Murshidi: The Imam of Gambier Street

This story is passed down from our father, from their father who got the story passed down from their father. If they had lied, then so will the story.
- Opening lines that usually accompany local oral stories

The year is 1888. It has been 18 years since Charles Brooke had ruled Sarawak after succeeding from his uncle, James Brooke.

A boy, fourteen years of age, was navigating his way through people looking to do their daily shopping at the bazaar of Gambier road. The smell of ground turmeric, garam marsala, chili powder from the shops gives a deceiving sensation of warmth. He rubs his hands together and then kept his arms close to his body. The loose baju melayu that he wore seems to do the least in protecting him from shivering early morning air as he advances past the hand lettered signs of the shop fronts. His footsteps quicken, part because he likes to arrive early and part so that the movement will help in warming himself.

At an opening in between the busy shops he turned left into contrastingly quiet corridor. So narrow was the corridor was that at any given time, it only have space for two adults to walk past it at the same time. Its tall walls and miniature square green and white tiles emphasized further how narrow it corridor was. It is halfway through the path, is to be found Masjid Bandar Kuching or more commonly known to the locals as Masjid Thambie. It was named after the Indian Muslim community that had arrived here even before James Brooke, the Royalist, had berthed on the swampy shores of the Sarawak River.

It was here, at Masjid Thambie, that classes on how to read the Al Quran and speak Arabic language were conducted for children during daytime and at nighttime for adult.

The way that these lessons are carried out, follows a tradition that dates back to the 6^th century at the the time of Prophet Muhammad, where he had used his house and later the house of his friend Al-Arqam Ibnu Abu Al-Arqam to set up the first religious school Dar Al-Arqam.

The boy took off his slippers placed it neatly near the wooden fence as not to block the entrance and steps into the outside terrace of the mosque. As he made his way, he can see the bedok, a large drum used to call the faithful to prayers five times a day. He then takes his absolution, washing his hands, face, arm, forehead and foot three times.

The wooden door of the mosque lets a creaking sound letting him into a spacious but dimly lit hall of the mosque.

“Assalamualaikum” he greets.

The man in the mosque turns slowly to look at the recently arrived young guest.

The appearance of his face shows the signs of old age with spots and lines. His grey hair was visible on the side his neatly wrapped turban. The thin moustache above his lips was also grey. He wore an Arab styled white robe, which covers his thin frame.

“Wa’alaikumsalam dear Murshidi,” replied the man, showing the most sanguine of smiles.

The man, Abang Abdul Rahman bin Abang Haji Ibrahim is Murshidi’s teacher.

Thirty years ago he had returned - earlier than he had planned, as he was in the midst of his studies- from Mecca upon hearing that the place where he was born had fallen into the hands of an Orang Putih – a term used to describe Europeans by the locals, which translate into White Man. Abdul Rahman was concerned that from this development, the Orang Putih would pave way for the Christian missionary movement that were already active in the region to make their way into Sarawak.

As soon as he had arrived, Abdul Rahman made arrangements to meet James Brooke. He was aware of how James Brooke had massacred the Dayak that wants him out of their lands with machetes and spears with disproportionate use of canons and rifles justifying it as a war to end piracy.

In the meeting Abdul Rahman tells James Brooke that he does not want to fight with him, he just want assurance that the Christian missionary does not preach to the Malays.

His maneuver works. After the meeting, James Brooke prohibited the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, lead by Rev. Francis McDougall, from bringing Malay Christian convert from neighboring areas to preach to the Malay Muslims in Sarawak. The ban however works both ways as Brooke had also asked the Malay Muslim not to preach to the Dayaks who were largely practicing Animism.

The agreement made with the Malay Muslim was a strategic one for James Brooke. He was aware that the Malays were a lot more organized than the Dayaks and his resources were limited if both groups in his state decides that he was a common enemy. He also knows that the Dayak respected the Malays and the agreement can set precedence that they too might consider a truce.

The diplomatic way that Abdul Rahman begun negotiation demonstrates that working together with the locals might be the best way for him to run his new country.

 He had reinstated the positions and title such as Datuk Imam and Datuk Temenggong that the Malays had previously held under the Brunei Sultanate and reopened the Balai Datus.

Abdul Rahman was offered the highest of the positions carrying the title, Datuk Hakim Keramat that makes him judge of all of Malay cases. At first he had refuse the position but James Brooke insisted that telling him to give it a try first. Otherwise, it leaves him no other option but to banish Abdul Rahman out of Sarawak. He consented.

The other students were beginning to make their way into the hall.

One of them was Anshaari whose deep set of eyes, sharp nose, lightly tanned skin, good posture, as well as his pleasant manners hints that he will soon be a very elegant young man.

He finds his place next to Murshidi.

“How are you today my cousin?”

The class went on without much else fanfare. Their teacher was teaching them tajwid, the right pronunciation in reading the Al Quran. There were plenty of rules to remember like how the 28 Arabic letters or abjads reacts to certain vowel diacritics.

“The difference between mad asli and mad arid lisukkun is that the latter is found only at the end of sentences and instead of two it becomes six harakah”

“Wa-lad-daa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-liin”, reads Abdul Rahman, hitting the floor simultaneously six times to show how long it should be read before asking his students to repeat after him.

The students enjoyed listening to the unusual pronunciation in the Arabic language and the energetic way that their teacher despite of his age delivers his classes makes the time flies really quick.

As the students were making their way out, Abdul Rahman asked Murshidi and Anshaari to stay.

“There is no need to worry my sons,” says Abdul Rahman calming the boys anxieties at being held back after class.

Abdul Rahman praised the cousins that they had been a good student for the past seven years and that he does not have much left to teach them as his own studies was cut short due to the situation happening in Sarawak at the time. Since then, he was steadfast that his students would continue their studies so that they could learn what he had missed.

“We human beings plans, but He – referring to God – is the greatest of planners”, his eyes suggest that those words was directed to him and not the students he was addressing.

“Alas, I have truly great news and I really could not keep it with me much longer” and suddenly there was a gap in his sentence, “but I am feeling too thirsty to tell you now”,

Anshaari jumps on his feet and ran to to fetch a glass of water from the container that was already prepared by the caretaker of the mosque for Abdul Rahman.

“You are a good student Anshaari”

The teacher then takes a few gulps off the glass.

“Now where was I? Oh, how is your parents Murshidi?”

“Aunty Dayang and Uncle Abang is in good health and so are my parents” it was Anshaari who answered.

“Anshaari, have your forgot that half of faith is patience”.

“I am sorry”

“I know you are and apology accepted”, although strictness is a trait shared by many religious teachers, Abdul Rahman instead felt that curiosity is a virtue.

The suspense did not last much longer after that as Abdul Rahman told Murshidi and Anshaari that he felt that it was high time they take their studies to a level that the Masjid Thambi could not give them. He tells them that he wants to see them continuing their studies in the holy city of Mecca.

In Mecca, he says there was a man that he wants them to send his regards and study with a prodigious student of his. He retold the story of the orphan boy that became a hafiz – a person who had memorized the holy book – when he was only 14. The last time he had visited the holy land, he continues, he could not contain his pride in seeing him teaching at the Grand Mosque. His pride was inflated further when he learned that his student who had penned several religious texts (Omar 2003).

There was no need for Abdul Rahman to say the name of the person he was talking of, Murshidi and Anshaari knew that the man was Sheikh Othman bin Wahab.

Abdul Rahman asks his two students to discuss this with their parents first even though he believes that there would be any reason that they would disapprove of the idea. He advised them not to take too long to decide, only half wittily telling them that he was not getting any younger.

At that, the teacher then bid express his good wishes to indicating the end of their conversation and that his students may leave.

The two cousins made their way calmly out of the mosque. The weather was no longer the cold morning that they had to endure on their way to the mosque in the morning. The sun was well out now above their heads.

They just managed to contain themselves until they reached the end of the corridor. Once they were in the open streets, and far enough that their teacher could not hear or see them, Anshaari pulled his cousin and gave him a hug to the point that it was difficult for him to breathe, planting a kiss on his cheeks.

                   “We are going to Mecca my brother!” exclaimed Anshaari in simple Arabic that he had learned from his teacher.

“Yes, we are!”

How could they not be excited? They had heard so much about the city from stories about the prophet as well as from the stories told by returning pilgrims. For the community that they were living in at that time, it was the ultimate journey.

It seems every year when people return from performing the hajj, there were accounts on miracles that they had witness while they were there. It usually involves a boy whom they say is their son whom they had lost at birth giving them water from the zamzam well, a cat that had reserved a place for them to pray as well as hardship that they had endured because of the sins of their past. Their teacher however told them not to listen too much to this account, as people tend to believe what they want to believe.

The trip to perform Hajj is done by the elderly or the rich who had saved or could afford the month long journey to the city of the prophet.

Ecstatic as both of them were, all the listening and reciting in the hall all morning had made both of them feeling famished.

It was a fine day for them to sit by the bank of the Sarawak River. It has not rained for the entire week, so they soil was not swampy and they are at no risk of getting scolded for getting mud on their clothes. They found a nice shaded spot, on a branch of a mangrove tree. The tide was was falling carrying with it drifting branches as the water flows out into the South China Sea.

Sitting on the branch they could see dozens of small fishing boats and river taxi making its way in and out of the jetty. Two larger steamships of the Borneo Company Ltd were anchored at the wharf; with men carrying disproportionally large sacks in and out of the hull. Across the river they could see the magnificent new Government House, the official home of Charles and his wide Renee Magaret with its tall and thin barks of betel trees sprouting out of its grounds. The relationship between the Rajah with the Dayak had improved since Charles came to power, and the betel trees bears the intoxicating nuts that the natives very fond of. They chew the nuts with lime wrapped around basil leaves.

The cousins were looking forward to sharing the meal that their mothers had prepared and packed for them. When they opened their container, to their surprise, they both had rice with ikan kembong – a local fish. They laugh, thinking, what difference would sharing make, if they had the same thing.

* * * *

That afternoon Murshidi told his parents about the good news. He had hoped that they would show the same joyful excitement as he had experienced earlier with Anshaari. Instead cry of joy, the news was received with tears from his mother and a look of utter solemn resignation from his father. It was only after that did he understand the other side of what his journey to would mean for him and those that he loves.

How could he have known? After all he had not as much as stepped out of the borders of the city. He moved to gently wiping his mother’s tears with a flick of his thumb, pleading to her that she stop crying

His sister walks into the living room, cutting the intensity moment with a tray loaded with tea and crackers made out of sago.

“If you don’t want me to go, I won’t mother”

She lifts her head to look at his son and smiled. She was always impressed at how sensitive his son was.

“It is not that I don’t want you to go Didi” calling him with the affectionate name that he is known in the house.

She continues to tell Murshidi that it was not unusual for parents who loves their children to feel selfish about parting with their child. She tells Murshidi not to despair and to only think of the knowledge he would acquire from studying from scholars like Sheikh Osman Bin Wahab – the only pious scholar in Mecca that she knows. Both his parents shared with him that they knew that this time would come and they had always prayed that he would one day become a pious person. Murhsidi takes his mother in his arms holding her as if it were his last time he could do so.

That night, while lying on the mengkuang mat, Murshidi finds it difficult to fall asleep. His mind was anxiously traveling back and forth between the excitements that the journey promise and melancholic when thinking of what he would be leaving behind.

The croaking sound that the frogs were making, as usual were exact in predicting the rain was imminent. The leak on the roof had let water to dribbling into the container that had been placed on the floor.

* * * *

The specially chartered steamship, SS Hibiscus, with its loud roaring sound thundering out of its coal fired boiler, awaits its passengers to board it, as it gets ready to travel west en route to Mecca in time for the next Hajj season. Hundreds of people were at the wharf today to see their family member board the ship. There were few that were not crying. Most have spent their lifetime working so that they could go on this journey once. The elderly getting on the ship were half expecting that they would die in the holy land.

The weeks between the time that his teacher had told him that he was ready to continue his studies to this day had been agonizing for Murshidi. He was spending a lot of time close with his parents, helping out with chores like cleaning the area the house and tending to the chickens and goats.

The ship had now blown its horn signaling the passengers need to be on board.

Murshidi embraced and kissed the hands of both his parents and asked his younger sister to take care of their parents. His mother hand him a packed lunch, his favorite fish curry and soybeans. Tears fell out of her Didi’s eyes as he thought of how his mother had never failed to cook for him.

“Remember my dearest son, when you hold a burning wood, clutch until it becomes ash”, his father advised.

Anshaari tapped Murshidi, giving a nod that indicates that it was time they say thank you to their teacher Abdul Rahman and board the ship. The Datuk Hakim Keramat was observing from a distance, his students saying goodbye to their family. Both students of the Masjid Thambi kissed their teacher’s hands, thanking him for all that he had taught them and the trip that he had made possible.

They now made their way aboard the ship. There they were, on this Saturday morning, in the year 1888, were standing on the deck of the SS Hibiscus about to begin what will be the journey of their lifetime. The sound of engine had now become louder and the ship was making its way away from the wharf.

Their family waved their hands at them and they return with their own. It didn’t take long before they were gone from their view. There was no looking back now, Murshidi thought. His travel companion was staring at the horizon, enjoying the ocean breeze delicately caressing his face. The city of the prophet, Mecca, awaits them.

* * * *