Petang Megang Woman: a Short Story by Bambang Kariyawan Ys.

Wherever this passion has come from it always proliferate itself every time the holy month welcomes me. I have grown accustomed to take pleasure in the ripples of the Siak river waves along with their graceful curls and loops. The passion flourishes steadily as crowds approach the river’s ripple dances with the annual ritual of petang megang.
I deeply enjoy the ingrained habit of cheering for all the hardships of the people living on this murky river bank. That afternoon after Ashar at Senapelan Mosque, many people came to the banks of the Siak river to watch the ritual of petang megang. Cleaning up after each other with herbs that smelled distinctive. The aroma of holiness welcomes the holy month.
It was on the petang megang I had been amazed by the poise of the graceful fingers. Dancing her tari persembahan with a spinning top. Her feet taps and graceful hands touching the softness of my inner side. That woman has made me nervous. My inability to muffle my anxiety brought my footsteps to find out who was the woman who had damaged my tranquility.
My search for who was the woman finally ended. After I got from the people who had been involved in the ritual of petang megang. All I know is that she is known as a Malay dancer from a dance studio not far from where I live. Since then, I tried various ways to find and ask where and who is the woman? But after seeing her dancing in her dance studio, I did not have the courage to reach out to meet the woman. I have to suppress the desire. Waiting for a year to come back expecting the woman to come snapping her fingers back in the event of petang megang.
While awaiting the ritual of petang megang, I pour into my happiness that was almost forgotten which is painting. Before knowing about that woman I have been used to painting objects with every kind of water. A sailor fishing in the sea, children swimming in the bank of a river, a mother holding an umbrella underneath the rain and even the laughter of mothers when they wash do not escape my paintbrush upon the canvas.
But now, since that woman’s arrival I have been given an exquisite inspiration for my paintings. My recent art works and designs now arrive with various feminine styles. Fictional woman, I call the woman I paint as such.
I very much enjoy scratching paintbrush and oil paint upon a white canvas. Every face I paint form the same facial gesture. The same setting with the dance and the river.
”Who is that woman?” A question that is always offered by every visitor whom enjoy my paintings.
”My fictional woman.” That is always the answer I give.
My fingers engrossed in frolicking upon the canvas finally leads me to the door of the holy month. That particular petang megang is ready for me to go through. I am also ready to cultivate the hope of meeting my fictional woman. I prepare a special painting for my fictional woman. I spend time and my best emotions to finish my painting. I pick the best colors with all of my emotions to spill on my canvas. I choose my golden hours to finish the necessities of my imagination. When the night stars flicker and the Siak river ripples. That’s when I found the best energy to finish my sketch.
”Do you not find it monotonous to only paint pictures of the same woman?”
I do not concern myself with that. What is important is that I can dance my fingers freely and imaginatively while painting my fictional woman. I am sure my woman will arrive for tomorrow’s petang megang ritual. I will use this step opportunity to show off all of my art works for her.
The holy tabir of the month of Ramadan comes back. The wait for a year by cultivating a courageous scenario to greet a woman who taps her fingers. Petang Megang of this time leaves a deep impression. With deep solemnity Emak prepares the ingredients for mandi belimau in the petang megang. I notice that there were lime leaves, soman leaves, cucumber leaves, fragrant pandan leaves, fragrant lemongrass, roots of siak-siak, patchouli leaves, and areca nuts.
“What are these leaves for Mak? I rarely do see them,” I ask in bewilderment while flipping the leaves upon a tampah which was made out of bamboo. Almost all of the leaves I see now are unlike the ones I see every day.
“Many of these leaves are getting rarer. Especially the siak-siak roots, I look for them everywhere, and I found them at the edge of the bank.”
“I want to make boiled water for the shower of petang megang. Many ordered from me. They say that my shower water is still genuine,” Emak explain as she prepares the cool powder, fragnant water, and mermaid’s tear drops.
On the banks of the Siak river innumerable people has crowded, all yearning to carry out the mandi belimau. Various Malay cuisine foods are present there. Roti jala, roti canai, bolu kemojo, asidah, kue bangkit, cencalok, lempuk durian, es laksamana mengamuk, and es air mata pengantin. The dishes invite many tastes of spicy baung, spicy patin, yellow catfish curry, and rivet noodles have been prepared on a large stage for people to eat together. There is a festive time when the tabak will be brought, the food is packaged in containers filled with eggs and paraded around to the Siak river. After the officials were alternately showered with air siraman belimau, the whole community showered themselves with water spray. Even the children after that swam freely on the banks of the Siak river. Gazal music with singers humming a diverse range of Malay songs.
Again I met my fictional woman dancing the tari persembahan as she did last year. I use the opportunity to take her to my gallery as an introduction that I hope to impress. Time seems to be on my side. With a little bit of adage my fictional woman whom I want to meet me and come to my gallery.
“So much attention you give to me.” The woman looks awed by the paintings I have made.
“Why are all the paintings of me?”
I am not able to answer that question. The awe I cannot hold which in reality I wish to express, but I can only give an answer with the best smile for her.
“Do you want me to paint you? Just for a moment, it will not take long.”
A nod given is not wasted by me. I prepare the materials for painting the face with a pencil. My fingers danced faster because this time I did not have to imagine the object of my painting. This time it’s real. The aura of her body I immediately catch. The woman in front of me is emitting a million charisma. At once her request I try to meet.
“Switch the dress in this painting with the dress of a Malay dancer with petang megang background, please. Reminds of our meeting,” she asks.
Those sentences I catch as a sign of her acceptance of me as her close friend. The sketch I have made will be continued later at night I say. I ask her to enjoy fried corn on the edge of the Siak river. Making friends at dusk while enjoying the Leighton bridge that bent until the sun shies away to her sleep.
“It’s almost night.”
Time is like the flick of a breeze. I lose her to picked up by the twilight.
***
While enjoying the night and the sounds of the vehicles driving by the Sultan Muhammad Ali Abdul Jalil Muazzamsyah bridge, I stroke the paintbrush as I finish my woman in the painting. I blend colorful hues for clothes typical of Malay dancers. I amalgamate various colors to titivate the jewelries adorning petang megang.
My painting is done. I almost do not believe that this painting is my own work. This energy seems to be sucked inside it. Buried inside the imagination hall that brought me to a land I once knew.
“Where are we now?”
“This is the place of Malay Riau people’s pride, Siak Sri Indrapura castle. This is the truly Malay, in reality Malay’s country,” I explain to the woman. It is true that Siak, the magnificent country that now leaves traces of its past gloriousness through the muted mightiness of its heritage in Siak Sri Indrapura castle.
I and the woman walked around enjoying the various collections in the castle’s museum. I see a throne covered in gold, a duplicate of the kingdom’s crown, the kingdom’s vault. Other than that there are also spears, the kingdom’s umbrella, Queen Wilhemina’s bronze statue, along with comet instruments in which there are only two in the entire world.
“This looks like the perfect place to paint.” The background of Tengku Agung Sultanah Latifah bridge gives the panorama its own beauty. The grandiose bridge which owns the Siak river flow.
“Excuse me, painting?!”

***

”It’s already night, child.” Mother’s routinity appears with a glass of warm tea surprises my day dreaming and I startled.
”Mother, come look at this painting. Is teh Malay baju kurung the woman in this painting wears appropriate with the pattern you used to stitch?” Mother who was used to receive orders for custom Malay clothing stitches inspect the painting I have done.
”Hmm… Malay batik tabir has kesumbo flower, flower cape, cempaka flower, and sunflower kaluk berlapis. Try to pick one of those flower patterns. For the material example just look at my knitting works.”
The pregnant moon illuminates my heart to deliver the painting to her home. The streets are lit up through the raintrees. I search the destination address. The heartbeat feels as if they know no tones. A classic Malay-patterned house, with bamboo shoots and shadows present in front of me. I brave myself to enter the yard of the house. I see on the porch of a young man and the woman.
”This is the painting for you.” I hand it with hesitation because of the man beside her staring sharply with his eagle eyes.
”Wow… it is extremely gorgeous. Just as I hope. The Malay batik tabir cempaka flower pattern is very exquisite. Oh! An introduction is due, this is Johan, insya Allah next month we will hold our marriage. Please come. We want you to paint us.”
I gape, my feet almost unable to hold their shivers.
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971