The Unsleeping Danger
Raka stood on the rooftop of his Yogyakarta house, the humid night air wrapping around him. His phone glowed with a group chat, friends joking about the upcoming exam, while the call to prayer echoed in the distance.
He looked at the clock. It was late. The mosque was empty.
"Just one more scroll," he thought, his thumb hovering over the screen. The voice of the muadzin faded into the night.
Suddenly, a shiver ran down his spine. He remembered a lesson from his kakek: negligence is the most harmful enemy. It corrupts deeds and cuts off hopes.
Raka looked at his hands. They felt heavy, as if they had forgotten their purpose. The comfort of the moment was a trap, a delusion of respite that blinded him to his final journey.
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment. He was hovering between hope and fear, but the fear was winning.
With a deep breath, he turned off his phone. He walked downstairs, performed ablution, and stood in prayer. The silence was no longer empty; it was filled with presence.
Story Panels
The night in Yogyakarta was thick and humid. Raka stood on the rooftop, the city sleeping below him. His phone glowed, a small island of light in the darkness.
The chat was buzzing with life. Friends joking, plans for the weekend. It felt safe. It felt easy. But the call to prayer had already passed.
He looked at the minaret. It was silent. The thought of missing the prayer didn't feel heavy yet. Just... manageable. A small lapse. Or so he told himself.
Then, a shiver. Not from the cold. It was a spiritual chill, a sudden awareness that the moment was slipping away. The delusion of 'later' cracked open.
His grandfather’s voice echoed in his mind. He had taught him that negligence is the most harmful enemy. It doesn't just delay; it destroys.
Kakek (Voice): “Negligence is the most harmful enemy. It corrupts deeds and cuts off hopes.”
He looked at his hands. They felt heavy, as if they had forgotten their purpose. The comfort of the moment was a trap, a delusion of respite that blinded him to his final journey.
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment. He was hovering between hope and fear, but the fear was winning. He knew he could not stay in this state.
With a deep breath, he turned off his phone. He walked downstairs, his steps quick and decisive. The house was quiet, but his heart was loud.
He performed ablution. The water felt cool and cleansing, washing away the dust of neglect. Each splash was a step back into the light.
He stood in prayer. The silence was no longer empty; it was filled with presence. The fear that had gripped him began to dissolve into love.
In prostration, he felt the weight of his sins lift. He was no longer deluded. He was awake.
He finished his prayer. The night was still there, but he was different. He had chosen to be awake, to be ready. Negligence had lost its grip.
عِبَادَ اللهِ، الاْنَ فَاعْلَمُوا، وَالاْلْسُنُ مُطْلَقَةٌ، وَالاْبدَانُ صَحِيحَةٌ، وَالاْعْضَاءُ لَدْنَةٌ، وَالْمُنقَلَبُ فَسِيحٌ، وَالْـمَجَالُ عَرِيضٌ، قَبْلَ إِرْهَاقِ الْفَوْتِ، وَحُلُولِ الْمَوْتِ، فَحَقّقُوا عَلَيْكُمْ نُزُولَهُ، وَلاَ تَنْتَظِرُوا قُدُومَهُ.
“O creatures of Allāh, you should know now that you have to perform (good) acts, because (at present) your tongues are free, your bodies are healthy, your limbs have movement, the area of your coming and going is vast and the course of your running is wide; before the loss of opportunity or the approach of death. Take death’s approach as an accomplished fact and do not think it will come (hereafter).”
— Nahjul Balagha, Sermon 196, Section 4 (nahjul-balagha)