A Prayer Mat

A Prayer Mat

By Hawa Arofah

"Come home, quickly, Nduk. Your son wants a prayer mat. He wants
to join tarawih at the mosque this month. He only wants to use a
prayer mat from you," said Emak in her letter which had just
arrived in the house I rented. "I would pity him if he refused to
join tarawih 'cause you hadn't bought him a prayer mat."

I had difficulty breathing. Iwan, my only child, is quite an
insistent boy. He does not stop asking for something until his
request is granted. If he said he wanted me to give him a prayer
mat, he would not take one even from his grandma.

Well, do I have to go back to my house in a remote village in
East Java just to bring him a payer mat? I was confused. I had
lied to my mother that I worked for a private company in Jakarta
and that I could only come home for two days at Idul Fitri. She
does not know that I am a sex worker.

Every time I go home for Lebaran, I lie to my neighbors about
my job in Jakarta. That's why I only come home for a few days for
Lebaran. I don't want them to suspect that I have taken up an
improper job in the city. I have Iwan and I don't want him to
feel inferior just because of my occupation. I also don't want my
mother to be mentally tortured because of my job.

I decided not to return home this Lebaran. I decided to forget
Iwan's nagging. After all, he's only four years old. When he
grows up, he can perform his prayers along with our devout
villagers.

So, I sent some money to my mother, asking her to buy Iwan a
prayer mat and other things that he would need for tarawih.

"Tell Iwan I'm too busy to come home," I wrote to my mother.

Two weeks later I got another letter from my mother, saying
that Iwan refused to use the new prayer mat and that he had also
stopped eating.

"Come home, at once, Nduk. Take pity on Iwan," pleaded Emak in
her letter.

I was exasperated but at the same time I felt sad about Iwan.

Should I go home now? I was confused. It would be difficult to
return home for Lebaran.

"No way, Mother. I can't go home," I finally wrote to my
mother.

I only prayed that Iwan would understand. I thought he was
just behaving like a spoilt child and wanted my attention.

***

It was drizzling that night. It was cold. I had a cold and had
to stay home. I was alone in the house I rented.

Suddenly, my past unraveled before my eyes.

I was quite pretty as a girl and got married shortly after I
completed junior high school. My husband was a simple farmer. I
had Iwan from this marriage.

Unfortunately, my husband contracted a lung disease and died
when Iwan was still very small.

As a pretty widow, I attracted many men in our village. They
offered me money to sleep with me. Some even wanted to make me
their mistress.

As I could not bear the situation any longer, I decided to
leave my village for Jakarta. Unfortunately, with my junior high
school diploma I could only work as a housemaid. I earned only a
pittance every month. After a few months I decided to look for a
better paid job. I needed a lot of money for Iwan back home.

So, I started to earn a living as a sex worker in some hotels.
First, I just sat in the lobby.

"Are you willing to accompany our guest?" a waiter asked.

I only nodded. I thought, what's so difficult about joining a
man in bed? I'm a widow after all who has experienced servicing
my husband in bed.

I began to earn more money. Lots of it. After a few months I
was able to collect hundreds of thousands of rupiah.

"I've got a nice job at an office, Mother. Use this money to
repair the house and to buy daily necessities," I wrote to my
mother.

Once a year I came home for Lebaran. I was proud now I had a
good house. I was relieved that my mother and my neighbors
believed I was employed in an office. Every time I returned home
I put on an Islamic veil.

They did not know I cried loudly in my heart. I knew I was a
hypocrite and that I was lying to all these good people back
home.

"Come home, at once. Iwan is seriously ill," said a cable that
my mother had just sent to me.

I wept. I felt sinful. I had pinned my hope on Iwan supporting
me and praying for my soul in the hereafter later.

This thought made me decide to buy a prayer mat and rush home.
Iwan must not die!

***

However, man proposes but God disposes. When I arrived home, I
saw a lot of people at my house. I heard my mother sobbing,
calling out Iwan's name very loudly.

There, lying on the bed, was my Iwan. Stiff, cold and rigid. I
hugged him and kissed him many times.

"Come on, Iwan, wake up. Mom is home now. I've brought you a
new prayer mat," I said, sobbing. Still, Iwan lay there cold and
stiff.

"Iwan! Iwan! Don't die my son!" I screamed before I fainted.

Every day Emak tried to comfort me.

"Don't drown in your sadness. Iwan hasn't died, he has only
left us to live in beautiful Eden. Just pray so we can be with
him one day," she said.

I could only weep and weep, crying over my big mistake. Day in
and day out, all I could see was Iwan getting ready to go to the
mosque, carrying a prayer mat. I heard him recite the Koran. He
smiled at me and I smiled at him too. Again and again and again.
I smiled at him.

Translated by Lie Hua

Note:
* Nduk : an intimate address from a mother to daughter
* Tarawih : evening prayer during Ramadhan fasting month
* Lebaran : Idul Fitri, a post-fasting festivity for Muslims
* Emak : mother