And Bulan dances..
And Bulan dances..
By Anton Kurnia
I have heard several different accounts of my father and
mother. One of them was told to me by my grandmother.
It goes like this: My father and my uncle were identical
twins. Their parents gave them exotic Javanese names -- Sugriwa
for my father and Subali for my uncle.
They resembled each other physically, temperamentally, and
even their voices were alike. So it was no easy matter to tell
them apart.
Moreover, there existed between them a peculiar bond. If one
of them fell ill, the other would fall ill also.
In the common phrase, they were like two halves of the same
apple.
When they grew into adulthood they went into business.
At the age of twenty they moved to Bali from their little town
in southern Central Java.
There they opened up a textile business. They sold various
products: songket (cloth with golden embroidery), shawls, cotton
cloth, batik, silk, earthenware, etc.
My father settled in Denpasar and would send my uncle on
business trips to the other cities in Bali.
After some time, my father fell in love with a girl named Ayu
Bulantresna, or Bulan, a dancer in a pura, Balinese temple.
Besides performing ritual dances, she was also an acolyte in the
temple.
She was a hot-blooded, dark-skinned girl with an incredible
figure, long black hair, and beautiful doe eyes accentuated by
slender eyebrows.
I can picture Bulan, my mother, dancing seductively to the
music of gamelan, a loud but monotonous music, a music of
mysterious significance, concentrating in itself all the secrets
and passions of the people of Bali.
As she performs her rhythmic steps, the consecrated movements
of the temple dance, Bulan unfolds like the petals of a flower.
What a hypnotizing effect all of this must have had upon my
father.
Above all, the experience could only have been enhanced by the
acrid, peppery smell of her sweat mingling with the sandalwood
oil she wore on her body and other perfumes redolent of the
essences of exotic trees that arouse sensations that slumbered
hitherto in the depths of the consciousness.
All these things revived distant, dead memories in my father's
mind.
He fell in love with Bulan, so deeply in love that he embraced
the dancing girl's religion.
After some time, she became pregnant and was discharged from
the temple.
Soon my uncle returned to Denpasar from one of his trips.
Apparently, when it came to women, as in all other matters, his
reactions were identical to my father's.
He fell passionately in love with my mother and consequently
seduced her.
Because of his physical resemblance to my father this was not
difficult for him to achieve.
As soon as she learned the truth, my mother said that she
would never again have anything to do with either of them unless
they agreed to undergo "trial by snake."
If they agreed to the trail, she would belong to the one who
survived.
The trial consisted of the following. My father and my uncle
would be enclosed together in a dark room in which a poisonous
snake had been let loose. The first of them to be bitten by the
snake would open the door of the room and take the other out to
safety.
Before the two were shut up in the room, my father asked Bulan
if she would perform the sacred temple dance for him one more
time.
She agreed to do so.
Outside, twilight faded into night. Denpasar was enveloped in
total darkness except for the dim light of the moon that shone
through the fleecy clouds, casting a pale light over the streets.
And, under the moonlight, Bulan danced, with her significant,
measured, gliding movements. Bulan danced, with her bosom bare,
her slanting eyes black as the dark night of eternity, swaying
this way and that. As she performed her rhythmic steps, Bulan
unfolded like the petals of a flower. Each movement had a precise
meaning and spoke a language not of words.
Then my father and uncle were shut up in the room with the
snake.
Instead of shrieks of horror, what the listeners heard was a
groan mixed with wild, bestial laughter.
When the door finally opened, my uncle stumbled out of the
room.
His face was ravaged and he looked considerably older now. The
terror aroused by the sound of the snake's body as it slid across
the floor, its furious hissing, its glittering eyes, the thought
of its poisonous fangs, the horror of all this drove him mad.
In accordance with the terms of the agreement, however, Bulan
belonged to my uncle now.
The frightful thing was that the "trial" had deranged my
uncle's mind and he was never the same after that.
Could it be this story has some strange bearing upon my
personal history, and that the horror of the "trial by snake" has
left its imprint on my soul and is somehow pertinent to my own
destiny?
By Anton Kurnia
I have heard several different accounts of my father and
mother. One of them was told to me by my grandmother.
It goes like this: My father and my uncle were identical
twins. Their parents gave them exotic Javanese names -- Sugriwa
for my father and Subali for my uncle.
They resembled each other physically, temperamentally, and
even their voices were alike. So it was no easy matter to tell
them apart.
Moreover, there existed between them a peculiar bond. If one
of them fell ill, the other would fall ill also.
In the common phrase, they were like two halves of the same
apple.
When they grew into adulthood they went into business.
At the age of twenty they moved to Bali from their little town
in southern Central Java.
There they opened up a textile business. They sold various
products: songket (cloth with golden embroidery), shawls, cotton
cloth, batik, silk, earthenware, etc.
My father settled in Denpasar and would send my uncle on
business trips to the other cities in Bali.
After some time, my father fell in love with a girl named Ayu
Bulantresna, or Bulan, a dancer in a pura, Balinese temple.
Besides performing ritual dances, she was also an acolyte in the
temple.
She was a hot-blooded, dark-skinned girl with an incredible
figure, long black hair, and beautiful doe eyes accentuated by
slender eyebrows.
I can picture Bulan, my mother, dancing seductively to the
music of gamelan, a loud but monotonous music, a music of
mysterious significance, concentrating in itself all the secrets
and passions of the people of Bali.
As she performs her rhythmic steps, the consecrated movements
of the temple dance, Bulan unfolds like the petals of a flower.
What a hypnotizing effect all of this must have had upon my
father.
Above all, the experience could only have been enhanced by the
acrid, peppery smell of her sweat mingling with the sandalwood
oil she wore on her body and other perfumes redolent of the
essences of exotic trees that arouse sensations that slumbered
hitherto in the depths of the consciousness.
All these things revived distant, dead memories in my father's
mind.
He fell in love with Bulan, so deeply in love that he embraced
the dancing girl's religion.
After some time, she became pregnant and was discharged from
the temple.
Soon my uncle returned to Denpasar from one of his trips.
Apparently, when it came to women, as in all other matters, his
reactions were identical to my father's.
He fell passionately in love with my mother and consequently
seduced her.
Because of his physical resemblance to my father this was not
difficult for him to achieve.
As soon as she learned the truth, my mother said that she
would never again have anything to do with either of them unless
they agreed to undergo "trial by snake."
If they agreed to the trail, she would belong to the one who
survived.
The trial consisted of the following. My father and my uncle
would be enclosed together in a dark room in which a poisonous
snake had been let loose. The first of them to be bitten by the
snake would open the door of the room and take the other out to
safety.
Before the two were shut up in the room, my father asked Bulan
if she would perform the sacred temple dance for him one more
time.
She agreed to do so.
Outside, twilight faded into night. Denpasar was enveloped in
total darkness except for the dim light of the moon that shone
through the fleecy clouds, casting a pale light over the streets.
And, under the moonlight, Bulan danced, with her significant,
measured, gliding movements. Bulan danced, with her bosom bare,
her slanting eyes black as the dark night of eternity, swaying
this way and that. As she performed her rhythmic steps, Bulan
unfolded like the petals of a flower. Each movement had a precise
meaning and spoke a language not of words.
Then my father and uncle were shut up in the room with the
snake.
Instead of shrieks of horror, what the listeners heard was a
groan mixed with wild, bestial laughter.
When the door finally opened, my uncle stumbled out of the
room.
His face was ravaged and he looked considerably older now. The
terror aroused by the sound of the snake's body as it slid across
the floor, its furious hissing, its glittering eyes, the thought
of its poisonous fangs, the horror of all this drove him mad.
In accordance with the terms of the agreement, however, Bulan
belonged to my uncle now.
The frightful thing was that the "trial" had deranged my
uncle's mind and he was never the same after that.
Could it be this story has some strange bearing upon my
personal history, and that the horror of the "trial by snake" has
left its imprint on my soul and is somehow pertinent to my own
destiny?