Tidying Up Asa, Inviting Hidayah

90. Tasting the Feelings in the Heart.

🌹Nobody knows for sure when love comes, because the feeling is present from the heart often unwittingly.🌹

String.

The words that Aina said before returning home from the campus earlier, managed to disturb the mind. There is a presumption in the heart, about the attitude of Mr. Hara lately.

He who suddenly came to take me to therapy, but had said before, if there was any other business. Then he always reminded if the counseling schedule was close. Like a super hero who came to help when he knew I was wrong to send a chat. Also willing to shuttle every day even without the right reason. Just realized if he changed suddenly from being super busy to being as short as that job.

With slow steps I descended the stairs one by one. Occasionally stop, to take a breath or when side by side with a group that is in a hurry to ride. The silir of the wind caressed, pierced through the cloth of the shirt, entered the pores and then swallowed the calf; it was cold.

While holding the tip of the front hijab so as not to tersbak, I speed up the step. Accompanied by the rustling sound of bamboo grove leaves being blown by the wind, I had to endure the aches on the calves, because there was still a long rung of stairs that I had to go through.

The wind was getting stronger, when I stepped foot on the field which is the grave parking lot. This very large place has been filled by several cars and medium-sized buses. At the southern end, there are also several motorcycles arranged neatly saf-saf.

I stepped over, passing through the row of cars on the left while circulating my gaze. However, as wide as the eye could see, there was no figure I was looking for. Where did he go, did the sudh go? He said he would wait until I finished the pilgrimage.

Kurogoh a small sling bag, which can only store hp and wallet only. I unlocked the phone screen using my fingerprint. Instantly I realized the carelessness, when the phone was not also on, it must have been because the battery ran out. How to find its presence without the help of a cell phone?

I stopped right in front of the black MPV car that read ‘Mahardika Group’ behind it. If this vehicle is still in place, it means the driver is still here. I looked into the car, but only my own shadow was visible. Because, the type of car glass that does not allow outsiders to see inside.

A moment later, I turned around, then turned to the left. There are many people passing by, there are also those who are sitting in pendopo. They must be resting after they finish their pilgrimage. But there was absolutely no visible nose of the man I was looking for. Where, anyway, is he?

I turned my eyes forward. That second, the white smoke hit my face, making me cough for inhaling the thick, vanilla-scented smoke I knew so well. I flicked my palm to dispel the smoke that was deliberately blown into my face.

“Pak Hara prank, ih!” my grunts, still while fanning in front of the face.

“Mean it don't be dumbstruck in the parking lot, hit the car back later!” replied Mr. Hara casually, while then stepping past me. This man did not feel that I was confused looking for him from earlier.

“From where, anyway, Sir?” I followed his long steps by walking quickly.

“Why nyariin? Afraid of being left behind, huh?” Mr. Hara asked back. We walked towards the pendopo, just as some people were moving from the rest of the visitors.

“Ih! No, yeah! Left by Mr. Hara also I can go home with Pakdhe Teguh.” I replied while sneering. Because we came with a large family group Pakdhe Teguh and Mbah uti.

I followed Mr. Hara sitting on the edge of the pendopo, along with the people who were resting. As usual he seemed calm while smoking, even deliberately exhaling his smoke towards me. I don't know what his purpose was for doing that ridiculous act. Although not usually close to smokers, but the aroma of Mr. Hara's cigarette does not bother me. Because it does not smell like cigarettes in general. I don't know what kind of brand cigarettes, just smell like vanilla, greentea, grape, or coffee; my favorite scent.

“Not broken the fast, right?” ask Mr. Hara.

He handed me a white plastic bag. When the contents were filled, it turned out to be a pack of food and drink. Also know him I just broke the fast by eating bread and drinking water just magrib earlier.

“Pak Hara buy where?” I have to set the distance with Mr. Hara so as not to get too close.

“Front.”

I saw Mr. Hara, the man I've been quite familiar with lately. We meet every day, even on Sunday. The morning he came to pick up and was always waiting outside the campus before the final course was over. He can also always explain to Ma'am Sayumi why we can go back and forth together, under the pretext of Kak Nessha's orders. Though Ma'am Sayumi never tired of asking, tend not to believe him.

“Pak Hara on foot buy this?” I asked while removing the contents of the crackle bag. A cup containing a drink of pink color, it seems like my favorite guava juice. Another strayfoam with a logo for a place to eat, I don't know what it contains.

Mr. Hara nodded, but my question was clearly answered with his car that was still neatly parked since.

“From bored waiting, I was out for a walk. It turns out that in front of a lot of people, many are selling, there are cafes as well.” explained Mr. Hara. The smell of vanilla re-smelled, because the cigarette smoke was carried by the wind towards me.

“There's cafe? Which side?” I remember all the way to this place of pilgrimage. Several times visited, it seems like I have never seen a cafe building. Yes, there are those who open businesses whose target market children hang out near religious attractions?

“North of crossroads over there!” Mr. Hara pointed in the direction with a cigarette tucked between his index and middle fingers.

“I, really, do not know there is a cafe around here?” I'm still trying to think, considering the route I've traveled so many times to get to this place.

“Eat first, just thought!” Mr. Hara threw out a cigarette butt, stepped on it, then he took off his shoes. I'm getting used to his tough attitude, which is completely no-nonsense.

I opened the strayfoam, the fragrance of food wafted, tickling the sense of smell. It turned out that the contents were rice, chicken teriyaki sauce complete with lettuce and a sprinkling of sesame seeds on it. It looks appetizing.

“Pak Hara don't eat?” I asked him a pleasantries while picking up the plastic spoon left in the crackle bag.

“Today,” replied Mr. Hara. From the end of my eyes, I saw Mr. Hara going up to the pendopo, walking past me.

It felt bad to turn my back, I decided to raise my legs, sitting cross-legged facing east. While Mr. Hara had sat down to save his legs, while leaning on the hide. Maybe he was tired, picked me up on campus, and then took me on a pilgrimage. From the tomb of Mbah kakung, move to the mosque Kyai Krapyak prayer magrib as well as pilgrimage and lastly now in the tomb of Kyai Raden Santri.

“You came down by yourself? Which other one?” I looked to the right side, then nodded.

“Mbah uti same Budhe Sari not finished. I was tired and cold because I forgot to wear my jacket. If Pakdhe Teguh and Mas Irkham are usually long pilgrimages, can be up to night.” my light, after swallowing food.

Mr. Hara did not ask again, seems to have been busy playing hp. I continued eating, occasionally staring around. Buses are coming, and visitors are getting crowded. If the eastern parking lot is this crowded, the west must be full of vehicles carrying groups of pilgrims.

“They are still long?”

The food was gone in no more than ten minutes. Apart from the small portion, the hunger makes me able to eat quickly. Mr. Hara gradually from the middle of the pendopo to the edge, because more and more people are using this not so wide place to rest, or just waiting for fellow entourage who are still on pilgrimage.

“Normally until night. Mr. Hara if tired of going home first, nothing. I can go home with pakdhe, kok.” suggested me to see his tired face. Even Mr. Hara still wears the same clothes that were used to take me to campus this morning, meaning he hasn't been home all day.

“You come here often?” Mr. Hara asked me something else, without responding to my suggestion.

“What place is up there?” asked Mr. Hara while looking at the road up to the hill surrounded by bamboo groves.

“Tomb of the guardians, kyai the elders of the region here.” I replied poking the direction of view.

“What is so special about this many people? Just a tomb, right?”

I smiled to hear Mr. Hara consider trivial activities that I also did a moment ago. Indeed the issue of the pilgrimage of the grave - including to the tomb of the guardian - remains a difference of opinion by some scholars.

However, I followed the teachings in the pesantren first. That with pilgrimage is a proof of our love for the predecessor scholars, the guardians who are descendants of the prophet, respecting their struggle to spread Islam until it can reach all corners of the archipelago. Pilgrimage at once can make us remember death, so that we can introspect to find supplies to the afterlife later.

“Pak Hara likes historical stories, no? If you like I want to tell you who is buried up there, so many people from outside the area are making a pilgrimage here.”

Mr. Hara looked at me while frowning. With our distance not too far away, but also not to be said to be close, I could clearly see the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Seeming like a stroke of the story of life, it must have been a lot that he had faced all along. I want to share a lot of stories with him. I don't know what makes me comfortable telling her.

“News, I listen,” he replied as he picked up a cigarette, then lit it. I don't know how many sticks he's spent all day, he's like another man who can't stay still without smoking.

I tell the story of Prince Singosari, the younger brother of Panembahan senopati - the first king of Mataram - who chose to seclude himself from the center of power in order to deepen the religious knowledge taught by the guardian songo (nine). He went wandering in order to spread the religion to the interior of Kedu region.

Panembahan Senopati's sister settled in the hills located on the west side of Mount Merapi. The hill that is not how high it is, overgrown with thick bamboo groves. So from a distance looks a hill covered with bamboo clumps. It became the origin of the name of the area where Prince Singosari lived.

Prince Singosari wanted to truly unite with the people, so he hid his princely identity. He was known alim and never nyantri in pesantren, then the surrounding community gave the nickname as Kyai Raden Santri.

He is classified as an early scholar who spread Islam in the region of his pancer gangs along Mount Merapi, Merbabu, Andong, Sumbing and Menoreh hills along the Progo River.

Descendants of Kyai Raden Santri sequentially, namely, Kyai Krapyak I, II, III, Kyai Harun, Kyai Abdullah Sajad, Kyai Gus Jogorekso, Raden Moch Anwar AS, Raden Quwait Abdul Sadak, to Kyai Dalhar, kyai Ahmad Abdulhaq. These who later became scholars as well as Islamic figures in the area, continued through the Darrussalam boarding school in Watucongol.

If the line is drawn up, it will be related to Kyai Ageng Pemanahan, Kyai Ageng Anis, Kyai Ageng Selo, Kyai Ageng Getas Pendowo, Raden Bondan Kejawan. It will lead to the Majapahit king Prabu Brawijaya V whose descendants split after the collapse of the kingdom.

“All buried above?” I didn't think Mr. Hara seemed interested in hearing my story.

“Kyai Ahmad Abdulhaq was buried near the kyai krapyak mosque, which we used to pray magrib.” explained me, reminding the first place we visited this afternoon.

I can't help but smile when I see Mr. Hara's beard. Our religion is different, even with our circle of life. He who is accustomed to hanging out with business people in metropolitan cities with all the easy life, tends to be luxurious. While I live with the environment like most people. Our differences are very far away, but a few things have made us quite familiar lately. As if the veil of difference between us, it slowly eroded.

“Pak Hara tired?” bo doh question, which of course I can guess the answer. The person who has not come home since this morning until this night, back and forth Magelang-Yogya, should not ask me even I already know that he is very tired.

“No want to go home first, than wait for them long?” proposed Mr. Hara. She must have wanted to go home soon, but could not bear to leave me alone.

“Fear Budhe Sari nyariin, if I go home first. Cannot ngabarin, because hp I die.”

Mr. Hara reached into my pocket, I can guess if he was going to pick up a cell phone. As expected, he handed me a flat object.

“From a long wait, can your night until home. Tomorrow's college, right?”

“The key, Sir?” I pushed back the phone, because the screen was locked.

“2512, find the name of Mr. Teguh, I have saved.” replied Mr. Hara. Turns out he was careless as well, telling me the password of the phone screen? If the secret in his phone leaked, because of my curiosity how?

“Date birthday, yes?” I guessed the arrangement of the password numbers that Mr. Hara mentioned.

Mr. Hara throttled, then answered ketus, “Christmas day.”

Just realized, if the arrangement means December 25. It turns out Christmas is very special for him, until used as a password.

“Call me quickly,” order Pak Hara.

“Free, Sir. Will not be lifted if pakde is solemn berto’a, send chat just so it can be read later.” explained me.

I returned the phone to Mr. Hara after sending a message. At first glance I saw the main screen without any pictures at all. Really, the most beautiful man I've ever met, until even hp is not pictorial.

“I'll drive home now?” it seems that Mr. Hara was very tired, so he hurriedly wanted to take me home.

I nodded, cleaned up the trash I had eaten, then threw it away. After making sure no items were left behind, I caught up with Mr. Hara who had walked first to the car. The parking lot was full, with many people getting off the bus.

It takes above average driving skills to get out of the parking lot. Because, must pass through the crowd and share the road with vehicles that will enter. Mr. Hara seems very shrewd in controlling the car in the midst of the noise.

I ventured to look at him who was concentrating on driving. Fine wrinkles on the forehead and the tip of the eyes. The nose is sharp, the hair is always neat even though it is rather long, and the skin of the face is very smooth. Maybe smoother than mine. When viewed from the side, he is like a pendangnya Pakdhe Didi kempot. Don't you think Pak Hara has a side job as a driv player? Basic, me! I like to imagine the no.

“Ngapain viewin?” mr. Hara sontan's question made me realize from a momentary daydream.

Immediately I turned my face, lowered my head while playing the fingers; misbehavior. I cursed myself who was so bo doh, to be found looking at his face.

I lifted my head when I felt the car stop. From the end of his eyes, Mr. Hara took his hand off the steering wheel, looking forward, perhaps estimating how severe the road congestion was.

Sir snorted, “No way to go another way, huh?” He must be upset because the traffic flow is choked.

I memorized the road. If it is crowded, it is indeed jammed in some parts. Especially before the red light, surely the queue of vehicles piled up there.

“Later after the red light, just turn right, sir! Usually it just gets there, really. Next time smoothly.”

I look at it briefly, it appears that Mr. Hara is leaning back while fixing the location of his glasses. I feel guilty for making him this tired. Song

“You said what?”

I frowned, hearing Mr. Hara's question. He asked like that, definitely because twice caught wet me who was staring at him. Then shook his head, feeling like there was nothing I wanted to say. We were silent for a few jokes, enjoying the country road with the metropolitan situation; jammed. Just as the car was passing through the traffic lights, I just remembered something.

“Pak?” call me while looking to the right.

“Heemm,” replied Mr. Hara, turning left and right to ensure safe conditions to cut the road.

“Motor Aina is ready .. I mean, Aina bought a new motor with Gus Hafidz.” I don't know why I sometimes get confused about stringing up sentences to start a conversation with Mr. Hara.

“I know,” replied Mr. Hara briefly.

Okay fine! It's natural that he already knows, but can you appreciate the information I gave you? I still want to continue the sentence.

“Tomorrow Mr. Hara does not need to pick up, I can be with Aina until jombor.”

Mr Hara nodded, then asked without turning my head, “Department also does not need to be delivered?”

“Iya. I can go alone, usually so.” I replied.

“oya? Sure you usually go alone, no one gives you a ride?” I don't understand why it seems Mr. Hara doesn't believe that every day I go alone to campus on a public bus.

I shook my head to answer his question, “Starting tomorrow, Mr. Hara does not need to bother my shuttle.”

“Why? You don't like me to drop off, or are you afraid that someone is angry?”

I shook my head quickly, not expecting my words to make Mr. Hara misunderstand. It is necessary to carefully choose words and string sentences, so that he does not misinterpret.

“I don't want to disturb your busy life, so let me take the bus. Usually, too, though. After all there is Mas San, Han, Rama and Ragil,” I said, intent on joking.

“Oh! So now I'm no longer needed?”

“It's not so, sir. Sa-”

Not yet began to explain, Mr. Hara has cut my sentence with a sharp talk, “Why did Aina's motorbike strike, you did not call all your friends? Even sent wrongly to my phone.”

“Sorry that I have been bothering you a lot lately.” finally only this sentence I can say. Because I don't like to argue and refuse to explain his misunderstandings.

The car drove on the road Bima, meaning soon to the house. I choose silence. Instead of talking, it makes Mr. Hara misunderstand. Slowrock song in English is heard from the car audio. Pak Hara's musical tastes are the same as Mba Sayumi turns out.

“I go straight home,” said Mr. Hara, as soon as the car arrived in front of the house.

He chose to walk me through the front of the house, not the back gate as usual. He must have memorized if the night, easier to enter through the front of the house that is not fenced.

“Thank you, yes, sir.” I said as I grabbed the bag and prepared to get off.

“Thank you today for taking me, taking the pilgrimage to the tomb of Mbah kakung, stopping by the house of mbah uti, taking the pilgrimage with the family, and drove me home until home in a state of no less than one thing.”, I said sincerely from the bottom of my heart. That's all I can do for all his kindness to me.

“Thank you Mr. Hara has been good with me, sorry if I am troublesome.” a closing sentence for the passing of this long day. I hope Mr. Hara doesn't misunderstand me anymore.

I opened the door, was about to get out, but Mr. Hara prevented, “Jen!”

I looked up, finding her serious face staring at me. If you are in this mode, Mr. Hara looks older than his age. Uh! How old is Mr Hara? I know this one!

I raised an eyebrow, as the code asked. Because, Mr. Hara did not also say a word. What did he call me for?

“One more time, thank you, Mr.” finally I first said, because the long awaited.

“Sleep tight!” I looked, then smiled. Just want to say those two words alone, Mr. Hara must think long.

I almost said my greetings, if I didn't see the overtake mark on his wrist. I almost forgot that we were different religions, lucky to be aware immediately, so no one said.

“Goodnight Mr. Hara, be careful on the road!” I said before I got off.

At first glance I saw Mr. Hara smiling, something I rarely saw from him. Being able to see him smile, especially if he laughed, was a very special thing.

I'm standing on the porch. Waiting until the car driven by Mr. Hara turned around, drove, then invisible because it was covered with trees and neighboring houses.

Sepi approached, along with a gust of cold night wind. Today was exhausting, but it managed to tell a story. Although there is still something stuck about Mr. Hara's attitude. Has not been decomposed, even more complicated it feels.

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Connect ....

I love the long part, because yesterday was not up😁

The history of Kyai Raden Santri's Tomb is taken from online sources Kompasiana and NU.

Umpak : Stone used as a pedestal of the roof support pole (soko).