Drumming From a Distance
Posted on January 10, 2008
As he continue his journey, he starting to hear the drum beats clearer and clearer with each step he takes. He turns the his loyalist and he catches him smiling delightfully.
The full moon has come, they sang as he looks more visible. The full moon has come, they continue to sing. As all eyes glued at him.
Children keep jumping to get a better ‘over the shoulder’ view of him. The women holding the glass of milk to celebrate the arrival. The men holding their sharp knives ready to prepare the feast for him.
Suddenly my eyes caught the reflection of the sun on the edge of one of the knife.
My mind rushed to the distance memory many months ago, when someone relates to him about her dream. A bad dream. Dozens on men surrounded him ready to give him the final blow. Is that dream becoming a reality today, right here, right now.
Is this the way they going to butcher his short but illustrious political career. Is he going to be another political victim just because he is doing the best he can this country that he love so much and to see all Malaysian get what they actually deserves.
As he walks, I gather my courage and try to keep with his pace. The knife becoming more visible and worrying me as I take each calculated steps. Will him, the man that his name itself brought the meaning of the tip of the sword will be able to withstand this final moment that should mark his last few steps towards the pinnacle of his career?
As fast as the lightning my hand grab his arm. He turns to me and whisper, “This is it my brother, this is it”, in the moment of confusion, I manage to stare at his face. Then I see, something that I haven’t seen before, He is in obvious pain. I turn away and realized that, blood already dropping from the knife.
I turn again and I can now see his is bleeding profusely. The strike must be so fast, that it came without any of us noticing it. Amid all the confusion, he grabs my shoulder, “be with me brother, be with me!”
“Be strong brother, be strong for me”, he continues.
“Dato’! Dato’!” I yell. “Praise the Al Mighty!” he said.
I stared at the ceiling, and realized, it was a bad dream. A very bad dream.