The Fifth Season (2 page)

A hushed calm permeated the eager assembly, silencing soft whispers of disbelief that the rumors had any substance. The President moved forward slowly, his
fatigue apparent as he removed his glasses and gently rubbed troubled eyes.

From Jakarta to Washington and across the Atlantic to Europe, tens of millions sat transfixed to their television screens mesmerized, as another ancient
prophecy was fulfilled, when the former general announced that he would step
down from office immediately, ending his thirty-two year reign over the world's
largest Moslem nation, the Republic of Indonesia.

Moments later, with the world as his witness, the Javanese ruler stepped back
from center stage, smiled tiredly, and surrendered the country to his deputy.

Holding the Holy Koran and clutching his over-sized pici nervously, Mr.
L.B. Hababli was sworn in and became the Indonesian President, rendering
most observers speechless at the speed with which the transfer of power had been
effected.

The seeds had been sown; the bitter harvest inevitable. Indonesian women
of ethnic Chinese origins would learn to mark this day as the beginning of their
journey into hell.

*  *  *  *

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.”

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.