"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un. Wait there! We're on our way," Kiai Jaffar said. The grief on his face was unmistakable.
Ustaz Hamdan looked at his father in confusion, but received only a silent shake of the head in return. Kiai Jaffar lowered his gaze, his eyes glistening with tears.
"Ya Allah… I truly never expected this," he murmured, his fingers nervously turning the beads of his tasbih. "Ya Allah!"
It was clear his mind was in turmoil. He had sensed something from the beginning, but he never imagined it would end like this.
"Astaghfirullahal adzim! Astaghfirullahal adzim!" Kiai Jaffar repeated, trying to steady his heart with istighfar.
The white-bearded man pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. He was not one to break down easily, but this loss had shaken him to his core. He remained silent even as his son crouched in front of him, gently holding his wrinkled hands.
"Abah, what's wrong?" Ustaz Hamdan asked, lifting his father's hand and kissing it softly.
He knew his father's habits well. When deeply saddened, Kiai Jaffar would not speak until his heart had steadied. For now, all he could offer was a gentle stroke on his son's head.
"Laa haula wa laa quwwata illa billah! Perform wudu quickly. We're going to the hospital," Kiai Jaffar said softly, patting both of his son's shoulders.
Ustaz Hamdan stood up and faced his father, who was still visibly overwhelmed with sorrow.
"What happened, Abah?"
"Raka is in the hospital."
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un. Is he sick?"
"We'll see when we get there."
They performed wudu and rode the motorcycle together to the hospital. The journey, which was usually short, felt unbearably long for Ustaz Hamdan. He had felt a bad premonition since their stop at the musala earlier. Still, he tried to deny it — hoping it wasn't what he feared.
"Ya Allah, grant us the best from You," the young ustaz whispered, his chest suddenly tight. "Ya Allah… what happened to Raka?"
He kept reciting zikr to calm his mind. Kiai Jaffar, noticing his son's distressed expression in the side mirror, gently patted his shoulder.
"Istighfar, boy," he said quietly.
The handsome young man's eyes immediately welled up with tears. His heart ached at the thought of his childhood friend. Finally, they arrived at the hospital parking lot.
A santri who had been sent to retrieve Kiai Jaffar's motorcycle came running toward them. He kissed the Kiai's hand, then greeted Ustaz Hamdan.
"Kiai, Ustaz Hamdan, please follow me."
The santri walked behind them in silence. Along the hospital corridor, not a single word was spoken. Each man was lost in his own thoughts.
Their footsteps felt heavy, as though half their souls had already left their bodies. They stopped in front of a room guarded by several police officers. Neither Raka nor Laras was in sight.
"Assalamu'alaikum Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh!"
"Wa'alaikumsalam Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh! Please come in, Kiai and Ustaz," a police officer said, opening the door for them.
The three men stepped into a sterile white room. In the center stood a bed covered with a white shroud.
"Please open it. The family has entrusted everything to you, Kiai," the officer said.
Kiai Jaffar asked Ustaz Hamdan to lift the shroud.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un."
Both men gazed solemnly at the pale face before them. Ustaz Hamdan gently stroked his friend's cheek. His heart broke — he had only just reunited with his childhood friend a few hours ago. He covered the face again, whispering prayers for his departed friend.
"We'd like to meet the family," Kiai Jaffar said to the accompanying officer.
"I'll take you to them, Kiai."
They left the room. Before continuing, both Kiai Jaffar and Ustaz Hamdan washed their hands at a nearby sink.
"You prepare the reception for the body at home," Kiai Jaffar instructed the santri.
"Yes, Kiai. Assalamu'alaikum," the santri replied before hurrying off.
Kiai Jaffar and Ustaz Hamdan were then escorted by the police officer to the room where Bu Restu was being treated.
The middle-aged woman was in deep shock after seeing her son's lifeless body. Her long-standing hypertension had spiked, leaving her weak and unsteady.
"Assalamu'alaikum Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh."
"Wa'alaikumsalam, Kiai," Bu Restu replied, her voice heavy with sorrow.
Kiai Jaffar spoke gently with her, discussing the funeral arrangements. From the beginning, both Bu Restu and Laras had refused an autopsy.
"Forgive me, Bu Restu. Where is Laras?" Ustaz Hamdan asked, looking around.
"She just left with her relatives. Poor girl. Her mind is completely shattered. She kept trying to carry her husband's body home. She still can't believe he's gone," Bu Restu said, tears streaming down her face.
Seeing Bu Restu's condition and hearing about Laras's state, they agreed that Kiai Jaffar, Ustaz Hamdan, and the santri would handle the body washing and funeral preparations.
"Abah will stay here to discuss the procedures for releasing the body. Boy, go home and prepare everything. Send some of the sisters from the girls' dormitory to accompany Laras."
"Yes, Abah. My condolences, Bu Restu. I'll take my leave now," Ustaz Hamdan said.
"InsyaAllah, Ustaz. Thank you," Bu Restu replied.
Ustaz Hamdan offered his salam and left the room. Shortly after, Kiai Jaffar and the police officer also bid farewell to Bu Restu to handle the release of the body.
Bu Restu expressed deep gratitude for their help, as she was in no condition to manage anything. She would remain under observation until her blood pressure stabilized.
---
Ustaz Hamdan rode his motorcycle at high speed. He wanted to get home quickly so he could visit Raka's house and see "Jamila." Deep down, he couldn't deny it — his concern for Laras was stronger than his grief over losing a friend.
For the first time, he was experiencing feelings for a woman that clouded his better judgment. In his mind, he could only see Laras's face. This had started two months ago in his dreams and had only grown stronger since.
"Astaghfirullahal adzim. Ya Allah, forgive Your servant," Ustaz Hamdan whispered, wiping his face.
When he finally arrived at the pesantren, he went straight to the female dormitory supervisors' room.
"Assalamu'alaikum!"
After returning the greeting, he entered and delivered his father's instructions. Once finished, he excused himself.
With a lighter heart knowing the task was done, he wanted to pay his condolences — and see "Jamila" to offer her strength. The young ustaz had heard she was in deep shock over her husband's death.
He gave instructions to the santri preparing for the body's arrival from the hospital. They would handle the washing and all funeral arrangements.