The Traces of Destiny
Duka

...🔔Pain is part of life. Sometimes it's a big part, and sometimes it's not...🎑...

That morning, Gajakarta awoke to attend the funeral of a Maudy Zefanya.

It was Thursday, at a house of worship in downtown Gajakarta. In a building that could accommodate nearly five hundred people, but it was not big enough. People stood up and some were already jostling at the outside door, paying their respects from the closest place they could get to.

Their presence reminds her of the tragic passing of Gajakarta's wife, a young woman named Maudy, a mother of Raka Antonio, who has shaped her community.

He recalled when it started raining that morning. Not heavy rain, but continuous rain, rain accompanied by soft hot light that cools the earth.

The fog floated right above the ground, like ghosts and small shadows formed on the road. He looked at the length and breadth of the black umbrella parade, held by people dressed in black, moving slowly, as if mourners were walking on snow.

He saw Garin Antonio sitting upright in the front row of the crowd inside the room. He held Raka's hand. The boy was only five years old at the time, big enough to understand that his mother had died, but not yet big enough to understand that he would never see her again. And his confusion was more visible than his sadness.

His father sat with tense and pale lips as one person came after the other, offering a hand or a hug.

Although he seemed to have difficulty seeing people directly, the child did not cry and did not tremble. He still let his father's hand tightly grip his tiny hand.

Most people turn around and leave without saying anything.

He would never forget that smell, the smell of burnt sandalwood incense and lit candles, as he sat in the back row. Some chanted prayer sentences in a soft tone at the side of the coffin.

She will also always remember, a woman sitting next to her, followed for a moment later by her husband. In his hand he held a piece of tissue, which was used to remove the corner of his eye. Her husband put his hands on her knees, his gaze perpendicular. The expressions they brought.

The room in the room was moving slowly. Unlike the outside of the building, where people still continue to arrive, the inside is quieter, except for the breath sounds of people who move slowly . No one spoke, no one seemed to know what to say.

It was a moment where he felt as if he had an urge to vomit.

He fought back the nausea, feeling the sweat running down his forehead. His hands felt moist and useless. He doesn't want to be there. He doesn't want to come. For whatever reason, he wanted to get up and leave.

But he stayed. I don't know why...

After the main prayer began, he found it difficult to concentrate. If anyone had asked him today what the clergyman said or what Maudy's brother had said in his speech at the time, he would not have been able to tell anything. He remembered, however, all those words did not comfort him, only traversing his hearing undigested.

All he could think of was that Maudy Zefanya should not have died. He's still young. He's still very healthy. She's a mother of a toddler. She was a happy wife, but not that day. And he also knew for sure, Maudy was still harboring a thousand dreams for the future.

After the series of rituals were completed, there was a long procession to Gajakarta Memorial Park, a convoy of mourners accompanied by complete security forces, he knew it was a facility and a form of respect for every state official there. Security with two and four wheelers and a number of personnel among the crowd.

In the parking lot, he waited until most of the people started their cars, walked down the road and finally entered the line, following the car right in front of him. With the headlights on.

Like a robot, he also lights the lights. Follow the line like everyone else.

As they drove towards the cemetery, it started to rain more heavily. Car glass remover moves quickly, cleaning rainwater from side to side. The sky grieved, his heart suffered too.

When the distance to the cemetery was only a few minutes away.

People entered the parking area regularly, got down from their cars, black umbrellas opened, legs stepped through the muddy ground and through the puddles, gathering from all directions. Lined in an open tent. Cramming themselves together to stand closer to the open pit that will be the place where Maudy's body lies forever, soft in the embrace of the earth.

He followed blindly where his feet were pointing and then stood the back of the crowd.

He looked at Garin and Raka again, the father and son standing with their heads bowed, the rain soaking them. A man adores him faithfully. Not really able to cover both.

A moment later the casket bearer moved carrying the crate to the burrow, which was surrounded by hundreds of wreaths.

He thought he didn't want to be there. He shouldn't have come. He's not in the right place.

But he was there.

Driven by an unreal impulse, he had no choice. He needs to see Garin, needs to see Raka. Need to see both.

Even at that moment, he knew that their lives would forever be related to each other.

Maudy Zefanya, in all the goodness and beauty she brought to this world, has gone for good.

He has to be there, look.... He was there.

Of all, he was also the one who was there, and covered Maudy's silent body with banana leaves on that fateful day.

The rain of that day, the sorrow of that day, the weeping and prayer inserts of that day, had become a blessing in his heart. Will not forget, will not forget, will not... For eternity.

Forever...