That Special Night

By Joni Ariadinata

It was a quiet night in the fasting month of Ramadhan, which fell at the turn of the year, stretching from mid-December to mid-January. Everything looked tender. There were thousands of twinkling stars in the night sky.

Kawit looked toward the eastern sky and suddenly shouted: "Look there, Hasnah, although it is barely visible. I'm sure he will come from that direction."

Pointing his finger eastward, Kawit asked his wife to look at the crescent, which was as white as silver.

"But who you are talking about," his wife asked?

"Gabriel, the archangel."

Hasnah, raised her face to look eastward. In her heart she cursed her husband.

Why bother yourself with that nonsense while Kasan and Marni, our children, are sick with fever and we need money for their medical care?

The postmidnight wind caressed the rooftops. The wind carried with it the sound and smell of burning wood. Kawit, who customarily left the house after breaking his Ramadhan fast and performing his sunset prayer, usually was not home at this hour.

He always returned at around 3:30 a.m. for sahur, the last meal before the start of the compulsory fast from food, drink, smoking and sex until dusk.

"I don't want to miss him," said Kawit. "It would be deleterious thoughtlessness to ignore him. Both of us should catch him. This is a solemn affair, something related to the world hereafter."

"But Marni is sick, you know that," his wife cut him short to remind him of his ailing daughter.

"Don't mix up a serious affair with your feelings of anxiety, all right?"

Kawit was in a pensive mood. He shook his head and added: "You still have problems with your religious allegiance. The layer of your faith is shamefully thin, Hasnah."

His wife did not react. She was too tired to talk. And at this hour she still had so many things to do. She has to assort and bind the vegetables she had picked from the garden before taking them to the market.

She also had to think about the family rice stock. And the cooking oil, too.

Kasan, their son, still could not help himself. And the younger child, Marni, was still unable to take a bath. And Kawit always had to have his clothes washed with the best detergent.

"Cleanliness is important for me to face God Almighty," Kawit reasoned.

"And tonight is the Night of Power according to the Holy Koran," he added.

"It is the night which is better than a thousand months. While the reward for fasting is 100 fold. You can calculate it, how much it makes."

"So?" Hasnah retorted in a challenging voice.

"It will be abundant. God, the Compassionate and the Merciful, who listens to our prayers, will surely multiply our earnings."

"Why don't you stop dreaming, Kawit? Enough is enough," Hasnah said in a quivering voice. Then she began to cry.

"Kasan wants a new pair of shoes for Lebaran,*) you know that? Okay, we can buy him a pair of plastic ones. But Marni won't touch anything like that," Hasnah said.

"Look. The husband will be the first to be asked to give his accountability in God's judicial system in the hereafter. They will be asked about the discipline of their prayers and their Ramadhan fast, not about any bullshit plastic shoes."

"I hate this night! I hate the angel which has made you lazy," Hasnah cried.

I can no longer understand today's situation. Life is becoming more and more burdensome every day, Hasnah complained to herself. I tried to sell the old transistor radio, but nobody wanted it, and Lebaran is approaching. Marni has to be taken to a doctor, that means money. And Zubaidah came this morning to ask me to pay my debt. Kawit is busy with his religious services and repeating the same stories about angels and moons every day. Eleven stars and the sun. The clear blue sky. While I'm busy thinking about vegetable, salty fish and clove cigarettes for him.

"I beg you to do something; not just sit idle," she once told her husband. "Juragan Kadir came again to tell me ... "

"Juragan Kadir," Kawit cut her short. "Him again, him again. Tell him I cannot take the job he offers. Digging a well? No."

"You're crazy, Kawit. That is the only thing you are able to do. Are you out of your mind?"

"I have no time for that. I have to say ten thousand prayers every night. And after each of the two ritual nocturnal prayers I have to say the opening surah of the Koran. Three thousand and three times after each of the daily five-time prayers ... "

"Oh, my God," Hasnah said, "may the angel come down right now to suffocate you."

It was dark outside. There was a whispering wind caressing the coconut trees. The crescent moon added to the tranquility. "Glory be to Him, the Almighty God, who has sent the night of the 1,000 excellences," Marni, their daughter, mumbled.

Hasnah was standing nearby, uncommunicative. Kawit was silently saying prayers, while his fingers counted his prayer beads, trembling.

"You have betrayed your religious teachings, Hasnah," said Kawit.

"Akang, she called Kawit in Javanese.

Kawit left for the nearby prayer house. Darkness was all around and the dawn was nowhere to be seen.

For Hasnah, the sole breadwinner for the family, it was time to move. She had to go to the market to sell vegetables.

However, suddenly, she was struck by a sense of guilt. She had blasphemed.

But why was everything so dark behind Kawit? Because of the blasphemy? Anyway, the curse made Hasnah's heart beat faster.

However, every time she saw her two children peacefully asleep she felt happy despite her exhaustion.

Hasnah took a deep breath. Just imagine, she works almost around the clock.

Arriving from the market every morning, she works as a servant for Juragan Kadir's family. In the afternoon she has to prepare breaking the fast meals for her own family. That is before she has to go to the rice field to pick the vegetables which grow in a muddy corner of the field.

In the evening she returns to Kader's house to do the laundry. After that she returns home to do the same job for her family. That is not the end of her daily activities because she has to assort and bind the vegetables which are to be sold in the market. The hectic days make it difficult for her to concentrate on her prayers.

These days she also is disturbed by Marni's shouts reminding her of the approaching Lebaran. Kasan has been begging for a new pair of shoes. He doesn't want to understand that his mother is slowly killing herself trying to make ends meet.

Hasnah manages to feed the children because Zubaidah, a neighbor who runs a small shop, is always willing to sell Hasnah daily necessities on credit.

On the other hand, in her family, Hasnah sees no justice. Kawit is the lucky one in their marriage. He always has time to say prayers and read the Koran because God will not ask him whether there is enough rice for the family or whether he cares about Kasan's shoes or how much Hasnah has to pay the doctor every time she takes Marni there. Rp 8,000 each time; it is not cheap.

"This is all because only husbands are responsible before God in the hereafter." That is Kawit's most repeated explanation. He also likes to add, "I can take you directly to heaven, Hasnah. And remember, in this world God's benevolence can always be a surprise."

Suddenly, Hasnah trembled with fear. She remembered that she had cursed her husband by calling the angel down to suffocate him. What is the punishment for a woman with a dirty and spiteful heart? "Oh God..."

Outside, the night is gloomy. There is no crescent moon lighting the sky. Hasnah is deep in thought. She remembers what Kawit used to say to her: "He'll come from that direction, Hasnah. He will appear in a white robe and will bless the night with 1,000 greatnesses. This is Lailatul Qadr, the Night of Power. But it is only meant for those who always remember the Almighty,"

Is that right?

When Hasnah opens the door early in the morning, a cat suddenly jumps out. She was about to go to the market with a bundle of vegetables. Looking around she was struck with enchantment. Everything looked stiff. Nothing moved.

To Hasnah, the color of the sky has astoundingly changed. She felt awkward; something must have happened. She also felt her neck was cold. Oh God ...

She retreated and closed the door. Then she thought that she had to go before the dawn broke. She would have to fight to get a good corner in the market. Her fresh vegetable should be offered to buyers as earlier as possible.

But why is the street deserted and why does the sky look like it had been torn asunder? "Oh God, I see the light."

"Kawit. Oh Kawit," Hasnah called her husband loudly. There was no answer. Kawit must have gone to the nearby mosque. Oh.

As her heart beat faster she remembered Kawit murmuring and glorifying the name of Allah. He closed his words with: "I must catch it. I must catch the divine light, which will appear tonight. Only me who will be able to do it, while Hasnah has sold it out."

Hasnah decided to go quickly to the market. It was quiet all around. The street was still deserted. But the crescent moon was shining, enabling her to see her long shadow. There was a gentle wind softly blowing. The grass, blown by the breeze, saluted nature. How beautiful everything was.

Suddenly Hasnah heard a strange sound from the sky, calling her: "Assalamu 'alaikum**), oh faithful believer, patient and responsible woman." She saw a bright light streak across the dark sky.

But does she deserve this, she asked herself.

-- Translated by TIS

*) Postfast holiday

**) Peace be upon you

Joni Aridinata, 32, is a student at the Teachers Training School at Ahmad Dahlan University, Yogyakarta. His short stories have been printed by various local media. In 1994 he was named short story writer of the year by Kompas daily.