I am still anxious. Though tonight is malam berinai for me. Malam berinai of which indicates that I am entering a new world. The world is happy, said the people who greeted me. But I cannot understand the trajectories of the hear that always whisper an uncertainty. I do not know what it is. The soft sounds which pierce the labyrinth in my thin eardrums.
“He is not for you.” The whispers that make me question why my uncertainty just appears during that happiness I should have prevented. The thrilling seconds are joyous for a pair of human beings who will bind themselves into one.
Inai on my hands becomes mute. As if mocking me for my uncertainty. My behavior invites questions and confusion from the people around me.
“What is with you Biah?” Mother approaches me – still terrorized on the edge of the window. Inai on my hand changes color because of my tear drops.
“I don’t know, Mom. Biah doesn’t know Biah’s feelings.” I lean my head on her increasingly fragile lap. I recalled mother’s words whenever she swung me, I did not want to be swung if I did not want to get off of mother’s lap.
“That is ordinary. I have been like this too. It will not take too much time for you to get along with someone you will call husband.” Mother tells that back then when she was getting her own malam berinai she was always quizzical. Who in the world will be the man who will be the husband. There is never an option for a woman to make choices about her future.
I still remember my first meeting with Johan, who now accompanies my days. His loving flirtations still ringing when I and Johan finished watching the Tun Teja theater in the theater building Idrus Tintin, the grandest theater building on this island of Andalas. Befriending corn and grilled bananas lining the sidewalks I focused on every sentence flowing from Johan’s mouth.
“Has there been any man in your heart Biah?” Johan offers love’s aroma to me.
“No.” I answer hesitantly. Must I greet the aroma he offers? I intuitively looked at a rowing and bamboo shoots engravings decorating that theater building.
Must I lie? Perhaps my thoughts are the one who must correct Johan’s question. The crescent moon breaks on the edge of the rumah panggung Selaso Jatuh Kembar typical of Riau Malay.
I always dismiss the aroma of love when the shadow of trauma is present whenever I was with Johan. The shadows that belonged to a man of the night who had arrived before me in my bedroom. The shadow of a man of the night who almost slapped my private part. Courage from which I do not know, if at that time I was able to stop him at the top of my strength. I only remember in the dimness of the nightlight I could see there was one birthmark on his back. Since then I was always traumatized when a man came to approach me. Cries have not stopped since the incident. Various medications and psychiatric consultations I passed. It is not easy to accept the presence of Johan to be my future husband.
Johan who repeatedly came looking for sympathy from my parents. Bolu kemojo and dodol lempuk durian became a routine of him as presents for the whole family. Bringing happiness to mother’s heart for she really loves the typical Riau cake. The trauma that had made me confine myself slowly recovered with the persuasion from my father, mother, and brothers. In addition with the seriousness of Johan who seemed to invite his parents to stay in touch with my family. I still remember how Johan’s family scaled through father and mother. I from the other side of the room heard the answer that states the acceptance of Johan.
“Basically we accept Johan. So when will you woo and deliver a sign?”
Johan and his family’s seriousness were followed with the delivery of a golden ring as a sign of him wooing and giving a sign. The ring that indicates that I have been tied to a male.
Like a single glimpse the highly anticipated day has arrived. It is the fifth day before my wedding day. I see the wedding stage has been decorated with the dominant colors typical of Malay: yellow, green, and red. The platform that has been powdered with fresh flour and decorated with tabir belang that must have been hanged by the juru pelaminan. Yellow, green, and red stripes are hung on four sides of the aisle. I see the aisle seat that would pair me with Johan had a pillow board and cushioned pillows.
In the evening between the unoccupied empty aisle, Andam prepares tepak sirih, inai, beeswax, cool powder, duster, candle, bath soap, and a napkin dish as complementary ingredients for the nail painting. The hands, inai, the area around the feet and hands, and the soles of these feet are filled with inai as a sign of my readiness to welcome the household.
Tonight, I am accompanied by Siti, my best friend whom always has an ear to listen to my troubles.
“I do not know Siti, there is always whispers trying to ruin this wedding plan,” I complain. As the wedding approaches the whispers that had once begun with soft sighs, now has changed into faceless voices speaking in front of me.
“Is Biah actually in love with Johan?” Siti asks as she sorted the ingredients for my wedding event. Colorful flowers decorate my bride room.
“I truly have no idea Siti, those quite voices make me filled with doubt about my choice.” I smell the flower cape spread at every corner of my room.
I only stay silent staring at Siti preparing the wet rice, white rice, turmeric rice, potpourri as well as bonds of fresh flour ingredients in the form of kalinjuhang leaves, pepulut leaves, deer ganada leaves, jejeruan leaves, whole leaves, sedingin leaves, sambau grass and roots.
“You know Biah, what is the meaning of what I am preparing?” Siti asks as she prepared a high dulang where all the ingredients will be mixed in. So detailed Siti was in preparing all the things for the smoothness of my wedding party.
“Everyone already knows Siti, that is fresh flour.” I ask confused with Siti’s question that produced more question.
“Yes, everyone knows that, but do you know the meaning?” Siti tries to explain the deepest meaning contained in this fresh flour tradition.
“The fresh flour is the symbol of the inauguration of the sacred bond. Wheat flour is not just for sprinkling. But understand that when the bond is pledged then forget the anxiety over the other choices and learn to be faithful to that choice.” An advice that reminds me of the loyalty that Malay women must uphold.
“I do not know Siti, I feel powerless to give excuses when Johan let out his loving words, the scent of his love, and his soft touch. My despair as a woman who cannot bear the words of flattery.”
“Never mind… forget those doubts. I want to prepare a beautiful pulut balai for your event tomorrow,” Siti says as she flips through the yellow pulut to compose the pulut balai. Pulut balai is made of four-legged timber and there are 3 or 7 levels and each level contains yellow pulut as a symbol of fertility and glory. The very top of the levels of the hall is usually placed with a roasted chicken as a symbol of sacrifice or the core of grated coconut cooked with palm sugar. Each level of the hall is placed with eggs wrapped in oil paper that has been decorated and stemmed with sticks, then traced to the pulut balai.
I greet the morning wearily. I am wearing a yellow Malay outfit. The golden sunting is perched on my head. A tanjak with a golden brooch is attached to the head of Johan. A keris is tucked between the sheath. Johan’s cekak musang matches with the clothes I wear. The very shiny tenun Siak songket is worn by us. Akad marriage was held, I followed this sacred ritual by permeating every detail done. I am living the pantun berbalas which reciprocates as my enervated heart’s pacifier.
Batang ramai suka memanjat
Melilit sampai pohon meranti
Datang kami mempunyai hajat
Ingin menyampaikan hasrat hati
Tulisan Terkait
Berita Lainnya
Kain puteri sulaman pelangi
Cantik dan molek jadi idaman
Dahulu kami pernah berjanji
Memetik bunga kembang di taman
An assembly of joy I went through with Johan which unites the both of us as husband and wife. Wet rice, white rice, turmeric rice, and potpourri are repeatedly sprayed upon us. I try to enjoy the happiness of this ritual. The food invites the taste buds present at the expanse of the dining table. Spicy catfish curry sauce, curry roti jala and durian and air es laksamana mengamuk all amuse me while I receive congratulations. I notice the smile of my father and mother and that fact made me deeply happy. A typical Malay musical orchestra alternates singing various classical Malay songs. Sri Mersing, Patah Hati, Fatwa Pujangga, Kuala Deli, Mak Inang Pulau Kampai, Pengantin Baru, and other songs add more for this heart to hum. Friction of the accordion and the violin, the clinking of the piano, the bebano and the compang blows unite in a lilting harmony.
In the bridal chamber decorated with my favorite shades of the color blue, I am ashamed to be with the man who has now become my husband. A scrap of fresh flour I grip as hard as I can as a sign of shame. Johan has removed his teluk belanga clothes. But when Johan turned, on his back I see the birthmarks that had haunted me for this. I move quickly and toss fresh flour powder onto the body of Johan’s. I scream as hard as I could.
“Mom! It was Johan, Mom! He was the one who wanted to rape Biah!!”
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971