I
In a matter of minutes, the silhouette of dusk would fade away. Sabtirani, seated in his bangkâ, rowed out into the open sea to witness the sunset once more. Since his arrival from Sabah a few days ago, he had undertaken this ritual for several afternoons. The sunset, with its hues of golden red reflecting upon the vast Sulu Sea, remained consistent. Yet, within his memory, there was an elusive aspect missing from this portrait of nature. He hoped to capture something that had stayed with him but still managed to evade his grasp.
Sabtirani's return from Sabah wasn't solely to attend his deceased mother's 7th-day prayer. If it weren't for the sake of his departed mother, he might have skipped this visit as he had done with previous family affairs.
As his scheduled departure date drew nearer, sleep became scarce. He recognized that it wasn't the sounds of Bollywood movies in the living room of his extended family that kept him awake. More often, he found himself reclining, staring at the ceiling, his gaze fixed on something beyond. There was an attachment he wished he could release, but he couldn't. This attachment had driven him to improve his life and seek his fortune in Sabah, and it was this attachment that continued to pull him back to his homeland in the East.
II
Tong Bangka was the Badjao community of his birth, while across the gulf lay Duhul Batu, the dominant tribe's community. Though some familiar structures remained, many new buildings had sprung up, bringing these two communities closer together than ever before. Beyond the physical gulf that used to separate them, there lingered stereotypes and prejudices that still divided these tribes. While Duhul Batu's population grew due to an influx of immigrants from a neighboring province, Tong Bangka's residents decreased due to emigration to Sabah and other regions. His tribe, by nature, leaned toward pacifism, and in the face of any hint of insecurity, many chose to relocate.
His last visit to this place was during a blue moon. He had departed just before a feast that he couldn't bear to witness, a feast that symbolized a broken promise and an unfulfilled dream. In that painful hour leading to the feast, he learned of a tempel, a local fast craft, bound for Sabah. With a determination born of urgency, he stowed himself away. He was leaving behind an island that had once offered him serenity but now caused him so much pain. He approached the boat captain and offered to perform menial tasks on board in exchange for a free ride.
III
Sabah had been kind and generous to him. The benevolent captain allowed him to stay in his house until he secured his first job as a laborer at the wharf, a common occupation for uneducated, undocumented migrants like him. As a laborer, he showed dedication by working into the early hours of the morning and completing additional tasks for his tawqi, his employer. Over time, he advanced from a laborer to a trusted assistant.
Despite his material and financial successes in Sabah, his personal life remained empty. He yearned for something that had been with him all along. This was the main reason for his reluctance to return home.
IV
Before he could embark on his journey, various ceremonies needed to be performed to ensure his mother's safe passage to Akhirah, the afterlife. A pagdowa’a was organized by the fakir to placate the spirits. Then came the ngahatud patulihan, a ritual to bury the items used to bathe his mother's body and the things she slept on. His sisters would be busy sorting through their mother's belongings, some of which would be nipamowan, given to the needy, while others would serve as panomtoman, keepsakes for relatives and neighbors. Lastly, the family would partake in agjamo, a feast featuring buwas kuning, yellow streamed rice, and manok pinanggang, a whole chicken grilled with coconut milk, ginger, turmeric powder, and spices.
V
On his final afternoon, Sabtirani gathered the strength to row his bangka to Duhul Batu. It was something he had wanted to do since arriving. He hoped that this visit would provide him with a glimpse of what he had been searching for and offer him closure.
Upon reaching Duhul Batu, he anchored his boat to a wooden post. Initially, he struggled to navigate the bamboo walkways on stilts. After a few minutes of practice, he found his rhythm, as if he had walked this path just yesterday. As he drew closer to a familiar spot, his heart raced faster and faster. He asked a passerby for directions and was pointed toward a dilapidated house in the distance. Approaching the house, he heard a familiar voice. His steps quickened as he recognized a voice from his past. Peering through an open window, he was taken aback to see the shadowy figure of his beloved Indah Jamila!
VI
"What has become of you, my dear Indah Jamila?"
She hurriedly wiped her tears and attempted to regain her composure. She couldn't allow herself to be seen in such a dire state. The voice was unmistakable, deeply familiar. She would never forget that husky tone, a tone from a time before her current suffering. When she saw his face, disbelief swept over her. Behind the fair-skinned, well-dressed, and radiant exterior was the man she had shared her adolescence with, a man woven into her memories of happiness.
"Is that you, Sabtirani? Are you real, or is this a product of my imagination?" She questioned her reality. Dreaming had become her escape from the harshness of her current existence. Often, after enduring her husband's beatings, she would faint and wait for the ordeal to pass. This had become her routine.
VII
"Yes, it's me, my beloved Indah Jamila."
"Please, come closer so I can feel you, touch your flesh," Jamila pleaded. Her eyes were red and swollen from hours of weeping, the aftermath of enduring her husband's brutality.
"Yes, Indah Jamila, I will." Sabtirani entered the house. He noticed its desolate condition, both inside and out. Yet, this was of little consequence. A mere meter or two separated him from his Indah Jamila, the core of his heart, who was worse off than he had ever imagined. She was huddled in a corner, covered in bruises, a mere shadow of her former self.
VIII
"Where have you been all these years?" Indah Jamila inquired. "People here believed you had drowned, for an unidentified body was discovered along our shore the day after I was married."
"No, Indah Jamila, I am alive. On the eve of your kawin, your wedding to the nakurah's son, I left hastily and escaped to Sabah because I couldn't bear the thought of you belonging to another man. I couldn't bear the idea of you being given away in marriage to anyone but me," Sabtirani responded to his beloved while inching closer to her. Tears welled up as he confessed his feelings, burdened by a sense of guilt for the suffering she had endured.
IX
"Forgive me, lasa, my beloved. I know I may have betrayed our promise. I was powerless against my parents' wishes and the demands of the nakurah. I became the payment for my family's debt to the chieftain. This marriage was the only way to liberate my family from servitude. I love you, but I couldn't forsake my family, knowing that my defiance would condemn them to a life of bondage under the nakurah's rule."
X
Sabtirani and Indah Jamila now stood face to face, their embrace a testament to years of separation and longing. Tears streamed down their faces, tears of joy, as they laid eyes on each other once more. Not even the knowledge of her marriage could deter their affections. Not anymore. Their pain, yearning, and waiting had led them to this point. Not anymore.
"Our love transcends our bodies, it transcends the cultural divisions," Sabtirani affirmed as he held his beloved tighter than ever before. Their warm embrace left no space for air, a physical manifestation of their innermost desires.
XI
Jamila hoped this moment would never end. If this were yet another dream, she wished to prolong it, making it last longer than any dream before. Since his departure, she had merely existed, not truly lived. Married life with the nakurah's son was far from fulfilling or harmonious. His vices—drugs, alcohol, and gambling—had turned her existence into a nightmare worse than hell.
"I will love you forever, lasa," Jamila whispered softly, holding him tightly within her arms. "My beloved Sabtirani, my love for you will endure."
Those few minutes spent in each other's arms felt like an eternity. The years of longing dissolved in their sweet embrace, a final act of defiance against fate. As they held each other tightly, they silently wished for eternity together.
XII
Suddenly, a tall, drunken man wielding a pistol burst into the room. "Aha! You dogs have the audacity to defy me! Jamila is mine and mine alone! Sabtirani, no matter how much you've improved, you'll forever be a luwaan, an outcast, just like your tribe! Forever sammal, unclean, like the stray dogs!"
With those cruel words, the son of the nakurah unleashed a barrage of gunshots. He aimed for Indah Jamila, but Sabtirani shielded her with his own body. Two bullets pierced his lungs, while another struck her.
In their final moments, Sabtirani and Indah Jamila clung to one another. Amid the pain, Sabtirani smiled as he gazed into her eyes. She returned the gaze, her eyes filled with love. Together, sharing one last breath and holding each other's hands, they glimpsed the bliss that had eluded them in life. The bliss of love that couldn't flourish in this world had finally found its place in another realm, where culture and poverty no longer hindered their souls' affection.
