The fading tiger

By Eka Topo

It began forty-five years ago. In the highlands of Cimacan. This was during the period when large areas of the country were being controlled by armed bandits -- rebels and religious fanatics whose aim was to establish an Islamic state. Nowadays you would call them fundamentalists I guess. I was seventeen, a high school drop-out. Not exactly unemployed though, because a good friend of mine had asked me to look after his family's estate.

They had a villa and some property on which a number of crops were grown. They weren't really worth much on the market, it was more of a status symbol in those days to have a villa up in the mountains. Of course, at that particular time, it was considered a rather unsafe area. During the daytime it was under government control, but during the night the rebel bandits roamed freely through the countryside.

Further up the country road from where the villa was located was a tea plantation guarded by a police unit. Once a month they were relieved and another unit took over their duties. For security reasons, however, the exact date was known only to the local commander.

I had been there for a couple of weeks and had made friends with the village people. I often visited them in the evening, just to drop in for a chat and a cup of coffee.

Brewed coffee and roasted corn or stewed cassava, and of course smoking clove cigarettes with whoever the host was. Now that particular evening I was visiting the local dukun (shaman).

His place was a bit further away from the village, rather isolated and surrounded by a cluster of bamboo trees. It was halfway between the village and the tea plantation, about one kilometer from the country road.

He had built a fire in front of his thatched roof bungalow, as it could get quite cold in the evenings, and we were just talking.

I do not exactly know why, but he obviously had accepted me as one of them. I guess he must have been around sixty-five or so, although he did not appear as washed out as the other village people his age. He actually had a kind of dignified aura about him and was highly respected by the locals. It was strange that we hit it off, me being a teenager from the city, in that stage of life trying to discover who I was and completely cynical about the supernatural and such. That's why it was so difficult for me to accept what happened.

While we were talking, there were sudden bursts of gunfire. The tea plantation was under attack. We learned later that the rebels had somehow received information that the police detail was going to be replaced the following day. They almost overran the plantation, killing the outpost guards and escaping with some of their weapons.

But the dukun, who was in mid-sentence, just calmly continued the conversation before excusing himself and disappearing inside his hut. The next moment there were rustling noises from the bamboo trees, as though people or maybe large animals were circling us. The dukun came out again smoking a kawung cigarette, which was wrapped in corn leaf, with that sweet smell of incense. Strangely enough, I was not frightened by the sounds and movements around us, although I was curious as to what it was all about. In Sundanese the old man said: "Don't pay attention to it. We are quite safe here."

I could not restrain myself from asking: "What is happening?" The rustling noises were more pronounced now. I was sure somebody or something was out there.

He did not bother answering me, his eyes were almost closed, but the impression he gave was that he was concentrating intensely and quite alert to what was happening around us. His daughter came out of their dwelling and served coffee.

She smiled and said, "Bapak's tigers are keeping watch." Seeing my incredulous expression she continued, "Macan siluman ... ", as though that would explain everything. Meanwhile, the exchange of gunfire had died down and I was keen to return to my own place. While I was waiting for the appropriate moment to excuse myself, the dukun said something rapidly to his daughter. I could not understand what he was saying. It sounded like some ancient version of Sundanese and he was mumbling.

The daughter smiled again and said, "You are a lucky man. Bapak is giving you a macan to protect you." He disappeared again into his hut and did not reappear. Finishing my coffee, I asked the daughter about the macan siluman. "Is he going to escort me home? Are there conditions that I must comply with?" I was bewildered and confused when she explained to me that the macan Bapak gave me would accompany me wherever I went. There were no conditions.

Probing further, I learned that I could not actually see the tiger, but whoever I met who intended to harm me would see my guardian. They would be scared by the tiger and cease with their evil intentions. I could hardly believe what I heard. I was half- heartedly thinking of rejecting his gift. After all, I did not believe in this sort of thing.

However, turning the old man and his daughter's offer down would have been impolite and since I had not requested it, I was rationalizing, there should be no harm at all in accepting it gracefully. So I said good night and walked home.

Oh, before leaving I asked one other question. "Can I see it, just once?" The daughter responded, "use your mind's eye."

After I returned home I started meditating. Then I saw him! A magnificent creature: black and yellow stripes, moving lithely with the grace only big cats in the wild display. The most striking features were the eyes. They burned with an inner fire.

Then he disappeared. I was never able to repeat that exercise again.

It was not long after this that I joined a company and traveled all over Indonesia. I spent a lot of time trekking through the jungle, exploring uncharted areas and meeting primitive tribes, some were friendly but more often than not they were unfriendly. In the next forty years I had the opportunity to travel overseas extensively.

I sometimes had to pass really tough neighborhoods where it was considered hazardous to be strolling on the sidewalks. Whether in America, Asia or Europe, in every big city they will always tell you to avoid unsafe areas. I even visited war-torn areas or riot-stricken districts. I took it all in my stride and came out relatively unscathed. Oh, I have my shares of scars, physical and mental.

I have been in tight, very tight spots indeed. But I managed to stay more or less in one piece. I do not want to elaborate on this, but on certain occasions I escaped harm miraculously. People just slinked away, some were plainly terrified. At first I was surprised and wondered what had happened, but eventually I became accustomed to it.

"It must be my guardian tiger," I thought.

I am coming to the end of my story. I would like to fast- forward to 1999. Many of my friends had passed away, I was turning sixty. One day I met a man who local people believed possessed knowledge about curing the sick and about supernatural beings. He became a sort of spiritual advisor to me. He said that I had strong pegangan and suggested that I should do a spiritual cleansing exercise.

Apparently I had to return my tiger guardian. "How?" I asked myself. The dukun must have been long gone. The village had been overtaken by real estate developments.

I pondered this dilemma, meditated, packed a bag and jumped in my Jeep. I set out very early in the morning and drove to the Cimacan highlands. I did not know where I was really heading -- I was on auto pilot, so to speak.

Eventually, I found myself at the end of a country road high up in the mountains. I followed a small stream and arrived at a small clearing.

I had a feeling that I had been there before. A young man appeared from the woods. He looked familiar ... and then I realized he had the same features as the dukun I had met long ago. "Aki told me you were coming" he said, as if I understood what was going on. Was he the old man's grandson, great-grandson. I don't know, but it was obvious that he knew why I was there. To return the tiger I received more than forty years ago.

There was no mystical hand-over ceremony. He did not ask me to stay. He just said that I could leave. "Is that it?" I thought. "No goodbyes, no nothing?"

I hiked back and somehow followed another trail. It took me higher and higher, before I suddenly realized that I was lost.

It was late afternoon and, as I had my backpack, I decided to set up camp. Before nightfall I had cleared some underbrush, made a temporary shelter with my army poncho and had a small campfire burning.

I woke with a start! I must have dozed off. There were nestlings among the surrounding trees.

Then I saw him. It was not the magnificent creature I had seen with my mind's eye long ago. His stripes were faded and his movement did not seem as lithe as before, but his eyes were still full of fire.

He was only there briefly, before turning around and disappearing in the night. I felt an emptiness inside me, all my energy drained. I lost something I cannot explain, a loss which made me feel sad and desolate.

I left the campsite before daybreak and returned to the city.

Glossary: Bapak: father or Sir Macan siluman: mystical tiger, usually invisible unless intentionally appearing for some reason or called to task. Pegangan: supernatural power, sometimes in the form of an amulet. Aki: Sundanese for grandfather.