languished in its abyss of darkness, a fifth king would emerge, demanding his rightful place to lead his people through their troubled times. And with his presence, Nusantara would suffer great pestilence and sorrow, and the people would flee, the skies behind filled with a light so blinding, none but those who were evil would even consider remaining behind, in the once promised land.”
* * * *
Haji Abdul Muis
In contemplative mood, Haji Abdul Muis examined the withered stalk, the half-formed husk evidence of another failed harvest. The Moslem leader cast his eyes slowly across the neglected fields, the midday heat distorting the scene with false promises of water, as a broken-layered mirage danced tantalizingly above the land. His land.
He remained sitting on the dry, cracked mound, the pile of overgrown earth designating the boundary to his property. In the distance, settled half-hidden amongst a copse of coconut trees, sun-bleached, clay roofing-tiles indicated the presence of a house. His house.
Surrounding hills, in days past covered with tall, majestic stands of teak timber, now stood denuded of their former glory, casting shadows of despair across the desolate farmland, and those who had stubbornly remained. Once, on the other side of the spur, a tranquil lake had nestled, filled with flocks of pelicans, visitors on their annual pilgrimage from distant lands. There wildlife had thrived amongst the wetland, fed by rivers filled by abundant rain. Then, when the population had finally reached unsustainable levels, and the effects of El Nino had burned, the water disappeared, lost to the sun and dry earth.
* * * *
Somewhere behind an engine came to life and Haji Abdul Muis instinctively glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the waiting Mercedes, aware that his driver would have engaged the air-conditioner in readiness for his return. He ignored the engine’s low, mechanical hum, turning back to savor this special moment in his life, observing the fields of promise spread out subserviently before him. He removed the deeds from inside his safari jacket, and read the contents aloud to his absent audience, his ears filled with the silent drum pounding heavily in his hate-filled chest.
Abdul Muis had not set foot on this land in more than three decades. His acquisition fulfilled a promise sworn many years before, when his family had been evicted, and their lives destroyed by manipulative local traders.
* * * *
Born in the small, shanty-style house, now standing derelict in the distance, Muis had been the youngest of five children, his parents indigenous farmers of some substance. They were pribumi, sons of the soil, whose forebears had occupied this land even before the Prophet Mohammed had walked the earth. Their holdings covered more than ten hectares of fertile fields, which in memory had rarely failed to produce two generous crops of rice each year. He remembered how laboriously his father and elder brother had toiled, and how envious their neighbors had been whenever harvests were completed. His family’s land had been blessed with rich, black, volcanic earth, their acreage greater than most other holdings in the district, including those belonging to local, and covetous, party officials.
Muis’ family had been deeply devoted to their Moslem faith, their lives governed in every way by the teachings of the Prophet, Mohammed. Each day, his parents would rise with false dawn, and complete their ablutions before attending to the first of their five daily prayer rituals. The children mimicked these habits without question, eagerly falling into line and habit while emulating their parents, as had generations before them. With religious rituals absorbed into routines, Muis’ life became totally immersed in faith and traditions, even when this subservience sometimes brought pain.
Custom dictated that all Moslem children be circumcised. Muis’ three sisters, who had all been cut not long after birth, remained chaste until fourteen, and were married and nursing their own children before achieving their fifteenth birthdays. Muis’ own circumcision ceremony had been a most painful affair. Taunted by the other children as to what he might expect, he would never forget his bloody sixth birthday when he and two other children were held, wide-eyed, their foreskins publicly removed according to Moslem tradition.
But generally, Abdul Muis’ early childhood had been idyllic in the isolated village community. He could always be found playing in the fields with the other children, catching tadpoles and dragonflies, or flying colorful kites, the seemingly endless summer days a young boy’s dream as Muis’ mind learned about life in this paradise setting.
At night he often lay awake listening to his father read from the Koran, or sit silently at his feet listening in awe to the captivating folklore he knew so well. Occasionally, he would accompany his sisters into the village proper, where they would sit through the night on hand-woven mats spread neatly under huge banyan trees. There, they would remain, engrossed, as visiting puppeteers related tales of the creation, of white and red monkeys, of evil and good spirits, all given meaning through their slow-dancing, wayang kulit shadow puppets. For Muis, life could not have been better.
* * * *
The village school was some distance from Muis’ home, accessed by walking carefully along slippery, narrow paths which meandered between lush, green rice paddies where he would often stop along the way, catching grasshoppers, or beetles, examining those things of interest which so easily satisfy a child’s inquisitive mind.
The inadequate, post-colonial Indonesian school system offered a basic curriculum in village schools. Lessons were presented by poorly-equipped, and grossly underpaid teachers, often in shanty-style buildings erected over meticulously-swept, foot-hardened dirt floors. The children were required to sit cross-legged on tikar mats, those with writing pads obliged to hold these in their laps as they scribbled or drew.
While the country’s population continued to grow at an alarming rate, adding millions to the already over-crowded system with each new year, schools operated morning and afternoon sessions to accommodate the rising demand. Muis was an attentive child, quick to learn and eager to add to his knowledge, these attributes soon coming to the attention of others in his environment. For many in this rural community, a formal education was not considered necessary, as empiric knowledge carried more value when tending matters of the land.
With an abundance of leisure time to fill and not particularly interested in returning home to assist his brother with the chores, Muis found other interests to occupy his mind. Encouraged to do so by his father, he filled in the empty hours reading that most precious of books, the Holy Koran.
It was not long before the young man earned the interest, and respect, of his elders, including the local ulamas. In a devoutly Moslem atmosphere Abdul Muis’ star first commenced its ascent, the influence of the Prophet Mohammed over his young, and receptive mind, most potent.
Muis continued to excel at school. At the age of ten, he was selected by the gurus to attend religious classes, a decision he would never regret.
As the years progressed, Abdul Muis became increasingly absorbed in his religion, determined by the age of fifteen, to dedicate his life to the study and advancement of Islam.
His father had never attended school, and although well versed in the Koran, the farmer was ambivalent towards his youngest son’s persistent pleas to be permitted to continue his Islamic studies. Muis sought the support of the local ulama, who interceded on his former student’s behalf, successfully convincing Muis’ father that his money would be well spent.
The older brother displayed no resentment whatsoever when Muis was granted his wish, and in 1965 they parted company, the
