Friday, May 28, 2010

A Short Story KH Mustofa Bisri: Mbok Yem

Praise wukuf at Arafat before I could find my mother and sister at their lodgings in Mecca. They lived in a cramped room with four pairs of husband and wife. Each plot occupied semuat two people who were given only baggage bulkhead. In the middle there is little empty space filled with a variety of food and eating utensils. Mom introduced me to the friends group.

"This is my son who studied in Egypt," he said proudly. "It's been four years did not come home."

I sheepishly shook their hands one by one. Among them were two lovebirds are very old. Older than the mother. The men and called Mbah Joyo older. A few years older than Mbok Yem, his wife. In contrast to the rather quiet Mbah Joyo, Mbok Yem friendly and talkative man, approached the nosy.

Which was then attracting attention, at once made me a bit of amusement, is the intimacy that the two lovebirds. They Like newlyweds alone. Like ignoring the smiles and glances-glances seduce his friends who watched them, Mbok Yem clung Mbah Joyo pampered on our shoulders.

"Sir, we're lucky, yes," he said as he stroked her hair is white as cotton. "Child Mus was studying religion in Egypt, he could be muthawwif manasik us and guide us." Then directed to me, "Not so, dear Mus?"

I just nodded, smiling.

"If necessary Mus boy would not mind to take us everywhere," he said again. "Later Mbok Yem bikinkan Mbah Joyo's favorite sour vegetables. Mbok Yem most experts make sour vegetables. Ask Mbah Joyo, the tongue until njoget if Mbok Yem sour vegetables cook."

"But he's also just now to Mecca," said my mother. "So here experience no more from us-we are."

"Yes, but it's certainly clever lad Mus Arabic; so will not get lost and can help us when shopping. We no longer need to offer nawar use sign language, rich and dumb."

The people on laughing.

"But, boy it's Mus do not live here with us," said one of the pilgrims, handing her a glass of tea. "Thanks!" I welcome the thrust of hot tea.

"Yes, dear Mus, where he lives?" asked another.

"I stayed with friends of another student," I said, "but not far from here somewhere. I could be here often."

"Well, sir, then we could walk anywhere without worry," said Mbok Yem again while massaging the arm Mbah Joyo. "We've got guards who are young and can speak Arabic."

"You are how," Mbah Joyo, who had been silent and smiling suddenly spoke up. "Child Mus to here it's not for you alone. But especially for his mother and sister who have not seen. They definitely want berkangen-kangenan."

"Yes, I know," replied her husband mleroki Mbok Yem said. "I also do not intend to control his own son Mus. I mean we can nginthil, come together when their mother and mbak to the mosque or wherever else."

"No way!"

"There, there," said my mother interrupted. "It's half past eleven. Let's get ready to the mosque!"


Alhamdulillah, since at Arafat can join my mother's entourage. Wukuf eve, we had gone to the wilderness area that became a sea of the tent. Some people looked tired. Precisely Mbok Yem and Mbah Joyo - the oldest member of the troupe - do not show the slightest signs of fatigue. Even the two lovebirds radiant spirit is evident as rejuvenate their age. When the morning I take them out of the tent to see Arafat atmosphere that is so wonderful. Although the sun is not so disturbing with the heat shock, he has provided a bright light on the white carpet of Arafat. As far as the eye could see, the white-white-and-white tent and white ihram cloth dominates the landscape. Here and there bercuatan state flags or simply mark a particular group of pilgrims. From a distance, appear as "hill people" to the top of a monument which is also white. "Is that Jabal Rahmah?"

"Yes, that's the Jabal Rahmah."

"Is it true that Father Adam's first rendezvous with Mother Eve after they fell from heaven?"

"And Allaah knows best yes, but there are many who believe."

"Are we going there?"

"Ah, no. After all that much. It looks just close. Wukuf important at Arafat, beristighfar and pray. Here I think we can be more solemn."

When he returned to the camp, apparently friends of passengers are still bringing their impression of seeing a panorama that they had never seen it.

"Why so many people were from everywhere huh?" V "Yes, there are very black, very white, brown, in fact there are as rosy tomatoes."

"That 's all a lot of people kok-white all white clothes, my God!"

All the talk was directing his gaze at me as if I said they are waiting. Or is this just a feeling. But I speak also. "My teacher said, this is a mini picture of the field later that when we Makhsyar, when everyone was woken up from the grave. There is no rich no poor, no great man there's no little man; no nobility there was no common man, all the same. Everything herded in an open field like this at Arafat. The difference is, here there are tents and other shade-shade, where it later, do not. Each person will be held accountable for his deeds during life on earth. "

I stopped, because I heard the sobs that there are more and more hardened. It turns out crying on the lap of Mbok Yem Mbah Joyo is also seen his eyes filled with tears. The whole tent fell silent. Up came an officer kloter ordered all getting ready for the event with prayer - Dhuhr and Asar - and continue the ritual wukuf with dhikr and prayer.

I noticed, since the completion ceremony of prayer and praying together, until finally each dhikr and praying individually, Mbok Yem and Mbah Joyo kept crying and repeating only Astaghfirullah, Astaghfirullah ... Beg pardon of God. There was this old two lovebirds other dhikr or prayer.


Night when the flood flows of vehicles and people flowed from Arafat to Muzdalifah and Mina, on our own bus, just sounded talbiyah and interpretation. Except for a pair of mouth that was still beristighfar. Mouth Mbok Yem and Mbah Joyo.

Toward dawn we got Muzdalifah area. From a distance, twinkling lights adorn a panorama looking increasingly Masy'aril Haram. Our bus stopped and the group tumbled out in the dark, looking for pebbles to throw Jamrah. Mother I'm still on the bus, my brother and I are down. The others turned down everything. Some of them have already prepared with a small flashlight and a cloth bag where pebbles. Here and there also appear several vehicles were parked, waiting for their passengers to find gravel.

"Stay close!" chairman of the group's voice warned. People will not listen. Not because of anything. They are not already sympathetic to the officers they think are only good at talking only. Ngurus never pilgrims. Meet passengers are only interesting if you want this and that charges are not clearly intended.

But when it was quite old and there are still many around, me and some people who've been finished for gravel, had helped the chairman of the group shouting and clapping hands, warning them to immediately increase the vehicle. Moreover, the bus driver - the Egyptians - have continued to grumble-grumble while up and down the bus, can not wait. Moreover, other vehicles which had already pull together its passengers toward Mina.

They eventually took the bus back as well, although there were among those who grumbled, "The driver didengerin kok. This is my worship. Here the rules we're staying. Why the rush?"

"Never mind, maybe the driver to consider dense traffic, fear too late to Mina," I tried to soothe the grouch. "Besides, we're here 12 hours had passed. So it's starting to stay."

Suddenly, when the new party chairman and calculate the congregational roll, sounding Mbok Yem cried hysterically, "Mbah Joyo! Mana Mbah Joyoku?!" Instantly everything was new to realize that Mbah Joyo has not returned. Mbok Yem jumped off the bus, still crying and screaming, calling her husband. Almost the whole bus come down. Mom and my sister followed me to pursue Mbok Yem, trying to calm him.

"Calm down, sister Yem," my mother pleaded, hugging the old woman. "Mbah Joyo not going anywhere. We'll find him."

"Yes, sister," my sister persuaded follow-up. "Even if Mbah Joyo stray, there's a special officer who specializes find people astray. Believe."

"Yes, sister, if that was really lost, I will be contacting the police or other officers," I replied. "Mbah Joyo'll be back with us again."

I myself and probably my mother and sister not so sure what we were saying. But thank God, though still sobbing and talking to himself, Mbok Yem can be a little quiet. "Mbah Joyo was my savior!" he hissed again and again.

Head of delegation and several men, including the driver, who tried to find up outside the area where they'd look for gravel, has returned no results. There is a suspect Mbah Joyo may stray up another vehicle parked nearby. We conferred and agreed to continue the journey while searching. All re-take the bus. Mbok Yem who guided my mother and sister, still intermittently turned to the dark wilderness Muzdalifah. Mengawani mother sat and still continues to embrace his old friend was now silent.


Dawn, we're new to Mina. Everything looked tired, even more Mbok Yem. Fortunately, not much searching, we have reached our tent maktab. And, after entering the tent, not a game surprised us. We saw Mbah Joyo was sitting cross-legged eating grapes from a large dish full of various fruits. (In addition to wine, there are apples, oranges, bananas, pears, etc.).

Mbok Yem screamed, "Mbah Joyo!" and rushed and hugged and kissed her husband, weeping happily. Mbah Joyo himself only smiled sheepishly. For a moment the others were still stunned amazement. Only then slid almost in unison, "Alhamdulillaaaah!"

Everything is then surrounded Mbah Joyo which still continues to be hugged, caressed, and kissed Mbok Yem. Overall pleased.

"Gotta go, Mbok Yem, 'said the head of the pack," later followed by miss-kangenannya. Let Mbah Joyo told me first. " Then to Mbah Joyo, "Mbah Joyo, Sampeyan anywhere last night?"

"Yeah, Grandma," interrupted the other, "Sampeyan the wrong bus huh?!"

"How did you know-know Mbah Joyo've got here is how the story?" asked another.

"Mbah Joyo already throwing jumrah 'Aqabah?"

Mbah Joyo nodded, smiling. "You see I was wearing pajamas!" Then talked like he was telling a tale.

"I do not get lost and no one to take the bus. I met a young, dashing and handsome and taken up a very good vehicle. I said that I was with the entourage of friends and my wife. He said he already knew and convinced me that I'll see you later also in Mina. father is old, he said, will be tired if you ride the bus. Finally I went to. Until I was brought here Mina, told to rest a little. God knows how long I was asleep. Next thing I knew I was awakened before dawn and asked to throw jumrah 'Aqabah. After that I delivered here again. As he left the fruits of this, he excused himself and said a moment later you will come. And he was right. "

"He was one, Mbah? People Where?"

"Oh yes. I forgot to ask. Because once met him was immediately familiar. So I then hesitate and finally, until he left, I forgot to ask the name and origin."



When he finished throwing jumrah 'Aqabah, pilgrims have apparently had enough. They lay along unwind. And soon came the sound of snoring and there. Mbok Yem I saw myself looking fresh and cheerful. He even told her mom foot massage. "While Mbah Joyo sleep," he said. While I and my sister was listening while sleeping. But the story touched Mbok Yem, do not feel we were both finally collapsed as well.

Apparently Mbok Yem sure what happened Mbah Joyo was a gift of God nothing to do with his deeds. He tells why she got hysterical when Mbah Joyo lost in Muzdalifah. Mbok Yem prostitutes apparently once was - now "refined" the term became commercial sex workers - and Mbah Joyo is "subscribed" it made him realize that with patience, mengentasnya of sordid life, and marry her. Then Mbok Yem and Mbah Joyo launch an entirely new life. In addition to assisting Mbah Joyo farming, selling pecel Mbok Yem, then increased by opening a small food stall. And some of the results of their work, they save little by little. Even those willing to live tirakat, in order to achieve their ambitions: the pilgrimage. They have a belief that their sins can only really be forgiven, if beristighfar in the holy land, in the Grand Mosque, at Arafat, in Muzdalifah, and at Mina. As scholars in the village pack, pilgrim who Mabrur no reward except paradise. Apparently only when that old, they save enough money to pay for the pilgrimage.

"Alhamdulillah, Mbah Joyo not really missing," said Mbok Yem end the story. "So we're both still a chance to refine our pilgrimage. May Allah make it easier. Once finished, we are sincere, if the Exalted to call us anytime. Thanksgiving here in this holy land."

Mbok Yem wiped tears, happy tears, and then gently laid his body on the side of my mother.


Apex, 1423/2002

Note: Source: Daily "JAVA POS" April 27, 2003 (quoted from the website: Cited by Ade Anita)

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