Waiting For The Rain

This is a tribute piece that I wrote. A tribute to a local hero during World War 2. Who fought for what he believed in until the very end. Lt. Adnan Saidi's story was I guess one that we all know, something during Total defence day this year made me want to research a little deeper and this is the product of it I guess. Sometimes I wish there was a better way of remembering historical events instead of trying to drill it into children's heads here until they simply don't care anymore. I guess most of us already know his heroics, how his heavily outnumbered infantry company fought hard against Japanese troops, tanks artillery, and planes just to buy the British soldiers a bit more time to retreat. And they did.

*********************************************************************

He crouched there, in the middle of the dense forest, in his little muddy foxhole. He listened to the crickets. It was early morning now, and dawn wouldn't be too far away. He clutched his rifle to him tightly, it was the only thing he could hold on to for now, his companions were a distance away, in their own holes in the earth. Watching, waiting for any warning signs.

They had left last night. The white folk. Ran back to the city, unwilling to stay in the damp. We aren't going to die here they had said, not for nothing. He clenched his teeth at their cowardice, then slowly released his anger. Keep calm he thought, it would do no one well to dull your senses with rage.

He listened out, for any footsteps, as he breathed slowly. He heard the rustle of the leaves, and felt the wind blowing softly on his skin. This was once a peaceful village he thought. He had come here before, to enjoy the tranquility. To help out his aunt and cousins wash their laundry, along the gentle jungle stream. Now the huts stood empty, the people gone, and the peace gone with them. However, in this rare lull in the ceaseless bombing, he again found the forest quieting. The trees, unmoving and resolute.

The enemy had come like a raging hurricane, sweeping everything before them. Nothing had been able to hold them back. It was pointless to resist, he recalled the white folks words, as they scampered away. But he couldn't, this was where he had lived, and if so be it, it would be where he died. He thought of his children, they would be safe away from this place, he would miss them. It was Valentine's day today, he realized, and he hadn't had a chance to wish Sophia so, since she had left ever so reluctantly with the kids, her headscarf blowing in the wind, her silhouette, still framed in his mind.

He knew then, that he would never see her again, and it pained him to think of her grieving. But she would have to be strong, he knew that she was, it was why he loved her so. Just as she had to be strong, so did he. His men were counting on him to lead him, and he would not, could not fail them. Let them come, he thought. We will be ready. Nearby he heard a rooster crow, and he watched the forlorn sun creep its way over the horizon. He looked upon it anew, with a sense of wonder and fear.

A shout rang out from his comrades, ringing out and shattering the silence, and they ducked low as the shells began falling upon them, tearing up the soil and shaking the once immovable trees like thunder. He spotted a flash of khaki coming up the ridge, took aim and fired. The man fell, and never got up again. This was it, there was no turning back now. He stood tall and gave the rallying cry.

Biar putih tulang, jangan putih mata

Death before Dishonour.