Sibungsu (Samurai stabbed)
Down Mountain

The village was so crowded. Life has gone on as usual. It was Friday, the heat wasn't playing. Men can be said to all gather in the mosque.

Most of them almost fell asleep when the preacher read the sermon. The sermon recited came from the Japanese ruler. The preachers are no longer free to preach as usual. At first the way of preaching is so painful for Muslims. Not only in the village, but also throughout Minangkabau.

But over time it became common. The will of the ruler must be obeyed. It is still profitable that they are obliged to read only the prescribed sermon. After all, the sermon felt that no one violated the teachings of religion. In addition to containing the verses of the Quran and hadith as usual, calling to do good and stay away from the muffled, now coupled with the call to obey orders that come from Japan as an old brother.

Obeying Japanese orders means helping secure the homeland - it also means building the country. What is the weight of reading such a sermon, right? The congregation wanted the sermon to end quickly. But no one dared to leave the mosque. Because they know that if they leave, it means they don't like preaching. And not liking the sermon in the mosque means not liking the old brother's Japanese appeal. This can invite trouble. Rather than difficult it is better in the mosque. Though sleepy.

Finally the two Friday prayers were finished. People shake hands to go home. A middle-aged man sitting at the very back of the saf was greeted by the person sitting next to him. He received the greeting with a smile. But when he looked at the person who was experiencing it, his smile disappeared suddenly. His hands that were shaking, he pulled quickly. He is like a man who looks upon the devil during the day. Then suddenly he got up. Then hurry to the door. The two men who were about to come out were hit by him.

"Hey, hurry up it looks like. Where's Grandpa going?" the man who was hit at the door of the mosque asked.

The middle-aged man called Datuk will first continue to come out. But he turned around and whispered to the two men who were hit. Both men could not believe it. They receded back to the middle of the mosque. Staring at the person who was shaking hands with the grandfather. Who is still sitting down. These two people also fell. Then quickly pass. Of course, this attitude attracts the attention of others. And some people, imitating his actions anyway. Turn to the middle of the mosque and look at the person who was still sitting down. It was like seeing a demon. Then get out quick.

In a short time, almost all of the men in the village, who came to the mosque on Friday, learned that the youngest son of Datuk Berbangsa was still alive, and now he's back in this village. There is an unpleasant and insecure feeling in the hearts of almost all village men for the presence of the Bungsu. The young man was still sitting in the middle of the mosque. Sit with your head down. He knew people were watching him. He knew people whispered they hated him. And that's what he's contemplating now. He thought that by entering the house of God his feelings would be calm. He thought that in the house of God all people were the same. Are not all Muslims brothers? And isn't this mosque a symbol of the brotherhood of Muslims? Why should hate be brought to this holy house? Or in the house of God even man cannot escape from the attitude of animal man. Hate each other, envy each other, overcome each other, squeeze each other? Or maybe he is not considered a Muslim?

"You're a Bungsu?"

Suddenly a soft voice greeted. Resuscitating himself from daydreaming-He raised his head. And his eyes were on the priest who had just said hello. The priest was still sitting in front, near the mihrab.

"really. I am Haji sir." he said while looking down.

"Have you been in this village for a long time?"

Bizarrely. The voice of the priest remained soft. There is no hint of hostility.

"I arrived last night sir." he said he was still down.

"Thank your head, Bungsu, this is the house of God. Here every human being is equally valued. They are only different in their deeds to God." The priest seemed to be able to read what was implied in his heart. He raised his head. He looked at the priest in wonder.

"Popularized. Hated. Adored. Lauded. Forgotten. Berate, or ignored. That is called the life of the bungsu. Man must struggle among those possibilities, one cannot be noble by praise. On the other hand, people won't die from maki's caci."

The youngest pensive. In the mosque there was no one else. It was just him and the priest.

"Where were you last night?" The priest asked again.

"In the old surau downstream of this village Pak Haji…."

"Hm. Still happy to play koa or dice?"

He nodded, his head back down.

"Why not go to your house?"

Now he lifts his head. Look at the hajj.

"I've arrived there Haji sir. But I saw someone waiting. I dare not wake them. I don't know who's been living…"

"The inhabitant is Sutan Lembang. Your mother's daughter-in-law Datuk Sati. Everyone in the village thought you were dead. So the whole family heirloom according to custom falls on your mother's older brother. He has many houses. That's why your mother's house was told to wait for her daughter. The wife of Sultan Lembang."

"There is something I would like to ask the Imam…"

"About the graves of your father, mother and brother in the middle of that house?"

The youngest was shocked. How sharp is this Imam's hunch. He was going to ask about the cemetery. Last night in the moonlight, the grave he saw no more in the middle of the courtyard. It was there that he buried his father, mother and brother.

"really. I wonder where their graves are now" he finally said.

"You buried them in the middle of the yard, didn't you? And your brother's near the level. Rightly so?."

Again he was surprised to hear the accuracy of this Hajj conjecture.

"True sir Haji…"

"And a boy you buried by the cajus tree next to the school. Two women under the mangosteen. Three men near the buffalo cage. So it's not Bungsu?"

"Does Haji have time for me to bury them?"

The youngest asked between his shock and his. The hajj took a deep breath. Then he said slowly :

"Allah is Great. Today, God proves what I thought all along. Thank you Bungsu. You have carried out the bodies well. One of the men you buried was my brother. And that kid is my ponakan. Thank ye. I had guessed from the beginning. That you're the one who buried them. At that time we all fled. We saw you get hit by a samurai. When we returned a month later, we dug the grave back. We're moving it to the people's cemetery. Turns out your body we didn't find. Everyone thought your body was dragged by an animal to the foot of the mountain and touched it there. But I suspect you must have survived. And it was you who buried them. I don't know how you buried that many bodies in wounds. And I don't know how long it'll take you to bury them, either. But I'm sure it must have been an uneasy job for you, given your terrible wounds. Thanks again, son. For your help to bury my corpse, my brother's body, and the bodies of all the people who were killed. You held their bodies, even though they always hated you in their lifetime. God will repay you, son…"

The priest's tears seeped into his cheeks. How not. he was sure this young man had helped the corpses. But how unfortunate he is. He was unable to explain to the villagers about his belief. He was afraid that the villagers would hate him. He was ashamed of his weakness. A priest who does not dare to speak the truth just because he is afraid of being ostracized by the villagers. And he knew well that there was a verse that said, Say the truth, though very bitter. She cried regretting her weakness .

"So the graves of my mother, father and brother have been moved to the graves of the people downstream there Mr Haji?"

"Yes, they've been moved there, son…."

"Thank you sir." he got up.

"Where are you going, dude?"

"I'm going to the grave, sir…." "After that?"

" I haven't thought of it yet…"

"If you are long in this village. Come to my house. Still in the old place. Near my big tree you used to throw the fruit. Stop by…."

"Thank you sir. God willing. Excuse me. Assalamualaikum…."

"Greetings waalaikum…."

He got off the mosque. The priest looked at his back. It is strange that the man who came down from the mosque felt something unpleasant and a tension that gripped them over the presence of this young man, Pak Haji was just the opposite. When looking at the youngster's back, staring at his shadow stepping out, there was a kind of feeling of pride and safety running through his old heart.

Yes, the Bungsu has returned after being presumed dead since the bloody event that wiped out his family a dozen full moons ago. The people in the village did not see a single change in the young man. Their impression of him remains the same as before.

A gambler with a gloomy face and my eyes is like a spiritless man. And more than that, they still think of him as a curse that has opened the secret about the preparation of activities in this village in the fight against Japan. That's why he remains unwelcome back to his village. The feeling of dislike was immediately shown on the first day he was in his hometown. While walking to his house after returning from the cemetery, passing a little from the mosque he was confronted by six men who on average had a stocky body.

With a face that remained gloomy and a haggard gleam of eyes, he looked at the man one by one. He immediately recognized them. They are fighters. Two of them were his father's students, the other a disciple of Datuk Maruhun.

"Assalamualaikum.." he said slowly after the intercepting party for a while remained silent. One of the men coughed a little, the man he knew as Malano, his father's disciple.

"What do you need to come here, dude…." Malano asked.

How painful that question is. This is his hometown. Where he was born and raised. Now he went back to his village to see his father, mother and brother. As clear as it was coming, there were still people asking, why did he come back. But despite the bitter question, with his head still down he still answered in a low voice.

"I want to see the graves of my father, mother and sister …. "

"Have you seen their graves, haven't you?"

Another one asked. Without looking at the person, he knew that the one who asked was Sutan Permato. Silat disciple Datuk Maruhun.

"Yes. I come from the grave."

"Well, if you have seen, now leave this village.." Malano's voice was heard again.

He raised his head. These last words were like commands and threats all at once. Did he not hear wrong? It seems that it is not. The six men surrounded him. Look at him with hate. And from behind the door cloths, from the houses adjacent to their place, women and children peeked at the incident.

"Why should I leave this village?" she asked.

And that event happened. He used to have no power at all when he was beaten by the Baribeh and his three friends finished gambling in a weathered surau downstream of the village. Now he also seems to have no power when the six men who on average have enough silat science that slam feet and hands into his body. He was stretched from one foot to the other. From one hand to the other. And he finally fell down. Caught with mouth and nose bleeding.

"If we do not look at the way of Datuk Berbangsa's children, we have chopped the body of the curse of the waang. Fucking traitor. Gamblers accuser. If until the afternoon the waang is still in this village, do not blame us if the life of our waang ends"

That's Malano's voice. He only heard the sound, then the six men left. The boy was as before. I don't understand a single step.

An incomplete man as a man.

But in his resigned face, the youngest pleaded to God, so that his heart was strengthened not to use the samurai he brought not to harm the people of his village.

He accepted that treatment. Because he knew they were doing it because of their love for the village. His extremely sharp ears were trained to hear the sound of the man's feet drifting away. Even in his face he could tell, that two men were walking towards the North. Three people to the south. The other one went up to the house not far from where he was lying. His ears heard his footsteps. But his body was tired. Eating the man's sixth hand and foot should be admitted to being very ligatous[1]. His stomach feels nauseous. Head throbbing.

The incident was expected to occur by the Imam in the mosque earlier. When the six men revived the Bungsu, the Imam watched him from behind the window of the mosque. He wanted to shout preventing those people from beating the Bungsu. He felt sorry for the young man. But he did not dare to show himself. He didn't have enough courage to ban them. He is the Imam of this mosque. In this mosque he received alms, endowments, zakat or marriage contract money from the residents. If he had disagreed with the population.could residents no longer give zakat fitrah or alms to him. Or if you are going to get married, people just go to Iman or another kadi. That means closing his livelihood. And in this chaotic age, losing livelihood is a great catastrophe. Ah, naw. He does not want to lose his livelihood by going against the flow of opinion of the population.

But when the six men finished the work of their hands, and the youngest lay with his body, he felt ashamed of himself. He is now in the house of God, where every Friday he preaches calling for good. Calling to be honest. Calls to tell the truth. Calling not to be hypocrites, hypocrites to hate God, he often said in his sermons. What is the name of his job now? Is letting the young man be harmed, not a cowardly and hypocritical act? Didn't he finish Friday telling the young man that he knew his kindness? Didn't he know that the young man was innocent? Why did he not dare to defend the young man? Is his stomach's importance more important than upholding a truth?

Suddenly she was ashamed to be in the house of God.

"Punish your weak servant, O Allah." he whispered as he stepped down.

He stepped towards the Bungsu who was still face down, He knew, from behind the doors and windows of the houses of many people who peeked. And it also means peeking at him who is now crouching near the body of the Bungsu.

"Father.." he called while turning over the body of the youngest.

He looked at his bleeding nose and lips.

"Rise. Come to my house" The young man rose with a firm hold on the body of the priest. The priest is old. His body is weak. But this time his body seemed to get new energy to get the young man to his home.

He stopped. Intentionally glimpsed his vision around. Stare into the surrounding houses with your head held high. Like wanting to tell that peeker, that he was defending this young man.

"Saleha.open the door" He called home.

A girl opened the door hesitantly. The yellow-skinned, round-faced girl looked at her father, then gazed at the surrounding houses with anxious feelings.

"Open up. provide hot water in a clean pot and cloth. Hurry"

The girl quickly disappeared backwards as her father took the youngest up and sat him in the living room, on a clean pandan mat. Saleha appeared again carrying a basin with warm-toenail water and a clean washcloth.

"The father will be difficult because of this father's help…." The youngest said slowly.

For the first time the priest's daughter looked at him. On his bruised face and his bloody mouth and nose. The Bungsu also looked at him. They have known each other for years. Don't they live in a village?

It's just how foreign he feels in this village. And this girl, the son of the Imam who was one of the flowers in his village, also looked at him with a foreign feeling.

"Thank you for the water and the washcloth Saleha.." she said slowly.

The girl did not answer. He still stared at her silently. Pay attention to the young people who are said to have sold this village to Japan some time ago. Look at the young boy who is the number one gambling player.

"Provide rice. We'll eat together. Where's Sawal?"

The priest gave the order, and asked while cleaning the face of the youngest. Saleha remained silent. He wondered why his father would help to clean the face of this gambler.

"Where's Sawal?" the priest asked.

"It's been since the braids[2] he didn't come home"

"Prepare the rice…."

But before Saleha left, the door was knocked by people from outside. Saleha's face turned pale. So too is the Imam.

"Sir Imam….Imam.... quickly open the door" a man's voice came from outside.

They're staring. The youngest leans. Looked at the pale Faith and Saleha. And suddenly without being opened, the door was broken from the outside. Two men came in. The youngest immediately knew him as the person who had been helping him. The two men were momentarily stunned looking at him.

"What's Leman?" The priest asked while standing up.

"First sir Imam…."

"What happened to Sawal…"

"He was arrested by Kempetai with Malano…."

Saleha. The priest himself was stunned. The name Kempetai made his body weak.

Japanese military intel was notorious for its cruelty. The only army that can enter becomes Kempetai. The choice in his martial and ruthless. If Kempetai has intervened, it means dead.

"Why was he arrested by Kempetai….?" The priest asked weakly.

"Two nights ago he stole a Japanese weapon in Gadang Fortress. With Malano and some of our fighters. Two people have been caught.the weapon that was stolen is only six pieces. Now they're both in the mosque….."

"In the mosque?"

"Yes…"

Without speaking ba or ma'am, the Hajj rushed down followed by the two men. Then also Saleha. The youngest took a deep breath. Take a washcloth and go back to cleaning his face.

Malano was caught, and so was Sawal. Abang Saleha the son of the Imam. Who used to call himself a kapir gambler. Sawal is famous for santri. It is not because of his father Hajj and the imam in the mosque. But that young man was indeed a good young man. He is a teacher in this village.

Now the young man was arrested Kempetai for being caught stealing weapons at the Japanese Headquarters in Kubu Gadang. Bah, the young man was too good[3]. he thought while still rolling on the mat.

In front of the mosque stood three people. They're upright with their waists. Residents crammed not far from the courtyard of the mosque. The three Kempetai did not carry a long bedil. As members of the Kempetai of choice, they carried only a pistol and a samurai.

"Send your son off Hajj. Otherwise we'll drag him out"

One of the people said. The kempetai is fat. Saleha was crying near her father. The priest did not speak. He went into the mosque. Inside, near the mihrab, he met Sawal sitting with a pale face. Shoulder wound. It seems there was a fight when he stole a gun with some Indonesian fighters. Nearby sat Malano. The man who beat the youngest. He was an underground warrior. Who swore to kill as many Japanese as possible. In revenge for the death of his teacher Datuk Berbangsa a year ago.

The Haji looked at Malano silently. There's a lot he wants to say. But no word can be said in a moment like this. He wanted to tell his son to run away.

But if he escaped, the other residents would be captured by the Japanese instead. Didn't Saburo once say, if there are Japanese soldiers who die, then every one of the dead Japanese will be avenged by killing three residents. If his son and Malano escape, then the innocent population will be the victims of Japanese murder. This has happened several times in the villages around this. Suddenly outside came Saleha's screech. The priest and Sawal were shocked. They ran to the door. Outside they saw Saleha in the arms of one of the Kempetai. As soon as Sawal appeared, the fat Kempetai pulled out the gun and fired it. Sawal ran back into the mosque. The gun shot at his father. The Hajj was strangled and collapsed. The fat Japanese gave orders to his two friends. The two men ran in with shoes filled with mud. Residents became shocked and angry to see the soldier enter their house of worship without opening their footwear.

But angry they had to be quiet. Who would dare to be angry at Kempetai? Although they were only three, but it meant the same as a large army. Sounds of screeching and screeching inside. Then the residents saw Sawal and Malano being led out with injured bodies.

"These two men, and your daughter, we have to arrest Imam. This girl of yours is just a guarantee that her brother won't run away. Don't worry, he'll be safe." The fat Japanese said with a sickening smile.

The priest just sat down to the door. The wound on his shoulder was draining blood. While Saleha thrashed to escape. But the one holding his hand was too strong for him to fight. The three Japanese turned their bodies and began to step away from the courtyard of the mosque.

Suddenly they were stunned. A man, dressed in Chinese scissors, wearing a sarong across his shoulder, dressed in straight Javanese scissors strapped his way. The youngest!

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[1] ligat \= agile, deft

[2] kebetang \= yesterday

[3] bagak \= dare