IN PONTIAN, JOHOR
IT'S NOT often that the sleepy village of Kampung Melayu in Pontian sees so much action.
Located an hour's drive from Johor Baru, its surrounding landscape comprises largely of one-storey bungalows, palm trees and stray chickens.
But for a few days last week, the town was a hub of action, captivated by the return of an infamous former resident.
By the time the body of slain militant leader Noordin Top arrived in Kampung Melayu, close to 500 people had already gathered at the village mosque.
Around one-third of the crowd were journalists and policemen, keenly watching the developments surrounding the man said to be implicated in every single major terror attack in Indonesia since 2003.
The 41-year-old was killed more than two weeks ago, along with three other militants, at the bloody end of a nine-hour siege in Central Java.
Journalists had been staking out the village cemetery in the days leading to his return.
The police, in turn, were staking out the journalists. I was asked three times by different cops for my name and organisation, and also had to surrender my identity card and press pass for checking.
The police were also keeping a close eye on the other people who came by.
This was, after all, one of the most feared terror masterminds in the region, with a loyal legion of followers.
Yet if there were any JI militants among the ranks at the burial, we could not tell.
Some people did not want to talk to us when we approached them, but many said they do not approve of Noordin's actions.
Most of those who turned up for the funeral said they were simply curious. Residents told me that everyone in the village knew who Noordin was, but his name seldom came up in conversations.
This included Kampung Melayu dweller Ilul Yahadi, 30, who went to the cemetery four times to wait for Noordin.
He had thought that the body was returning in previous days, but each time it turned out to be a false alarm. Fourth time was a charm for Mr Ilul — by then the odd job labourer had already given up RM200 worth of pay.
He told me he had never met Noordin before, but that Noordin had great influence — this was a man who could trigger a large police presence in the village everytime there was a rumour of his return.
Then there was Mohan Abdullah, 49, who spent almost the entire day waiting on Thursday with his wife and teenage son.
The chubby logistics manager, who hails from the town of Parit Raja 45 minutes away, said he had gone to the same school as Noordin but had never seen him before because he was much younger.
"I wanted to see who was this man that the whole world was talking about," he said. When Noordin failed to turn up, he shrugged and decided to visit a few relatives in the area instead.
Mr Mohan asked me to SMS him when I could confirm the return of Noordin's body. I did so the following day, and he gave me a wave when I saw him at the burial a few hours later.
At least one person, however, remembers Noordin. Fisherman Hammam Abdul Gaffar, 40, played with him when they were teenagers. He described Noordin as a quiet boy, but said that he had lost touch with him after he left school.
"I was shocked to see Noordin in the news. If you knew him, you would never expect him to do this," he said. "He said he was fighting for Islam, but this is not the way."