Ar-Rahman

“Bad meh lah sini kejap. Kita mengaji sebelum tidur.”

Yunuss offers me the place next to him on the carry mat. He was lying under the canvas tent, hitting the sack. The air was still warm, but breeze of crisp air began to flow. 

I crawled under the tent to him, still unsure of what to make out of his invitation. 

I made myself comfortable, putting the bundle that is the sleeping bag under my head as the pillow, lying next to him.

“Surah paling panjang yang Bad hafal apa?”

Which is the longest surah that you memorized?

It was as-Sajdah. I took a month to memorise it when I was 14.

“Pernah hafal Sajdah. Tapi macam dah tak ingat.”

“Jom kita baca sama-sama” Yunuss instructed.

He started with Bismillahirrahmanirrahim – so this is it, I thought to myself. 

He began reciting the surah from memory. 

“Alif – Lam – Miim”

There was no super melodious intonation to his voice, nor does he sound like an angel, unlike those qaris you listen to on TV and on YouTube. But I could relate to this, I could feel this. 

I closed my eyes. Yunuss’ voice enshrouded the sound of the forest, the flow of the river, the insects’ call, the noise people make outside still busy with preparations for tomorrow’s hike. His voice was contenting. Lying next to him, his voice was a soothing background music, my primary acoustic stimulation. 

He nudged me with his elbow when I remained silent, to notify me to start reciting the surah together with him. There are parts where I could follow, but most are just my memories failing me. I failed to grasp the words, all the memories have faded away. A wave of embarrassment washed over me.

He finished all the 30 ayats, no hesitation. His memory was clear, crystal. 

“Lagi surah apa lagi yang Bad hafal?” he asked me after he finished reciting as-Sajdah.

“Yunuss, baca surah ar-Rahman.”

“Bismillahirrahmanirrahim…”

Yunuss started again, without delay. I closed my eyes again, tightly. 

“Ar-rahmaan.”

Without any warning or signs, my eyes began to water.

" 'Allamal quraan"

I remember a story that I wrote once.

“Ketika kecil lagi, dia sudah mempunyai surah kegemaran. Pulang dari kelas mengaji, sambil kami berjalan menelusuri jambatan di hujung kampung, dia mengumumkan kepada kami. “Aku suka sekali surah ar-Rahman.” Untuk anak-anak kecil seperti kami, pandai membaca al-Fatihah sudah memadai. Untuk menyukai, dan memahami sesebuah surah dalam al-Quran tidak langsung terjangkau oleh akal.

Tapi dia istimewa. 

“Nikmat Tuhan yang mana ingin kamu dustakan?” Dia berbicara kepada kami. “Tuhan itu betapa penyayang, sehingga nikmatnya terlalu luas. Ar-Rahman – Yang Maha Penyayang.” Dia memberi penerangan, aku mendengar antara faham dan tidak.”

The memories and my own struggle to find the correct emotions to feel this moment overwhelmed me that I could not stop myself from crying. I could not understand if this is the love of God, or if this is me being embarrassed of my own failing as a servant, but Yunuss’ recital has brought me to a point where I felt so helplessly weak. 

I never had a friend like this. I never had someone who would recite me a surah from Quran to tell me of God’s love and affection.  

With my eyes closed, the world dissolved into nothingness, aside a voice right next to me asking me again and again, which one of the Lord's favours have I denied? This voice itself, is a favour of God.

After Yunuss finished reciting the surah, Amar who just got back from the river claimed back his place on the carry mat that I lie down on. 

As I dismissed myself, Yunuss reminded - “Jangan lupa baca al-Mulk sebelum tidur.”

I got back into my own tent, now the cold air has taken over the ambience. 

I already am missing the voice reciting the Quran as I was dozing off. And for the first time in my life, I recognized God’s love to me through the tongue that loves Him.