False Witchcraft

2019/08/04

This is an English translation for “Dukun Palsu”, an Indonesian short story that appears in the newspaper Rakyat Sultra on 22 July 2019. // Ini terjemahan bahasa Indonesia untuk “Dukun Palsu” karya Pangga Rahmad yang terbit di Rakyat Sultra, 22 Juli 2019. // Original text: here.

“That boy is just too stubborn,” so said Ma Imin one gloomy morning. While it wasn’t clear who she was yelling it out at, everyone in the room could guess who it was meant for. Jaka Mardio, a boy infamous for a belief in witches so rock-hard solid it rivals the faith of saints on the existence of hell and heaven. This is the first time that Ma Imin made a remark about Joko Mardio, apparently because the so-called stubborn boy had been gone since this morning, right after one of the cows he was supposed to keep guard of had vanished from its pen. As everyone knows, the Missing cow belongs to none other than Ma Imin. God knows why she chose Jaka Mardio to look after her livestock.

“It’s all right, Ma,” Jaka Mardio had said to Ma Imin right before he disappeared. “I’ll bring it back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Taweo’s place.”

Jaka Mardio is really a very pleasant boy. He is a lively, honest, hard-working young man, which were probably the traits that Ma Imin saw when she hired him. Even the ladies of the village likes him, but of course that would be before they know of his obsession with the occult, especially when it comes to witches. It isn’t uncommon for these young ladies to find themselves writing him love letters and then regretting them all when Jaka Mardio asked them to believe in witches in exchange. Still, these same ladies would write his name in their diaries, finding themselves lucky just to be born in this world and having the opportunity to lay their eyes on him, even if having him is another matter entirely.

People used to say that it wasn’t his fault that he is so obsessed with witches. It’s just the world he was raised in. His grandfather, rest his soul, was a famed witch, known far and wide for his precise and accurate predictions in locating valuable missing objects that were, say, lost, or misplaced, or perhaps straight-up stolen.

But time changes. People either learn about new beliefs or were introduced to new beliefs—the beliefs we call modernity , and then people would tell Jaka Mardio that only fools believe in the things you believe in. He wouldn’t be angry. He would laugh. He’d tell them, how am I any different from you, who believes in hell and heaven?

Right after the three burglary cases hit the village, people began trying to convince Jaka Mardio to not be so easily fooled by all this witchcraft nonsense, for it goes against modernity itself, or so they say. Don’t let the boy go mad, they said, but he retorted them just as often, with words nastier than the ones that they’d used, like a child lecturing adults. And it was so that people started to look at him differently.

“The hardest part of believing is convincing all of you to trust in the truth,” Jaka Mardio often said.

“Sure. That’s just what we’re thinking. You’re too stubborn to accept the truth.”

“One day,” he replied. “I’ll prove just how wrong all of you are.”

Theft is not a rare thing in the village. This is the seventh time that a cow was stolen, and it just so happened that the stolen cow was the one that belongs to Ma Imin, one among the five that were being guarded by Jaka Mardio. But really, it’s only recently that these burglars targeted cows, perhaps because there is no value in stealing indoor riches anymore. Anyway, even the cops seems happier to arrive late than lengthening their patrol time and, of course, they’ll only arrive after one or two cows have vanished, as obvious as superheroes in the daylight, pitiful.

The people of the village had actually agreen on their own patrols, to catch the thief mid-act and then, of course, to beat them up, and only afterwards send to the authoritities. But it seems these thieves are slyer than they, as there happened one night in which two cows vanished before anyone could catch a trace of the burglary. Of course, the cops arrived after the event had unfolded.

“What did I tell you,” Jaka Mardio said. “Getting the cops to help is as difficult as getting you all to believe that the witch can help.”

“Let’s just hope your wards don’t get their turn.”

“Just say it,” said Jaka Mardio. “You want me to take you to see the witch.”

Lo and behold, one week after the incident that night, one of Jaka Mardio’s cows received its turn. Good thing it was just one cow out of five. God knows what will happen if the other four also vanished. Ma Imin might ship Jaka Mardio off to jail.

The witch is called Taweo. He was a man whose old age was marked by his receding silvery hair along with the age lines in his face, each as if marking one of the many tragic events in his life. As it was oft spoken especially by Jaka Mardio, his most renowned skill is in reading for lost objects of value, a skill as great as that of the grandfather of his grandfather, whose tales were often old by the people of old. People also told of how he could cure the sick and deliver curses of such potency that his task was like that of an angel of death.

Taweo lives in the next village over, in a small shack with a patchwork roof made of ferns, alone. Other than being a witch, he was also accomplished at growing all sorts of legumes: ridge gourds, yardlong beans, and green amaranths grow in abundance in his backyard to the point that his shack resembles a garden more than a house, at least by the standard of that village. It wouldn’t take long for Jaka Mardio to reach him. According to the people of those villages, three hours by foot is a good short distance, not at all too far. Besides, there aren’t any real obstacles in the way. Just one long river that divides the two villages and a small mahogany bridge to get across it. It was through this route that Jaka Mardio arrived at Taweo’s sack, his stance perfectly innocent, as if nothing at all had happened.

On the evening that Jaka Mardio did not return home, after he had promised that it wouldn’t be long until he returns with the missing cow, Ma Imin and a couple of assorted villagers decided that it was time to look for him. In their hearts they knew that the boy was probably too ashamed to go home, and maybe also too ashamed of not coming home. Nothing would look right to him.

And so they arrive at the river, and they find Jaka Mardio sitting in the middle of the bridge, looking gloomy and disinterested. His face is as a pale as a child who haven’t eaten for an etire day, a sketch of a man in dire need of serious affection. Quite a couple of people think that he is going to kill himself.

“Tell me what I have to hear,” says Ma Imin.

Unprompted, Jaka Mardio hurls himself at both Ma Imin’s feet and hugs them. He tells her how sorry he is, that he regrets everything. Not long afterwards, he recalls his meeting with Taweo, and he tells Ma Imin along with the rest of the people of what had happened.

“How long has that cowe gone?” asked Taweo.

“I found out just this morning,” answered Jaka Mardio. “Maybe it was gone at dawn. I did forgot to close the door to his pen.”

“Oh,” said Taweo. He smiled. “Don’t look for it. Soon, that cowe will find its way back home. As in many cases, if a cow leaves in the morning, then it is just looking for a safe place to give birth.”

Bah, Jaka Mardio spat and hurriedly left Taweo. He yelled angrily at him, “Stupid! That cow is a male, not a female!”

FIN