Seeking Mat Keling

Seeking Mat Keling

by Muram Batu

Mat Keling was dead. The gampong had no hero anymore, and
everybody was behaving awkwardly. They had lost the one person
they could to turn to at times of trouble. Troubles they could
not share to the government agents who were roaming the gampong
now, strangers who were too proud, too concerned with their
uniforms that they failed to discern the real needs of the
people.

Nothing could replace the people's trust and reliance in Mat
Keling. But Mat Keling was dead. His soul had left his body and
had gone somewhere unreachable.

The last rumor said Mat Keling had fled ahead of the army to
Kutacane. Finding no safety there, he went to Blangkajeren, then
continued to Kedah village. This village, located on a hiking
path to Mt. Leuser, had become Mat Keling's final resting place.

His body was found on a savannah between Grenn Sinebuk and
Tobacco Hut. The blood in his body had slowed and dried by the
time he was found, apparently some considerable time after his
death.

Mak Pian, his widow, had explained this news to the residents
of the gampong over and over again, but still they came back and
asked for his help. Nobody believed -- nobody wanted to believe
-- that Mat Keling was no more.

They had not seen the body, so they still wanted to believe
that he was alive and able to assist them.

Mak Pian was at a loss in trying to explain what had happened.
She said to everyone who came seeking Mat Keling that his body
could not be buried at the gampong, and that the knowledge of his
death alone could be considered fortunate.

Many others had gone without even the slightest trace, she
said. They were simply gone -- not dead, not alive, just gone.

Knowledge of a body buried in a place nearest the place of
death was fair enough, considering the odds of drowning and being
swept away by a river, or a body left on the open ground, a free
meal for any wild animal.

And, Mak Pian said again and again, she was glad to know that
Mat Keling was buried by hikers under such a beautiful savannah.

The gampong's residents did not give up, though. The miseries
of their lives forced them to hope that Mat Keling was still
alive. They wanted the protection, the sense of security they had
enjoyed when Mat Keling was there.

***

As the head of Gampong Alue Pinang, Mat Keling was, indeed,
very concerned about the well-being of his fellows. He became
indispensable to the gampong. Food for the jobless, education for
the children, he provided all such things.

His generosity was not exclusively for the residents of the
gampong, and Mat Keling often gave food and shelter to strangers.

This generosity might have been the root of his troubles.

Someone had spread lies, no one knew who, that Mat Keling was
involved with some liberation army, to free Atjeh from Indonesia.

The rest of the gampong was certain that Mat Keling was not in
any way implicated in such movements. He was only helping, as he
would help all who came to him, so far as he was able, so he
helped any and all. Mat Keling was not aware of a liberation army
of any kind, he was only a merchant, and it so happened that he
was also generous, but that was all.

***

As time passed, and no one acknowledged Mat Keling's death,
the situation turned for the worse. Outsiders entered the
gampong, not only those in uniform, but spies as well.

They came and went, here and there, spreading confusion and
fear in the gampong. Recent rumors said the gampong was the
target of an operation. The army considered the entire village to
be connected to the rebel movement for the simple reason that,
because Mat Keling was obviously involved, then the whole gampong
must be involved. The rumor was unsettling.

Another issue then surfaced. The neighborhood was breaking,
and Mat Keling's worshipers now turned on him, blaming him for
all the commotion.

The people became very upset, even throwing angry looks at Mak
Pian and Sophian, Mat Keling's only son. Mat Keling's store lost
business. Things became tough for Mak Pian and her son.

Those who supported Mat Keling were a mere splinter cell now.

"We have to tighten our belts, Phian." Mak Pian said slowly.

Sophian only sat still, like a rock. He was only 11, and did
not really understand what was happening. All he knew was that
his father was murdered by bastards in uniform, and he wanted to
avenge his father's death when he grew up.

"Things are not as they were when your father was alive. You
have to be stronger, don't cry, ignore their jeering. Be grateful
that we still have food to eat despite the circumstances," she
consoled.

"Why did they change, Mak?"

"I don't know. Let them be. We did nothing wrong, so we don't
have to feel guilty or blame them. They need security. Maybe they
feel insecure in our presence."

"I wish father were here," murmured Phian.

"Your father is gone. Why bring it up again? You have to go
on, however, to realize your father's dreams."

"Yes, I will realize father's dream. Freedom to Atjeh!" Phian
glared.

"Where did you hear those words?" Mak Pian was aghast at such
horrible words.

"He was murdered for that, wasn't he?" the boy demurred.

"Yes. But it was a mistake. He was not that kind of person.
There was no thought in his mind to liberate Atjeh, all he wanted
to do was to help people. To relieve the sufferings of the poor,
that's all."

"But from what I heard..."

"That's what they said," she said firmly. "They spoke of no
truth. Your father was never in the movement. He only helped the
travelers. You remember those skinny people in dirty clothes?
Some said they were in the movement."

"So father was murdered for helping people?"

"I'm afraid that is the whole truth," his mother replied,
softly.

***

"Mak Pian. Mak Pian!" a voice called urgently from outside.

She hastened to the door to see what was going on.

"What's the matter, Din?" she asked calmly.

"I heard it said that Mat Keling is still alive, that some
people said they met him at Takengon," Udin burst out with his
news.

Udin was one of the few still on Mat Keling's side.

"Take it easy, Din. Come in, now. I assume you have not
eaten." Mak Pian put a dish in front of him without waiting for
an answer.

She had heard so many things about her husband. It was,
however, clear that her husband was dead. The person who had
given her the terrible news had also given her the fez Mat Keling
had been wearing when he fled. The fez she was now looking at on
the TV table.

"It's true, Mak. Zainal told me in all truth that he met him
in person at Takengon. He also said that Mat Keling asked him to
come see you and tell you that he is still alive," Udin said,
unable to contain his excitement.

"Then? Even if he's alive, then what?" Mak Pian replied with a
slight smile.

Udin, who had not expected such a response, lost his tongue.

"Never mind," said Mak Pian. "Just eat, while we still can,"
and went to her room.

Before she made it to her room, before Sophian could ask for
details about the news Udin brought, before Udin could take
another spoonful, aggressive shouts rose from outside the house.
The once peaceful gampong had turned into a mob.

"Mat Keling, show yourself!"

"Get out coward, don't hide behind your wife!"

"You're a man, aren't you!"

Mak Pian hurried outside, grabbing her husband's fez, while
Sophian and Udin froze in terror.

"My husband is dead, this is the fez he last wore. You can see
his grave in the savannah near Kedah village. What more do you
want?" challenged Mak Pian, still calm. But she caught sight of
uniforms in the distance.

"Stop your nonsense. We know Mat Keling is in there. Bring him
out! He must take responsibility for our fate," they demanded.

"No. He is dead. How could I hide him?" she was beginning to
lose her patience.

"We have to search your house by force then. Somebody said
they saw Mat Keling go inside!"

"He is DEAD! Just go see his grave!" she cried, exasperated.

"Which grave?! Kedah? Lokop? Calang? Seuruway? Or Kandang?"
one of them shouted back.

She fell silent. She had never known there were so many
graves.

But she also did not recognize the man who had just spoken. He
must be stranger to this gampong.

"What's the matter?" he chided. "You know your husband has
many graves. So which one should we dig up to make sure?!"

"All I know is that he was buried at Kedah, nowhere else. It
could be different people with the same name," she said softly,
beginning to lose faith.

"Enough talk! Let's search inside!" the mob yelled as it
rushed inside.

***

Mak Pian and Sophian spread flowers and sprinkled water on the
small mound of red earth that was a grave.

No tears fell from their eyes, just guilt.

Guilt for the things that changed rapidly, so fast they had no
time even to blink.

No grave existed behind their house before, now there was one.

A solitary grave, marked Mat Keling.

The gampong residents were beginning to calm down because of
what had happened last week. There were fewer soldiers now, fewer
spies. Things were beginning to go back to the way they had been
before.

"Mak, is it true that father is dead?" Sophian asked quietly,
while continuing to anoint the grave.

"Yes, he is dead," his mother said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"His grave?"

"At Kedah, son. On a broad grass plain. A beautiful place for
a final resting place. Know that your father is looking down at
us from Heaven, smiling. He's never done anything wrong."

"Poor Udin...," the boy said. "He doesn't have his name on his
grave."

"It's all right, at least we know it is him," Mak Pian replied
slowly. "Let it be. He must be glad to be buried behind our
house. And because those who killed him called him Mat Keling."

"It means we've made another grave for Mat Keling, Mak."

Mak Pian could only smile grimly in response.

Poor Udin indeed... But it was the only way she could think of
to restore peace to the gampong, to dig another grave for Mat
Keling, even though Udin's body rested there. Her soul cried at
the thought of it.

Worse, she now did not truly believe in her husband's death
anymore.

-- Yogyakarta, June 2005
-- translated by Musi Samosir

Gampong: Acehnese for village
Tobacco Hut: a tobacco field located along the hiking path to Mt.
Leuser, between Grenn Sinebuk (Kedah) and Simpang Angkasan

Based in Yogyakarta, Muhammad Ramadhan Batubara is a short
story writer, playwright and head of Ben! alternative media.
Several of his plays have been staged, and his stories have
appeared in various local and national media.