By Malai Hassan Othman
In the heart of Bandar Seri Begawan, where festive lights dance and laughter fills the streets during special occasions, a humble man with a quiet presence and a gift few noticed once stood.
He didn’t have a grand stage or a microphone. Instead, he had a simple stall selling knick-knacks, a heart full of warmth, and a voice that carried the rhythm of an old Malay tradition - pantun.
Haji Idris bin Tamit, born in 1938, was more than just a seasonal vendor. He was a keeper of culture, a storyteller wrapped in modesty, and one of the last voices of a fading art.
On the 25th of February 2025, at 87, he returned to his Creator. But what he left behind was more than a memory - it was a legacy rooted in poetry, faith, and love.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was National Day, 2017. The town was buzzing with joy and patriotic colours. That’s when I first saw him—cheerfully greeting customers behind a modest stall.
Something about his energy drew me in. I walked over, and within moments, I discovered that this man was no ordinary vendor.
He welcomed me with a smile and began to recite pantun—verses praising His Majesty for declaring Brunei as Negara Zikir.
His voice was strong, melodic, and filled with sincerity. I quickly took out my phone and recorded the moment. I didn’t realize then that I was capturing something rare, something beautiful.
He didn’t need an audience to shine. Whether it was a stranger or a friend, he’d share his pantun with joy. He didn’t do it for praise or applause. He did it because it was part of him.
Not long ago, a young woman commented on a poem I had shared about zakat.
She told me it reminded her of her grandfather, who had just recently passed away.
Her message was full of love and sorrow.
Her grandfather, she said, was a man who never stopped smiling - even on his deathbed. He was still reciting pantun.
I asked her, “Who was your grandfather?” She replied, “Haji Idris bin Tamit.” My heart skipped. I knew him.
I shared with her the video I had taken years ago.
She was touched. There he was again - her beloved grandfather - his voice echoing through time, delivering lines filled with devotion, culture, and pride.
She told me he never wanted to burden others. “Hidup jangan menyusahkan orang,” he often said.
Even when he was in pain, he never failed to say the syahadah and send selawat upon the Prophet.
Hours before he passed, he gave his final request: to donate his last bit of savings to orphans at the mosque.
A simple act, but a reflection of his immense heart.
He didn’t leave behind trophies or headlines. He left behind values. Faith. Poetry. Kindness.
He was, in every sense, a true anak Melayu - embodying the humility, wisdom, and spirit of our heritage.
In this modern age, where traditions are slipping quietly into the shadows, Haji Idris reminds us of who we are.
He reminds us that culture is not just kept in books - it lives in voices, hearts, and humble souls like his.
Let us not wait until all the pantun fall silent. Let us listen. Let us remember. Let us honour.
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