Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison
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you, Papa.’
Jonathan Dau’s arms dropped to his side. ‘Then we should proceed.’
Angela closed her eyes, drawing the crisp mountain air into her lungs, then followed her father slowly into the candle-lit cave where the ritual would be held. She knelt on her knees, head bowed and hands clasped together, senses heightened as flickering shadows danced against stone-carved walls and incense drifted through their sacred surrounds.
‘Are you ready, my daughter?’ And with Angela’s response, the shaman sprinkled sacred dust he had gathered, over her head.
‘Say as I say,’ he directed, shifting his role to that of dukun and the young woman obeyed, repeating the words her father articulated, the rhythmic hum of their mantra resonating throughout the chamber as the initiation process began, carrying both into trancelike state, through the door of the spirit world.
Angela floated, her mind filled with promise as she parted with her physical presence. Unburdened by weightlessness and enveloped by a climate of well being, Angela soared into the heavens through space and time until her spirit was touched by the Supreme Being and endowed with the powers of a Kaharingan dukun. Then, escorted by guardian spirits, she was taken to the holiest of shrines where her head was taken from her body and her eyes washed, so that she could see her own death – the process of being dismembered and born again. Angela witnessed her skeleton being dismantled with her flesh cut up into pieces and thrown to the four corners of the world, to be eaten by the demons of sickness, so she would know these diseases and have the power to combat them, her dismemberment strengthening the right to cure. When the spirits rebuilt her body one small bone was deliberately discarded, to reflect her human imperfection.
Finally, she fell, descending into the depths of hell where she came face to face with the master of the Deep Worlds, so she would recognize this challenger when confronted in future battles for the souls of the dead, in determining their final dwelling place. She summoned her inner strength and called upon her guardian, the divine bird spirit to carry her away from the evil abode, the giant hornbill answering her call, transporting Angela back to rejoin her earthly presence, as the initiation was done.
Angela returned from the induced state, accompanied by her father’s reassuring chants, filled with wonderment at the passage she had made – and the gift that had been bestowed upon her.
‘You have been blessed, my child,’ she heard Jonathan Dau say, ‘from this day on you will carry with you, the shaman’s secrets.’
She peered outside and, to her amazement, was greeted by the morning sun’s first rays spilling over distant crests, lighting the new day. Angela gazed up at her father and smiled, understanding now what it was that he saw, that others could not. And, in reverent gesture, she lifted his right hand to her lips, to thank him.
****
Angela had reminded her father of his promise to reveal what lay further into the cave. Now, part of her wished she had not, the reason for her taciturn behavior as they retraced their steps through the forest.
‘Even if your mother were alive, you could not reveal what lies here before you,’ Jonathan had warned her. Angela had been led through the naturally disguised passage, their way lit by hand-held candles as they advanced through the rocky corridor, twisting and turning for more than twenty meters, before entering yet another large, naturally formed cavern. Her father had turned and blocked her view as she entered the inner sanctum, reminding Angela that she was the first of her gender ever to set foot in this most sacred place. ‘Until the time arrives for you to initiate your own son or daughter, you may not reveal this location to any other.’ He had then stepped away and, holding burning candles high above his head, proudly revealed the gallery lined with skulls. Angela eyes absorbed the scene, struck by the enormity of what lay before her.
‘Are they…?’ Angela’s mouth became suddenly dry as her eyes darted along the rows of skulls, carefully arranged in some sort of order. ‘Are they… very old?’ she managed to ask.
‘Most,’ her father replied, approaching one fine fellow, whose skull enjoyed a place of pride, resting atop a pole. ‘This one was a white man,’ Angela detected a touch of mirth in her father’s voice, ‘but, you wouldn’t know it now!’
‘Who…?’ She struggled to ask, the Dayak chief coming to her aid.
‘Your great-great grandfather started this collection, and our family has maintained the practice, ever since.’
‘Headhunting?’ Angela’s voice was close to breaking.
‘Yes, almost as far back as time reaches,’ he answered solemnly. ‘Many of these were moved to this location when the Dutch missionaries commenced sweeping through our communities, seizing such trophies.’
‘Papa, please tell me. Have…have you…?’ the words spilled from her mouth. She dreaded his response.
‘When it’s been necessary, ’Gela,’ he said, unemotionally, using the diminutive form of her name.
‘Recently?’ she pressed, apprehensively.
‘When the situation demanded.’
‘But, why?’ she asked, unable to take her eyes off the staggering number of skulls, some of which were stacked in one corner, the pile more than a meter high.
‘Retribution, retaliation, revenge, honor, prestige…all of those things.’
‘But we’re almost in the Twenty-first Century!’
‘That won’t change the way men feel towards each other. People will continue to kill each other.The manner in which they extract satisfaction is of no consequence.’
‘Papa, do you intend to continue with this practice?’ she desperately wished to know, her shaky voice signally Jonathan that it was time to leave.
‘If I do, Angela, it will be ordained by the spirits.’ The mild reproof
was sufficient caution, Angela immediately recognizing that she had gone too far.
Confounded by his revelations, Angela knew then that she would never be able to look at her father again without wondering how many of the hollowed skeletal trophies had arrived there by his hand. Then, as they made their way back through the forest Angela gradually convinced herself that it was not her role to lament the perversity of her father and their ancestors’ acts – that, although her father’s display of the darker side of her heritage had been unsettling, he had shown that there would be no secrets between them and, for that, she should be grateful. The further they moved away from the mountain, the more relaxed Angela became with the discovery that her own father had hunted heads, troubled only by the question, would he do it again?
****
Jonathan Dau was in no way concerned with his daughter’s self-imposed silence as they retraced their steps through the dense forest. Angela was still young and had much to learn. He recalled his own reaction to the secret repository when he had been indoctrinated by his father and shown the inner cave. As this memory came to mind the shaman’s hand dropped to his waist, reassured when his fingers touched the golok’s carved handle, the machete handed down from his father. Jonathan knew that this weapon had accounted for a number of heads; his father had proudly imparted this knowledge on numerous occasions, during community gatherings in their village longhouse when ageing warriors boasted of their kills.
The Penehing villagers had kept their twenty-five year secret, the withered, white man’s skull never displayed openly. His father had removed the helicopter pilot’s head after the Bell clipped the forest’s treetops and crashed. Incredibly, the pilot had staggered away from the wreckage only to be slain by the Dayak chief who, along with the others in their isolated community, had never seen such an aircraft, let alone had one drop from the sky. Terrified, the village chief had bravely slain