The Fifth Season. Kerry B Collison
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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