Kampar Calamity

Kampar Calamity

By Hudri Hamdi

Abang was very busy working when I first stepped into Kampar.
Together with his fellow workers, Abang was busy sawing up a
giant tree in this eerie wilderness close to Pekanbaru, Sumatera.
They were working very energetically; beads of perspiration
dripping from their bodies. All the while they were singing
merrily to the movement of the saw. The sound of the singing and
the saw was echoing from other places in Kampar, as far as my
eyes could see. At the eastern corner the workers were busy
cleaning the rest of the leaves from the branches. These branches
- and they were not small ones - were scattered everywhere. They
were jumbled up with the scattered leaves, forming a green carpet
on the hilly land. Both big and small logs were strewn on the
ground. But at the western corner the logs were neatly arranged
where a truck was ready to transport them.

And it was the giant tree, just as the sun was about to set in
the west, which was the source of the calamity for Abang. When
the tree was about to fall, a strong wind suddenly swept the area
and I screamed loudly, "Watch out, Mas!" And Abang instantly ran
to avoid it. So did his fellow workers. The tree fell with a
thunder. But one of its branches ... precisely at that moment a
thunder broke from the cloudy sky.

Putri wanted Abang, his fellow workers said. More comments
came from other workers.

"Last night she took Marno, but she is not satisfied yet."

"Damn Putri. What does she want?"

"Poor Mu'id."

"Yes, poor guy."

"I hope he can recover from this."

"We should not forget to pray before working."

"We should always remind them to pray, Mas."

"Yes, we must remind each other."

***

Broken bones or crushed bones or instant deaths under fallen
trees in the eerie jungle did not only happen once or twice.
Accidents had become a common occurrence there. In addition,
there were workers who were shredded, eaten by savage Sumateran
tigers. Abang almost died last year when the king of the jungle
suddenly appeared at the tent's door ...

So far, sixteen out of one hundred and twenty workers had been
unlucky. Three people were ripped apart by tigers; they died in
an instant; and thirteen people collapsed under giant trees. And
Abang was one of the victims. His hip was broken. At that time I
could hear Abang whimper, "Agghh ...!" His body convulsed for a
moment, his face buried in the chest and soon after his body
became motionless. Abang was laying sprawled, his condition was
heart-wrenching. I grit my teeth. And I was unable to hold back
my tears among the throng of small workers, small people, noble
people who had a strong sense of solidarity.

And Abang's unlucky fate apparently was an endless one. Three
months had passed and he had not yet recovered from the wound.
The surgery to connect his bone using a piece of platinum seemed
unable to re-attach the broken parts. His flesh was rotting. The
gap in the bone caused him extraordinary pain whenever he moved.
His face was contorted with the pain every time he moved the
wounded part of his body.

Abang, oh, Abang. Abang was very unlucky.
There was no room for pity. In search of a livelihood he had
ended up with a burden. But my admiration for him had not
diminished. Although he used a stick and suffered, his smile had
not left him. And he continued to care for his family. It was
Abang who paved the way for his younger brothers to work,
creating jobs, saving up money, preaching harmony and keeping his
working spirit high. Urip musti gawe, was a piece of his advice
which I always keep in mind. But for Abang, Kampar seemed very
cruel. It did not know pity. Meanwhile, Pekanbaru was no longer
sensitive to moans to allow me to express my deepest feelings. I
hated this weak feeling, this dull feeling. But now I felt like I
had been crushed to pieces.

On my second arrival Pekanbaru still did not smile. It did not
offer any hospitality. It was as if it was putting aside any
restlessness and sadness. Pekanbaru was not satisfied with
Abang's broken leg. It wasn't satisfied with moaning. Complaints
that had been lodged for months passed like the wind before
Gulliver's eyes. A response came only after the small people
managed to convince Gulliver of the real situation in Kampar.
But, Abang's greatness did not subside. His attention for his
family remained as before.

"How are Mother and Sri?" Abang asked in the hospital, before
he underwent more surgery.

"They are fine, Mas."

"Do they still run the warung?"

"Yes, they do, Mas."

Abang nodded.

"Is Mother still sickly?"

"No, she isn't. She only had a cough and a cold two weeks ago.
Now she has recovered."

"Praise God," Abang nodded, relieved.

"Does the becak still run?"

"Yes, it does, Mas. Wasdi runs it."

"Does Marlan still hawk his goods?"

"Yes, he does, Mas. He sells bamboo baskets, fans, rice
steamer, etc."

"Then what do you do?"

"Well, like you told me to, I make bamboo handicrafts. Like
the goods Marlan sells. I also drive the becak, sometimes."

Abang nodded.

"Are you in good health?"

"Praise God, I'm in good condition. Pray for me, Man, that I
recover immediately."

Abang's great attention to the family was beyond doubt. All
the family's activities at home in Gresik started with the money
Abang routinely sent every month. The activities then became a
kind of business and developed. The house which it at first was a
hut had changed gradually. Part of its wall was now made of
planks. Another part had a brick wall. And the stall which at
first was part of the house was now in front, in the yard. Abang
had not once seen this renovation.

It was not an exaggeration if I called Abang a pioneer, like a
hawk which remembers its net, although his first job was as a
becak driver. Yes, a becak driver! The becak belonged to juragan
Tohir. Abang took the double rental fee system. If he paid the
daily rental fee of Rp 1,000, the becak would remain with his
employer. But, if he paid Rp 2,000 a day for five months, the
becak would be his. And Wasdi has been driving the becak since
Abang left for Sumatera. So did I, although rarely. It is Wasdi
who often drives the becak. We remember our Abang's advice: Be
grateful if you are paid a small fee. The main thing is to pedal
and pedal the becak. God be with people who are grateful, Abang
said. The result, praise God, has not been not bad. We collect
some money everyday.

We never fail to deposit the money in the rural savings unit
of a state-owned bank. The savings from the becak, the stall and
the handicrafts business could be used to propose marriage. All
three brides at once: mine, Wasdi's, and Abang's. Unfortunately,
father after all his hard work did not have the chance to see our
happiness.

Abang had been in treatment for a week. Waiting for his
condition to improve for surgery. I did not know. I did not
understand why the first one failed. The whole thing had left me
in a daze. I started to imagine things, how the platinum was
being removed, the cutting of flesh. Have mercy, God!

Abang's condition was pitiful. How long fate took to decide.
Poor Abang. He often looked sad. It was apparent that he forced a
smile in front of me and that left me trying to imagine the pain
he must be feeling.

"Man, Saman," Abang called when I was busy with my own
thoughts.

"Yes?"

"The doctor said that one of my bones would be cut to connect
my broken thigh bone."

"Ughh ...!" I said, shocked. I was unable to answer. Suddenly
a feeling of pity enveloped me. The only thing I could feel was
my breathing, up and down...

"When I recover, my right leg will be shorter," Abang
continued with a smile. Another smile, and yet another. A clear
smile, a smile as clear as that of a one year-old infant.

"It doesn't matter, Mas. The important thing is you can
recover immediately," I forced myself to cheer up.

"Yes, please pray for me."

"Mother, Sri, Wasdi, and Marlan will surely pray for you,
too."

"Yes ...," Abang's head nodded repeatedly. "Thank you," he
said softly.

Time then silenced us. For quite some time. Abang looked
tired, docile; at times he kept his head down. My mind was flying
again, feeling how painful it must be for him.

"Man," Abang's voice was soft.

"Yes?"

"They have taken the tests on my blood pressure, heart, lung,
and urine and the results are good, the doctor said. And today I
go for surgery. Please pray for me, Man."

My heart suddenly beat rapidly. Each heartbeat seemed to race
one another. I had no thoughts.

"And, forgive me for failing to find happiness in Pekanbaru."

"Ah, Mas, Mas don't think of such things."

"Mu'i ...d," a nurse called Abang. Interrupted our
conversation.

"Yes," Abang replied, turning towards the nurse. The nurse
nodded. The signal to enter. Abang then looked at me, slapped my
shoulder repeatedly before walking to the room to meet the nurse.

The call was a signal for the surgery to be conducted
immediately. I was banned from the room, and left to wait
outside. I looked at Abang closely ... I felt as though my heart
was being stabbed. I lowered my head. Praying to God to give
Abang strength. For Abang's recovery.

While waiting my heart fluttered. Heartbeats chased each other
thunderously. The question of whether it would be a successful
operation or a failure was haunting me. And my mouth repeatedly
called, "Mas, Mas ..." I had no thoughts. It was as if I could
not feel.

In fact, I waited for aq long time. Waiting for the
uncertainty of the result of the operation. I did not understand
everything, only the obvious: That Abang was undergoing surgery.
It means his bone was being cut, his flesh sliced and blood ...
Oh my God! All sorts of questions jammed my brain. Would it be
successful? Would it fail? Or ...? Oh, my God, Gusti Allah he
nurse who came out of the operating room only answered, "Be
patient", when I asked her. I was fed up, annoyed. My embittered
feeling was not satisfied. My heart was beating rapidly. I felt
my mind jammed with fear. With all sorts of questions about
Abang. The family hero. The family's pride. Then, I could imagine
mother passing out. The younger brothers and sisters who would
cry, be sad. Suppose that ... Oh, Abang!

Night was far advanced when the nurse with her innocent face
came out. I looked at her. She looked back. And she still looked
at me although her face was only an inch from mine. I suddenly
felt a creeping feeling all over my body. I was scared. My mind
flew to Abang. And ... that Abang would be treated, cured, in a
hospital in Jakarta, she said. Oh, Gustii ... "What are they
going to do with Abang now...!" I said slowly. I had no thoughts,
I did not understand.

Looking at Abang lying with his body wrapped in a piece of
cloth, I felt my life was being shaken very hard. Terrified. All
the more so as Abang's eyes glistened with tears when he looked
at me. Spiritless and very pitiful. And my body felt weak when I
looked at Abang. I did not know where the strength came from, but
tears did not drop from my eyes.

The small people then visited Abang, accompanied him to the
airport and prayed for Abang's recovery. Abang in their eyes was
not different from mine. Abang's honor was beyond doubt,
undeniable. Accompanying my slow steps to the aircraft which
would fly me to Jakarta. And on the plane, the first one I ever
boarded without having to pay, I looked at Abang repeatedly while
saying to my self: No matter what, Abang had given all his honor
for the family. An honor very meaningful for life and the future.

Translated by Darul Aqsha

The short story Kampar calamity is a translation of Petaka Kampar
which appears in Kado Istimewa: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1992.

Note:

Abang = elder brother

Mas = elder brother or a common address to a Javanese male.

Putri = a creature from the other world in the shape of a
beautiful woman, with long hair. The workers who had been taken
to her world (at night) regained consciousness after they had
walked far enough. The workers believed it was the Putri who
caused the calamity.

juragan = employee

Urip musti gawe is a Javanese saying, meaning to live is to work

warung = stall

Becak = pedicab