MOHAMAD GUNTUR ROMLI

And so it was that Rabi’ah Adawiyah, a renowned Sufi woman, traced the paths of the crowded city of Baghdad, amidst the human traffic, bearing a bucket of water in one hand, and a lit torch in the other. When asked the meaning of her carrying of her torch and water, Rabi’ah answered. “I will set fire to heaven with this torch, and quench the flames of hell with this bucket of water!” But Why?

Rabi’ah was disturbed by man’s false worship of Allah. Because they wanted to receive heaven and avoid hell, they worshipped with glossy props, the worship of a slave mentality. And so to plant the seeds of sincerity and verity, Rabi’ah would set heaven alight and put out the fires of hell, so that no more “trickery” would erode the noble values of true devotion.

Rabi’ah was different; and even more so the difference of the suicide bombers. Salik Firdaus for example, the one who carried out the second Bali Bomb attack on October 1, 2005. His act of mass murder killed scores of innocent people. He was convinced was a ‘jihad’ that would lead him to heaven. In his VCD recorded testimony before he blew up the bomb that would kill him, he said, “If you are watching this video, then I am already in heaven!” Is it true that at this very moment Salik Firdaus is in heaven? Wallahu a’lam! Only heaven knows! None of us can know if his fantasies were realized. We cannot ask for confirmation from Salik, by letter, cellular phone, or even a text message.

Salik did not forget to leave this message: “If I have any debts, may they be forgiven!”

But Salik neglected to mention that while monetary debts can immediately be paid, what about other kinds of debt? He left behind much greater ‘debts’: the debt of suffering to his family, to the bomb victims, the state, and his religion.

At the beginning I had no problems with imagining heaven. Like Salik, I was not as awe-inspiring as Rabi’ah, who worshipped without hoping for heaven or hell. But this time, imagining heaven has become dangerous. Instead of the mental slavery that Rabi’ah was so concerned with, a criminal mentality. Heaven as an end goal can justify any means. Imagining heaven can push man to do anything. Including murder, whether this means killing himself or other humans.

Much different was the mode of worship of Abu Nuwas, a late eight-century Sufi poet who lived in the time of the Abbasid dynasty, and who was known for his devotion. He worshipped to repent for his sins, not to clamor for heaven or hell.

My Lord, I am no expert of heaven/ but I am powerless against the tortures of hell/ therefore grant me the strength to repent and have mercy for my sins.

And worship for Rabi’ah herself carried its own meanings; to look upon the face of her beloved God, to obtain His blessings, and to have His love. The principles of worship for Rabi’ah are thus love, honesty, and sincerity. To give oneself without expecting returns. In her rather romantic poetry, Rabi’ah chants,

If I worship you out of a desire for heaven/ keep heaven far away from me/ if I worship you out of a fear of hell/ throw me into hell.

These Sufi injunctions of prayer are referred to by puppeteer Ki Slamet Gundono in one of his ballads, Mabuk Gusti, “God Infatuation”. There are people so devoted to Allah that they become “drunk” with Him, no longer caring about returns or rewards for their devotion.

Meanwhile I think of those terrorists as “heaven-infatuated”, not “God-Infatuated”. Their fantasies of heaven have made them crazed, to the extent that the God they are convinced of is a God who is ready to grant them the blessings of heaven. But if so, to quote a song by Chrisye and Ahmad Dani, what if heaven and hell never was? Would you still kneel before Him? If heaven didn’t exist, would those terrorists push and terrorize Allah, if He was reluctant in giving them their heavenly rewards?

The Arabic word for heaven is “jannah”. According to the al-Mu’jam al-Wasith dictionary, “jannah” has two synonyms, “haqidah” and “bustan”. These two words have a root meaning, the word for “garden”. For Arab society, surrounded on all fronts by the bone-dry deserts and burning heat, a garden was the most beautiful place they could imagine: lush, peaceful, an oasis. Because of that, it is no surprise that the description of the pleasures of heaven (dar al-na’im) in the afterlife resembled the gardens that are so familiar to us, but that for the Arabs remained fantastical places. Gardens filled with verdant trees, myriad flowers, cool ponds, and eternally flowing rivers. Beautiful angels, ravishing and ready to be ravished populate Heaven. Here is a depiction of heaven that is rather material, and succeeds in arousing sexual urges. Heaven is thus made in this worldly image, crammed with those human habits that they have tasted on earth. Then for what reason do they curse the pleasures of this life, if only to expect and enjoy those very same pleasures in the afterlife?

For those who are aware of this, life on earth is a mandate to create heaven. But the heaven that is intended here is not the heaven of the afterlife, but a heaven for the here and now. A person who is active, who works for a living, and who has staked his life has in effect built a heaven on earth. A divine life is identical to a decent life, a life where one’s basic needs are fulfilled.

If we change “jannah” by one letter to “jinnah”, it no longer means “heaven”, but “madness” (al-junun). Indeed heaven has made men mad. Those terrorists who dare to kill themselves and slaughter others in the doing are “mad” about heaven. So too the fates of Adam and Eve, who hungered madly after an eternal Eden, but instead of having heaven in their hand, they were thrown out of paradise. So often, this mad desire for heaven has made humans greedy and avaricious.

That same insanity has effectively deadened their rationality and conscience, throwing all off the path of heaven. Is it true that their convictions are to be found in the tales (hadith) of the Prophet? The stories that call the nation of Islam to battle with promises of heavenly rewards, like the saying, al-jannah tahta dzilal al-suyuf (heaven lies in the gleam of a sword)? Or other tales of jihad that are narrowly interpreted as a call to war?

Set aside for now the issues of validity and the critiques of those hadith. But why choose that path? Is there no other route to heaven? Apparently, there are a multitude of ways. From “heaven is beneath the soles of a mother’s feet” to the most “ordinary” and “humane”, such as those hadith propagated by al-Tirmidzi: Extend greetings (peace), maintain friendship (social relations), give help (food and clothing), and pray during the day (meditation and introspection); this is the peaceful way to heaven (tadkhulu al-jannata bi salam). After all, the closing words an prayer, which is the main precondition to all our intentions in worship: lillahi ta-ala (for the grace of Allah), not lil jannah (for the sake of entering heaven).

Therefore, to enter heaven there is no need for madness, and so, no need either to justify all means of entry. Heaven-infatuation not only desecrates the just rewards that come from an unconditional sincerity towards God, but also makes religion a hell on earth. At this dangerous juncture, I invoke Rabi’ah Adawiyah in setting heaven aflame.

Translated from Indonesian by Doreen Lee

Source: Jurnal Kebudayaan Kalam