ominous grating noise, momentarily startling the seventy- year-old.The woman’s frail figure belied her true strength as she shuffled slowly past tall, white-washed walls towards the colonial villa’s entrance. Her well-armed driver followed closely, ready to spring to her aid should the need arise. As they moved slowly along the crushed stone path she hesitated, then reached out and picked a small bunch of white and yellow frangipani which hung low on the tree. The aroma obviously pleased her as she turned and smiled, before passing the flowers to the driver. They continued towards the entrance where a number of men waited, their hands clasped in traditional welcome gesture. Satisfied that she was in safe hands, the driver returned to stand by the limousine.
‘Selamat datang, Ibu,’ the men greeted, edging aside as she stepped through the doorway, nodding courteously. They moved, with solemn gait, into the main guest lounge area where a number of white-clad, male servants fussed over the guests, before discreetly retiring to their own accommodations. It was not until the customary pleasantries had been observed and tea taken that the host, one of Indonesia’s most prominent Moslems and senior adviser to the Ulama Akbar leadership, addressed those gathered, in sotto voce.
‘We welcome you back, Ibu, ’ he commenced, smiling at the elderly lady who sat comfortably, in the well-cushioned rattan chair. ‘It is regrettable that this meeting has required you to travel alone, and so far from your home. It would seem however that your efforts are to bear fruit, subject of course to your son’s agreement concerning our requests, as discussed during our last meeting.’
The General’s mother returned Haji Muhammad Malik’s smile, but there was little warmth in her heart as she did so, for this was the meeting about which she had agonized for so many months, before finally agreeing to her son’s request. His image came to mind, and she paused, sipping from the thimble-sized teacup before responding.
‘Pak Malik,’ she commenced, looking at each of the four men in turn, ‘we have given a great deal of thought to what you have proposed. I am pleased to inform you that the General accepts your kind offer.’ She hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. ‘But to be honest with you, as a mother, I am not entirely at ease that this alliance will be without risk to my son.’
She could see from their expressions that her candor was unexpected.
‘Then, of course, the issue of my personal religious differences, must still be resolved.’ She had prayed that they might reconsider earlier demands and would not still insist that surrendering her own faith remain a prerequisite to their agreement. But, she knew in her heart, that these hard-line religious leaders would not consummate the relationship unless she converted. Had it not been for her son, she would never have considered such an unreasonable request. Habit directed her fingers gently upwards where they touched her neck in search of reassurance; the platinum cross she had worn since childhood had been removed, whilst dressing in preparation for this meeting, and placed in the safety of her purse.
‘Madame, we ask your understanding in this matter. Your current position has presented us with some resistance amongst our colleagues,’ Haji Abdul Muis advised, his soft voice almost inaudible to her ears. ‘The question must then be, would you accept embracing Islam? ’ The General’s mother turned her head slightly, and looked directly at the aloof and unsmiling figure. She knew that the support of Abdul Muis’s following of thirty million was essential to her son’s success. She would need to show subservience to this man.
‘Yes,’ she said, with rehearsed conviction, ‘if that is the price to be paid, then yes, I would convert to Islam.’ The Ibu observed from the immediate change in their demeanor that they were all pleased, albeit surprised, at her commitment to abandon her Christian beliefs. Previously, she had been adamant, and stubbornly refused to even consider such a notion.
‘Then you may inform your son that when the time arrives, he may count on both the Ulama Akbar and the Mufti Muharam,’ Malik declared, his statement accompanied by confirmatory nods from the others. The Haji rose slowly and held her hand warmly, signaling that he understood the sacrifice she had agreed to make, a sacrifice which would guarantee their support for her ambitious son.
Satisfied, General Praboyo’s mother departed their company, saddened by the knowledge that she must fulfill her pledge to abandon her own faith, and embrace the teachings of Islam in order to secure the support of the country’s powerful Moslem parties.
As her Mercedes drove slowly away, she stoically accepted that her actions that day could easily precipitate the beginning of the end of the current Indonesian leadership.
She sighed, dabbing at the dry corners of her eyes, wondering why it was so difficult for an old woman to cry. She dismissed the cloud of depression which threatened, closing her weary eyes to again consider the consequences of the new alliance.
With frail, shaking hands, she opened her well-worn purse and retrieved the delicate cross hidden there. General Praboyo’s mother then lowered her head, and prayed for forgiveness; and for what she knew in her heart, would most surely now transpire.
* * * *
East Java - Situbondo – December, 1997
Second-corporal Suparman waited impatiently for the signal to move. His hands moved nervously in the darkness and found the haversack containing the deadly cocktails. Reassured, he continued to listen for the others’ voices as he lay hidden at the edge of the field. Rain filled clouds moved silently across the evening sky blanketing the moonlight and Suparman sensed that the attack was imminent, as darkness enveloped their surrounds. Habit forced his hands to check the lower leg pockets of his battle-dress, but then he remembered that they had changed out of their uniforms as the mission directives required.
This would be a civilian raid.
‘Let’s go!’ his Sergeant hissed, sending eight half-crouched men running along the soggy rain-water drain towards a number of barely visible buildings, the structures’ silhouettes confused to the marauders’ eyes, in the absence of light. They had covered more than a hundred meters when their leader’s voice snapped again.
‘Get down!’ Suparman heard the NCO’s command and the team threw themselves against the embankment, waiting for whatever it was that moved towards them along the narrow, bitumen road. Moments passed before they continued cautiously towards their target in file, listening for sounds which might be out of place here in the dark. Frogs croaked, a worrying sign that rain might interfere with their mission, but Suparman was more concerned with the filthy, slimy, colorfully ringed, deadly poisonous snakes which slid around in the night, preying on the noisy creatures.
The soldiers hurried across the road and came to rest less than fifty meters from the buildings, where they spent several more minutes determining where the civilian security guards slept.
‘To the left of the smaller building,’ a corporal indicated, pointing to where a soft, fifteen watt globe burned inside what they knew to be the sleeping quarters. Sergeant Subandi squinted, concentrating on the buildings, then cursed silently, swatting whatever insect had attached itself to his face.
‘Suparman,’ the NCO whispered for all to hear, ‘take Dedi and two others, and hit the church from there.’ He pointed to the walls farthest from where the tenants slept. ‘You,’ he ordered, placing his hand on the corporal’s shoulder, ‘take the others and approach from behind.’ The corporal raised his eyebrows questioningly, but this went unseen in the dark.
‘What about them?’ he asked, moving his free hand closer to the sergeant’s face
