Sumatran Warrior

SECTION ONE

1927 – 1949

One

DAWN OF BEGINNINGS

“Run, Wadud, run, lakeh-lah pulang; darkness is falling!” As I hastily dart forward, the terrifying voice, shouts within me. With perspiration oozing down my face, neck and back I run as fast as my small feet could take me moving down the narrow village road. “Hurry, go home quick, lakeh-lah pulang – before it is too late!”

Glancing upwards every few moments, I can see the sky frightfully spewing its fiery glow over the waters of Danau Maninjau the lake of my West Sumatra village, casting ever-changing hues of red, swirling oranges and glaring yellows over my lakeside village of Sungai Batang. It seems like the great vault of heaven has suddenly opened and is crashing down upon the earth. I am running towards home as fast as I can, thinking my life depends on it!

A red and yellow crimson sky in my child-like thinking is like the flames of neraka, hell’s fires, which I had heard about during afternoon Muslim religious classes. In my mind, the end of the world is coming. I fear that if I am not home on time, I might not find Amak, my mother there! Besides, if this really is the end of the world, I need to be safe at home and near my mother’s presence. It was there I know I am safe, secure and loved by her.

With the closing of this day, the blazing colors in the sky rapidly change. Nighttime is quickly falling upon my kampuang, village of Sungai Batang where I was born. The year is 1935, I am a young boy 7 years old.

“Beyond roads of adventures and oceans of experiences,

life travels to its final destiny.

Along the way bringing me hope and purpose,

planned by God long ago.”

Abdul Wadud Karim Amrullah

(Personal Journal)

In late October of 1948, amidst the city’s bustle and vehicle fumes, my friend Ahmad and I climb onto a bus, taking us through Jakarta streets busy with early morning’s traffic. With the sun already brightly glowing and heat rising, we maneuver ourselves onboard the rickety old bus.

Together with countless others, both seated and standing we pass by horse-drawn delman, cart-like carriages, and three-wheeled becaks, most also carrying passengers. The bus strategically manages to weave through the chaotic noise of automobile horns, countless bicycles and pedestrians precariously attempting to cross-busy streets.

Earlier that day, Ahmad had encouraged me to come along with him. He had finally received news he could take the required physical exam for a job on one of the large Dutch ships docked at Tanjung Priok Harbor. For that day’s examination, ten men were expected.

We arrive early at the harbor. Ahmad immediately walks toward the group of men already gathered and joins them in waiting for that day’s roll call. A short distance away, I see a place for me to pass the time. I turn and cross toward it. After climbing atop a large wooden spool of coiled rope, I sit myself down along the waterfront edge.

I feel ocean breezes gently come my way, delivering balmy scents. Coming to our Indonesian shores from faraway places, these currents caress and awaken senses within me that deeply touch the core of my being. Sitting there, my mind races, bringing waves of questions I desperately need answered.

A wandering restlessness is set in motion within my soul. I only recently returned from fighting and the battlefield. Three years ago, at age 18, along with many of my friends, I too, had passionately offered myself to the call in being part of Indonesia’s revolution. Even now as I sit here, the struggle for independence and the duress in people’s lives constantly remains. The battle of unceasing turmoil and fight for freedom incessantly surround me. I wonder about the uncertainties of my own future and what lies ahead for me in Indonesia.

Silently I cry to Allah, God, “What are you going to do with me now? What are you going to do with our country which I have fought for?” Frustration and restlessness continue building within me. With my gaze still out toward the ocean, I somewhat rebelliously express to Allah, “I am tired of praying and trying to perfectly follow your commands! What are you going to do with my life, God?”

The longing to see the world has been within me since the earlier days of my childhood in Sungai Batang, West Sumatra. Those days however seem so far away with no return.

A commotion nearby suddenly interrupts my thoughts. It is the frantic voice of the shipping company’s Mandor Darat, Shore Agent. In desperation, he is calling out a name of one more person registered on the physical exam list.

The Shore Agent’s voice becomes louder and shrill in pitch, as he approaches the water’s edge where I am sitting. Having promised the shipping company a full roster of names, he knows he must do his job well in order to keep it. Thus, the Shore Agent’s voice is rapidly rising along with his distress.

Realizing the situation, my reaction was swift. I jump down from where I am sitting and hurry toward the man. I respond to his calling, asking him if I could possibly take the missing man’s place. While looking me up and down he asks, “What experience do you have? Do you iron?”

Knowing who the Shore Agent is and where he is from, I reply in the polite, soft-spoken Sundanese dialect, which I have learned, “Yes, I am capable of what is required.” In actuality, I have no experience at all in laundry room work. However, in that split second as the two of us intently look at one another, all uncertainties about my future somehow vanish. For in this moment during 1948, destiny’s passage for me to see the world broadens as far and as wide as any ocean could possibly reach. I am 21 years old.