Interpreter of Winds

by Fairoz Ahmad

  At dusk, the muezzin appeared once more. But the people had tired of his voice and, mustering their last remaining strength, tied him up near the shore. Someone then uttered, “This could be the Qiamat. It is a sign of the end of days.” The people muttered amongst themselves (and even mutters lost their rhythm that day). Even after the mutters died, a thought remained: For the heartstrings of Israfel is a lute and when he sings, for he sings wildly well, all on heaven and all on earth shall swoon. Thus, they huddled together that night and waited for the end of days to arrive. Some enterprising characters, mostly minor ones, sold candles (three for one dollar, six for one dollar eighty) so that they could stay on vigil, but upon realising that there were no songs to keep them occupied that night, blew the flame out. They remained like this in the darkness, and fell asleep in their own ways.

  On Friday, they rose once more and noticed nothing amiss. The muezzin, who managed to escape after being tied up somewhere, stood in the minaret and called for prayers. And the people once again fell in love with the rhythm of his voice. Who could fault a man with such a lovely voice? Lovesick Malay men, still sitting in the corner, cautiously plucked a few strings and rejoiced over the lovely tunes that emerged from their strumming. And nearby, the church bells once again went chiming.

  So, that Friday night, people let bygones be bygones. They never asked how the muezzin got tied up somewhere while the town gave a solemn funeral to the singer who, as the story goes, accidentally tripped and drowned in the river as the imam gave an eulogy, reciting his long list of noble achievements.

  No one ever spoke of that Thursday again. And thus, a few years later, no one remembered that day, the Thursday when the music died.

  The Night of a Thousand Months

  1

  That night, the medicine man was plucking the roots of the pasak bumi on top of the hill when by chance, by chance, he would tell the others later; he had looked up upon the sky and seen the name of God inked in the stars. A constellation had seemingly patterned itself after the Arabic alphabets ‘alif’, ‘lam’, ‘lam’ and ‘ha’. ‘Lam’, ‘lam’ and ‘ha’ were conjoined at the base and the ‘alif’ floated shakily on the left, twinkling, twinkling at the medicine man, from up above the world so high.

  At first—as he would recount his story to the others—at first, he had refused to believe his eyes and had rubbed them just as he would when he sees unbelievable things like this, but his fingers had touched the pasak bumi earlier and this caused his eyes to itch. He rinsed them with a flask of water which he had brought along for his expedition and with a clean pair of eyes, he now saw God shimmering more clearly in the sky. How many times did you rinse your eyes, a fella would ask him later. Three times, he said. Ah, that was a mistake. You should have done it for seven.

  The medicine man, believing this to be some sort of sign, dropped his uprooted pasak bumi and scrambled down the hill but in the darkness slipped and sprained his ankle. But because he was the only medicine man in the village, nobody knew how to make a concoction of herbs that would heal his bones.

  Hobbling in pain, he managed to inform the village headman. The headman, who was not well-versed in matters of religion, conveyed this message to the imam, using his youngest son as the courier. His son however, had started studying the Quran only a few weeks back and was still at a stage where he was mangling his ‘alifs’ with his ‘lams’ and his ‘bas’ with his ‘tas’. So, the boy conveyed instead that the medicine man had seen the stars form the word ‘alif’, ‘lam’ and ‘fa’, which the imam misunderstood to phonetically spell out the word ‘alif’ again. This excited the imam, who felt that there must be some significance to this particular arrangement of letters which spelt out the first letter of the Arabic alphabet again. And during the holy month of Ramadhan! He deduced for no good reason that this was the sign of Lailatul Qadar—the anniversary of the night when the first verses of the Quran were revealed to Prophet Muhammad—the night where one day of worship is equivalent to the blessings of one thousand months.

  So excited was the imam that he rushed with breath bated to tell everyone, but in his haste, he fell into a pothole, twisting his ankle. After the pothole spit him out, the imam hobbled painfully back to his house and told the boy to spread the word, and to fetch the medicine man along the way.

  The boy, whose mission in life was to forever run, skipped past the pothole and sped home but along the way had bumped into a tree whose trunk was as black as night. Later, without mangling any more Arabic letters, he conveyed the message to his father dutifully, and further informed him that the imam, too, “cannot walk”. Through the village criers, the message was soon conveyed to the entire village, and because the headman had decent managerial skills, tagged on his own instructions that evening-led prayers in the mosque were cancelled because the imam had broken his leg in two places.

  This message was received by the villagers with a mixture of excitement, wonder, confusion and suspicion. Some asked what they were supposed to do that night. Is there a special type of prayer to mark Lailatul Qadar? An elder mumbled that one should pray until dawn. Another said they should read the Quran non-stop. The latter was received favourably for a moment, until they realised they were all illiterate, upon which the proposal withered. But everyone wondered at the timing of the imam’s broken leg and suspected that he was trying to hoard the religious rewards of the night for himself. A few of the villagers performed a quick cost-benefit analysis and came to the conclusion that if they prayed many times that night, the number of blessings received will far exceed praying for many years to come. Seeing the benefit of this, these villagers quickly dispersed home.

  Others stayed behind to help resolve the problem of the man whom the boy had brought along. The boy, whose mission in life was to forever run, skipped past the pothole and sped home but along the way bumped into a tree whose trunk was as black as night. The tree had extended two of its branches to prevent the boy from falling. Feeling the smooth fingers of a man pulling him back, the boy yelped instinctually in fear, but the man smiled and said, “Stars can be dangerous, don’t you think? I feel their sharp edges each time I touch their reflection in the water. Sometimes, they cut me. One must always be careful of such waters.” The boy, unsure of what to make out of his find, dragged the man to meet his father, because all strangers in the village must report to the headman. And this man, though he was nice smelling and had smooth fingers, was a stranger.

  Upon seeing the stranger, the headman queried him about his identity. But the stranger replied, “I flew past here today, and I saw the northern exit blocked by a fallen tree.”

  And the headman asked what that had to do with his questions, berated his rudeness and his attempt to deceive, because only birds, insects and angels can fly, and triumphantly said, no tree had fallen at the northern exit, so this means you are lying again. So, he asked again for the stranger’s name, which village he came from and where he was heading to, only to be interrupted by another fella who said that only birds, insects, angels and the devil could fly, because the devil, technically, is an angel too. But the stranger stifled a yawn and merely replied, “I shall sleep at the surau tonight. Good night.” And just like that, the night was over.

  2

  When Yusof was a boy, his father used to tell him about spirits. There are two kinds of spirits, his father had said. The evil ones are as tall as the trees they inhabit and lay temptations for unsuspecting villagers who wander into their paths, wrapping them up in shadows, never to be seen again. The second kind just wander around, carrying the weight of everlasting neverness on their shoulders. That morning, as Yusof stared at the crushed bodies of two children, he wondered why God would thrust onto their tiny shoulders the weight of so much emptiness, so suddenly.

  And hence, Yusof resolved the stranger conundrum, for a devil had foreshadowed the fall of a tree at a northern exit the night before it occurred but told no one that two children would fall alongside it.

  And
thus, Yusof visited the imam. For who else would be more equipped for the task of combating the Devil? In the house, Yusof saw the man who had taught him everything he needs to know about religion nursing a sore ankle, not a leg two places broken, and resolved to clarify the misunderstanding to the rest later.

  He asked the imam, how is your leg? Is it better? Is it improving? Is it less painful now? Can you walk? To which the imam exclaimed, terrible! Terrible! The medicine man cannot walk, and I cannot walk. No one can heal me. And the imam compared the medicine man to a cork in an old vinegar bottle and triumphantly called both stubborn.

  Later, the imam reflected upon porridge. Of its different varieties and of nostalgic porridges of the past which were thicker and spicier and tastier and of the people who had visited him today and of the few who had not visited him at all. Pointing to Cik Salbiah’s porridge, the imam said please Yusof, take this porridge. I am disgusted by porridge. It is as if I am going to die! And could you fix the pothole in front of my house later? And oh, Yusof, one more thing before I forget, you have to pay rent.

  Yusof sounded confused and said, I paid the rent last week with rice.

  And the imam said, ah, yes, but the kilo of rice you gave this month fetched less in the market. Go and ask Ah Seng. He will tell you. And of your chickens, one ran away and I had to hire one of the market boys to catch it. And the imam summarised it succinctly—extra expenses, Yusof, extra expenses. But Yusof, I have taken care of you since your parents passed away and I remember whispering the name of God in your ears the day you were born. So, for old time’s sake, for old time’s sake, Yusof, I will charge less this time.

  Yusof sounded grateful and was about to thank the imam for his thoughtfulness, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Yusof peered outside and saw the Devil standing outside, politely. The imam, who knew no better, said, will you please come in, oh Stranger and what can I do for you? And the Devil took off his sandals, climbed up the stairs and shook hands with the imam warmly, as if meeting an old friend, and complimented him, “You have a beautiful house.” And the Devil also extended his greetings to the petrified Yusof.

  The imam beamed at the compliment and asked, oh Stranger, what is your name and where do you come from? and the Devil replied, “I am not interested in these questions. I am just wondering, how much rice can an imam eat?”

  The imam curled his lips and looked offended, sounded offended and smelt offended and said, how rude! And he shouted, impetuous! Young people nowadays! Like devils! But the Devil said, “I apologise if I had hurt your feelings. And you look like you are in great pain. You wished for Pak Abdul to come sooner, don’t you, so that he can heal you? Let me help you. It will be much faster.” And he placed the tip of his finger gently on the imam’s left knee. But the imam stared at the Devil incredulously, declared him mad and commanded Yusof to bring the Devil out of his house.

  Seconds later, a still petrified Yusof found himself alone with the Devil, who was whistling happily with one hand in his pocket, kicking pebbles along the way and alternately emptying and filling up a pond, confusing the ducks. So, Yusof tried to escape. He tried to devise an excuse. A reason. And he remembered that Orang Kaya Zakaria wanted him to fix a broken pipe, and so asked the Devil whether he could be excused for he had an important job waiting for him.

  And the Devil said, “Please do not worry too much about the pipe. Why don’t you walk with me for a while?” the Devil requested politely.

  Captured by boldness, Yusof declared, Allah will protect the faithful from evil! But the Devil simply stared at Yusof, as if confused by this sudden outburst. Then he said, “And yet two children died today. Just like that. Such randomness, Beauty. Last night, at the surau, I was captivated by the fibres on its wooden door. A web of grains shaped like a rose, which then disintegrates into spidery petals when you trace its fibres. Such randomness, Beauty.”

  But Yusof repeated, Allah will protect us from evil, from murderers of little children, from deception, from fear. And he asked, why must the children die, what did the children do? Etc. Etc. Etc. And the Devil replied, “I wanted to visit your village. And I cannot be at two places at once.” The Devil laughed and played the rhetoric card, “Who can be at two places at once?” And then the Devil kicked some more pebbles playfully.

  And they heard a shout behind them. Oi Yusof! No, it went, Hoi, Yusof! Yes, that’s what it sounded like if I remember correctly. And they turned around, except for the Devil, who never turns around but only looks ahead.

  And Orang Kaya Zakaria stormed towards them. But when Orang Kaya Zakaria saw the Devil, he turned all apologetic and all and the Devil asked, “Why were you shouting? It is a very unpleasant sound to make.” And Orang Kaya Zakaria, all apologetic and all said, sorry, he did not know Yusof was busy and said, he will come back another day.

  And Yusof asked why Orang Kaya Zakaria sounded all apologetic and all and the Devil said, “I told him someone found his hunting knife.” To which Yusof became perplexed. So he asked instead what do you want from us. And to this, the Devil lit up and said, “That is a question I am interested in. What I ask for is simple. The village has to choose one person to be sacrificed by dusk tonight, or else the entire village will be annihilated. Anyone leaving the village will be killed, and the village they are heading for will be annihilated.” And the Devil continued kicking some pebbles, waved at some kids playing by the river and set a nearby hut on fire with a flick of his finger, destroying it completely to the ground.

  3

  And so, the most pressing question for a village facing annihilation was, who shall we sacrifice? And the imam said, it is my sincere belief that we have been held hostage by the Devil. Given the exceptional nature of the situation, I have taken the liberty to issue a fatwa approving the sacrifice, on the basis that it is for the greater good and Allah, being forgiving, will understand.

  The headman, proud of the long-term vision and planning of his imam said to the others, now that we have firm religious approval, let us decide how best to proceed with the sacrifice.

  And one of them, a man called Ali because he was average looking said why don’t we sacrifice the imam, a suggestion which caused the headman to furrow his forehead in deep thought. And the man called Ali because he was average looking shouted that the imam is a cheat because he hoards rice to sell to the market during droughts but keeps saying we never pay him enough rent every month.

  And another man called Abu because he was also average looking but a little slightly better looking than Ali (just slightly) said the imam was a liar because he told us his leg was broken but look now everyone, now he is walking around like a virile sheep.

  And Yusof in desperation replied, we need the imam. He sacrifices sheep for us once a year and lead prayers once a week and takes care of the surau once a day.

  The debate was then intruded by a woman called Aminah because she was common who said, why don’t we sacrifice Orang Kaya Zakaria, a suggestion which caused the headman to furrow his forehead again. In desperation, Yusof reminded the rest that the Orang Kaya sponsored the maintenance of the surau and the costs of transporting the sheep. And the Orang Kaya anxiously said, true, true and promised a large communal feast for the village when all this nonsense and stuff is over.

  And the woman called Aminah because she was common shouted, Orang Kaya is a murderer! Here, she said, holding up a rusty hunting knife which can only belong to the Orang Kaya because it is expensive looking. And after the noise settled down noisily, Aminah said she was walking in the forest looking for her missing husband and found him with a knife stuck in his chest. And her stupid man said, why don’t you remove the knife and tell the others what happened to me and can you also remove the stone under my back because it is uncomfortable lying down in this position.

  And the headman was about to say that this reason was compelling enough to sacrifice the Orang Kaya when Yusof proposed, why don’t we ask the Devil if he could change his mind? And the headman s
aid, the Devil sounded committed to his cause but please do try to convince him although we will be working on a sacrifice while you are at it.

  So Yusof went to look for the Devil and found him sitting at the surau. Yusof felt upset, for the surau was the common praying space for the village, and he had taken Quran lessons there when he was young.

  “Come in, Yusof. Please, make yourself at home,” said the Devil, as if he owned the place.

  Yusof treaded softly towards the Devil who, by this point, had treaded all over Yusof’s beliefs. Yusof stopped at a healthy distance from the Devil and asked, why are you here and desecrating our place of prayers and are you not afraid of the Quran?

  The Devil looked genuinely shocked, as if accused of a crime he did not commit. “But I really like the surau, Yusof. I have stayed here since I arrived. And I am particularly fond of the Quran. Really, what a strange thing to say!”

  And an exasperated Yusof decided that this Devil was now simply unbearable, so decided to get straight to the point: Why, oh why, must the village be subjected to this monstrosity and are not the lives of the two children enough already?

  “That is quite sentimental of you. People die all the time. Left, right, centre.”

  Yusof then asked, is this a test from God? A test of faith, as what the imam had taught us?

  The Devil rolled his eyes, “The imam is rather full of himself, Yusof. You have to assume that you are important enough for God to pay special attention to and devise elaborate schemes to test you. Quite presumptuous really, since none of you matter, or if you matter, all of you must matter equally.”

  And Yusof suddenly got a bit brave. Just a bit, not a lot, but just enough to rebut the Devil and said, surely some people matter more? No wait, I think what Yusof actually said was, you are wrong! Some people must matter more. That is why they go to heaven, and others go to hell.