After performing his sacrificial duty, Kaban found himself plagued by nightmares. Even long after the Feast of Sacrifice had passed, these nightmares haunted him, depriving him of restful sleep.
The first nightmare came about two weeks after the sacrifice, just as the last slices of meat had been consumed. This recurring dream became a torment he eventually shared with his wife.
***
Kaban was utterly shocked when an angel presented him with an animal.
“This is your family’s ride to paradise.”
Kaban stood stunned for a moment, then shook his head. “This isn’t our cow.”
“Yes, it’s not. This must be a mistake,” his wife chimed in.
“This must be someone else’s cow. It’s a mixed-up cow,” Kaban added.
“God doesn’t make mistakes,” the angel replied.
“But the cow we bought for sacrifice didn’t look like this. We bought an expensive, fat, and healthy cow. Its color was golden yellow, shining and smooth, like the sacrificial cow of Moses’ people. This is definitely not it,” Kaban said, stepping back and eyeing the cow before him with disdain.
“Yes, I was there. I witnessed it. When we bought it, I was with him,” his wife affirmed.
“Our cow looked more like that one,” Kaban said, pointing to another cow being ridden by another family nearby. “Not like this one!”
Kaban shuddered as he looked at the cow in front of him. It was emaciated, nearly devoid of flesh, with only bones wrapped in dry, dull skin. Even its tail was wrinkled and hairless. Most disturbingly, the cow had no head—just a body and spindly legs.
“If this is our cow, then where is its head?” Kaban’s wife asked.
“You burned the head yourselves. Then you ate it with your chosen friends, celebrating your feast.”
Kaban and his wife looked at each other, then held hands.
“But if this is indeed our cow, why is it so thin and bony? Why are its legs so frail, almost fleshless?” Kaban questioned.
“Maybe you forgot, you selected and cooked the best parts of the cow for yourselves. You made rendang, you made jerky, you made soup, you even tried making steaks. Who knows what else you made. Then you ate it all yourselves, enjoying it until your bellies were full.”
“But according to our religious scholars, we are allowed to take a third of the sacrificial meat for ourselves,” Kaban said.
“Yes, you are allowed. But you are not required to, correct?”
“So, we did nothing wrong. Why has the cow changed like this?” Kaban’s wife responded.
“The way you selected and kept the best meat for yourselves meant that what you gave to the rightful recipients were just scraps. Mere leftovers.”
Kaban and his wife continued to hold hands but now hung their heads in shame, unable to look at the cow before them.
“Imagine the poor and needy near your home, who rarely get nutritious food because they can’t afford the best meat, looking forward to the Feast of Sacrifice, only to receive scraps. They are left to boil or roast bones with little meat or chew on tough, fatty scraps. The elderly poor wouldn’t dare chew such tough meat. If the sacrifice is for your own enjoyment, what’s the point?”
Kaban and his wife remained silent, their bodies trembling. The cow stood motionless, like a statue.
“Go on, ride your sacrificial animal,” the angel commanded, breaking the silence.
“With legs so frail, without eyes and a head, can this cow really take us to paradise?” Kaban asked, pointing at the cow with a trembling hand.
***
Kaban’s dream always ended there. The same question always closed his dream. What he longed for was the angel’s answer to his question. Kaban needed certainty, so the dream wouldn’t continue to haunt him.
“I’m scared to sleep now, fearing that dream will return without an answer,” Kaban told his wife as they lay in bed.
“Maybe tonight your dream will be longer, and the angel will give you an answer,” his wife suggested. “Now, go to sleep…”