The last few days have left me drained, physically and emotionally. Especially emotionally. But in a tragedy such as this, there is always a light, a story that gives us hope and reinforces our belief in our faith. I had spent days and nights at the bomb sites – Kings Cross, Edgware Road and Aldgate and Russel Square. And a tragedy of this magnitude does get to you whether you know anyone or not who perished or were injured in the tragedy. Reading the messages at the Garden of Remembrance now set up at Kings Cross Station was enough to make me burst into tears and I was about ready to give up and go and crawl under the duvet and shut the world out. But I decided to pursue a story that I heard and that took me and my cameraman to North London, into the home of Pak Agus Warcoko.
Pak Agus, on that fateful morning, like everyone else had his morning disrupted by the closure of underground stations. And like others, he had to take the bus at Euston Station.
The number 30 – yes the one that exploded and took 13 lives – was quickly filling up and Pak Agus could only get a seat at the back. As someone who has never been late at work, he tried calling his office – he was until 5th July – the deputy general manager of Bank Negara Indonesia in London. Several attempts failed and as he tried one last time, he heard a huge blast and his mobile phone jumped out of his hand skywards.
Pak Agus, on that fateful morning, like everyone else had his morning disrupted by the closure of underground stations. And like others, he had to take the bus at Euston Station.
The number 30 – yes the one that exploded and took 13 lives – was quickly filling up and Pak Agus could only get a seat at the back. As someone who has never been late at work, he tried calling his office – he was until 5th July – the deputy general manager of Bank Negara Indonesia in London. Several attempts failed and as he tried one last time, he heard a huge blast and his mobile phone jumped out of his hand skywards.
The wreckage 
“I automatically followed the direction of the phone going upwards and suddenly saw the sky as the roof was not there anymore. I instinctively looked down and saw that the seats to the front were all gone. There were body parts and blood everywhere. A girl behind me was in shock and a young man was bleeding. I felt my body and everything was there, Alhamdulillah. The only scratch I got was on my finger – from the force of the mobile phone flying upwards from my grip,” said Pak Agus.
This is where I sat
Chatting to him that afternoon was like chatting to someone describing perhaps just some skirmishes down the road – not the life threatening incident that shocked Londoners to the bones and made headlines around the world.
A Sky journalist who interviewed him was baffled at the calmness and serenity about him.
“This is all the will of Allah. He wants me to live. Alhamdulillah,” said Pak Agus who remarkably remained seated although all around him were either thrown off the bus or sent sprawling on the floor.
I wanted to know more. “What was it, Pak Agus, that you think helped you?” said I switching the mode to one of a tabloid journalist, searching for omens, signs and dreams that could have forewarned him.
“Saiyaaa, “ he drawled in his heavy Javanese accent, “setiap langkah saya keluar dari rumah, akan saya iringi dengan zikir. Saya sentiasa berzikir dalam perjalanan keluar,” he said about his ritual prayers when leaving home.
“Dan saiyaaa....,” he drawled again, “sentiasa dalam keadaan berwuduk, Kalo jadi apa-apa, saya pergi dalem imaaan,” he added.
A Sky journalist who interviewed him was baffled at the calmness and serenity about him.
“This is all the will of Allah. He wants me to live. Alhamdulillah,” said Pak Agus who remarkably remained seated although all around him were either thrown off the bus or sent sprawling on the floor.
I wanted to know more. “What was it, Pak Agus, that you think helped you?” said I switching the mode to one of a tabloid journalist, searching for omens, signs and dreams that could have forewarned him.
“Saiyaaa, “ he drawled in his heavy Javanese accent, “setiap langkah saya keluar dari rumah, akan saya iringi dengan zikir. Saya sentiasa berzikir dalam perjalanan keluar,” he said about his ritual prayers when leaving home.
“Dan saiyaaa....,” he drawled again, “sentiasa dalam keadaan berwuduk, Kalo jadi apa-apa, saya pergi dalem imaaan,” he added.
Pak Agus & Ibu Tanti
I instinctively rubbed my hands, smoothing the goose bumps fast appearing. My cameraman shot a look as I was pushing the sound level unneccessarily up.
To say that Pak Agus emerged unscathed from the catastrophe would be stretching it a bit. Once in a while, he’d strain hard to listen to my questions. His eardrums must have been severely damaged as the blast, needless to say, must have been quite loud.
His wife Tanti, received an sms message about the bomb blasts and watching the news, she thought immediately of her husband. She rang him several times but there was no answer and the office too had reported that he was not around. She waited with a friend, in tears.
"Saya hanya mampu menunggu, menunggu dan menangis. Bila saya dengar dia selamat, saya bersyukur kepada Allah, bersyukur, bersyukur dan menangis,” she stressed as if one bersyukur was not enough to convey her gratitude to the Allah Almighty, while tears filled her eyes.
The story of Pak Agus reached his family very fast – via an Indonesian private TV station that reported him dead. It was only by chance that a nephew in Surabaya had heard his interview in the BBC Indonesian Service that they knew of his fate.
Next week, Pak Agus and family return to Jakarta. But this is one grim memory that they are taking back with them. But this is also one reminder for me, for us, of the power of zikir. Subhanallah.
To say that Pak Agus emerged unscathed from the catastrophe would be stretching it a bit. Once in a while, he’d strain hard to listen to my questions. His eardrums must have been severely damaged as the blast, needless to say, must have been quite loud.
His wife Tanti, received an sms message about the bomb blasts and watching the news, she thought immediately of her husband. She rang him several times but there was no answer and the office too had reported that he was not around. She waited with a friend, in tears.
"Saya hanya mampu menunggu, menunggu dan menangis. Bila saya dengar dia selamat, saya bersyukur kepada Allah, bersyukur, bersyukur dan menangis,” she stressed as if one bersyukur was not enough to convey her gratitude to the Allah Almighty, while tears filled her eyes.
The story of Pak Agus reached his family very fast – via an Indonesian private TV station that reported him dead. It was only by chance that a nephew in Surabaya had heard his interview in the BBC Indonesian Service that they knew of his fate.
Next week, Pak Agus and family return to Jakarta. But this is one grim memory that they are taking back with them. But this is also one reminder for me, for us, of the power of zikir. Subhanallah.
Safe in the arms of his loving family
