Rapprochement

By Dewi Anggraeni

When we reached Klungkung the driver turned toward us. "Bu," *) he said, addressing me, "you may want to close the windows if you don't want to breathe in exhaust fumes."

I saw the black clouds puffing out of the public buses in front of us and felt the increasing congestion in my chest, but the hired car was not air-conditioned, so it was either hot stuffy air or hot breezy polluted air.

"Thank you, Pak,"**) I replied, "we'll leave it open a bit longer." And imitating Ani, I put a handkerchief over my mouth and nose, believing that it would act as a filter, stopping the fumes from entering my lungs.

Ani was studying me from behind her folded floral handkerchief. "It was a pleasant stay though, despite your experience in that hut, wouldn't you say, Ibu?" Her muffled voice made me turn away from the window.

I reached out to touch her shoulder, saying, "Of course, Ani. It was very pleasant. I wish we'd stayed a few days longer, so that I could have had a chance for a rapprochement with him."

Ani's eyes widened with incredulity. "I didn't know you wanted to do that! I don't remember anyone thinking of doing that after their own encounters with him! You should have told me! I would have helped you." She slid closer to me and held my arm.

I laughed, partly from embarrassment and partly from wanting to make her feel better. "You know," I was thinking and explaining all at once, "it hadn't occurred to me to do that either, even after Robert had hinted to me. The idea had made me feel creepy. However, now that we're no longer there, the eeriness has passed. I don't think that's a bad idea after all."

Ani looked serious. "In that case Ibu, next week, if you're still in Bali, we'll go back there, if only for that purpose."

Only three days earlier we were on this very road, going in the opposite direction.

The car moved at a steady speed, despite frequently snaking out into the right lane, facing the oncoming traffic, then at the last minute weaving back into the left lane. After gasping several times when that happened, I followed the example of the other two passengers and suppressed my survival instincts, at the same time willing myself to look nonchalant and to trust God for my safety.

God had assigned a very competent driver named Putu to take care of my safety, and that of Ani, my young Balinese friend, and Robert, a fellow Australian I'd met the previous week in Denpasar. Putu had been driving for some 20 years, and the fact that he was not only still alive, but still driving, indicated that nothing untoward had marred his professional record. So doubting him seemed disrespectful, though not as impious as doubting God.

Robert was my host for this car trip to Amlapura. Ani and I had been planning to visit the place when Robert dropped in on his way to Singaraja to visit a friend.

"I'm going back to Amlapura tomorrow. I could pick you up on the way if you like," he had said.

The road was just wide enough to accommodate two buses going in opposite directions, but nobody showed excessive annoyance when the occasional motorcyclist decided to perform an impromptu slalom in the middle of the intercity traffic, with only one centimeter between himself and a seriously grazed knee, at the very least.

I realized in no time why motorcyclists were anxious to overtake public buses. They did not want to stay for too long in the black clouds puffing out of the exhaust pipes of those vehicles. An hour and a half later we reached Klungkung, the seat of many great Balinese kings. "The center of Balinese culture," according to Putu, who happened to come from Klungkung himself. "All of the population of Bali originated in Klungkung, before spreading to different parts of the island," Putu emphasized.

Leaving the historic town behind we began to see more open spaces between villages. However, because of the number of public buses on the road, the air failed to become any fresher. The definite incline of the road made the exhaust fumes from each bus even blacker and more sinister, and I felt it harder to breathe by the minute. We had to leave the car windows open, ostensibly for "fresh air", because the car was not air-conditioned.

When the road veered closer to the coastline and the clear blue sea came into view, my breathing became easier. Ani finally surfaced from the new vernacular dictionary that Robert had bought. Her finely tuned intuition told her that we were approaching Amlapura, and the Ashram was within reach of her mental feelers.

The Amlapura Ashram was a special place for Ani, who spent her high school years there. During the eight months she had been studying at the university in Denpasar she hankered for that special place, and would jump at any excuse to return there, even for a few hours.

The moment the car stopped in the Ashram yard, Ani flew into the arms of a number of the young women who shrieked her name in excitement. A little un-Ashram-like, I noted with some amusement, knowing that Ashram members were expected to have poise and reflect inner calmness. Most of the time Ani, barely 19, was nonetheless very calm.

A woman welcomed me to the Ashram. Lestari, the young woman, recognized me from my last visit some 10 years back and inquired after my family. She then accompanied me to my bungalow, located on the eastern extremity of the property.

After checking that everything was in order, Lestari left me to freshen up. "Everything" meant a very simple bed, a small wardrobe, a basic table and an equally basic chair. Both the western and southern windows opened out on the sea. The views were breathtaking. In one corner of the room was the door to the bathroom.

As I moved to unpack, I began to feel congested again, quickly followed by a feeling of wooziness in the head.

"Maybe I'd feel better if I cleaned up," I thought, aware that I was covered with soot and dust.

However, as soon as I undressed I felt a terrible chill, so I rushed into the bathroom and had a very brief bath, shivering incessantly. Even after slipping on clean clothes the bad feeling clung to me like a wet shirt.

I stepped into my sneakers, not bothering with socks. The moment I passed through the door, I felt better. The sound of waves seemed amplified beyond proportion, the sea breeze blew any remaining discomfort away, and I felt in control of my life again.

Agung, an Ashram member who had met my daughter only a week earlier, came to join me on my stroll, talking about his own attachment to the life and community here, and about how he particularly liked the spiritual aspects of his present life.

As if to illustrate his story, other members were seen moving toward the meeting room for their dusk prayers. Agung excused himself and unhurriedly walked in that direction.

When the last member had gone in, I went for a walk outside.

Amlapura had become much more like a tourist destination than when I visited 10 years earlier. Admittedly it was not the rowdy type of tourism seen in some other places. The shops were more understated and more subdued. Yet stepping off the road back into the Ashram yard, I felt a definite change of mood.

The ambience was purer and more peaceful. The sound of singing and praying added unreal qualities to the air. I sighed, almost involuntarily, then breathed in deeply.

Outside my hut I stopped and looked at the reddening western sky. I stood transfixed at the sight, saturated with happiness and gratitude for the chance to see such beauty.

"Why did they give me that hut, Ani?" My sudden question, after a period of silence, made Ani start. Then she took the handkerchief from her face and said lightly, "I think because they knew you were not a stranger to the Ashram. Lestari even thought that you had stayed there before."

"I certainly don't think so," I said emphatically.

In the Ashram, time seemed to stop. Standing close to the water that evening I was transported into a world where nothing was moving except for the waves breaking on the retaining wall only meters from me.

The reverie was interrupted when Ketut, a younger member, told me that dinner was being served.

I followed her quietly to one of the common huts, where the guests were sitting on thin cushions placed on the floor on one side of a big table on top of which dishes had been placed, and the members sitting further away with their food in bowls made of coconut shells.

I found a cushion between Robert and a Dutch guest, and sat on it with my legs folded. Around me people were speaking in Dutch, English and Indonesian, while Balinese could be heard being spoken among the members.

After dinner people lingered on and chatted, lulled by a sense of well-being. After a rather tiring car journey, the relaxed atmosphere of the evening made me feel drowsy. I was ready for an early night.

The roar of the waves accompanied me back to my hut, where two young members were keeping watch on the veranda. They greeted me and left shortly after that.

A slight feeling of being deserted made me look around. There was nothing out of the ordinary, so I began to change for bed. But within minutes my congestion returned, and my eyes were stinging. I went to wash my face thoroughly, then slipped into bed.

I could not breathe, whatever position I assumed.

Finally, throwing the thin blanket to the side I put on my robe, slipped on my sneakers and went out. Almost immediately I was able to breathe again. Taking a short walk in the dark I heard nothing but the roar of waves and felt the occasional spray. Feeling somewhat sleepy again, I returned to the hut.

As soon as I put the wooden bar on the door, I felt enveloped by a chill and it became almost impossible to breathe. I decided there was something to which I was allergic in this hut, so I needed to move. But the thought of walking back to the main house in the dark discouraged me.

Finally I took my mobile phone from my bag and rang the main house. Agung answered. I explained to him as briefly as possible my problem, then asked if I could have a different hut. Agung said he would come to see me.

Stepping into my hut, instead of looking around he looked carefully at me. Then still standing, he asked me to describe in detail what I had experienced.

He remained silent for a few moments, then said: "Come with me. Bring all your things with you."

The hut we went to had two single beds. We each sat on one in momentary silence, Agung watching me.

My breathing had returned to normal and I felt comfortable.

"Well, what do you think, Ibu?" asked Agung.

"Yes, this one is fine," I said.

Before he left Agung turned to me. "I am going to sleep in the next hut, so if you have any problems in the middle of the night, do come across and knock on my door."

I thanked him and prepared for bed, once again.

The following morning when I came to breakfast, Helena, one of the long-term guests, kept sneaking a glance at me when she thought I wasn't looking. I discreetly checked if there was anything unusual with the clothes I was wearing, and when satisfied they were appropriately buttoned up and decent, I edged toward the spot where she was sitting.

"Hi, how are you?" I greeted her.

"Wonderful, thank you. How was your sleep?"

A fair enough question. "Good. Very good."

She looked sideways at me, then quickly shifted her glance to her cup of coffee. "You ... slept in the easternmost hut, I hear."

I became alert. "Yes, to begin with. But I moved. Why do you ask?"

"Well ... can you tell me why you moved?"

Helena listened quietly to my story, then nodded. "I see," she said slowly. "At first I thought you were one of those who agree with the spirit there, because when you came just now you didn't look like someone who hadn't slept a wink. So where did you sleep?"

When I told her she nodded again. "Well, if it is any consolation to you, I also had a very unpleasant experience in that hut. Each time I fell asleep I had a dreadful dream where I felt someone was choking me, until I finally stayed awake for fear of having another dream. The following morning, I asked to be moved."

After breakfast the Ashram members began to tidy up and went to do their daily chores, and the guests slowly dispersed, some individually, others in small groups.

I found Robert reading on the veranda of his hut. He invited me for a cup of tea. He told me that he had slept in the easternmost hut and had noticed nothing unusual. "But I'm aware that some people have had strange experiences there. The guardian spirit of that hut must have a personality of his own. Agung obviously finds him benign. He often meditates there."

I looked at Robert's face. He was serious.

"Who, Agung or the spirit?"

"Agung. And before you ask, yes, Agung thinks it is a male spirit."

I felt slightly alarmed. Why, I had been unwittingly vulnerable, alone, clothed and unclothed at different times, so cut off from any other human being by darkness, a darkness which had made the short physical distance more dense and hard to cross.

"Ani, this spirit, does he have a personality, like a man?" Again, I made Ani put her handkerchief aside.

"That's what they say," replied Ani, unfazed, as if we were talking about a shopkeeper.

Robert picked up his cup pensively, then with a faint smile, "You know, if the spirit has a personality, he may be amenable to rapprochement. You could bring him some offerings, for instance."

Unsmiling, I searched his face for signs that he was making fun of me. "Except I have no desire whatsoever to stay in that hut again," I finally replied.

When the car began to slow down at Batubulan, Ani rolled up her window. "I think we'd better close them now, Ibu."

Then out of the blue, she asked: "Why did you think of a rapprochement, all of a sudden, then?"

I sighed. "I am basically a tidy person, Ani. I don't like unresolved tension, even with a spirit."

"Oh," she said, unfazed.

Glossary

*) Indonesian for madam or mother **) Indonesian for Sir or father