Dawn fanned out its holiness. Greeting rubber leaves rubbed to welcome my morning steps to the banks of the river to find rattan jini, mayang pinang, green coconut shell, green coconut leaf stick, and young coconut janur to fulfill father’s order. This step I had to accelerate so two aspirations at once I can achieve. Running abah’s wishes and according to my own wishes to procure knowledge in school. Abah’s commandment as a gumantan who leads the Babalian ceremony meant a decree that should not be violated and denied.
“What is the purpose of those things that you always look for on the banks of the Din river?” Asked Mr. Umar, my religion teacher as he passed by me at the school’s intersection with my house.
“It’s all abah’s orders for babalian, sir. Rattan to straighten the road to see the disease. Mayang pinang to fend off enemy attacks. Shells for passing places. Coconut leaf stick as the sword. Janur for the ornamentation.” One by one I pointed out and explained to Mr. Umar with enthusiasm. But I just caught a cold look in his eyes.
“Is there something wrong with my explanation, sir?”
“No,” he replied, leaving me with a piece of confusion.
In my village abah is well known for his ability to treat the sick in his way. At school I always get enlightenment when the light of science comes through my pores. Moreover, the presence of my religion teacher, Mr. Umar, whose every word and his advice can bump me on the firmness that I must choose in going through a habit as a bachelor.
“Udin, being a bachelor is a choice, live through it with sincerity,” that was abah’s message every time I am going be invited to carry out the tradition of Babalian.
This tradition has indeed become part of my life in the village. Rituals performed to treat the severely sick. Babalian comes from the word babalikan. During the Babalian ritual, all the meaning of the words of gumantan to the bujang bayu should be reversed. But on the other hand Mr. Umar always reminded me, “Udin, our religion teaches us not to associate Him. What you call the tradition of babalian and let alone you become part of that tradition as a bachelor, it is the same as Udin associating our Lord.”
The clash of advances kept me at a crossroad. Abah and Mr. Umar, two people whom have opened my eyes to responsibility and insight. Abah entrusts me to be a bachelor is not without reason but with my consideration every time I follow him to carry out the tradition of babalian. While Mr. Umar, with his politeness, tries to open my eyes to think so as to not waste my life by doing something useful.
Before the presence of Pak Umar with his advice, I as a bujang bayu live through wholeheartedly with that responsibility. I understand the role of the bachelor in this Babalian tradition. I am as a bujang bayu in charge of building a hall, organizing the tools, and most importantly interpreting speech and the gumantan’s movements.
Mr. Umar’s presence made me dread to enjoy my role as a bujang bayu. The mismatch I try to conceal was caught by abah whom used to boast me as the most reliable bujang bayu.
“Udin, abah feels like losing a bujang bayu who I am always proud of in front of abah’s friends,” a subtle snide that made me aware of the attention of abah. I just gave him a smile.
I froze by the window looking at the half moon. Bewilderment made me nervous about making decisions.
“Prepare the ingredients, tonight we will hold a babalian”.
Usually after abah said that sentence, I will immediately rush with the passion of taking everything that is needed. Starting from rattan jini, janur, mayang pinang, green coconut shell, white candle, dulang, glass plate, banana stalk, pottery containing shell embers, crow cane, knife, lemon, white cloth, water, green coconut leaf stick, rice seedlings, red, white, and yellow flowers, cempaka flowers, pandanus flowers, incense, gaharu wood, matches, chicken eggs, quills, rumbia mats, and other things I have memorized.
But the trepidation that Mr. Omar breathes made half of the heart complete what I usually enjoy. Even the scent of cempaka flowers that I used to breathe and carry me float now feels bland in spreading its fragrance.
My trepidation I try to share to my friend who was tasked as dendi, the rebab instrument drummer who accompanies the babalian ritual.
“Life is a choice Udin, no matter how small the choice we choose if we are sincere we will be productive. Like me even though I am only a dendi drummer, I enjoy this task. I feel the satisfaction when the Nang Naidi rhythm I play accompanies the babalian ritual.”
It’s true that I have to choose. Choosing to continue the tradition that has blended in my bloodstream to accompany the abah in Babalian or determine a new direction in life.
“Udin, prepare the ingredients, next Friday night we will hold a babalian. A villager next door asks us to cure his sickly, untreated son.”
This tradition should be done every Friday night three times in a row. After the newly finished babalian morning breeze made me nod off while studying at school.
This time’s Friday night the half moon accompanied the stillness with the scent of flowers that have been present in the halls. I as a bujang bayu must wear black clothes. I lit the candles and incense, slowly the small fumes began dancing wriggly with the gentle breeze of the night. The wax and incense smoke dances became exotic when the incense and gaharu scatter the charm of their fragrance in the center of the hall. I always had to remind everyone who was present to be quiet. Only me, a bujang bayu and a gumantan who may speak. A moment of silence when abah’s footsteps as gumantan entered the hall. With yellow clothes and kopiah, abah cross-legged his legs facing the base of the hall. I handed the long rags to abah and covered the fabric to his body.
Then the rebab began to be played by dendi the rebab drummer. I tied the pandanus flowers to the banana stalk. I smoked abah with incense, gaharu, and candles that caused the smell of night to become more intense. Abah stood up to open his crossed legs and slowly tread the incense till they are extinguished. That’s the sequence that I have to go through every babali together with abah. Always gave an impression though the next day I had to avoid sleep when I was at school.
“Udin, it’s the last night of our babalian ritual. Are you prepared to stick with the rest?”
A nod I gave held back deep fatigue. The lancang that I prepared was made of banana stalk that was about 1.5 meters long. The banana stalked was strung with split bamboo. I formed it like a canoe decorated with janur and yellow oil paper. The most exhausting step was to prepare the lancang’s content. Starting from sapat rice which contains pulut rice which was put with boiled chicken eggs. Rice grains, turmeric rice, red and yellow flowers, roasted chicken, chicken blood, candles, conical siren, and alam-alam of white cloth. To prepare this I had to stay up for nights. Sometimes schoolwork was neglected. Whether it was fear or obedience to abah, I was ready to be scolded by the teacher who asked me for the lack of freshness of my face when I was receiving the lesson.
“Still doing babalian, Udin?” A question from Mr. Umar made me feel as if I had been stabbed through my heart. Only a weak nod I gave and I could not look into his sharp eyes.
The last Friday night of this babalian was like pushing me to finish soon. There is an intention that has been imprinted in the heart that I wanted to do immediately. I was with abah and dendi brought the lancang into the river to be washed away. I saw the patience and his family gathered to watch the completion of this sequence of babalian. Abah burned incense and lit a candle which smoke wafted in the night breeze. A moment of silence fell upon abah while he mumbled to say something that was not clear what he said.
“Bujang bayu, hand over the lancang.” I was called abah to submit the lancang that will be swept into the river. I stood up to hand over the lancang as I looked around in the cold.
My eyes stared at the familiar face with the familiar cold stare. Yes, Mr. Umar. I became embarrassed and disturbed by the reappearance of Mr. Umar’s remarks about this babalian. Nervousness affects my absolute duty as a bujang bayu. The lancang I held was down in the sand. I looked at the scattered contents of the lancang. I cannot look at his face. I picked the lancang contents one by one.
“Udin… look at me!” Abah’s voice thundered through the dark night. The use of “I” sounded horrible in my ears. I raised my face slowly to look at abah’s face. The eyes I saw are not the eyes I used to see but the burning eyes of the gumantan.
A plain rattan jini that is usually held by abah landed on my head and instantly blood soaked my body.
“Ahhhh… let me choose abah,” I whispered.
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971.