DOOM
HIS NAME IS HUMAN

Mr. Munawar leaned his old body on the brick wall of the terrace of his son's house which had just been built. The tiredness of his body was visible from the irregular black strokes on his forehead. White shabby t-shirt, he still hangs around his neck. From this morning he felt the sun so stinging, forcing him to be bare-chested, revealing the old bones that were protruding from his thin body.

The sun from day to day is so hot. Even if it's at a very early hour. The rain never returned after falling a week ago. Whereas last January and already entered February at this time, should according to his calculations, is the peak of the rainy season. The rice in the rice field is time to green, giving great hope to the farmers in the village.

Maybe it's because the forest doesn't exist. Even if it is in the Sekaroh area there, it is only a production forest that has a deadline to cut down. The trees can be said to be fragile trees and easily fallen. Most are sengon trees, which often endanger people if the wind blows hard. The roots of the tree are too fragile and not really strong to grip the ground. Not all trees grow. Most people who grow crops there uproot it, of course secretly after the forestry left the place. They assume that the seedlings of the tree will only block the plants they plant. The original tree that once filled the forest of Sekaroh, has been cleared. To grow crops, and more clean again when the tobacco season arrives. Nothing remains of past memories. There was no forest, no big green trees, and no more Menjangan cries that raised the silence of the forest, when he realized the presence of hunters. All lost changed corn plants that filled the top of the hills. Also luxurious inns owned by outsiders, which made the natives like guests in their own country.

He recalled when he invited his cousin who was from the fishing town on Perak Beach, which is located adjacent to the headland tour ringgit, on the southern tip of the island of Lombok. At that time he chose to go around the Beloam area, about three kilos from Tanjung Ringgit, which used to be a field owned by his parents. He had to sell the land to pay for his son's school. The price offered at that time was very tempting, as well as his neighbors fellow farmers. One hundred million rupiah for three acres of land. That's a very high price for an arid land that's near the coast. For years he cultivated his land, only this time there are people who want to buy it. At that time, he and his friends thought, very stupid foreigners buy their land. There was nothing to do with the land that was very far from the big road. There was no water and it was very difficult to get to him. Also with a harvest that is far from satisfactory.

But when he saw her, after years of never coming to her, he barely knew her. Some beautiful buildings of wood and bamboo stems roofed with weeds and grass, lined up facing the open sea. The trees around it also look lush. Some foreign tourists are seen also lined up using only BH and**********, sunbathing in the sun. There was a loud bang the sound of music they were playing in there, even from a place far enough away. And all of that he did not see up close, especially if he went inside. He and his cousin could only see it from a distance, after at the entrance to the place, he was prevented by some uniformed officers, who guarded the gate. How disappointed and sad he was at that time, indeed the land was not his, but if only to enter and see, they should not forbid it. The guard said, inside there are many guests from abroad, lest the guests be disturbed by their arrival. And not only that, the news that he heard from people in one of the stalls where he rested, that the price of land around Beloam and the Tangsi coast is currently one billion hectares. Joking people in stalls, with that much money, will not run out if only to meet the needs of the villagers like him.

Not only that, a week before, he had also visited the Segui area, about three kilometers also the distance from Beloam tourism. At that time he longed to smell the sea, after years of never going down to sea. About thirty years ago. Since his childhood friend Hasan, he left him to go to Malaysia. He almost never went fishing again, even though he missed him so much. I miss enjoying the full moon in the middle of the sea. Miss the distinctive sound of fishing line when danced with fish that snatched the bait. Also the sound of seagull chirping is occasionally heard among the sound of sea water. Given the condition of his body that has been weak, he can no longer even though he wants to. But one of his neighbors' children, offered him to take the water order of one of the pearl companies in the Segui area. “All of you later we lure Mr. Munawar”. Said his neighbor at the time. He came along, and as soon as he got there, he was so surprised by the changes he saw. Many round objects resembling green-colored balls are neatly lined up, about two kilometers from the beach. Said his neighbor's son again, it is a breeding ground for pearls, his pearl is under the balls Mr. Munawar. And the name of this company is Autore. At that time Mr. Munawar just nodded in amazement. Everything has really changed.

Munawar has looked. Time passes so quickly. It doesn't feel like the day is starting late afternoon. His eldest son was no longer visible in that place. Maybe he has returned to the house he rented, to pack the items that will be brought to move to his new home. Maybe his son thought he was resting, after a few hours he drifted to reminisce about the past.

Mr. Munawar held the porch pole with the energy he was trying to collect in the grip of his old hand. He tried to rise with his weak body. Mr. Munawar was silent for a moment. Trying to set his breathing down and up quickly. He felt very tired, even though he only moved a little to wake up his body. He grimaced and felt his feet begin to tingle. He cast his gaze far toward the sun that three more gates would sink. It is not felt that he has now started to enter the age of twilight. It's been sixty-eight years. His body was also becoming more and more old. His mighty times, with a body always ready to be invited to work during the night, have now gone buried with time. Only memories often arise, when the time is spent sitting and pensive. He was past the normal age of the people of Muhammad, and enjoyed five years of bonus age from God. He began to miss his childhood. He misses his friends who were called divine. And a new longing, a longing to return to the eternal home.

I heard greetings from behind. That's Ibra's voice, her son. Mr. Munawar turned his head, Seen Ibra stood by memapah someone who more or less looks the same age as him. For a moment Mr. Munawar was silent. I could not answer the greetings. There was a scream he wanted to let out when he saw someone beside his son. But his voice seemed to be held back and difficult to remove. His eyesight was not as sharp as before, especially when it was getting dark. But his tears that began to fade, enough to indicate that he knew the parents who were with his son.

Seeing that his father was just staring helplessly to get close, Ibra immediately approached while continuing to pick up the old man. Until when the two were really close, Mr. Munawar immediately hugged the old man. The crying of the two broke with an increasingly tight embrace. She could not resist the crying of haru. He hugged both of their bodies. For a moment they were swept away in tears.

Adhan Maghrib sounded. The dark began to envelop. After the three ate the food delivered by Ibra's wife before the Maghrib, Mr. Munawar, Pak Hasan and Ibra then prayed Maghrib together. After the prayer, they resumed their pending talks. Ibra's wife who was frying Peyek and Jaje Tuja in the kitchen, occasionally turned her head and smiled at their laughter on the porch. Many times Mr. Munawar called him to immediately bring them what he fried. And when Peyek and Jaje Tuja were served in front of them, Mr. Munawar gestured with both hands not to touch the little food presented in front of them. Both Ibra and Mr. Hasan could only look at each other. I don't know what else will come out of Mr. Munawar's mouth.

“Nak, for this time only, let father go up to your balcony”. Said Mr. Munawar while gesturing with his eyes towards the top level of the Ibra house.

“This is my promise to myself. If I ever meet again with Mr. Hasan, I would love to spend my Dad's night with him at the place, where I can see the whole night view. Father please, do not reject your father's wishes on the grounds of endangering”. He greeted with a hopeful look.

Seeing the seriousness that was emanating in his father's eyes, Ibra became decayed. He nodded with a small smile.

“Please bring all these foods up. Also have your wife serve us two glasses of bitter coffee. I want to both first with Mr. Hasan”.

After saying that, Mr. Munawar held Mr. Hasan's hand and with careful steps, the two began to climb the stairs.

Mr. Munawar grabbed a mat made of dried pandan leaves, which was leaning against the walls of the Balcony of the house. He then invited Mr. Hasan to sit down. Shortly thereafter, Ibra appeared carrying two cups of coffee. After putting it down, he went back down leaving the two of them.

From where they sat, the two could clearly see the bustling flickering lights by the sea in front of them. Everything is clear, even though many kilometers away, even the Tanjung Ringgit flare tower is sometimes clearly visible with its searchlights. When Mr. Hasan began to point left and right while reminding their favorite fishing spot, Mr. Munawar grew enthusiastic. In his heart he whispered, this is what he wanted when his old age felt so lonely. He needs a peer so that what is being talked about is connected.

“Do you remember Mr. Munawar, when we lost our way and thought that the flare tower on the island of Sumbawa was a flare tower in Tanjung Ringgit”. Said Mr. Hasan while pointing to the light of the sound tower, far east of the Tanjung Ringgit sound tower.

Mr. Munawar laughed and patted Mr. Hasan on the shoulder. “Sure I remember that, until death I will not forget my brother.”.

“That time we got a lot of catch. It would be nice for us to repeat it again, but it's a pity that our time has ended”. Mr. Munawar looked at Mr. Hasan's face looking far ahead. Just as he felt.

“The places we have visited have changed a lot Mr. Hasan. Don't imagine a lot of catches anymore, because most of them use bombs and potassium to catch fish. There are only small fish hiding behind dead coral reefs. The towering trees, even from the yard of our house, to the end of the area of Sekaroh there, are now mounds of arid land that has been cleared of green, even shrubs shrubs. When we used to use only the necessary ones from the forest, they were in a hurry, fighting each other for the benefit of the trees, without replanting them in exchange for posterity. Tomorrow, if we are still given a chance to live by God, stand in this place and you will see a plume of smoke filling the sky. They burn what they think is blocking their instant profit”. Mr. Munawar at length said, after previously he felt there was no one who he thought deserved to hear the story. Mr. Hasan nodded many times. Reviewing Mr. Munawar's words.

“And don't you feel, why is the sea like getting higher?” Ask Mr. Hasan.

“That's also what I want to say. I thought it was just my feelings, but after I looked closely from below, we were like we were parallel to the ocean. In the past, there is no need to climb to higher places we can already clearly see the sea, even the island of Sumbawa”. Connect Mr. Munawar.

"I think I'm living in this world. Now I don't hear anymore the sound of children teaching in surau-surau. I don't hear any more barzan noises every Friday night. I did not see any more before Maghrib the parents were angry because their children did not go to teach. All I see now are things that hurt my feelings. Women are not mahrom who are free to blend in, without feeling mutually palpate and dance. The children who watch are the guidance of the shethan. I fear the wrathful earth will tremble. I was so afraid that the mountain would let out its hot rage. I was also afraid that the sky was charging at me with terrifying lightning. For I can only see without the power to prevent all these evils". Mr. Munawar closes his long words with ****** length.

Mr. Hasan glanced at his childhood friend. There was a tremor of fear that he saw from his words. It was more or less the same as he had felt all along.

"I myself sometimes ask in my every prayer that God will take my life. I fear to participate in the punishment He inflicts upon every possible disaster. I'm really scared of Munawar". His old finger held the hand of Mr. Munawar. Mr. Munawar smiled.

"Will you come with me to pray at dawn in Baitul Makmur? Said Mr. Munawar. Mr. Hasan nodded firmly.

The night is late. The two of them were late staring at the sky, like they were counting one by one stars flashing in the distance.

The next day, when the sun had gone up, Ibra found her father and her friend Mr. Hasan had been stiffened. They died at dawn just after I saw the dawn.

One week after the deaths of Mr. Hasan and Mr. Munawar, there has been an earthquake of magnitude 8.5 scala richter. An earthquake followed by a tsunami that drowned the village. Unsniffled.

#Peye': a snack made from flour with sprinkles of nuts.

#Jaje tuja' : Lombok special food made before Idhul fitri.