The sky above Serambi Mekah was clear and bright, shining with starlight. The sea waves danced rhythmically, a silent song of the night, while Cut Mala, as always, kept vigil. She knelt, her eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks, her frail frame trembling.
“Cut Mala, come with me.”
The gentle voice startled her, and she turned to her right, seeing a form she could not discern yet gazed upon with serenity.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the place you seek.”
In a moment, they soared across galaxies faster than light, stopping in a realm unknown to Cut Mala, infinite yet strangely intimate.
“Where am I?”
“You are before your Lord,” the angel replied.
“Lord, here is Your humble servant.” Cut Mala knelt before Him.
“Cut Mala, I am going to destroy your nation. Yet the angels report that you constantly pray to bear the curse alone.”
“Lord, it would be an honor if You granted my prayer.”
“But this will not be enough for them to understand, a nation as ignorant as this.”
“What form will the curse take, Lord?”
“Like what I brought upon the people of Lot and Noah.”
“Oh, my Lord, if it is to be so, let Serambi Mekah alone bear the curse. Grant me this request.”
“Why only Serambi Mekah? It is My house as well, which I will preserve.”
“To ensure our sacrifices were not in vain, my Lord. We have long given everything to see Indonesia thrive. If You destroy the nation, our sacrifice will be wasted. So, grant us this last chance, Lord.”
“You are certain, Cut Mala?”
“Lord, only we, the people of Serambi Mekah, can bear this curse. Grant us this one chance.”
“Very well. Tomorrow, Serambi Mekah will be taken by the waves, as you wish. And you, Cut Mala, shall stay here to avoid this curse.”
“No, Lord. I must return to Serambi Mekah. I wish to become a martyr, to live eternally in Your presence.”
At dawn, the sky above Serambi Mekah remained clear and bright. But as morning came, the sea roared and rose. Waves, tall and fierce, crashed upon the land. In an instant, Serambi Mekah was devastated. Amidst the devastation, the souls of the fallen ascended, immortalized in the heavens. They would forever dwell in paradise, as written by the poet, Teungku Cik Pante Kulu:
“To die in faith brings no pain
It’s as cutting a nail.
Do not say they are dead
True worshipers live on.”
And I am filled with envy.