lebaran online.

https://cnnindonesia.com/nasional/20200328162149-20-487832/pbnu-dorong-umat-is-
lam-lebaran-online-untuk-cegah-corona

39
 CHAPTER FIVE

THE SOCIAL ACTIVIST DEMANDED

THAT THE MINISTER RESIGN
The dining table had been turned into a work desk. There was a laptop and a
printer. Printouts of online news were scattered about the room.

I read a flashy title. “The Civil Society Coalition has asked Minister of Health
Terawan to resign because he is incompetent in handling the corona virus out-
break. This coalition consisted of various NGOs: Walhi, YLBHI, Kontras, Amnes-
ty International, etc.” 26

“Pak Janggi worked until dawn, Gan,” said Mpok Nina breaking my concentra-
tion, while serving hot tea. For some reason she preferred to call me “Gan,”
which she said was short for “Juragan” (Captain). She never called me by my
name, Fatah, for example.

“How do you know Janggi worked until dawn?” I asked. Nina replied, “When
I was about to perform the bath ritual for the early morning prayer, Mr. Janggi
had just entered the room.”

Janggi was my younger brother. Mom and Dad had passed away a long time
ago so just the two of us remained. And last night marked the third day of his
wife’s tahlilan. Dewi had caught the corona virus and died. Janggi was certain
that Dewi had received substandard care that had needlessly exposed her to
the corona virus at the hospital. It was clear to him that she had fallen victim
to faulty care at a mismanaged referral hospital.

Janggi was preparing to file a lawsuit against the government.

26. The Civil Society Coalition asked the Indonesian Health Minister to resign. This event was the
inspiration behind writing this short story essay.
https://tirto.id/dianggap-gagal-tangani-corona-menkes-terawan-didesak-mundur-eFKs

40
I perused some of the print-outs that were lying on the desk: “Minister
Terawan challenged a Harvard professor’s contention in February 2020
that Indonesia already had cases of the corona virus.”27 “Minister Terawan
scolded journalists who wore masks.”28 He made an insensitive remark
that God would spare Indonesia from the corona virus because Indone-
sians like to pray.”29

I also saw the highlighted text that Janggi marked in the Civil Society Coalition
statement. The contents alleged that Minister of Health Terawan seemed ar-
rogant, anti-science, and had a simplistic understanding of the corona virus.
Some of the Minister’s statements proved to be wrong. For instance, he said
that people who had recovered from the corona virus would be immune to
reinfection. But it was unclear if this was true.

The Civil Society Coalition asked Indonesian President Jokowi to replace the
Minister of Health. In the view of the Coalition, Terawan would not be able to
lead the country in handling the complicated challenges posed by the corona
virus crisis.

27. Health Minister Terawan challenged the Harvard University professor to prove his allegations
that there were unreported cases of the corona virus in Indonesia. Just a week later, President
Jokowi announced that some Indonesians in Jakarta had already been diagnosed with the viral
disease.
https://liputan6.com/health/read/4177135/menkes-terawan-tantang-harvard-cek-virus-coro-
na-di-indonesia
28. Health Minister Terawan chastised and angered reporters who were wearing protective face
masks. Shortly afterward, he himself wore a mask in public appearances. The WHO had re-
quested that people wear a mask whenever they went outside.
https://tirto.id/menkes-terawan-mengomeli-wartawan-yang-gunakan-masker-di-rspi-eCoE
https://www.who.int/publications-detail/advice-on-the-use-of-masks-in-the-community-
during-home-care-and-in-healthcare-settings-in-the-context-of-the-novel-coronavirus-(2019-
ncov)-outbreak
29. Health Minister Terawan declared that Indonesians had extra protection against the corona
virus due to their propensity to pray a lot. A month after making this statement, the death rate
for Indonesians (as a percentage of those infected with the virus) was among the highest in
the world.
https://detik.com/news/berita/d-4903100/kala-terawan-andalkan-doa-cegah-virus-coro-
na-masuk-indonesia

41
I read some other print-outs, which were also highlighted. “It is difficult for the
current Minister of Health to lead doctors. He himself has been sanctioned by
IDI, the main medical organization. How is he going to lead an organization
that has rebuked and dismissed him?”30

“Gan, do you need me to wake up Mr. Janggi?” Mpok Nina asked again. “No,
let him be,” I said. “He is exhausted. Let him wake up on his own.”

-000-

This was my house, but I had lent it to Janggi for 6 months after he got mar-
ried. I live in another house.

Nothing in the house had changed. Various photos on the wall remained the
same. A photograph of Janggi and Dewi was still hanging in the living room.
It was depressing to see the photo; they had only been married for 3 months.

There was a photo of Janggi and me from our childhood. The difference in our
ages was nearly a decade. I was now 40, and Janggi was 32 years old.

On the wall, I still saw his own painting. It contained a quote from Jalaluddin
Rumi: “Start the long journey, sailing deep within yourself.”

Janggi often asked: “Brother Fatah, what is your secret to growing up like you
have now?”

I said: “Anyone who wants to grow up to be happy and successful should sail
deep within. He must spend time in deep contemplation, pondering what he
is looking for. Everything will burst forth from that awareness.”

30. Faisal Basri stated that it would be difficult for Health Minister Terawan to supervise the IDI
doctors’ organization, which had previously dismissed him from their ranks.
https://palembang.tribunnews.com/amp/2020/03/20/terawan-diragukan-bisa-pimpin-penan-
ganan-virus-corona-sosok-ini-un-gkap-awal-menkes-itu-dipecat-idi

42
Janggi replied, “Oh, I don’t think I have time to meditate that long, Brother!” I
replied, “The time for that will come, Janggi. Unexpectedly.”

Since long ago, Janggi’s high social spirit had been evident. He repeatedly
became the leader of activist organizations.

Ten years ago, Father passed away, following Mother who had died first. We
liquidated the inheritance and divided the funds equally between us.

I used my share of this money as capital to build a business. With the proceeds, I was
able to purchase two houses. But Janggi used his share to pursue social activities.

“Brother Fatah,” he said, “I already have a network of mobile libraries in re-

mote areas. I’m using these funds as capital to expand the network. It’s a
shame, Brother, if people in remote villages don’t have access to books.”

“You don’t want to buy a house, brother? Or perhaps use some of it for a busi-
ness?” I asked. “I haven’t thought of that. Maybe later. Right now, I feel the
social benefits are greater if I focus on the mobile library.”

“This can also be a charity in our parents’ name that helps less fortunate peo-
ple to gain access to books and knowledge for free.” Janggi also told me about
the special “troops” who manned his mobile library vans. There was even a Li-
brary Horse, a real horse saddled with bookshelves on either side.31 The horse
visited remote areas. People could gather around the horse and have the rare
opportunity to read books.

There are also Bemos that Spread Knowledge. Old minibuses (bemos) that
had been retired from public service, were outfitted with bookshelves. These
bemos circulated in several locations, giving many people the chance to gath-
er around the bemo and find a book to read.

31. Regarding mobile libraries that operate in remote areas, see:

https://www.boombastis.com/perpustakaan-keliling-indonesia/98478

43
There was also an Angkot Library. Several angkot (public transport vans) were
modified, and bookshelves were added. Long-distance passengers were able
to choose and read a book while sitting in these angkot. If they were interest-
ed in reading, they could borrow the book for a while by depositing their ID
card with the driver.

There was also a Motorcycle Library. The motorbike was outfitted with two
small bookcases, installed on either side. These motorcycles provided access
to books for people in remote villages who might otherwise rarely have the
opportunity to read a free book.

Janggi met Dewi a year ago as a result of their involvement in this mobile
library project. Both had social spirit; both were activists who wanted to
help. But they also possessed the courage to protest whenever they wit-
nessed social injustice.

-000-

The day after his wife died, I accompanied Janggi and sat with him in this
room. I listened as he talked and shed tears until 2 o’clock in the morning.

They had used some of the money they received from wedding gifts to buy a
lot of basic necessities. Then they donated the rest by distributing groceries
to poor people in their community.

Due to the corona virus, these “little people” were the segment of society
that had suffered the most. Janggi and Dewi, with their own funds, actively
assisted. One day, Janggi and Dewi got caught in a sudden heavy downpour.
They were both soaking wet.

Dewi fell ill. She had a cough and a fever. Janggi was sure it was a normal
cough, but to be on the safe side (since this was the era of the corona virus),
he brought her to a referral hospital.

44
“I followed all the procedures, Brother,” said Janggi. “Dewi was asked to
enter the isolation room. She wasn’t allowed to go home. The isolation
room was very small. It was only 12 square meters, yet there were five
other people in it.”32

“Dewi had blood and thorax tests. The results were negative. But Dewi still
couldn’t go home. She had to be given a swab test first. Only a swab test, a
nurse said, could confirm if Dewi had been exposed to Covid-19.”

“But, my goodness, the swab test would only be available in two days. Dewi
had to remain there, mingled with other patients. When Dewi was swab test-
ed, the results were still unavailable for a few days.”

“Dewi was diabetic.and this predisposed her to greater medical risk if she
caught the corona virus. Dewi’s cough and fever were common. I’m sure Dewi
was exposed there, when she sat crammed in with other patients in that small
isolation room.”

I just listened quietly. I knew that Janggi was in no mood to hear my view. He
just needed a friend to accompany him and listen.

Janggi said, “This is because our Minister of Health was too passive. As a re-
sult, the initiative to prepare facilities for the virus was delayed.”

“I’m sure there are many others who were irrevocably harmed like we were.
There must be a class action for citizens to sue the government so that nothing
like this ever happens again.”

I just sat and listened to my grieving brother. “Dewi was a good person, Broth-
er. She shouldn’t have died like this. She shared her wealth. She dedicated
her life to helping people. Dewi was a gentle young woman, Bro.”

32. Regarding inadequate medical facilities in isolation rooms at referral hospitals, see:
https://kompas.com/megapolitan/read/2020/03/17/10185411/ironisnya-pelayanan-di-rs-ruju-
kan-untuk-pasien-covid-19

45
Janggi sobbed at the dining table. I remained quiet, allowing all his emotions
to get channeled and sublimated.

-000-

For six days, I accompanied my brother, Janggi, everywhere he went, every mo-
ment of each day… Three days before Dewi’s death and three days afterwards.

“Brother Fatah, please escort me...” Janggi called me. He could no longer do
video calls with Dewi. She had lapsed into a coma. Janggi was so restless. He
felt that it would not be long before she died.

That afternoon, Janggi cried profusely, not only because Dewi had died but
also because he wasn’t allowed to kiss her forehead. He was forbidden to
bathe her. He was even asked to watch the funeral from afar.

“Oh, my God, brother. I promised her. If she went to God first, I would
wash her body. I would sound the call to prayer so she could hear it in
the ground while she was being laid to eternal rest. But I wasn’t allowed.
I couldn’t keep my word.”

Janggi cried. He bowed his head at the dinner table. He didn’t make a sound.
But it looked like his body was shaking. I too shed tears.

The greater Janggi’s anger towards the hospital, which he believed misman-
aged his wife’s care, the greater too was his disappointment with the incom-
petent Minister of Health.

-000-

The next morning, I waited for Janggi to wake up. He finally got up at 2pm.
We spoke for a long time.

Janggi decided that he would not sue the Minister. At least not yet. He want-
ed to meditate and wait until the traditional forty day period after his wife’s

46
death had elapsed. He would try to put some space between himself and his
wife’s mistreatment. He would contemplate and meditate.

Janggi pointed to the painting with the quote from Jalaluddin Rumi. “Maybe
now, brother. It’s time for me to sail inside.”

Like Janggi, I too remained silent. But our souls embraced.

April, 2020

47
 CHAPTER SIX

NOTIFY THE MAYOR! TELL HIM

THAT A LOCAL CITIZEN HAS DIED
FROM HUNGER
A short text appeared in my private WhatsApp from Natta, the mayor of our
town: “Dav, if you have time, please have dinner with me at my house. This
evening at 7 pm. Let’s talk about Siti…”

I had already expected this; Natta was inviting me to talk at greater length and
breadth about Siti. Her story had received a good deal of coverage in the local
media. It was reported that Siti had died from hunger. She hadn’t eaten for
at least two days.

Her husband was a street scavenger who searched each day for discarded
goods. But recently, schools and offices had closed due to the PSBB (Large-
Scale Social Restrictions), and it was difficult for him to make even his usual
meager living.

I don’t know if it was true or not, but it was said that Siti’s family subsisted on
a gallon of water each day. Before she passed away, Siti was seen crying on a
video camera. The media had already covered her plight at great length. Her
tales of financial difficulties, exacerbated by the pandemic, had received pub-
lic attention online, which had gone viral.

Natta’s situation was rather unfortunate. He had become the mayor of an

area that included some of the most impoverished people in the Jakarta area.
In previous years, the town was already in bad shape, but now during the co-
rona virus era, conditions had become even bleaker.

I had read some media coverage concerning this matter. The mayor was con-
sidered too passive in his approach. He had failed to take speedy action. And
wasn’t government welfare assistance available?

48
There was also a rebuttal. A local government official tried to refute any claim
that Siti had died from hunger. Moreover, her husband had made a public
statement, stating that he did not like that people were saying that his wife
had died from lack of food. He believed that Siti’s death was God’s will; she
was just tired and weary, and she had met her fate accordingly.33

Despite these statements, the public had reached consensus. People asked,
“how could it be that in a town located so close to the capital someone dies
from starvation, even during these current times? Where is the Mayor’s sense
of responsibility?”

-000-

Natta must be nervous. I knew his character.

We had been friends for over 40 years. Back in elementary school, we lived
next door to each other. We attended the same schools from elementary
school to university.

Sometimes I stayed overnight at Natta’s house. And sometimes Nata did the same.
His father died when he was only five years old. He lived with his mother and grand-
parents. We called his grandfather Abah. We never called him by his real name.

As a grandfather, Abah did not just serve as a stepfather for Natta but also as
an inspiration. We looked up to him as our idol and spiritual teacher. Abah
also had a strong intuitive “sixth” sense.
I remember sitting on the veranda with Natta and Abah 30 years ago when we
were in high school.

“Natta,” said Abah. “One day you will be entrusted with public service, and
you will be a leader.”

33. The local official and Yuli’s husband reportedly denied that she had died from hunger.
http://tangerangnews.com/banten/read/31092/Yuli-Meninggal-Nyaris-di-Hari-Kartini-Lurah-
Tak-Yakin-Kelaparan

49
“Oh, Abah. I don’t want to be a leader. I just want to be a teacher. Writing
books. Advancing science,” replied Natta.

But Abah remained convinced. “You will eventually change your mind. You
will encounter special events; experiences will come, and people. They will
become the steps that take you there. To the throne of public service. “But
don’t forget, grandson. From now on you will need to train. You will need to
earn and keep the public trust.”

Abah also talked about the importance of leaders caring for the “little people”.
Abah often talked about this as though he really wanted Natta to prepare him-
self, to learn to maintain the trust and good faith of the public. Especially the
trust of the “little people”.

One afternoon, when the three of us were sitting in the backyard, Abah told
us a story about a king. Abah mentioned the name of the king, his geographic
region, and which century. But I forgot the details. All I remember was the
main message.

“The king was serious about maintaining trust with his subjects. Sometimes at
night, accompanied by only one bodyguard, they would disguise themselves.
They pretended to be ordinary villagers.”

“They traveled to remote impoverished corners of his kingdom. He wanted to

see firsthand the condition of his people. He didn’t just pay attention to the
reports of his court advisers since they would often embellish their stories
with pleasant information rather than tell the truth.

The people didn’t realize that it was the King who had stopped by at their house.

The next day, in the realm where the King had visited, which was in dire straits,
the King sought ways to help these poor people. That’s the behavior of lead-
ers who maintain the public trust,” said Abah.

Natta and I often listened to Abah’s story in amazement. He was good

at storytelling.

50
Abah once told us a story about Umar bin Khattab. He was a caliph who was
known to be clean and trustworthy.

“Natta,” said Abah. “Umar bin Khattab made a good example. One day,” said Abah,
“some of Umar’s relatives arrived from far away. When they entered, Umar asked
if they had come to discuss matters about the caliphate or the family.”

“When it turned out to be a family matter, Umar changed lamps. Because the
lamp used oil from caliphate funds. He replaced it with a smaller lamp, whose
oil he paid for from his own funds.”

“That’s a real leader. Responsible. He didn’t take personal advantage of ca-

liphate facilities. From this, we learn that responsibility begins in the heart.”

Keep his example in mind. Because later you will assume responsibility that
emanates from the source of all power. From God.”

“Yes, Abah.” While laughing, Natta replied, “But Abah, I’m not going to be a
caliph. There are no caliphs anymore. I intend to be a lecturer, Abah.”

-000-

I arrived at ten minutes before 7 pm at the Mayor’s official residence. Un-

like other guests, I went immediately to the living room and waited for my
old friend.

Natta’s photo with Abah was there. The photo was even bigger than the pho-
to of Natta with his wife and children.

A framed artistic work of calligraphy, created by Abah, also adorned the wall.
Natta had decided to hang it in his official residence. The calligraphy expressed
the essence of Surah Al-Maidah, Verse 32: “If you help one human, it is the
same as if you helped all people. If you abuse one human, it is the same as if
you abused all of humanity.”

51
“Good evening, Dav, let’s eat dinner.” Natta greeted me warmly. Just like
it used to be. And the same way our friendship had endured for forty
years.

After eating, Natta asked my opinion: “Dav, what if I just resigned as

Mayor?” I was not surprised by Natta’s question. Natta had always been
a perfectionist.

“Because of Siti?” I asked him. “Yes, Dav. There are 700 thousand citizens
in this city. About 5-6 percent are quite impoverished. Very poor. The
problem is that these 40 thousand poor people are scattered throughout
my district.”

“There are village heads. There are sub-district RW and neighborhood RT

officials. There are department heads as well, but it’s not working out. I
also depend on them. In normal times, I can make inquiries. You could
immediately see for yourself which people are in greatest need.”

“Or as Abah used to tell us in his stories, you could disguise yourself
and visit the villages during the nighttime. Ha ha ha.” Natta and I both
laughed as we recalled Abah’s story.

“But this is the era of the corona virus, Dav. It’s not only that I’m con-
cerned that I might get exposed to the virus. But if I started visiting
various neighborhoods, I would be giving a bad example since I’ve told
people to work from home,” Natta said.

“What do you think, Dav? Should I just quit my position as Mayor? I

don’t want to be the people’s mayor if I no longer hold their trust.”

“Seriously?” I retorted. “Yes, I’m serious. I was always fit to be a lecturer,

Dav. The only reason I decided to run for mayor was to fulfill Abah’s pre-
diction and expectations. And now I’m cursed by my decision to comply
with his demands.”

52
“You’ve been my best friend since childhood, Dav. You have a PhD in
political science. You were the one who helped me get elected. Please
give me a solution. I trust both your intellect and your heart,” said Natta.

“Resigning is certainly an easy way out, Natta. But your case is not much
different from leading an army. And then, when the enemy comes, you
decide to desert your post as commander and run away.”

“You’re not the only one having a hard time now, Natta. The entire world is
suffering. Many leaders in the world are criticized and cursed by their own
people. It’s actually quite common.”

Natta looked into my eyes. He stared at me intensely and sharply. It appears

that the viewpoint I had just expressed was exactly what he needed to hear.

-000-

We moved and sat down in his office. Natta called Aziz, his spokesman for
public relations. On the screen with a Power Point presentation, Aziz con-
veyed various pieces of information.

“Let’s first focus on Siti’s death, sir,” said Aziz, beginning his presentation.

“This is a medical report. It proves that Siti did not die of starvation. Of course,
it is true that her economic difficulties were increasing,” said Aziz.

Natta immediately interrupted, “You’re right, Ziz. Just make sure you’re not
giving me a report designed to make me happy.” Natta cynically grumbled.
“But Sir… This is accurate medical data,” Aziz said.

“You’re really good, Ziz. Maybe this medical report was obtained on your or-
ders. You could later say that this was done at the Mayor’s behest.” Nata
teased him. Aziz laughed. I also laughed.

53
Aziz immediately changed the topic. “This is Indonesian data. In the era of the
corona virus, there will be 8.5 million new poor people. The total number of
impoverished people in Indonesia will increase to 33.4 million. So it is clear
that more and more people are going hungry.”34

This projection involves world data. It is estimated that worldwide due to the
corona virus at least 1 billion people will suffer from hunger and malnutrition.”35

“Where is that data from?” I asked. “This is valid data, sir. It comes from the
WFP, the World Food Program. Pessimistic economic projections are also de-
rived from the International Monetary Fund. According to the IMF, the global
economy will recede by the greatest extent last seen during the Great Depres-
sion of the early 1930s.”36

Economic cycles feature crises that occur every two decades.” “But the impact
of this pandemic is worse; a crisis of this magnitude normally occurs once in
a century,” Natta interrupted. “Even superpowers like the United States are
overwhelmed. It turns out that even countries with powerful nuclear weap-
ons appear impotent when dealing with a tiny virus that is too small to see
through a microscope.”

“Let me continue, sir,” said Aziz.

“There is a social assistance program from Jokowi, sir. The total funds are quite
substantial, above 400 trillion Rupiahs. There is a basic food staples program.

34. The number of poor people in Indonesia has multiplied due to financial difficulties caused by
the global pandemic.
https://bisnis.tempo.co/read/1332671/skenario-terberat-ada-85-juta-orang-miskin-baru-aki-
bat-corona
35. On a global basis, there has been a significant increase in the number of people suffering from
hunger.
https://dunia.tempo.co/read/1334636/wfp-satu-miliar-orang-terancam-kelaparan-akibat-vi-
rus-corona
36. IMF: The world is facing the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression in the early
1930s.

54
There is Direct Cash Assistance. Each family will receive 600 thousand Rupiahs
each month for the next 3 months.”37

“How many families will receive Social Welfare assistance?” Nata asked. “In
the Greater Jakarta area alone, there are 4.2 million eligible residents, sir. I
assume they will receive this subsidy during April, May, and June.”38

Azis replied. “As usual sir. The concept of central government is good. But the
problem is slow implementation in the field. It is very slow. People are dying
at a faster pace than the allotment of public funds.”

“I’m certain a lot of corrupt rats will misappropriate it.” Aziz said with a dis-
heartened laugh. We spent a long time discussing data and policies.

-000-

It didn’t feel like it was already 11 pm. Now it was just me and Natta in the
living room.

“Natta,” I said. “You should be grateful. The bell pulsating in your heart is
strong. You feel guilty hearing that your citizens are starving. You truly want
to hold on to the public trust. It’s a terrible situation.”

“But whatever you do needs to be done quickly. If you rely on the existing
bureaucracy, the pace of implementation will be slow, as Aziz has already said.
Then there will be even more cases like Siti.”

37. Supplemental social welfare payments have been arranged by the Indonesian government to
help alleviate poverty.
https://kumparan.com/kumparannews/4-bantuan-sosial-tambahan-jokowi-semba-
ko-hing-ga-blt-1tBroTLhHwj
38. The Indonesian president has allocated 400 trillion Rupiah to reduce poverty.
https://beritasatu.com/politik/618737-presiden-alokasikan-rp-404-t-untuk-bansos-
jabodetabek-dan-desa

55
“This is an era of crisis. The measures we undertake must be creative; they
should be outside the box,” I suggested loudly, trying to be sound authorita-
tive.

“That’s right, Dav. But this is state money. I have to follow all the procedures.
If I don’t, I could get caught by the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK).
On the other hand, if I follow the rules and procedures, the disbursement of
government funds will proceed as slowly as a snail.”

“We should collect public funds, Natta… Engage civil society, especially
wealthy donors who care.”

Natta was silent for a moment. He seemed to remember something monu-

mental. “Dav, this might be the time.” Natta remained silent for a long time. I
too remained silent, waiting for Natta to resume speaking.

Natta’s eyes started to glaze over. I was curious. He rose from his seat. Then
Natta stood looking intently at Abah’s photo. I just sat there and watched him
from a distance.

Then Natta began speaking as though he were talking to Abah: “With your
permission, Abah...” He kissed the painting. Natta excitedly sat back down,
bringing his face closer to mine.

“Dav, you remember the day before Abah died.” He left me a box. Abah said,
“This is not for you. Use this when you receive the public’s trust in you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said nodding. I did in fact remember. It was a black box.
“What’s in it?” I asked. “I’ve seen the contents. But I’ve never touched it. May-
be it’s time.” Natta said. “It’s time?” I asked, confused.

Natta entered the secret code within a secure compartment. He asked me to

wait. He looked very excited. He went inside. When he came out, Natta was
carrying a black box. We both stared intently at the black box. On it was the same
inscription that Abah had constantly repeated to Natta: Jaga Amanah (“Guard the
Public Trust”). Natta showed me the contents: Five bars of pure gold.

56
We made plans. Natta would sell the five bars of gold. All funds would be
used to create a food bank that would purchase groceries. A social founda-
tion would then distribute the food to local people who were struggling with
hunger.

Natta said, “We can prevent more cases like Siti.” We embraced, too. We were
very happy. Two best friends embracing each other, just like we had when we
were schoolchildren in 5th grade. Warm. Sincere.

April, 2020

57
 CHAPTER SEVEN

THE BAKER’S HEIRLOOM

JAVANESE DAGGER39
I had mixed emotions when once again I encountered my deceased friend’s
heirloom keris, a traditional ceremonial Javanese dagger. I was very happy to
hold it again after not seeing it for many years.

On the other hand, I was sad to hear the reason the dagger suddenly reap-
peared and came back to me. “Before Father died,” said Surya, “he told us that
some time in the future when you’re in financial trouble, just bring this keris to
Om (Uncle) Dastan. He will understand what to do.”

“That was part of your father’s will?” I asked. “Yes,” Surya replied. “Mother
and all my brothers heard him say this.”

I remember my last conversation about the keris with Janu, my best friend,
who was also Surya’s father. He had told me long ago that he still possessed
an heirloom dagger from the Majapahit kingdom. He had inherited it from his
father. And his father’s grandfather inherited it from his great-grandfathers
before him. The keris had been passed down from one generation to the next.

“It is 700 years old,” said Janu. At first I didn’t believe it. But we paid experts
to analyze it with radiocarbon dating techniques, and they confirmed that this
keris was hand-forged 690-720 years ago.”

39. This short story essay is entirely fictitious. It describes the dire situation of a young business-
man whose small business (SME) suffers and fails due to corona virus rumors and social
restrictions.
https://economy.okezone.com/2020/03/19/320/2185833/cerita-sepinya-umkm-di-tengah-wa-
bah-virus-corona

58
“I was amazed. It was very rare! At that time I already had a lot of money. I
had always been an avid aficionado of antiques. Janu stated that his father’s
friend offered to purchase it from him for 500 million Rupiah. But Janu’s father
didn’t accept the offer.”

“Okay, Janu,” I responded. “I’m ready to buy your heirloom keris for the price
of one billion rupiah. That is probably the highest offer you’ll ever hear. And
mind you, this price is not purely business since I have also added my debt of
gratitude to you.”

But Janu laughed. “It’s not for sale, Bro. One day, I will bequeath the family
keris to my eldest son, Surya.”

“Om Dastan,” continued Janu. “My keris has a will of its own. Believe it or not,
this keris has a life and a will of its own.”

“However, if it really is your soulmate, one day it may be destined to be yours.”

For some reason, Janu seemed rather certain about this.

Many years passed by…

Surya watched me intently as I held and contemplated the long history and
craftsmanship of this ancient keris. “So why do you want to sell this keris now,
Surya?” I asked him in a straightforward manner.

Surya replied, “My small business just went bankrupt, Om. I was forced to lay off
some employees. I have also sold the building where the bakery was located.”

“The corona virus has killed off many Small and Medium Enterprises, Om. Tens
of thousands of SMEs in Indonesia have filed for bankruptcy. The consequenc-
es of this virus have been horrendous for us. But I have to rise and try again.”
Surya was apparently still motivated and guardedly optimistic.

-000-

59
We were siting in the living room: Surya, my son Danu, and I. Danu was the
same age as Surya. They also knew each other but were not close friends. It
seems that my friendship with Janu wasn’t duplicated and passed down to
our two sons.

“Please try, Surya… Refresh my memory. In the past, you worked for a foreign
company. How is it that you were able to acquire and run a small bakery
business?”

Surya replied, “Oh, maybe I forgot to tell you. Six months before my father
died, when Om visited Dad, we chatted on the veranda. At that time I asked,
‘Om, you were previously poor… How were you able to become so wealthy?
On the other hand, my father whose parents were affluent ended up being
rather poor.’”

“Do you remember, Om?” asked Surya. “Yes, I still recall that moment although
only vaguely. Om forgot… What did I say that inspired you?”

“Om said,” said Surya, “that there was one magical phrase that changed your
life. Since high school, you always dreamt of attaining Financial Indepen-
dence.”

“Om had to work hard to reach that position. That was a condition where Om
didn’t need to work anymore because the passive income that came in each
month exceeded household expenses. So Om was blessed with a lot of free
time.”

“Then Om said that he wanted to use that free time to pursue your real pur-
pose and passion in life: reading, writing, composing poetry, making films. Do
you remember Om?” Surya asked again.

“Yes, I remember.” I answered. “I recall telling you that the key to prosperity
was starting and running one’s own business. It’s okay to start small. The im-
portant thing is that our mindset and habits remain disciplined and ingrained.”

60
“Your talk really inspired me; I thought about it everyday. I obviously didn’t
want to repeat my father’s failure. He worked in an office and was actually laid
off from work in his old age.”

“Five years ago, my wife and I opened a bakery business. In the past, Om, I
sent you a sample of the bread.” I listened to Surya’s story. Parts of it I re-
membered vaguely, and some of it I had completely forgotten.

“The toast that I made was special, Om.40 It had a richer taste compared to the
standard white bread that was baked and sold elsewhere.”

Initially, I started bakery operations in my garage. I soon had lots of local

customers. I took another step forward. I hired peddlers to sell my bread in
residential streets and alleys. Eventually, I was able to secure a bank loan,
which enabled me to purchase an adjacent house as the new site of our
baking operations.

“After achieving substantial success, I quit my regular day job. I wanted to

focus on being an entrepreneur like you, Om Dastan. And my wife agreed.”

“Before the coronavirus invaded our shores, I had 50 mobile bread vendors.
My wife teased me. She said: “Wow! Soon you will be able to achieve finan-
cial independence. And you can be just like Om Dastan, who sits and writes
poetry in his spare time.”

“Hahahahaha.” Surya, my son Danu, and I all laughed. “Uh, but then the co-
rona virus changed everything. There was a call for social distancing. Large-
Scale Social Restrictions. Offices were closed. Schools were also closed.

40. The idea of a successful small business that began in a garage, which started baking an espe-
cially tasty kind of toast, was taken from this news story:
https://detik.com/finance/solusiukm/d-4279430/wanita-ini-raup-jutaan-rupiah-dari-jualan-ro-
ti-bakar-di-garasi

61
“Day by day, my bakery business steadily declined until daily receipts were
halved.41 This meagre daily income was no longer sufficient to cover produc-
tion costs. But operating at a slight loss was still okay, Om.”

“Unfortunately, we suffered another setback when one of my street vendors

caught the corona virus.”

“This bad news spread far and wide. Oh my gosh. Customers ran away. They
were afraid that my bread contained the virus.”

“For two weeks there was no income at all. Zero. My wife was crying because
we could no longer afford to pay outstanding bank loan bills. I had laid off half
of my employees, and I could no longer disburse any severance pay.”

“At night I prayed. I said, ‘God what else should I do? I can’t bear to lay off the
rest of my employees. They are loyal. But I have no money.’”

“I haven’t been able to pay my child’s school fees. And my mother and three
younger siblings still depend on me for financial assistance.”

“I’m not a bad person. I also donate a lot. My prayers to God never stop. Why
did this happen to me?”

“In tahajjud, I cry.” Surya was silent. His tears dripped down his cheeks. I was
silent. My son, Danu, also remained silent.

Surya continued: “For some reason, an apparition of my father’s heirloom ker-

is loomed before me. I instantly remembered Om Dastan.”

-000-

41. The following news illustrates the sharp decline suffered by SMEs during the current econom-
ic crisis:
https://kompas.com/money/read/2020/03/27/190000026/terpukul-corona-ini-5-keluhan-pa-
ra-pelaku-umkm

62
Danu, my son, was about the same age as Surya; both were 28 years old.
Danu had graduated from business school. He also read a lot about small and
medium enterprises.

“Try, Danu,” I said. “Brief us. What happened to small and medium-sized busi-
nesses in this corona virus era? Why is it so bad?”

Danu continued: “Brother Surya, I sympathize with your situation. The harsh
impact of the current Corona Virus era on Indonesian small and medium
enterprises is actually much worse now than it was during the monetary
crisis of 1998.42

“Back in 1998, small and medium enterprises thrived and saved the economy
from total ruin. In 1998, people were frugal; they reined in their spending on
unnecessary lifestyle and fashion items. People spent more on essential goods
and services that were offered by small and medium businesses.”

“Now, small and medium enterprises are the most affected because the virus
has ravaged all business links, from upstream to downstream. The raw mate-
rial line is disrupted; production, distribution, and availability of capital are all
disrupted. Income and purchasing power are declining.”

“The strength of small and medium businesses is certainly not as durable as

big companies. Now 37 thousand small and medium enterprises are affected.43
And Brother Surya is one of them.”

42. The current adverse economic impact on SMEs is much worse than it was during the era of the
Asian monetary crisis in 1997-2000.
https://liputan6.com/4228397/beda-kondisi-umkm-saat-pandemi-corona-di-2020-dengan-
krisis-ekonomi-1998
43. Approximately 37,000 Indonesian SMEs have reported being adversely affected by the eco-
nomic fallout from the corona virus.
https://bali.tribunnews.com/2020/04/17/ter-dampak-covid-19-37-ribu-umkm-lapor-ke-ke-
menterian

63
“Just imagine,” said Danu, “there are 116 million people working in the small
and medium business sector. Our financial prospects are dire. Economic
growth this year may be minus. Many SMEs will go bankrupt.”

“But not all small and medium enterprises die. Businesses related to online
marketing, package delivery, and health services, are faring well during the
current economic downturn.”44

Surya regained his spirit. “That’s the result of my tahajjud. This heirloom keris
might be a boon. I want to totally change my product line during the corona
virus era. I want to migrate from baked goods to selling masks, hand sanitiz-
ers, and everything else related to health.”

“But I will need fresh capital. All I have is the house we live in. My wife
won’t agree to mortgaging our house or taking out an unsecured loan. Be-
side the house we live in, the only thing of value that I own is the heirloom
keris. This keris has been present in the life of my family from generation
to generation. Grandpa often told me how this keris helped him in times
of crisis. I believe this, too.”

-000-

I held the dagger again. I removed the keris from its protective sheath. It was
just as stunning as ever. In my heart, I called out the name of my dear friend.
“Janu, life certainly has unexpected twists and turns. I used to desperately
want to buy this keris. But you wouldn’t part with it. Now this keris has re-
turned to me on its own accord, through your son.”

I Imagined my friendship with Janu. He was a proven friend. Together we

went through many of our early ups and downs in life. In high school, I was

44.During the current corona virus era, ten types of business are showing potential: https://katada-
ta.co.id/telaah/2020/04/17/munculnya-10-pelu-ang-bisnis-baru-dari-hidup-normal-di-masa-
pandemi

64
very poor. Janu was the son of a rich man. Janu often helped me. He would
buy me food, books, even clothes. He was happy because I told him he was
very smart. A school champion. He read a lot. And was often willing to do
homework together with me after school.

When we grew up and reached middle age, our fortunes reversed. I received
the bounty of God’s blessings due to my thriving business. Janu, on the other
hand, fell into poverty. Despite this, Janu never asked for my help. And never
wanted me to help.

I remember high school. Janu’s father’s owned several cars. Janu often drove
his own car to school while I commuted to school on city buses. I didn’t have
a car, nor did I even have a motorbike. One afternoon, I goaded him. “Come
on, Janu. Teach me to drive your car.”

Without hesitation, I sat in the driver’s seat and drove straight to a main road.
Janu was sitting next to me. When turning into a side street, I collided with a
motorcycle. The motorcyclist was badly injured. A crowd started to gather.
And the police were alerted. I was very frightened.

As fast as a bolt of lightning, Janu quickly asked me to change seats. When

the police arrived, Janu was sitting behind the wheel. And I was sitting in the
passenger seat beside him. I was shocked. Janu admitted that he was driving.
Janu took the motorcyclist to the hospital and paid for his medical treatment.
He also paid to repair the damaged motorcycle. And, of course, he did not
forget to grease the palms of the police. He quickly took care of everything.

I would never forget that incident until the end of my life. I asked Janu, “Why
did you do that?” And he simply replied, “Brother, I didn’t want you to go to
jail. If the police had realized that you were driving without a license, you
would have been in major trouble.” Day after day, I felt disturbed by that
incident. And I felt deeply indebted to Janu for his great kindness and con-
sideration. I once asked Janu how I could repay my debt of gratitude to him.”

He replied in a relaxed manner: “We are friends, Bro. Long-term. There will be
days ahead when you can help me when I need it most.”

65
I was silent for a long time. Maybe this was that time. It wasn’t Janu who re-
ally needed it but his eldest son. But it was just the same.

I asked Surya, “How much money do you need to open a new business?”

Surya replied: “The price of the heirloom keris, Om.”

It was Father’s message: “Uncle Dastan is a wise man; he will understand. We

don’t have to set a price.”

“Soon Om will transfer the funds to Surya’s account.” And I told him the
amount.

“Just take this beautiful keris home, Surya. It belongs to you.”

“Think of it as Om’s help for Surya in difficult times. In the past, your father
often helped me, too.”

“Really Om?” asked Surya. He spontaneously hugged me and sobbed.

I was sad too. I believe that the heirloom keris had a will. And it had
moved my heart.

I used to want it so much. Indeed, now the keris was finally in my hands.
I had even arranged to pay for it. But I returned the valuable heirloom
dagger to Surya’s hands.

“Janu, Janu. In this dire time of crisis, I truly miss our conversations.”

April, 2020

66
 CHAPTER EIGHT

THE COLLAPSE OF OUR RURAL

COMMUNITY
Viewing the video was engrossing. The body of a corona virus patient was
brought to a funeral home. There, the grieving family, close friends, and
the man’s former students opened the plastic sheath covering the body.45
A mournful cry resounded in the hall. Mournful expressions were evident
in the video: “He is our teacher. We can’t bid eternal farewell to him with-
out seeing his face one last time.” Another voice: “Mr. Ahmad of blessed
memory was the leader of our community. We must kiss his hand before
we escort his coffin to the tomb.”

The divine singing of angels resounded. It resembled the atmosphere of thou-

sands of baby chicks losing their mother. Hundreds of Mr. Ahmad’s fellow vil-
lagers accompanied his coffin to the grave. They engaged in petty disputes
over which villagers would have the honor to be pallbearers and carry Mr.
Admad’s coffin.

They sang their praise to their deceased colleague: “Too great is our debt to
him.” “He was like the sun to us.”

The video was even more fascinating for me because it included glimpses of Budi,
my younger brother. It had been 20 years since he joined Mr. Ahmad’s spiritual
community. He had abandoned his work and even his family. He said that he had
found the spiritual light of life with Mr. Ahmad, his esteemed teacher.

45. This short story essay is completely fictional. However, it was inspired by a true news story
from Kolaka, Central Sulawesi. The plastic sheath covering the dead body of a Covid-19 vic-
tim was opened by family members. The body was then kissed and embraced by the mourning
family.
https://nasional.tempo.co/1323859/viral-keluarga-pdp-corona-buka-plastik-jenazah-be-
gi-ni-ceritanya

67
But now this great teacher was gone. Yet another victim of the corona virus.

An update to this news was reported shortly afterward. That spiritual commu-
nity, which was already secluded, was now officially quarantined. It was feared
that the corona virus had been disseminated throughout the community due
to close contact with the body of the dead teacher. It was a tragic situation.

-000-

The endurance of religious faith. The durability of loyalty. This was the impres-
sion I deeply felt when I contemplated the story of Budi, Mr. Ahmad, and their
spiritual community.

In 2006, they were forcibly expelled by intolerant neighbors. Their house of

worship was burned down. Their dwellings were ransacked and damaged.46
Many community members were beaten. One was wounded so badly that he
couldn’t withstand his injuries and died.

“They’re apostates,” said a ferocious attacker. “They are defaming our reli-
gion,” another exclaimed. The name of God was misappropriated in a hateful
campaign of violence and expulsion.

Dozens of attackers carried machetes and clubs. They pelted the houses
with rocks as much as they pleased. They knocked down buildings with
great fervor.

This was the third time they attacked. But this time, they issued an ultimatum. The
spiritual group was coerced to leave. “This is our territory,” the attackers shouted.
“Your continued presence here only brings misfortune upon our families.”

46. This is merely fictional, yet a similar situation occurred in the true story of the mistreatment of
Indonesians belonging to the Ahmadiyah sect in NTB Province. An account of the expulsion
of the Ahmadiyah community can be read here:
http://www.wahidinstitute.org/pdf-docs/GatraEdisi-V.pdf

68
The police officers seemed helpless. The state officials did actually calm the
masses and quell the disturbances. However, the authorities neither arrested
nor acted firmly with the attackers.

To the local authorities, Mr. Ahmad spoke with great conviction: “The land
we have been living on has been handed down from one generation to the
next for centuries.” Budi, my brother, who experienced this violence, said,
“Sir, doesn’t the Indonesian constitution protect and guarantee the rights of
citizens to hold their own religious beliefs?” Dozens of other members of the
spiritual community also protested.

Officers did not deny what Mr. Ahmad, Budi, and his group had declared. But
the officers looked helpless. The wind in their sails had died. The region’s el-
ders invited Mr. Ahmad to speak with them, heart to heart.
“Sir,” one elder said. “These attacks will undoubtedly resume. There are many
children among your community. Have pity on them. What if we arranged
some form of compromise?”

“What compromise?” Mr. Ahmad asked. The elders suggested that the village
embrace the recognized official religion. This conflict would only be resolved
and terminated when the two groups subscribed to the same dominant form
of their religion.

Mr. Ahmad, Budi, and several other spiritual followers who took part in the
meeting were absolutely shocked by this proposal. They couldn’t accept it.
“Sorry, my dear elder,” said Mr. Ahmad politely. “Are you yourself willing to
exchange your religion with another? Belief is a matter of the heart. We are
now a minority. But you and other elders shouldn’t forget that your religion
was also once a minority.”

Mr. Ahmad said firmly, “What would you have done at that time when your
religion was still a minority, and you were given an ultimatum to disperse and
move away or embrace the religious beliefs of the majority?

“Our beliefs are not new, sir. They are the legacy of our ancestors. They
existed long before Indonesia gained independence. Yet in previous years,

69
we didn’t have this problem.” With tears pooling in his eyes, Mr. Ahmad
said, “If we cannot live with our own beliefs, although we are protected by
the constitution, you can dig large holes in the soil. And you can bury us
alive in our graves.”47

Budi and other spiritual members cried and embraced Mr. Ahmad, their
great teacher. They admired how he always stood upright, how he always
held an erect posture.

No compromise was proffered. The attackers went home, grumbling and making
threats of more violence to come. They would attack again in larger numbers.

Finally for everyone’s safety, especially for the sake of the children, the as-
sailed community was given a different path, an ultimatum. On the advice
of the elders, the entire spiritual community was evacuated and relocated to
an adjacent region. Government officials made idle promises that this new
arrangement would just be temporary.

However, the community had now been living in a refugee camp for the past
13 years. They still couldn’t return to their original land. The state officials had
broken the promise they had earlier made.

But thanks to Mr. Ahmad’s leadership, the community was still able to thrive
live. Some planted crops. Some were fishermen. Some conducted trade with
other regions.

Mr. Ahmad himself often gave lectures in other countries. He had extensive
knowledge of his subjects. His heart was loving. And what was most import-
ant as a community leader, he was consistently strong in his character and in
carrying out his responsibilities.

47. The phrase, Kuburlah Kami Hidup-hidup (Bury Us Alive), was taken from the title of a book
of essay poetry written by Anick HT in 2014:
http://www.satuharapan.com/read-detail/read/kuburlah-kami-hidup-hidup-menyoal-pros-
es-bernegara-yang-belum-selesai

70
Budi told me that Mr. Ahmad had just returned from a lecture circuit in South-
east Asia and China. Somewhere in his recent travels, Mr. Ahmad had appar-
ently caught the Corona virus.

-000-

I still remember our conversation five years ago when Mr. Ahmad and Budi were
visiting my house in Jakarta.

I asked Budi, “According to Mr. Ahmad, how long can your community survive in the
refugee area?”

Mr. Ahmad mentioned the history of the Amish community in the United States.48
This community has maintained itself for nearly 300 years even though their philos-
ophies and lifestyles differ substantially from those of mainstream American society.
For instance, they still refused to use electricity.

“That proves the endurance of belief. Those who believe keep their heart at the top
of the mountain. Their determination to persevere and maintain their beliefs is as
firm, as high, and as old as a mountain.” Mr. Ahmad expressed his views.

I asked again, “Dozens of people attacked with machetes, clubs, and rocks. Accom-
panied by shouts of God’s name and religious passion, how scary is that? Would
they make Mr. Ahmad’s community finally give up?”

“That’s the risk of belonging to a minority faith.” Mr. Ahmad said. Then he quoted
the novel Quo Vadis.49 “The situation was even more difficult for early Christians
during the first few centuries of Christianity.”

48. The Amish community, a Protestant Christian sect, has existed since the 17th century. The
Amish of the Pennsylvania Dutch community, which still forbids the use of electricity and
rides around in horse-drawn buggies, has become an American tourist object.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amish
49. Quo Vadis is a famous novel that details the drama of the early years of the Christian religion.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quo_Vadis_(novel)

71
“Look at the narrative in the novel. Many Christians were dropped into the
Colosseum arena. There they were pitted against a hungry lion. They were
eaten by lions.”

“The tens of thousands of spectators in the stadium did not show any pity.
They didn’t shed any tears. They actually clapped their hands. Good grief!”

“But look now. Christianity grew into the world’s biggest religion. In the realm
of belief,” said Mr. Ahmad, ‘win or lose’ is not so important. Because what ini-
tially seems like a desperate situation eventually turns out to be a victorious
position. Conversely, many winners in the past have now been vanquished.”

“As I said earlier. True belief lies at the top of the mountain. A clamor on the
lower slopes or the bluster of a storm at the base of the mountain will not
disturb the heart at the mountain peak. Its height is different.”
Mr. Ahmad said this in a calm and confident voice.

Budi, my brother chimed in. “Brother, our village will remain strong as long
as Mr. Ahmad is with us. But if Mr. Ahmad is no longer among us, our village
will collapse.”

“No, that will not happen!” Mr. Ahmad was very quick to interject. “The village
can never be supported by one individual. The entire community reinforces
each other. In time a leader will die, and a new leader must be born.”

“The village can’t collapse!”

-000-

With the help of friends and local officials, I finally succeeded in reaching Budi
by phone. His village was indeed isolated. Without the help of friends, com-
municating with him was a difficult task. I don’t know why.

“Budi,” I said. “I would like to express my sorrow for the death of Mr. Ahmad.
Yet I must ask why Mr. Ahmad’s funeral did not follow the standard protocol

72
for corona virus victims? Opening the protective plastic sheath around his
body was dangerous for all. And dangerous for you, too, Budi” I said.

Budi explained: “Brother, Mr. Ahmad was our esteemed teacher, our stalwart
protector, our guiding light. I’m sorry, but it was impossible for us to let him
be buried alone by government officials.”

“It was impossible for us not to participate in bathing and purifying his body.
There was also no way that we wouldn’t kiss his hand one last time.

“If you are worried that we were exposed to the virus, I can understand your
concern. But it was impossible for us to leave our leader even after he died
because he never abandoned us.”

“What will happen to your village then? I remember you mentioning previ-
ously that without Mr. Ahmad, your community would collapse.”

“My friends and I haven’t thought about that, brother. We are still mourning
his passing. It is very deep. Our sun has departed.”

“Even if our village were to fall, that might be acceptable. Let our village col-
lapse. But our religious faith will never collapse or fade. Even though our faith
is always a minority. Even though we have been evicted and expelled. Even
though our house of worship was burned once again.”

“Our faith is more important than our village.”

That was my last conversation with Budi.

I remained silent for a while trying to understand life. Was Budi mistaken?
Had Budi been too naive? It was hard for me to answer.

But one thing was certain. Budi was an example of the endurance of belief,
the strength of loyalty. That fervor surged within him. It was robust.

April 2020

73
74