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.