Stories from Deli

The ax blows sounded muffled through the primeval forest. Tree after tree groaned and fell with a heavy blow, where for centuries the shade had kept the ground cool and moist.

Everything that had been impenetrable and inaccessible was exposed to the scorching rays of the sun. Towering forest giants of enormous size were made to tremble by sharp axes. They had to make way for the Hevea, with which acre after acre would be planted. The collapsed trunks lay wildly mixed up around me. Before me, stretched the dark forest that had been written to death. That day we pushed further forward. Our area was constantly growing and nature had to give up part of its untouched power area.

Far ahead, still protected by the dense forest, the monkeys screeched, as if protesting against the disturbance of their paradise.

Deep terrain infiltrations traversed this reclamation and it was hard, very hard to lead here all day long.

The work schedule had to be practical. The performance of the work people had to be topped out. However, safety should not be neglected.

With the chief mandur and mandur Sukarman I clambered up and down the slope, through trunks and branches. Two coolies dragged a measuring chain after us. Reports had to be submitted at the end of each month. The subsequent planting statement had to agree with the felling reports. Soaking wet from sweating and fatigued from hours and hours of lugging through difficult terrain, I sat down on a tree trunk and drank a few gulps of water from my field bottle. Bah, lukewarm. I envied the coolies who could drink the cool water from the trickle that made its way into the depths of the ravine. If I did, dysentery or typhus would inevitably result.

The chief mandur had sat down next to me and was smoking a stinking straw.

I looked at him from the side. Gray hair flaked out from under his headscarf beside the ears. His wrinkled, wiry face was, as usual, motionless and serious.

Sometimes the deep black eyes could flicker in the bridle, but often I saw them stiffen as if they saw sad histories in the distant past.

How long have you been working in the plantation Oedin, I asked. What did you do before?

The old Javaan stared before him for some time, nothing in his face betrayed what he was lost in thought about. A deep stroke of his straw was the only gesture with which he responded to my question.

He stared straight ahead, as if he saw a vision.

At last, he said softly, without taking his eyes away from the horizon, “Everything is the will of Allah, everything is predetermined.” I was silent on this soliloquy. You shouldn’t upset Oedin. After a few moments, he started again, as if speaking to himself.

I don’t know how old I am, how could I know? When my hair was still black and my skin was still smooth, I lived in the dessa, at the foot of a mountain from which came fire and smoke. My father was a farmer. He owned a beautiful paddy field and a carabao. Early in the morning, when the sun was still sleeping, my brother and I went with my father to plant rice. I was always allowed to carry the pat jol and Ramin the food and drink. Father never said much but worked all day long. Sometimes we were allowed to cross the dams and then the water would flow to the lower rice fields. Ramin was two years younger than me. It often happened that father took him home had to wear because he fell asleep in the field.

It was nice in our desa. Pa Kolot could tell nicely about the mountain spirit, of the hantus and of the poentianak, which stole children. That evening we listened to Pa Kolot; he knew everything.

Mother cooked the rice and took care of my little sister. She was still hanging in the slendang and could not speak yet. We all loved her very much. We were happy and not worried. Allah was good for us.

Here Oedin paused, his eyes dreaming in a hazy distance.

One day, he continued, the tuan Residen and the Wedana came to the desa. We were all called together and squatted at the feet of the Great Lord.

The tuan Residen pointed with his hand to the top of the mountain and said, clear the desa, flee before it is too late. Probably the fire will already break out tonight and destroy everything. Hear it thunder underfoot, see the ejection of the column of smoke. Large stones are thrown from the crater. I order all of you to go to the neighboring district and immediately.

The Wedana also urged us to hurry, we had to pack up the necessities and hurry.

Weeping and desperate, almost all the Dessa members obeyed this order. Packed and descended, they drove down the road, the children tied behind their backs.

But my father was not persuaded to leave his country. He did not want to leave his house and sawah.

How could the tuan Residen know that the mountain spirit was angry? Father had seen that column of smoke so many times. So often the desa was startled by that subterranean rumble. Father had lived here all his life and never before had the mountain spirit gone to destroy the surroundings. After all, fruit and a hen were laid at the foot of the mountain every Monday and Friday evening. Menjan sticks were regularly burned.

But if Allah had so ordained it… well, it would be so. Father stayed… and we with him.

At three o’clock it became pitch dark. The subterranean rumble had ceased, and the deserted dessa was dead quiet. The birds were silent. Not a breeze moved the tall bamboo branches.

Ramin and I sat frightened together, looking up at the sparkling shower that was continuously visible above and around the mountaintop.

Father squatted in front of our house and spoke to Mother in a whisper. She was scared, very scared. We kept hearing her pray; with sister pressed to her chest, she huddled to the side of the house.

We should just go to sleep, said father, nothing would happen. Father was handsome, he knew everything in the Koran. Although at this time the moon should illuminate the earth, it was now completely dark. An oppressive, pungent air penetrated the walls of the house. For a long time we kept our eyes open, listening to Mother’s prayers.

Ramin fell asleep first from exhaustion, and not long afterwards I closed my eyes too.

Suddenly the whole earth boomed. A thunderous sound woke me up. I felt everything stagger.

Sharp bangs followed in quick succession, and a cloud of ash and smoke entered my throat and nose.

I heard Mother scream. Our buffalo howled plaintively, trying to break free from the rope with which it was tied to the house. Without being able to see anything, I ran out the door. There was a noise behind me as if a river was chirping. I ran and stumbled on. Where to? I didn’t know. All around me, it thundered and shook. Creaking heavy trunks fell over the road. The air was stinging and almost prevented breathing.

I must have walked like this for hours, furious with fear. I was found lying unconscious, right next to the water of a little river that had burst its banks.

When I woke up, I was in a slant of a sugar company. There were hundreds of refugees here, but no one I knew. Wail and moan sounded everywhere. No one was paying attention to me, everyone was looking for their own children and who could bother with a little boy crying for his mother?

I put my fingers in my ears and remained motionless. Where was Ramin? Where was my sister? Father must have carried them away, father was oh so strong.

In the afternoon, a njonja took me with some other children to a neighboring desa. Here, far away, everything was strange to me.

At the lurah, where I had been delivered by the njonja, I was told that the mountain had spitfire during the night and had covered everything in the vicinity of our village with lava.

I never heard from my parents again. They were buried under the flow of lava or ashes.

The kampong head took me into his family. Pa Doelamoenasar and Ma Roes were good to me. Urip, their son, was two years older than me and very imperious. All the children in the kampung had to obey him because his father was lurah.

For years I put up with the teasing of Oerip. I had to do his job while he was smoking a cigarette. I did not dare to complain to his father, because he would beat and harass me later on, until I promised to remain silent from now on. One day, after I had worked hard to get the mushroom harvest in, the lurah was waiting for me when I got home.

Ten guilders had disappeared from his closet and Oerip claimed that he had seen me picking the lock last night. Under my sleeping mat he had also found the ring his mother had lost last month.

The lurah entertained me severely and in my firm denial he reproached me for being ungrateful. I must not forget that he had fed me for years. Parentless and almost without clothes I was admitted to him and as a thank you for this I rob my benefactors. I still remember crying at night with anger and grief. I hadn’t. Several times I had caught Oerip in petty thefts and was now convinced that he and no one else had committed the theft.

Where did he get the money he wasted with the other boys?

On my way to work the next day, I saw a group of friends arriving and going to the Vrijdagsmarkt. Urip was among them, and I saw clearly that he was pointing at me and talking about me.

He stopped me and spit in my face, he said to his friends, look, this bangsat was taken in as a bum and now he’s robbed my father. Well… well… again he spat in my face twice.

It turned red in my eyes. Blood rushed in my head and, yanking my knife from the belt, I thrust this, furious with anger, to the blade in Urip’s chest.

Horrified, the others moved aside, while Urip crashed on the road at my feet.

Throwing away the knife, I ran across the paddy field, soon chased by a screaming mob. The tongue tongue in the dessa was beaten as a sign that a murder had been committed. It was life and death and I managed to get a big lead over my pursuers.

Finally I could no longer, panting I fell into a wet paddy field and lay all day, half hidden under the mud. Nor did I dare to leave my hiding place that evening. My skin burned with millions of mosquito bites.

In the morning I dared to get up, I could not lie here. Fearful of hunger, I stumbled to a nearby dessa, where some women were stamping paddi.

An old woman looked at me carefully and told me to eat. I was hungry, I did not pay attention to the signs she gave some men, but greedily ate the rice offered.

When I got up, however, they grabbed me on all sides. Beaten fur and blue, I was bound and taken to the nearby police station.

Everybody out. Children and grown-ups called me all kinds of swear words.

More dead than alive I was locked up.

I don’t know how long this custody lasted, day and night were okay. I do know that no one got an answer from me, even the Blanda judges got nothing from me. Urip was dead, I had nothing more to say…

Here, Oedin paused. His hand was shaking and, probably without seeing anything, he stared straight ahead.

How did it go on, Oedin? How much were you punished? Lifetime. I worked on the chain for eighteen full years. Deep in the mines there was no daylight, at night we were shut together in dark pens. My hair has turned white there.

Why were you released?

After 18 years I was pardoned. I didn’t want to go back to Java and then went to Deli.

You paid heavily Oedin, don’t you regret your deed after so many years?

Regret? No why? I hated Urip. Now he’s dead. Allah has willed it so. So it was written. Now I am old and will die here…

What resignation. What a tragedy. Here, deep human suffering had been suffered by the carefree and happy girl who lost his family in a night of terror. Then for years he was under the yoke of the imperious Urip, until, exasperated by a false accusation, he grabbed the knife … the thought, “Allah wanted it so”…

Come on, Oedin, call the coolies, let’s go on.

After an hour of calculating and measuring, as well as mapping the cleared strip, we explored the terrain that had to be deforested in the coming month.

A few days before, a crew of Javanese had begun to cut rhinestones. These are straight, narrow paths, corresponding to the lines indicated on the map.

It was quite dark here under the high trees. The sun’s rays had no chance to pierce the dense canopy.

Oedin carefully walked ahead of me. With his parang he cut a doom branch here and there or alerted me to a hole. Strange idea, in fact, to walk here in solitude in a forest, which had never been entered by anyone before our arrival, with the only company being a convict who had undergone 18 years by chain sentence for murder.

With what peace of mind, however, I could rely on this man. I was convinced that he would defend my life with his in case of danger.

A loose dirt road crossed our rintis. It was the dried-up bed of a small stream that perhaps centuries ago had made its way through the primeval forest.

We climbed the rintis and followed the winding path, until after half an hour we reached the edge of the forest again, a few kilometers further than our starting point.

You have now seen the terrain Oedin. How much borong do you think you can give? Which mandates shall we start here? Ah could start with underwoods, 150 the paper men. Matsidik can then fell the heavier trees in borong kongsi. No, let Matsidik continue burning, that is also badly needed. If the rains come through, at least we’ll be clean. Let Mandur Ronowidjojo cut it.

Baik Tuan.

We call it a very cool forest. Immediately blew us towards a warm glow. –

This was three months ago cut down, so that the wood made by the glowing rays of the sun, was bone dry. An enormous mass of smoke darkened the sky. All around us it crackled and the flames flared up high.

The coolies enjoyed this work. Their half-naked brown bodies wriggled nimbly between the branches. They beat the dry wood with flaming torches. They quickly jumped back and forth. Like dancing devils, with black smoked faces, they shouted at each other. The fire continued to spread. The flames roared around them. The fire reached an area where dead bamboo trunks lay on top of each other. The heat caused the thick tubes to explode with sharp bangs. Dull heavy shots mingled with the cries of the coolies. One could imagine themselves on a battlefield. The smoke and heat grew unbearable. I backed away again to the protective edge of the forest.

You are lucky with the burning, it suddenly sounded next to me. Oh, you startled me, good afternoon, Mr. De Korte. Yes, it burns fine, it is also bone dry, you must reckon.

Do you pay attention to the wind direction? If the smoke blows yonder, the other coolies can no longer work. Oedin! Make those guys stop there. Rather light the right part.

A few minutes later, new columns of smoke took off. The fire eagerly threw itself on the assigned prey.

That always remains interesting, doesn’t it? I love to see such a great conflagration. In my assistant days, that was the nicest job I did.

Look at those guys, that’s a job for them. Call those guys back there. They’re pretty much boxed in, you fools! The fire will be out by tomorrow morning. Then let a team of about thirty men gather the wood scraps together and set fire again. The cleaner things burn away, the easier and cheaper we will soon be able to work.