Set in present-day Yogyakarta, Indonesia, "Many Yet One" explores the cultural contributions to Indonesian cuisine, art, history, and folklore by the Turkish, Dutch, Australian, English, and Japanese. Additionally, it focuses on the origins of the culture, including the Javanese who originally inhabited these 7000+ islands."Many Yet One" was especially written for parents to share with their children, ages 7-10.
Since this is a blog, it is recommended to use the prepared tabs in the right column for proper navigation. Feel free to also click through to any of my story collections listed in the 'Other Works' section in the right column.
Additionally, if you like what you're reading, be sure to support my works by clicking on any of the advertisements on this page. Thanks!
Indigo Nights
As the children played badminton, Mr. Urwani walked to the market. He purchased a brand new pack of clove cigarettes, a sachet of kindling logs, and several packs of marshmallows.
As he returned from the market, Reine saw him carrying the grocery bag in one hand and toting the bundle of kindle in the other.
“Uncle Yong, what are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” he replied.
Without another word, he went up the front steps and into the house. Moments later, the screen door slammed as Mr. Urwani exited the back of the house.
He sat everything on the ground and pulled a whittling knife out of his pocket. He flicked the knife open and unfastened the kindling. Then, he built a small log cabin with the sticks. He emptied the grocery bag before crumpling the bag and stuffing it into the center of the log cabin. As soon as he lit the paper bag, it caught fire. The fire quickly spread to the kindling. Mr. Urwani added a few bigger logs and the fire was well underway.
Darkness from the disappearing sun and light from the growing campfire drew the children like fireflies to the Urwani’s backyard.
Mr. Urwani had yet another surprise as he went to the farthest edge of the backyard and pulled branches from a gorse bush. He shaved the twigs until they were smooth and clean.
“What are these for?” asked Susi.
“Roasting marshmallows,” replied her father.
He pierced a marshmallow with a twig and handed it to one of the boys. He continued until every child had a marshmallow roasting over the fire. Mrs. Urwani came outside and sat next to her husband. He whittled one more skewer and placed a marshmallow on the end before handing it to Mrs. Urwani.
“Let’s make s’mores,” suggested Susi.
“Ooh, That’s a good idea! I love roasted marshmallows and chocolate bars between two graham crackers,” replied Reema, “but we don’t have any graham crackers or chocolate bars.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
She handed her marshmallow to her husband and went back inside. She came out with a platter full of butter cakes and other goodies.
“We can’t make S’Mores with that,” said Susi.
“These will be better than S’Mores,” said Mrs. Urwani.
Everyone watched while Mrs. Urwani sliced the butter cake into thin pieces and laid each piece in the center of a plate. The butter cake was a sweet bread that tasted like a light, fluffy angel food cake.
She slid one the marshmallow off her skewer, resting it atop the butter cake. She drizzled peanut sauce from the Nasi Goreng over the top. Mr. Urwani cut fresh coconut meat into tiny cubes, sprinkling it over the melted marshmallow. Then, Mrs. Urwani shaved nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves over the top.
She did this for every child. Every child gobbled their dessert before proceeding to roast more marshmallows for more of Mrs. Urwani’s dessert.
“What do you call this?” asked Susi..
“I don’t have a name. I just made it up.”
“May I have another?” asked Reine.
“That’s what we’ll call it!” exclaimed Yudhi.
“What will we call it?” asked Mrs. Urwani.
“Nothers! May I have a ‘nother’?”
“Very clever,” said Mr. Urwani.
All the children asked for a ‘nother. Then, then asked for another ‘nother until every ‘nother was gone.
After the sun was long gone, the neighbor children returned home. Mr. Urwani fetched his rocking chair from the front porch and sat it next to the dwindling campfire.
Mrs. Urwani grabbed a chair and an unfinished dress from the sewing room and sat down next to her husband. Yudhi put away the sports equipment while Reema fetched her Conglak board from her room.
“Anyone want to play Conglak?”
“I do,” replied Susi.
Reema sat the Conglak board next to the fire. Reine watched as Reema and Susi set up the game. The board was fashioned like an outrigger canoe, long and narrow. There was dragon’s head facing outward on each end. Sixteen holes were drilled inside the canoe. There were two rows of seven round holes along each side. At each end, just behind the dragon’s heads, were two oblong holes.
Susi and Reema poured seven puka shells into each of the seven holes in each of their rows. Then, they began their game. Reema and Susi each picked up a random handful of shells from one of the cups on their side of the playing board. Simultaneously, they distributed the shells from their hand, pouring one into each bowl. The act of pouring the shells into the holes was called sowing.
When they reached the oblong end bowls, they sometimes skipped them and sometimes they placed a shell inside, just as they had with the remaining bowls.
“Why are you skipping bowls?” asked Reine.
“This is my ‘house’. I collect stones in my house, while I skip my sister’s house. This is just one of the rules,” stated Reema.
When they dropped the last shell in their hands into the appropriate hole, they picked up all the shells in that hole and continued sowing their ‘seeds’. It was only when the last shell landed in an empty hole or their own house that a player ended their turn. Susi finished first.
Reema finished sowing her ‘seeds’. Since her turn lasted longer, she got to go again, grabbing the shells out of any hole on her side and dispersing them around the board, hole-to-hole.
Meanwhile, Yudhi set up his telescope at the farthest edge of the backyard to stargaze, The sky had turned blue-black. Like all people living near the equator, the Indonesians were used to the quick sunsets.
Mrs. Urwani finished the hem on the plain white dress before setting it aside. She fetched a a brick of paraffin wax and placed it in a shallow pie pan. Slowly, the paraffin melted into a soupy liquid.
“What are you doing?” asked Reine.
“I’m creating batik,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
“Mom,” said Reema, “I don’t know why you spend weeks at a time creating just one dress. There are hundreds, maybe thousands for sale on Malioboro Street.”
“I do it because I love doing it. You have to remember, I used to do this for a living,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
“It’s what sent you to school as a child,” added Mr. Urwani.
Mrs. Urwani stirred the paraffin until it was smooth. Then, she added part of a beeswax honeycomb. The beeswax quickly melted into the paraffin. She stirred the wax until it was smooth again.
“Reine, could you hand me that tool?” asked Mrs. Urwani.
Reine grabbed the tiny tool. It had a wooden handle at one end and a metal spout at the other. Mrs. Urwani used a spoon to scoop wax from the pie plate to the batik tool.
“I use this device, which is called a ‘canting’, to put wax onto the dress.”
Mrs. Urwani drew a floral design upon the front of the dress. She patiently worked on one part of the dress before moving onto another area. After she finished, most of the dress was spattered with wax.
“Aunt Maly, it looks horrible.”
“Just be patient, Reine.”
Mrs. Urwani laid the dress upon her chair and went inside. When she returned, she carried a small washtub in her arms.
“What do you have in there?” asked Reine.
“A little bit of everything,” replied Mrs. Urwani, “Would you like to help?”
Reine nodded.
Mrs. Urwani unloaded the washtub. Inside, there were bottles of brown and blue ink, a pair of hot dog tongs, and some rubber gloves.
“We’ll start by squirting blue ink into the washbasin.”
Reine did as she was told. Afterward, Mrs. Urwani added water to the ink until the washbasin was half full.
“Now place the dress into the ink, but don’t place your hands in the ink.”
“Why not?”
“See my hands?” asked Mrs. Urwani.
Reine had never noticed before, but Mrs. Urwani’s fingertips were slightly blue colored.
“The ink will permanently stain your hands, just like mine.”
Reine was careful not to touch the water. Mrs. Urwani used the hot dog tongs to submerge the dress completely into the ink.
“The longer we leave the dress to soak, the darker the color.”
Everyone sat by the fire as they waited for the ink to stain the dress. After about an hour, Mrs. Urwani handed a pair of gloves to Reine. Both Reine put on her gloves, ready for the next step.
Mrs. Urwani fished the dress out of the washbasin with the tongs.
“Wow! It’s as dark as the nighttime sky!”
“It’s called Indigo,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
“Where does indigo come from?”
“Most people say it comes from India. The word ‘indigo’ comes from a Greek word which means to indicate, or mark something.”
“Like you’re marking the dress with ink?”
“Exactly.”
“But I really meant the ink…where does it come from?”
“It’s made artificially nowadays, but there was a time when Indonesians used crushed flowers to make inks and dyes. In fact, the artificial Indigo is used in every pair of blue jeans made today.”
Mrs. Urwani grabbed the tongs and fished in the ink for the dress. The dress was dark blue, just as dark as a brand new pair of jeans.
“Grab the dress and squeeze out all of the ink,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“The wax is breaking in my grip,” said Reine.
“That’s okay. It’s one of the tricks to batik,” said Mrs. Urwani.
Reine finished squeezing. Then, Mrs. Urwani twisted the dress between her hands, wrining out the last bit of excess ink. She draped the dress over the clothesline and returned inside.
“I forgot something,” she said.
After a long wait, Mrs. Urwani returned with a second washtub. This one was filled with hot water. She removed the pie plate from the fire, replacing it with the washtub.
“What are you doing now?” asked Reine.
“I’m going to remove the wax,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“How will you do that?”
“By melting it.”
Mrs. Urwani felt the dress. The ink was still not quite dry. Mrs. Urwani held it in front of the fire, switching from one side to the other. When the dress was dry, she dropped it into the water.
“Any moment now,” said Mrs. Urwani.
Reine peered into the washtub. Melted wax floated to the surface. Mrs. Urwani scooped it off until no more wax was left in the washtub. At that point, she grabbed the tongs. She fished the dress from the blue lagoon of ink and water and held it high in the air.
“Look at that design!” said Reine.
The places where Mrs. Urwani had painted the wax design, there was only the unstained white dress showing.
“It’s beautiful,” said Reine.
“It’s not finished yet,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“What now?”
“Now we wait.”
“We always have to wait,” said Reine.
“Tomorrow, I will paint new designs on the dress and use the brown ink. The colors blue, brown, and white represent the symbols of Hindu culture. There were times when different styles of batik were used to determine to whom you were talking. The more intricate the design, the more important the person.”
“So, how important is the person who will wear this dress?” asked Reine.
“Very important,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
“Who is it?”
Mrs. Urwani poked Reine on the nose and gave a laugh.
“It’s you, my sweet princess.”
Reine’s smile lit up the campfire. She looked around at the Urwani family. Susi and Reema both had beautiful pieces of batik clothing. Reema had a long dress and Susi wore one of her batik scarves, which tied back her hair.
Reine would have to wait, though. Tomorrow, she would be able to wear a dress hand-made by her Aunt Maly. As the fire waned, so did Reine’s ability to stay awake. As she admired the half-finished dress hanging on the clothesline, she drifted off to sleep.
Yudhi abandoned his stargazing for just a moment. He lifted his tiny cousin in his arms, carrying her on his shoulder, like a bag of rice. When they arrived upstairs, he tucked her in for a pleasant night’s sleep. When he returned downstairs, the rest of the girls were ready for sleep, too.
“Yudhi,” said his mother, “will you put the fire out when you’re finished?”
“Sure thing, ma.”
Mr. Urwani, however, did not go to bed quite yet. He lit a clove cigarette and gave it a puff. He joined Yudhi at the telescope. As Mr. Urwani looked through the telescope, Yudhi narrated the position of each and every star he knew. It was a long list. In fact, the list lasted longer than Mr. Urwani’s clove cigarette.
Mr. Urwani flicked the cigarette butt intot he fire. The flames consumed the cigarette.
“I guess that about does it for me, too,” said Mr. Urwani.
“I’m just about finished,” said Yudhi.
“Don’t forget to put out the campfire when you’re finished.”
“I’m going to do that right now,” said Yudhi.
He dumped the contents of the washbasins on the fire. The ink mix stained the ground around the campfire dark blue. As steam rose from the half-dead fire, Yudhi returned to his work.
The night, as dark as the darkest of inks, still allowed room for each and every star. This made Yudhi think of all the Indonesian people.
“Many yet one,” he whispered to himself.
Satay Sunsets
After Yudhi introduced Susi and Reine to Durian, that was just the beginning of adventures for everyone at the Urwani house on this night. Mrs. Urwani had begun cooking. Meanwhile, Susi and Reine followed Yudhi up to the attic.
“Here it is!” he exclaimed.
“You brought us up here for a volleyball net?”
“This is much more than a volleyball net,” said Yudhi.
Yudhi and the girls went out to the alley beside the Urwani house. Yudhi tied one end to the eye hook that was attached to the Urwani house. Susi stretched the net across the alley and attached the other end to an eye hook attached to the wall of Mr. Onato’s Auto Shop.
“Now we can play Sepak Takraw,” said Yudhi as he admired his work.
“Where’s the takraw?” asked Susi.
“Oh no!” groaned Yudhi, “How could I forget about that?”
“That’s the most important thing,” said Susi, “It could be anywhere.”
“That’s okay,” said Reine, “I’m very good at finding things. What does it look like?”
“It’s about seven centimeters across. Although it looks like it’s made from woven reeds, it’s actually made from white and black plastic strips. I guess you could say it looks like a woven wiffle ball.”
“That should be easy,” said Reine.
They searched all the boxes and drawers in Yudhi’s room. They looked under Yudhi’s bed, too. They searched Susi and Reine’s bedroom, the living room, both bathrooms, and then the kitchen.
“What on Earth are you looking for?” asked Mrs. Urwani.
“The takraw,” replied Susi.
“Ask your father. He might know,” replied Mrs. Urwani.
Mrs. Urwani returned to her work in the kitchen, preparing Chicken Satay. She pierced pieces of chicken with bamboo skewers and placed them aside. Then, she worked on the marinade. In a deep dish, she stirred cumin and turmeric into Indonesian soy sauce. Afterwards, she placed the skewers into the dish and placed it inside the refrigerator. This allowed the chicken to absorb the sauce until dinnertime.
The children filtered back through the living room to the front porch. As usual, Mr. Urwani was sitting in his rocking chair.
“Hello children. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Uncle Yong, we’ve been looking for the Takraw. Have you seen it?”
“I think I know where it is,” replied Mr. Urwani.
He led the children upstairs to his room. He searched every crevice and corner within his bedroom. He was not able to find the tiny woven ball, either. He crossed his arms and looked around for an answer. He looked low and he looked high. As he glanced at the chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling, he had an idea.
“I know where it could be,” he said triumphantly.
He led the children upstairs again. This time, they went into the musty attic. Cardboard boxes were stacked along the far wall.
“Everyone pick a box,” he said.
The children opened boxes as if it were Christmas morning, searching their contents for the surprises inside.
“I found some badminton rackets and birdies,” said Yudhi.
“We might find a use for those,” said Mr. Urwani.
“I found your volleyball,” announced Susi.
“That’ll come in handy, too.”
Susi sat it next to her father and returned to the stack of boxes. Just then, Reine stretched a hand high above her head. She grasped a bright white ball tightly in her fingers.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“That’s it!” exclaimed Uncle Yong.
Reine smiled brightly.
“I told you I was good at finding things.”
They gathered all the sports equipment and returned to the alley. Mr. Urwani moved his rocking chair to the edge of the porch to watch.
“We’ll split into two teams,” said Yudhi, “Me versus the two of you.”
“What are boundaries?”
“We’ll use trash cans to mark the end lines and use the sides of the alley for the out-of-bounds.”
Yudhi stood behind the end line formed by the trash can to serve.
“Who will be Tekong?” asked Susi.
“I’ll be my own Tekong.”
Normally, one player tossed the takraw to the server to start play. Since Yudhi was playing alone, he’d have to serve to himself. He tossed the takraw into the air and punted it over the net. It bounced off Susi’s knee before it went out-of-bounds.
“1-0,” said Yudhi.
He served the ball again. It flew over the net and directly at Reine. Reine ducked out of the way and the takraw bounced on the ground.
“2-0,” said Yudhi.
“What are you doing?” Susi said to Reine.
“It was going to hit me.”
“You’re supposed to kick it.”
“But I don’t want to kick it.”
“If you don’t kick it, we won’t win.”
As Susi and Reine argued, a group of kids came down the street. Yudhi invited them to join. Meanwhile, Reine got her wish. She sat on the bumper of Yudhi’s car and kept score. Yudhi’s team scored twenty-one points, winning the first game.
They played another game. This time, Susi’s team won. The third set was the tie-breaker. Mrs. Urwani came out to the front porch and sat next to Mr. Urwani and watched the children. It was a hard fought battle, but Susi’s team won again, winning the match.
“It’s time for dinner,” announced Mrs. Urwani.
“Want to play again after dinner?” asked one of the boys.
Yudhi looked up at the setting sun.
“We’ll run out of sunlight before we can finish. If you want, you can play while we eat dinner.”
As the remaining children played Sepak Takraw, the cousins went inside to wash. After they washed, they said their evening prayer.
Everyone gathered around the dining room table. Mrs. Urwani sat the Chicken Satay in the center of the table. The pieces of chicken were bright yellow, colored by the turmeric powder in the Indonesian soy marinade. There were also rice cakes and a cucumber salad.
The bright yellow color reminded Reine of the bright yellow Soto Ayam.
“Aunt Maly, why are so many foods yellow?”
“I thought we went over this,” answered Mrs. Urwani, “It’s because we Indonesians cook with Mustard and Tumeric.”
“There’s also yellow vegetables and fruit,” added Reema.
Susi bit into her Chicken Satay. The sauce was salty like soy, but sweet, too. The turmeric and cumin added a dark, smoky flavor.
"The chicken is so moist and tender, ma," said Susi.
“It’s an old marinade recipe,” replied her mother.
Chicken Satay was just another of the Muslim influences that had come from Turkey and the Middle East. Arabic traders often moved in caravans, never settling in any one place for too long. This meant that their food had to travel, too. For this reason, they used reeds and rattan to create skewers. This made for easy cooking. After they ate their meals, they could toss the skewers into the fire and be on their way.
Susi finished her skewer and then ate her cucumber salad and rice cakes. She washed it down with soy milk and was ready to go play again.
“I’m going back outside,” she announced to the table.
“Me, too,” said Yudhi.
“Me, three,” added Reine.
“Not until you rinse off your plate,” said her mother.
The children obeyed, sharing space at the kitchen sink. Yudhi washed while Susi dried. Meanwhile, Reine stood on top of a stool, so she could put the dishes into the cabinet overhead. When they were finished, Yudhi snatched his cousin off the stool and stood her on the floor. Susi grabbed the stool and put it away. Now the children were ready to return outside.
“Okay, shoo,” said Mrs. Urwani with a general waving motion.
The children scampered outside, only to find the sun sitting at the edge of the horizon. Soon, there would be very little light to play Sepak Takraw. In fact, the boys were already having problems with the fading light.
“I have an idea,” said Yudhi.
“What’s that?” answered a boy.
“Why don’t we play badminton instead?”
“That’s a good idea.”
Yudhi handed out the rackets and picked up the badminton birdie. Although sunset lasted only moments, streetlights illuminated the badminton court in fluorescent light.
Durian Days
The Hawker Carts filled the sidewalks of Yogya, selling everything under the sun. Yudhi pulled the car to the side of the road and opened the door.
“What are we doing?” asked Susi.
“I want to buy some Durian.”
“Durian? Blech!” exclaimed Reine, “I hate Durian!”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to waste another minute,” said Susi.
“This will only take a minute,” replied Yudhi.
One of the Hawker Carts stood apart from the remaining carts. Yudhi got out of the car and approached the cart. Hawker carts are just like street carts all over the rest of the world. They’re named Hawker Carts because of the people who pushed the carts. These men were called ‘Hawkers’ because they hawked (or sold) things from their carts.
This particular cart had a sign across one side. It said “Fong’s Fruits”. It belonged to Mrs. Fong. It was filled with fruits of all kinds. Yudhi did not have to search long for his Durian. The familiar odor of Durian found Yudhi as it drifted through the air..
“Ah! Here it is.”
A row of durian hung from strings that were tied to the cart’s canopy. The street vendor untied the string and handed the durian to Yudhi. Yudhi carefully took the string and held the large football-shaped fruit. It was colored green-yellow, like an unripe banana. Large, thorny knobs covered its surface.
He shook the durian as he held it near his ear.
“What are you doing?”: asked Mrs. Fong.
“Listeing for ripeness,” replied Yudhi.
“That is an old wives’ tale. You cannot tell anything from the sound of a Durian.”
“You can tell something from the squirrel holes,” stated Yudhi as he turned the hole toward Mrs. Fong.
“Yes you can. I’ll take half off the price. Is that fair?”
Yudhi nodded. He knew that was a good price, since a quirrel hole meant ripe and juicy seeds inside. The good thing was that squirrels had short arms, which means that even if Yudhi had ‘second paw’ on this durian, it was still a good deal.
He paid for the durian and thanked Mrs. Fong. However, before he could return to the car, the girls joined him.
“Why are you holding that fruit by a string?” asked Reine.
“See these spikes? That’s why.”
“Oh my gosh! It smells so awful,” said Reine.
“It smells like pig poop,” said Susi.
“I wish it smelled that good,” added Reema.
“But it tastes terrific,” said Yudhi.
“It’s not as terrific as bakpao,” replied Susi, “Can we buy some?”
“Do you have any money?”
“I have a few rupees,” said Reema.
“Then I guess you can buy it if you can find it.”
The girls walked a little way to a group of Hawker Carts. Some sold fruits and vegetables. They were looking for someone selling cooked food. One of the carts had a signboard on the side. It read, “Fong’s Fabulous Cart of Bak-“.
“This must be the place,” said Reema.
Indeed it was. Mr. Fong sold bakpao (sticky buns), bakmie (noodles), and bakso (meatballs), too. Reema ordered generous helpings of each item. Mr. Fong cooked their order and placed it in folding Chinese carry out boxes. As the girls returned to the car, they noticed the sign on the Hawker Cart full of fruit.
“Are you related to that gentleman down there?” asked Reema.
The woman nodded, “I am his wife.”
“Why aren’t you down there with him?”
“First of all, we’d have nothing to discuss when we return home.”
“And what else?”
“And Mr. Fong does not like the smell of durian.”
“Of course,” laughed Reema.
The girls returned to the car and immediately rolled their windows down. Still, they could not get away from the pungent odor of the durian. This smell was the very reason why most taxis, busses, and even airplanes would not let passengers bring durian. Reine even held head outside the window.
“Reine! Get your head inside the window!” commanded Yudhi.
“It’s stinky!”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s dangerous to put any part of your body outside the window. You never know what may happen.”
“If I pull my head inside, I might suffocate.”
“That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”
Reine pulled her head inside, but held both her nose and her breath. She put her nose next to the open window, trying to inhale fresh air. When they finally arrived at home, Mr. and Mrs. Urwani were both waiting on the porch. All the girls erupted from the car and hurried to the porch. Yudhi was close behind.
“Pa, look what I bought!” exclaimed Yudhi.
“I have not had Durian in quite some time.”
Mrs. Urwani pinched her nose and turned away from Yudhi and the smelly fruit.
“After you’re finished, I want you to throw the peel in the trash. Then, I want you to tie the trash bag and throw it in the trash can outside.”
“Is there anything else?” chuckled Yudhi.
“After that, you’d better put the lid on the trash can, too.”
Susi and Yudhi went to the kitchen. Yudhi ran a knife down the side of the durian, peeling the spiky skin away from the fruit. He then plucked a wedge of the yellow fruit from inside. He tore it into two pieces, keeping one piece for himself and giving one to Susi. It melted in her mouth with every bite.
“Let’s take some outside,” she said.
Yudhi finished peeling the durian. Afterwards, he threw most of the smelly outer peel, just as his mother had asked. There was one small piece he left on the sink. Meanwhile, Susi carried the pieces of durian out to the front porch. Mr. Urwani and Reema joined in. Mrs. Urwani and Reine refused to eat any durian.
“It’s so stinky!” said Reine as she pinched her nose again.
“Keep your nose plugged and just try one piece,” said Susi as she dangled the pale green fruit in front of her cousin. Reine reluctantly grabbed the durian with her free hand. She dangled it above her mouth and paused. Even with her nose plugged, she could smell the odorous fruit.
“It tastes like banana pudding,” said Reema.
Reine let the durian drop into her mouth. It melted like soft pudding. The taste, however, was something she did not expect.
“Well?” said Yudhi expectantly.
“Well…it tastes…like…”
“Yes?”
“It tastes like that stuff inside a candy bar.”
“Chocolate?”
“No, the creamy beige stuff.”
“Nougat?”
“That’s it.”
Everyone but Mrs. Urwani took a bite and held it in your mouth.
“I see what you’re saying,” said Yudhi.
“I still think it tastes like banana pudding,” said Reema.
“I don’t know what it tastes like, but I love it,” said Mr. Urwani as he slurped a piece into his mouth.
Without warning, Mrs. Urwani snatched a piece of durian off of the plate. She pinched her nose with two fingers and sampled a bite.
“Mmm,” said Mrs. Urwani, “definitely tastes like melted nougat.”
They enjoyed every last bite before Mrs. Urwani got up and went to the kitchen.
“Yudhi,” she called through the living room, “I thought I told you to throw durian peel away!”
“I’m saving it to wash our hands,” he replied.
“Oh, of course.”
She filled the peel with water and then used the peel as a tiny washbasin. Everyone took their turn washing and rinsing their hands before Yudhi took the very last piece of peel and threw it away. Afterwards, he tied the top of the garbage bag and took it out to the alley next to the house.
It was customary for anyone who ate durian to use the peel to wash their hands. For some reason, washing one’s hands in the peel kept his or her hands from smelling like the peel. Yudhi didn’t know why, he just knew it worked. That’s just the way it always was.
Yudhi returned to the front porch, where everyone was relaxing.
“That was the best ever!” exclaimed Reine, “Don’t you think, Aunt Maly?”
“I cannot say it was the best ever, but it was surprisingly good.”
Reema opened the bag full of goodies she purchased from Mr. Fong. Everyone shared the meatballs, sticky buns, and noodles. Afterwards, Reine heaved a sigh as she patted her belly. It thumped loudly, full of good food.
“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” said Reine.
“You’d better make space, because I am making Nasi Goreng,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“We bought some Mie Goreng from the Hawkers,” said Reema.
“I’d better get started then,” said Mrs. Urwani.
She went to the kitchen and began working her wonders. The rest of the family rested. Everyone except Yudhi, that is.
“Where are you going?” asked Susi.
“I have a plan for working off all this food,” he replied.
“What is it?” asked Reine.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
The girls followed Yudhi to the attic, where he would unveil his plan.Metamorphosis
It was only a short while at Reine's house before the vacation was over. Mrs. Urwani had spoken to Mr. Urwani and now it was safe to come home.
"Girls, do you have everything packed?" asked Mrs. Urwani.
Susi and Reema nodded.
"Then I guess we're on our way."
"What about me?" asked Reine.
"You're staying here," replied her mother.
"That's perfectly awful. We barely had a chance to visit," groaned Reine.
"Girls, do you have everything packed?" asked Mrs. Urwani.
Susi and Reema nodded.
"Then I guess we're on our way."
"What about me?" asked Reine.
"You're staying here," replied her mother.
"That's perfectly awful. We barely had a chance to visit," groaned Reine.
"If your mother will allow it, you can come along with us," said Mrs. Urwani.
"Can I, can I please?" begged Reine.
"Since it's okay with your Aunt Maly, then it's alright with me."
"Now you can be my tag-along," said Susi.
They packed themselves into the car and were just about ready to go when Susi hopped up in her seat.
"We almost forgot something!"
Susi ran inside and came out with the dried nutmeg.
"The manisan pala!" exclaimed Reine.
Susi got back into the car, the dried nutmeg resting on her lap as she rode in the back seat with Reine.
As they rode west, they played a game where they looked out the window, trying to find objects that began with a letter of the alphabet.
"Acacia," said Mrs. Urwani.
"Banana Tree!" shouted Susi.
"Coconuts," said Reema.
"Durian!" said Susi, pointing out the Indonesian fruit trees alongside the road.
"Elephant, Ficus, Gila Monster," stated Reema.
"I don't see any elephant or gila monsters," said Reine.
"They're on that restaurant sign over there," said Reema.
"You people are going too fast. How am I supposed to keep up?"
"Look harder," said Reema.
Reine heaved a big sigh then leaned back in her seat. She folded her arms and held her breath.
"You don't have to be like that about it," said Reema, "Go ahead, the next letter is H."
With her arms still folded, Reine glanced sideways out the window. However, she couldn't see anything that started with the letter H.
"I don't like this game," pouted Reine.
"Be patient. I'm sure you'll see something very soon," said Mrs. Urwani.
Just then, they passed a farm.
"Horses," said Susi, "Indonesian Boa," she added.
As they passed another billboard, it advertised the Wallacea Wildlife Habitat.
"Jaguars, Kangaroos, Lemurs, Monkeys," said Reema.
"Nectarines, Oranges, Pomegranate, Quince, Rambutan " said Susi as she pointed out the fruit on the Hawker Carts.
"This is just not fair!" exclaimed Reine.
"Girls, let Reine have a turn," scolded Mrs. Urwani.
Everyone remained silent for just a moment. Just then, they passed a pair large black marble statues alongside the road.
"Sumatran Tigers!" exlcaimed Reine. She clapped her hands excitedly.
The Sumatran Tigers guarded the entrance to the Wallacea Wildlife Habitat. It housed many of the animals throughout Indonesia and surrounding countries. It had been named for Sir Alfred Wallace, a biologist from Great Britain. Wallace had studied the plants and animals of Indonesia.
"Why do they call it the Wallacea Habitat, when we're in Bali?" asked Susi.
"It's named after Sir Wallace, who investigated the biodiversity of Indonesia."
"What's biodiversity?" asked Reine.
"It's the great variety of things around us," replied Mrs. Urwani, "Indonesia has more species of plants and animals than any place in the world."
"He also created the Wallace Line," added Reema, "It's a line between Bali and Wallacea that divides plants and animals based on their backgrounds."
"He also created the Wallace Line," added Reema, "It's a line between Bali and Wallacea that divides plants and animals based on their backgrounds."
"I've never seen this line," said Reine.
"It's an imaginary line. It's a boundary between two different types of animals. The ones on the Bali side are rarely found on the Wallace side and vice-versa."
"It's like a fence?" asked Reine.
"More like a property line," said Mrs. Urwani, "See the sign overhead now?"
The sign said 'Welcome to Yogya!"
"Some of the animals cross from one side of the Wallace Line to the other. Usually, though, they come back to where they started, to be with their relatives."
"Just like us," nodded Reine.
A fine layer of volcanic ash still covered parts of Yogyakarta's streets. For the most part, however, the city looked new again. They pulled into the driveway. Yudhi was working at Mr. Onato's while Mr. Urwani was on the porch, smoking one of his clove cigarettes.
"Uncle Yong!" exclaimed Reine as she ran to the porch.
"What a pleasant surprise!" said Mr. Urwani as he gave his niece a bear hug. Reine loved the smell of clove smoke imbedded in his cotton shirt.
Mr. Urwani helped the women unload the car. Meanwhile, Susi took the dried nutmeg slices to the kitchen. She briefly rinsed the nutmeg and then covered each piece in sugar. She carefully organized the slices on the baking rack and set it aside. She turned on the oven. It would not be long now.
After the oven pre-heated, Susi baked the nutmeg. After a few minutes, she pulled the tray out of the oven. What had been a tray of nutmeg was now a tray of Manisan Pala.
"Finally!" exclaimed Reine. As she reached for the candies, Susi pushed a hip into her way.
"What?"
"It's scolding hot. We have to wait a few minutes."
So they pulled a couple of stools beside the oven and waited. Reine fanned the tray with a dish towel, speeding the cooling process. When they were done, Reine got the first bite.
"Mmmm, so good, " exclaimed Reine.
Susi nodded in agreement as she prepared a small plate. She took it across the alley and presented it to Mr. Onato. He smiled as he plucked a piece of candy from the plate and popped it into his mouth. Then, Susi took the tray to Yudhi, who was working on a motorcycle in the back of the shop.
"Good timing, sis. After this, I'm finished for the day."
"Already? It isn't even noon."
"There's nothing left to fix."
"Oh," nodded Susi.
Yudhi replaced the clutch on the motorcycle and returned home with Susi. After he showered, he came downstairs, to find Reine and Susi playing video games in the family room.
"It's such a great day. Why don't we go to Kanisius Park and play?" asked Yudhi.
"Okay," said Susi.
"May I go, too?" asked Reine.
"Now I've got two tag-alongs," said Yudhi with a grin.
They loaded into the car and away they went. When they arrived at Kanisius Park, many of the trees had been scorched by wildfires. Still, there were patches of green where birds and butterflies gathered.
"It's terrible," said Reine.
"What's terrible? The burn spots?"
Reine nodded.
"It's what makes Indonesia beautiful," replied Yudhi.
"Black and gray are not beautiful."
"Yes, but the volcanic ash is plant food. The plants will grow back, more beautiful than ever."
For a moment, the sun broke through the clouds, as if signaling the natural path of things.
"Doesn't the Hindu god talk about destruction and re-birth?" asked Yudhi.
Reine nodded.
"Then think of it that way. All things must change, but it is a good thing. I think it's just one of the gifts of Allah. Without struggle, there is nothing to rejoice," said Yudhi.
"Blessed be Allah," he said.
With that, they left the birds and butterflies behind. They were splashes of color in an otherwise dull painting, thought Reine. Luckily, the gray would change to green, too. That made Reine very happy.
“Mom said she was cooking a big meal for lunch and I’m hungry. Are you two ready to go home?”
Susi nodded.
“I’m starved,” said Reine as she rubbed her tummy and licked her lips.
“Then let’s not waste another minute,” said Yudhi. They returned to the car, ready to see what was waiting at home.
Rama's Journey
On their third day at Reine's house, Susi and Reine got to fetch the saucepan full of nutmeg from the back porch. Aunt Dona sat a strainer into the sink and poured the contents of the saucepan into the strainer. The yellow-brown liquid drained away, leaving the golden brown ginger root sitting in the bottom of the strainer.
Aunt Dona returned the ginger to the saucepan. Then, she filled the saucepan with water and placed it on the stove. She turned on the heat and let it simmer.
“We wait again?” sighed Reine.
Her mother nodded.
Foam rose to the water’s surface as the ginger boiled, In no time at all, however, the foaming stopped, which meant this step was complete. Aunt Maly and Aunt Dona sliced the ginger root and placed them in a covered pan. Then, Mrs. Urwani sat them on the windowsill.
“We’ll set these here until the sun dries them,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“How long will that take?” asked Reine.
“Two more days.”
Reine sighed.
“We have many things planned until then,” announced Aunt Dona.
“Like?” asked Reine.
“We’re going to the temples at Prambanan and watch the Ramayana Ballet.”
Reine’s face lit up with a smile, “I love Prambanan.”
“What’s so special about Prambanan? It’s just a bunch of ruins,” said Reema nonchalantly.
“Show some respect,” scolded Mrs. Urwani.
“Prambanan aren’t just ruins, but an important piece of Indonesian history,” added Aunt Dona.
Susi was curious to see what all the fuss was about. She’d heard of the temples before. She’d also seen pictures in history books. She figured there must be a sight worth seeing.
As the car entered the Prambanan valley, workers moved stones through the ruins. Reema was not impressed, but she did not say a thing. Susi, however, leaned her head out the window. She was as curious as a monkey.
“Are they rebuilding the temple?”
“Archeologists have been re-constructing it ever since it was built. In a land of volcanoes and typhoons, you have to have to be patient and persistent.”
“There’s so much rubble,” said Susi.
“Ruins,” thought Reema.
Indeed, there was a lot of rubble. Of the original 237 temples, only a few stood upright. Those that remained were rebuilt throughout the 20th Century. As the Urwani car neared the center of Prambanan, more and more temples stood in their original form. Tall, conical steeples, made of gray concrete blocks, were adorned with statues, cornices, and other ornaments.
“It looks like Borobudur,” said Reema.
“That’s just because of the statues. Borobudur is a Buddhist temple, with statues of Buddha. Prambanan has a great variety of statues.”
“They look the same to me,” said Reema.
A thin rain poured as they got out of the car. Reema began to see the differences between Borobudur and Prambanan. She cut through the piles of gigantic blocks surrounding the main temples. Wet grass led to the edges of the shrine. She stepped onto the large concrete pad that surrounded the temple. Gargoyles and beasts surrounded the lower levels of the temple, while the warrior-guardians adorned the steeple.
“Which temple is this?” asked Susi.
“It could be any one of the trimurti,” said Mrs. Urwani.
The three gods of the Hindu religion were Brahma (the Creator), Vishnu (the Keeper), and Shiva (the Destroyer).
“I think it’s the Vishnu Temple,” corrected Aunt Dona.
“How can you tell?” asked Susi.
“For one, it’s the largest of the temples. Also, I see Nandi standing guard over there.”
She pointed out one of the three smaller temples dedicated to each of the larger temples. Nandi was the bull that Shiva rode. Brahma rode a giant sacred swan named Hamsa.
Susi immediately walked toward the third of the smaller temples. The statue in front of the temple had the body of a man with wings and face of an eagle.
“Is this Garuda?” asked Susi.
“It sure is,” replied Aunt Dona, “You can tell by the Eagle’s face and wings.”
Susi investigated the golden-muscled statue with his powerful arms and legs. His head was turned toward the skies. His wings flared out behind him, ready for flight.
“Yudhi would love this,” said Susi.
Mrs. Urwani nodded. “I wonder how your brother and father are doing.”
She dialed her cell phone and called home. Susi listened in to Mrs. Urwani’s half of the call.
“Hello, why aren’t you working at Mr. Onato’s Shop today?”
“Oh, is everything okay over there?”
“That’s good news! Then we’ll come home first thing tomorrow morning.”
Susi motioned to her mother. She wanted to talk to Yudhi, too.
“Here’s your sister,” said Mrs. Urwani.
“Hello big brother. We’re at Prambanan and we were just thinking of you. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Tag-along,” said Yudhi.
“I guess we’ll be seeing each other soon,” said Susi.
“I don’t work tomorrow either,” said Yudhi, “so maybe we could do something together. How does that sound?”
“It sounds terrific,” said Susi.
“Then it’s a date. Love you, little sis.”
“Love you too, big brother.”
Susi returned the phone to her mother and then returned her attention to the temple. Sounds of a gamelan were coming from the other side of the temple.
“What’s that?” asked Susi.
“It’s Ramayana!” replied Reine.
Everyone headed for the opposite side of the Shrine, where a multitude of people were gathered. On a small stage, there were dancers, clad in bright red, yellow, and black costumes. Off to the side sat a gamelan, full of instruments just like the ones Susi and Reema played. They clanged noisily as the dancers moved to the side of the stage.
Just like the Shadow Puppet plays, the Ramayana was a part of the rich heritage of the Java Island. The Ramayana ballet told the epic story of Rama. In fact, the word ‘Ramayana’ meant ‘Rama’s Journey’.
Susi and her family sat at one side of the stage, watching the ballet unfold. Dancers sprang around the stage. There was Prince Rama, Princess Sita, Garuda, and the Demons, too. Garuda was dressed just like the statue, although the dancer used his arms to wave his silken red wings. The demons were dressed in black with grotesque face masks. Their wings were made of black rayon.
Just like the puppet show, dancers clashed as they portrayed great battles. Also just like the puppet show, the gamelan accompanied the dancers.
Rama was the first born of King Dasharatha’s three sons. While he was a child, he learned the ways of the kingdom. When he turned 16, Rama hunted a demon that was attacking his father’s kingdom.
In another kingdom, a King found a special girl, who had been abandoned in a field. He named her Sita. As Sita grew, she became more and more beautiful. The king decided to have a contest to decide who would be fit to marry his lovely daughter.
The King gave each contestant a chance to use the longbow of Shiva. Rama is the only warrior strong enough to wield the bow. In fact, Rama is so strong he breaks Shiva’s longbow.
After Rama and Sita are married, Rama’s father, King Dasharatha decides to crown Rama as king. Rama’s step-mother is upset, because she wants her son Bharata (one of King Dasharatha’s other son) to become king. She has Rama and Sita banned to the wilderness.
Rama’s step-brother Bharata learns of his mothers plans and decides to betray his mother. He visits Rama in the wilderness and asks him to return and rule the kingdom. Rama refuses, because the exile was his father’s last command.
Meanwhile, Rama’s step-mother hatches an evil plot to kidnap Sita. After many twists and turns, Sita is captured.
Meanwhile, Rama meets the monkey-king Hamuran. Hamuran journey’s to the step-mother’s castle and plays a trick on the step-mother, promising to marry her. Eventually, his secret plan is discovered and Hamuran is captured by Ravana, the step-mother.
She sets his tail on fire as punishment. Hamuran gets angry and escapes. As he jumps from rooftop to rooftop, his tail catches the roofs on fire.
In the final scene, Ravana’s demons battle with the princes and the monkey-warriors. Both complete sets of dancers came out onto the stage and performed an elaborate dance. At the end of the battle, the evil step-mother Ravana was banished by her own sons. Rama and Sita were reunited and they were crowned king and queen.
Mrs. Urwani looked over at her eldest daughter. Reema clapped cheerfully until she caught her mother spying on her. Then she put her hands on her lap and stopped smiling.
“Too late,” said Mrs. Urwani, “I told you it was more than just ruins.”
“I guess I was glad I came,” replied Reema.
“I’m glad you came, too.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)