Rapprochement

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