After landing on the ground from jumping off the motorcycle, I hurried towards my mother, only to find she had disappeared. She vanished in the blink of an eye, her presence swept away by the wind.
I felt sad and disappointed. I searched for her, overwhelmed by a deep longing to embrace her. At that moment, I promised that if I found her, I would never upset her again. I would always treat her kindly. But how could I escape this labyrinth?
Soon after, a piece of cloth flew toward me. I ran from it, but fortunately, someone saved me. That person gave me a black belt made from banana trunk fibers fashioned into a rope. Like my father, he didn’t say much and left abruptly.
***
The wall clock ticked slowly, hanging in the hospital corridor. Sitting on a long bench in the emergency waiting room, my mother muttered prayers continuously. Her eyes were weary.
Meanwhile, my uncle, who had accompanied her, was on his way to the hospital. He had just visited a kiai to seek prayers for my recovery. He carried a bundle of coarse salt. The kiai instructed him to mix it into my food and rub some on certain parts of my body.
“Did you know that I had a condition requiring brain surgery?”
He remained silent, occasionally closing his eyes and purring. He listened intently to my story, without doubt or disbelief.
“Alright, I’ll continue my story.”
I realized I was in the hospital. When I awoke from my coma, the first word I uttered was “Mom.”
As my vision cleared, I recalled the person who saved me from the flying cloth and gave me the belt. Upon full recovery, I wanted to meet my mother and ask about the belt’s whereabouts.
After regaining full consciousness, I learned the belt didn’t exist. Yet, I remembered that the person who saved me was the same kiai my uncle had visited—Kiai Ghofar, whose sermons my father often listened to on the radio every dawn and at five in the evening.
Once I recovered, I felt a strong urge to become his student. Even though I had never met him in person, I recognized his face from the photograph my father had always displayed in our living room.
Illustration: Vincent van Gogh’s painting.