Tazkirah Jumaat : Dosa Besar

Hari ini, Jumaat, 27 Januari 2012. Seperti biasa saya akan pergi ke Masjid di kawasan perumahan ini agak awal juga, lebih kurang jam 12.30 tengahari. Saya ambil kesempatan untuk sembahyang sunat dan kemudian seperti biasa saya mencar-cari apa jua buku atau rencana yang menarik perhatian saya. Saya jumpa satu naskah yang ditulis secara ‘booklet’ dan selepas sembahyang sunat, saya terus membacanya, lembaran demi lembaran.

Saya terhenti seketika apabila terbaca satu perenggan yang menerangkan “Sesaorang itu telah melakukan satu dosa besar jika ia menderhaka terhadap ibu atau bapanya”. Saya mengingati kesalahan yang dilakukan oleh seorang anak terhadap ibunya. Berlinangan air mata saya ketika menghayati perenggan itu sambil mengeluh dan mengharap agar anak ini cepat sedar dari “tidur-lenanya”.

Dalam saya mengamati buku ini, penceramah yang menyampaikan tazkirah pada hari ini, Ustaz Rozali al-Hafiz juga memperkatakan perkara yang sama, mengenai anak yang menderhaka kepada ibu bapanya. Seolah-olah berjanji pula, secara kebetulan, buku yang dibaca dan tazkirah yang disampaikan memperkatakan perkara yang sama, walhal, tiada sesiapapun yang memberitahu tajuk yang dibincangkan. Saya mengikuti dengan tenang dengan linangan air mata apa yang diperkatakan oleh penceramah, dan ianya amat menyentuh hati saya.

Khutbah disampaikan oleh ustaz yang sama juga selaku Khatib, memperkatakan perkara yang sama dengan panjang lebar. Dengan nada jelas, khatib meningatkan, kesalahan dosa besar yang kita lakukan seperti “mensyirikkan Allah” dan seumpamanya akan dibalas oleh Allah swt di Hari Kiamat kelak, TETAPI, kesalahan melakukan DOSA BESAR dengan menderhaka kepada ibu atau bapa, Allah swt. akan membalasnya dengan cepat tanpa kita sedari hari dan waktunya. Saya tafakkur seketika, mengingati betapa besarnya dosa jika kita menderhaka kepada ibu atau bapa kita. Khatib menerangkan bagaimanakah perilaku yang ditafsirkan sebagai “menderhaka”, dan mengingatkan kita kepada beberapa ayat Al-Quran yang menerangkan perkara yang sama.

Saya sempat memohon ampun dan maaf daripada ibu saya semasa hayatnya. Malah setiap kali saya mengunjunginya, saya akan memeluk dan menciumnya sambil saya memohon ampun dan maaf atas apa juga kesilapan saya dari saya kecil hingga kedewasa ini; mohon dihalalkan segala makan minum dan susu-ibu yang membesarkan saya. Saya tahu ibu saya memang “manjakan” saya dan memanggil saya “ATAN”, iaitu nama timangan yang amat unik. Setiap kali saya akan mendapat jawapan dari ibu saya. Ibu dengan penuh tenang menerima dan membalas permohonan saya dengan kata-kata yang menyejukkan hati saya. Alhamdulillah.

Saya tidak berhajat untuk memanjangkan cerita dan kisah ini, saya serahkan kepada pembaca untuk menilai dan memikirkannya. Saya tidak juga berhajat untuk menujukan contoh dan teladan ini kepada sesiapa, cuma saya berharap, cerita ini akan menyedarkan kita semua untuk menghormati ibu dan bapa kita, meminta ampun maaf dari hujung rambut hingga ketapak kaki, atas apa jua kesalahan kita selama ini; menghalalkan semua makan minum, juga susu-ibu yang membesarkan kita dari sebesar dua jari telapak kaki hingga kedewasa kini. Setiap permohonan mesti ada jawapannya, dan kita harus menunggu dengan penuh sabar dan menerima jawapan balas dari ibu kita. Jawapan ini kelak akan memberi ketenangan dalam hidup kita, Insya-allah.

Kita harus mengambil kesempatan ini semasa kedua-dua ibu dan bapa kita masih ada bersama kita. Jika mereka sudah tiada kelak, kesesalan tidak harus dizahirkan, kerana semua itu sudah tidak ada ertinya lagi. Kita akan menanggung segala dosa atas kesilapan kita sehingga akhir hayat kita.

MY LIFE AS A KAMPONG BOY

I was born in Kampong Lanchang, Pahang. My father retired when I was only 3 months old, built a house on a piece of land he owned. The only problem was that this house was located far from the protected area. That was during the emergency era in our country where our movements were restricted and bound by the rules and law of the country. The villages were guarded areas, usually fenced up.

In front of our house was a rubber plot belongs to a Chinese family whom we were very close, especially with their children, until today, they still called me by my pet name. Our house is nearby a river, but there were times we took our bath at this family’s well. We knew each other’s family and always dependant with each other.

We were instructed by our headman to leave this new house and move into the protected area. My father was given an area and permission to build a different house in this enclosed area. There were times we heard the “emergency bell” rungs from the police station urging the kampong folks to hide in a pre-built stockade, usually under their houses. It was to inform the villagers that the “communists” were around the area. We heard gun shots and I did saw some people running among the rubber trees at the back of our house. During the emergency, I used to see bodies of the communist being brought to the town before being taken away.

One day while I was walking from my home, I saw a beautifully designed “belt” lying across my path. I bent down to take the “belt”, but to my surprise, it was a snake, with its head stood up on my left, it slide away. I screamed and the assistant headman, whose house was just nearby, rushed out and came to check on me. It was a shocking experience that reminded me to be always alert.

During my younger days, I liked to be bald. Whenever my aunt shaved her husband, I would run home and asked my mother’s permission to do the same. She never objected and I was very happy with my bald head. Last year I promised myself to be bald again, at least once after all these years. I kept my hair long enough for seven months but my wish did not come true as I hoped for (Photo; Not the “bald” I wished for!).

At my young age, I was given a baby monkey by an aborigine who knew my father. I was persuaded by my uncle to have the monkey’s tail for his belt. To fulfill his wish, I took a small parang and cut off the monkey’s tail. My mother screamed at me to what I did and the tailless monkey was later given to someone else.

I learned how to swim in the nearby river. My first try was to jump off from a float upstream and float yourself until you reach the next stop. While floating, you tried to swim as you move until you reach the bank. By time you would able to master it. My friends and I swam across the river and reached the other side. On this bank there are a lot of water apple (“Jambu Air”) fruits that were ripe and tasteful. We enjoyed our self and when the time to return, it will be another problem to swim back. While swimming, we were only afraid of the trunk or globe-fish (“ikan buntal”) as it would bit off part of our toe which looked shiny in the water.

One day the headman came to the river and shouted to us on the other bank to return back. He took all our towels, clothes and whatever we left to his house. We had to go back home, of course, naked. My mother, as always, scolded me and asked me to go to see the headman and get back my towel. Actually, the headman was a good man; he respected my father and was ready to help anyone. What he did was right and I knew what I did was wrong.

I remembered saving a young Chinese boy who came to bathe at the river. He was struggling and his mother was shocked. Seeing this, I jumped in and pulled the boy ashore. I assumed he was wearing his towel while swimming, because I found it being washed ashore later and sent it back to his father’s shop.

Whenever the Ruler of the state came to visit our village, the headman was the person responsible for the welcoming reception. There would be a fish catching activity using a type of poison made from the roots of “tuba” plant or creepers. The whole village would be enjoying themselves trying to catch as many fish as they could, which later would be salted that could be kept for a long period. We would fry the fish and served it with drops of lemon. Nowadays these delicacies are sold in open markets.

I learned to read the Koran starting from the “Mukaddam” with the village Koran teacher. The class usually started at night, between 7.00 pm to 9.00 pm. We went to his home with kerosene lamps, where all the students gathered and learned from one lesson to another until we could recite each and every Surah. Once we had completed the Mukaddam, we would continue with the Koran. I continued to read the Koran when I stayed with my aunt. My uncle taught me the right way to read the Koran and I never forget it as he was very fussy indeed and that makes me remembered them well.

My eldest brother cycled to work daily. I did take the time to learn to ride his bike because its size did not fit my age. I used to ride this bike by going down the hill from the Police Station. There was a time when I felled from the bike after going down the hill towards the main road and nearly hit the electric pole. Luckily there were no vehicles passing through at that time and I was not hurt. When I stood up, I saw an Indian man who wanted to help me but turned away when he saw I’m back on my feet.

One of my friends was an Indian boy whom we just called him “Tambi”. He was a nice guy, knew my family and used to bring fresh cow’s milk for my mother. The cost of a bottle at that time was only 20 cents, and sometime he told my mother that his father gave the milk and did not take any money. We used to gather at the community hall where we talk and play. We used to share “roti canai” we bought from the shop nearby that belongs to Mr. K.V. Mohamad. His retail shop was among the few in this small village and very popular with the villagers.

These were some of my memories. We remembered our young life which is something that may or could be a lesson to our young generations today. What we went through in life during those years may not be the same as what would be today. But there won’t be today if there is no yesterday; there won’t be any tomorrow if there is no today. That is, if we were not there yesterday, experienced the life we had, we won’t be here today to tell the stories to our children, and if we are not here today, we won’t be there and do the same for tomorrow. We cannot just forget what had happened “yesterday”. It will always be in our mind, whether it’s something good or otherwise, and it’s up to us to choose wisely. I do believed whatever we went through “yesterday” will be the valuable experience for “today”. Those experiences then will help us to live our life for the many years to come.

The hard life and high cost of living those days may be the same experience to us today, only it comes in a different way and manner. I hope we would remember all the sacrifices of our parents. They make sure that we are safe and sound, able to live a happy and healthy life, get the best education there is, may be to the highest level, and with enough food and good shelter, or almost everything there is. When we were young we do not care how hard life was, and what we knew was that whatever we need will be there for us. We do not know how difficult and hard life was to our parents to make it possible.

Let’s be grateful to our parents and respect them as it should be; just the way we want others to respect us. We would not isolate ourselves as we are no different from anyone else either. We should do whatever we can to make sure our parents are happy, at least while they are still here with us. Don’t ever let our mother cries, because a drop of her tears will make our life miserable, until we ask for her forgiveness, so they say! Take your time to refer the Holy Koran, Surah al-‘Isra’ 17: 23 – 24, and Surah al-‘Ahqaf 46:15, the least.

Note:

Last December 2011, we held a special prayer or “Tahlil” for our late mother at the kampong’s mosque where I met the Imam. He knew me and was my junior of 5 years at Abu Bakar Secondary School, Temerloh. He recalled of our times, our friends and the memories we went through. At the mosque I met a few more of my childhood friends.

OUR NEW MAILBOX

We moved into our current residence some 25 years ago. We bought a new plastic mailbox and it has been attending to our mails for the many years. It is still strong and ready for the postman, and not to forget all the junk mails and newsletter that comes in once in a while.

Browsing the internet looking for a new mailbox, I found one that is popular in the United State, a half-cylindrical with a flag. I like this model, some of which are made from steel. I found few other mailboxes made from wood of various models. Looking at one model and its specification, I decided to make one by myself, with some modifications, on a DIY principle, or course.

I am not a craftsman myself and I do not have enough tools but I am confident that whatever I have is enough to start making a new mailbox for our home to replace the current mailbox. A few years back, I bought a working table, an electric jig-saw and an electric drill that I seldom used. I knew now that my jig-saw could cut beveled (slanting) at a few degrees as illustrated in the manual. It will take sometime for me to finish this “project” as I have my own chores to do daily. It will be built with my own blood, sweat and tears and no-one else could claim its rights, for sure.

I bought the materials needed, pieces of planed planks and wood, wood glue, nails etc. Before getting started, make sure that the planks and wood are dried enough, or it may crack and shrink later. I started by preparing the box piece by piece. I have to use strong paper clips to clamp the planks when gluing, as I don’t have the right clamping tools. With a lot of patience, it worked. I have to prepare all the parts separately before fixing it.

The first step I did was to glue three pieces of planks with the specific length to form the back of the box, prepared the two sides and the bottom piece. The glued back part was cut beveled at one side and cut off to a standard length. The sides too have to be cut beveled at a 30º at one side. After a careful measurement of all the three components, the back, both sides and bottom were then glued to form a basic box. Once the glue dries, these parts are then nailed to permanently bond them together.

Another two pieces of the planks are then glued to form the roof of the box. The roof has to be measured accurately and when the glue dries, cut off to the exact size with extra length on all sides. It would look nice to cut bevel on all sides except the back of this piece.

Then comes the frontage part, that is the frame, the door and the slots for the incoming mails have to be prepared. The top of the frame have to be cut beveled for the roof. Get the right measurements for both sides of the frame, diagonally and horizontally. Making the slot is a bit tricky but I managed to cut off a piece of wood with a 30º beveled and that the slot would be wide enough for an A4 envelop. Thus our postman will not have to fold any magazines or other documents to fit in the mailbox. Cut another piece to join the bottom of the frame. The length of the frame is measured accurately with the inner length of the box and cut off. The bottom part is then glued to the frame.

Two pieces of plank of a reasonable length and fit the frame has to be glued for the door. When the glue dries, it has to be cut off with the accurate measurement fit into the frame and with enough room to fix the hinges. Nailed a piece of wood horizontally on the inside of the door, both top and bottom to bond them together. Fix the slots to the frame with glue, with the accurate measurements and take into account the size of the door. It could be stapled to fix it permanently to the frame.

A small window of about 5” by 2” has to be cut off at the lower part of the door. A piece of glass or plastic of the same size would fit the hole that can be decorated with a piece of plywood glued to the front part of the door. Maybe personal creativity would help. A lock and key may be fixed for the door, a door knob or handle, and a magnetized door catch could also be installed.

All cracks and holes were covered with filler, and once dried; all parts of the box would be polished with sand-paper. The right color for the external of the box would be the “post office” red. If you want to paint the internal, you may have to spray the paint before fixing the frame to the box. It would be much easier then. Before painting, cover up those joints and strips you want to glue later with tapes. Anyway, you may choose whether you want to paint it or not, but painting would help to protect the box, come rain or shine, especially our weather here in Malaysia.

When all these items including those of the frontage of the box are ready, fix the frame to the box with glue and later nail it together. The roof then be glued and nailed to the top of the box. The door is also fixed by two hinges or piano hinges to the frame. I cut off the house address from the former mailbox, glued and screwed it to the door, as a remembrance of the old faithful.

It’s up to you where you want to install the new mailbox, and maybe it needs your creativity. Cut a piece of wood, preferably 4” by 2”, beveled at a 45º with the length of the box horizontally to give you two pairs of cleats. Fix one of the pieces at the back of the box and another to where you want it to be. The box may be permanently screwed.

At last, after almost 2 months, on this day 1 January 2012, there it is our new MAILBOX for our HOME, SWEET HOME. We hope our letters, books and magazines would fit in this new mailbox. We are sure the junk mails, notices and newsletters though are not welcome, would fit in too. We do sincerely hope that letters from MARA and PTPTN will not reach our new mailbox. We know that these letters are those claiming unpaid loans, and there is no person indebted to those agencies at this address, so sorry! After all, there are only two persons here at this address, Uncle Tan and “ibu d’tinggal”.

I introduced my new mailbox to the local postman. Thank you, bro postman, Encik Surain, the regular guy with whom I used to chat and say “hello” to.

It is a tedious job to build this new mailbox, and I did it to the best of my ability. It was my first experience. Experiences could not be bought, we have to do it ourselves to get it. Anyone interested?

The Legend goes:

I do not know how to grade this new mailbox, but whatever it is, this is what I have done and I am proud of it. This is my first home-made wood working item that I long to do. It would be better someone else would do the comments.

My grandfather’s name on my mother’s side is “Burok” which means “Ugly”. I remembered someone in my family once said that whatever our grandfather did, the final result would be a bit “ugly” or flawed here and there, and thus his name came from. I did not know how far the truth in this story. I hope, as his grandson, what I have done would not be classified as “buruk” or “ugly”.