Читать книгу The Fifth Season - Kerry B Collison - Страница 8

May 1989

The False Prophet

Shimmering, layered-mirages accompanied the windless, cloudless sky as the land below surrendered to the heat of the day, the once-fertile, but now cracked and spoiled paddy-fields silent evidence of the pestilence which had overtaken the scorched countryside. Rodents, grasshoppers, snakes and other unpleasant residents occupied their temporary haven, revelling in the absence of their natural enemy, man, content to feed in the shadows of his disaster.

Blistering sun burned its way through the dry, volcanic soil, leaving fields of desperation, barren because of nature’s irreversible effects. The land had become desolate; the farmers feared the one responsible they had come to know as El Nino as they struggled to preserve their beliefs, praying that this unwelcome stranger would soon depart their land, and permit their lesser gods to return. It was as if some angry stranger had cast a giant, unyielding, suffocating net across the nation. It would seem certain that they would all perish.

The seasons had become confused. Without warning, persistent, dry, equatorial skies tormented when there should have been rain. Evening storms, which once signaled the Pancaroba, mysteriously vanished, taking with them their thunderous cries which heralded the fall of life-giving rain. These ominous signs cast doubt, then fear, as the fertile valleys of Java became dry, and the descendants of those who had migrated to the tropical paradise millenniums before, suddenly became afraid as their beliefs failed, and their gods deserted them.

As the winds of change swept through remnants of these ancient Javanese kingdoms once known as Nusantara, there were those who were reminded of the Twelfth Century prophecies of Joyoboyo, and his predictions of the five kings.

“The kingdom of Java would be subjected to claim by a fair-skinned race. The first of two kings would rise and lead his people from their four centuries of serfdom. Another would be born at that time to release the people from their spiritual bondage. A third would appear from the shadows, as a thief in the night, and feed his family from the fat of the land. Then, in chaos, a weak prince, not of their blood, would be anointed by others to stand in their place.

As the kingdom 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 family proud of their youngest as he bid farewell, and departed for the provincial capital of Surabaya. There, Muis had settled down, diligently pursuing his quest at the Faculty of Islamic Studies. Then, as the year entered its final quarter, disaster had struck when Indonesia had plunged into darkness as word of the failed October Communist coup d’etat, spread through the country.

The President had come under pressure to resign. Rumors suggesting that Beijing had sent weapons to support the communist cadres, galvanized the army into action. The deaths of five senior ABRI officers shocked the nation and, as their slaughter took place on China’s national day, innuendo soon turned to accusation, and the Indonesian ethnic Chinese became victims of ignorance yet again. They were attacked on the streets and in their homes, their shops were burned, these events precipitating a mass exodus to Singapore and Hong Kong. For those unfortunates who were obliged to remain behind, their world was constantly filled with fear.

In the ensuing leadership vacuum, opportunists seized control of the military and commenced their reign of terror. Supported by an American Administration eager to see Indonesia cleanse itself of Communism, General Sarwo Eddie, the Butcher of Java, swung into action, his troops conducting their own cleansing campaign throughout the island, resulting in more than five hundred thousand being murdered. The general’s putsch through rural communities cost the country dearly as villagers were indiscriminately targeted, and families turned on each other, settling old scores in the most brutal way. With the annihilation of entire communities, century-old villages disappeared, unfounded accusations of complicity with communist groups sufficient to warrant immediate dispatch, with no mercy shown even to children.

As well established farmers, Abdul Muis’ father and brother often had cause to deal with local Chinese traders. They were also members of the village land committee responsible for arbitration over local disputes. The village lurah, or chief, had innocently listed their small association with the powerful Partai Komunis Indonesia, hoping for their support in land-related matters. As a consequence, when the blood-letting commenced, envious neighbors informed the newly established anti-Communist vigilante squads that the wealthy farmers who controlled the fertile lands in their midst were, in fact, communist sympathizers and friendly with the Chinese community.

An early morning raid left Muis’ father, mother, and brother dead, their headless bodies discovered dumped down a well. His three sisters, together with their offspring, all perished when Sarwo Eddie’s butchers arrived and cleansed the area of any remaining signs of communist roots, or ties.

Two months passed before Muis was to learn of what had transpired in his village. He had written, asking for his father to send more funds, and when his second request also went unanswered, he caught a bus and returned home. The discovery of his family’s demise sent Muis into shock.

By then marauding gangs had taken control over the countryside, as the Republic teetered on the brink of anarchy. He went to the local authorities but was shunned. It was then that he was informed that his family’s land had been seized by the government. When he complained, the self-proclaimed local military head had ordered Muis to return to Surabaya or face charges of sedition. Without compensation, and without any form of income, Muis returned to college and laid his case before the faculty head who, out of consideration for the brilliant young student’s talent, took him under his wing and nurtured Muis though his remaining days at the university.

The following three years did little to ease his pain nor relieve the festering hate which dominated much of his conscious mind, growing in intensity, while the rest of his countrymen struggled with their own demons and ghosts and the legacy of those horrific times. Muis became inflamed as the country emerged from its perilous era, disgusted that the United States-sanctioned New Order discouraged the growth of Moslem unity through political representation, and was incensed with the rapid spread of Catholicism and other religious faiths throughout the archipelago.

It did not go unnoticed as he became more radical in his views, that the Christian religions were making startling inroads into what were predominantly Moslem communities. He seethed when he witnessed foreign missionaries, mainly youngsters of U.S. origins blatantly canvassing the country’s streets with bibles in hand, their insidious intrusion adding to his hate for all things American. He observed that the majority of Christians were of ethnic Chinese descent, and Muis clearly felt their presence, their beliefs and customs, a direct threat to his own, and in his confused mind, responsible for his family’s demise.

Devoted, Muis totally immersed himself in his religious studies. The more he learned, the more he became convinced that Indonesia would never have suffered the calamitous events of recent years had the country followed the teachings of the Prophet and believed in The One and True God and remained pure to His Ways. Muis became determined that the lintah-darat, the blood-sucking, usurious Chinese bankers who conducted their business in contradiction to Islamic teachings, should all be destroyed.

Upon graduation, he had revisited his village. There, he discovered that ownership of his father’s fields had changed hands yet again, and was now the property of the local loan sharks. He was mortified to learn that these were not only Chinese, but members of the flourishing Christian community now well established in the nearby town where they had recently constructed their church. Overcome with anger, he had returned to Surabaya where, under his mentor’s guidance, he established his own religious forum for others as disgruntled as he, and within that month, declared the existence of Indonesia’s newest Islamic organization, the Mufti Muharam.

Abdul Muis now had his vehicle to drive Indonesian Christians into the sea, and extract retribution for what he believed those associated with the Church had done to his family. He roamed the countryside speaking at Mosques and schools, his messages of hate cleverly disguised, but warmly received. Muis’ following grew at an alarming rate, reaching five hundred thousand within the first year, five million during the next, the exponential growth continuing until the Mufti Muharam finally achieved a membership of thirty million Moslems. His dream of an Islamic state finally within reach, Muis set about cultivating a relationship with the Indonesian leadership.

* * * *

The country was clearly controlled by ABRI, the nation’s military. They in turn, followed the dictates of the aging President, Suhapto. Muis made several approaches to ingratiate himself with the First Family, but was rebuffed, his chagrin such, Muis swore he would one day settle that score.

Patiently he waited for his opportunity to strike, and this, ironically, was delivered to him by the President’s ambitious, and impatient son-in-law, General Praboyo. When it became quite clear to all that President Suhapto had never intended relinquishing his crown, Muis moved to position himself for the day when Suhapto’s indisputable and powerful grip on the country finally passed to another.

Abdul Muis understood the importance of securing international support for his strategies. An Islamic state would require recognition from the Arab nations and although he believed this would be forthcoming once he had demonstrated his strengths, he examined the possibilities of establishing dialogue with Middle East leaders, arranging frequent visits to their shores. It was during one such visit to Iran, that Abdul Muis fell under the influence of the Ayatollahs and their militant persuasions.

He became convinced that Indonesia, as the world’s largest Moslem community, should never have fallen behind other nations technologically.

He sincerely believed that his country would one day be threatened by its giant neighbors, Communist China and India, both nations boasting populations in excess of one billion, both countries possessing nuclear capabilities. Muis had also come to learn that it was United States’ vested interests which had prevented Indonesia from developing its own, defensive nuclear capabilities.

Under his leadership, Abdul Muis would ensure that the Indonesian people would enjoy freedom from the fear of nuclear attack, simply by arming his nation with the technology offered by his new allies, Iran, Iraq and Osama bin Ladam.

* * * *

As Muis sat pondering the future, his thoughts were interrupted by the distant cry of a bird as it winged its way across his field of vision. He looked up, surprised, and identified the fierce, black shape, then stood, waving his arms and shouting as the crow balked and changed direction.

Although devoutly religious, Muis’ childhood had been peppered with village superstition. The despised crow not only wreaked havoc during harvest, and terrified children with their deep-throated cries, their presence was associated with evil and peasant folklore warned that these black couriers carried messages from the damned.

Unhappy with the ominous sign, Muis frowned, undertaking to have the local dukun conduct a selamatan to cleanse his property of any evil spirits before the first stone to his retreat had been laid. With that , Haji Abdul Muis strolled back to the waiting car and returned to the splendid mansion that was his in Surabaya.