My God one among the thousands of faults that ensnare the history of our life is the error we fall into when deciding how much backwardness is contained in our progress how much failure is contained in our success how much destruction is contained in our improvement how pressing is the darkness contained in our wakening how enormous is the backwardness contained in our advancement and how much war is contained in our call for peace.
My God in our eyes so full of arrogance ever greater grows the confusion of what is to be left behind and what embraced what is of the heights and what of the depths
Emha Ainun Nadjib. 99 untuk Tuhanku [99 For My God], Pustaka Bandung 1983.
I sought for you in the rain tonight
to say to you greetings. You who were born once.
born again, and always shall be born and reborn.
Oh, have mercy on this your servant.
————————-tens of thousands of babies
have been born since your first birth,
as though the world were provided solely for their cries.
They are the small Christs whose times have crucified them:
slavery, misery, destitution
and war. ——–Also like you, they too shall not perish,
but be born and born again, shall always be reborn.
And I bow down. In awe: some still continue to ————————————survive here
against the upheavals, which again and again are reborn
in the conscience of every human being: ———————-december flowers that bloom
under the sound of the rain in the middle of the night.
Christ, behold the children in their beautiful clothes
making vows and uttering prayers in church;
they have sought you, and wished to befriend you,
to invite you to sing holy songs. ——————-A shame they do not know
you are busy playing with the sheep
in the stable.
Greetings, Christ. Greetings, whole world,
greetings to you
greetings to me.
Oh, have mercy on this your servant, ——bless this your servant. ——Forgive this your servant.
Retrieved from @PotretLawas. Published in Sastra Bulanan Tjerita Pendak magazine No. 11-12, 1968
Right on the day that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Kusno’s father bought him a pair of shorts. 1001 twill pants, Made in Italy.
Kusno’s father was politically illiterate. He didn’t know how important the attack was. He only knew that his son no longer had proper pants to wear. Everyone around the world who more or less knew about politics frowned, out of revenge, out of worry, out of anger. But Kusno’s father smiled happily that day. He had succeeded in doing something that at first he thought he wouldn’t be able to do. Buy Kusno a pair of shorts.
At the time Kusno was 14 years old. He had just finished elementary school. Now he wanted to apply for a job. And with the new pants it seemed to him that any job was open. He would prove to his father that he was a child who knew how to repay a kindness. In short the Kusno family that day rejoiced as never before. And the news of Pearl Harbor did not resonate in the slightest in the hearts of these simple people.
That’s telling the truth as it was only the big people who wanted war, the simple people only wanted peace!
But Kusno did not find a job as quickly as he thought he would. The offices knew what the attack on Pearl Harbor meant. They were not taking on any new workers either. Black clouds were gathering over the offices and through the gaps in the clouds peered the face of the angle of death.
Kusno was forced to lower his selling price, from clerk to porter, and from porter to postman. And after going up to ten offices he finally succeeded in obtaining a job, as a postman, with a salary of ten rupiahs per month.
Kusno’s father was worried. He himself was a postman. Did his son have to become a postman too? And were Kusno’s children to become postmen also? From generation to generation becoming postmen? He had never aspired to this, his family becoming a family of postmen. But like other villagers in difficult circumstances Kusno’s father remembered God: people strive but it is God who determines the outcome!
Kusno worked diligently but his 1001 twill pants were becoming faded because they were being washed so often. Every month he hoped he would be able to buy a new pair of pants, but his ten rupiahs was not even enough for food. So naturally the 1001 twill shorts had to be washed all the more often and every time they were washed, they looked all the more distressing.
All of Kusno’s thoughts were on those pants. What would happen to him if he couldn’t wear the pants anymore? Every day he prayed that God would not make it rain. And when it rained Kusno looked down at his pants as a mother looks at a child about to be sent onto the battlefield.
1001 twill. 1 multiplied by 1 is equal to 1. And what is 1 minus 1?
This is what went through Kusno’s mind as he thought about the 1001 pants. Especially as there was no money to buy soap. Even though the pants were dirty.
No, the simple people did not want war. They just wanted to live a simple life and live free from the fear that tomorrow they would not have any pants.
But the high and mighty people wanted war. One side wanted war for democracy and the other wanted it for the common prosperity of Greater East Asia.
Kusno did not know the meaning of democracy, and the expression prosperity was very interesting to him. He in fact remembered his pants. Prosperity for him was pants. And because of that he welcomed the Japanese soldiers with hugs, kisses and handshakes.
And as most of the Indonesian nation lived in the hope of independence, Kusno lived in the hope of new pants, hoped continually for three and a half years.
But like independence the pants too were unthinkable. And when Kusno gave up his hope, the 1001 pants were not like pants anymore. In places they were threadbare and what had once been white was now a blackish yellow. Because of that they were no longer fit to be worn by a postman. When Kusno summoned the courage to ask for a pair from the head of his office, he was yelled at so severely that he lost heart at once.
He arrived at the office a few days later but in the end the shame overcame the salary of ten rupiahs and he asked to resign.
Although the following days were dark for Kusno, he was now free of the shame that was etched on his face. He knew that a dark and dreadful day would befall him. But God was merciful and gracious. That was Kusno’s belief.
One day Kusno had a headache. He knew that the headache would soon go away if he could fill his stomach. For two days and two nights he ate nothing but tree leaves. It crossed his mind to sell the 1001 pants, to buy just food that was fit for humans to eat. But he quickly rejected the thought. If he sold the pants his stomach would be full for a few seconds, but after that what would he cover his nakedness with? Once also he thought about stealing someone else’s property but God said stay away from stealing. And Kusno’s family had for generations feared God, even though he had never seen him.
So that is how Kusno came to not sell the pants, to not steal, to often suffer from headaches, and to live from tree leaves. But he lived on, miserable indeed, but he lived with pride.
About the 1001 twill pants there is nothing more to say. At some point they must have disappeared from the face of the earth. And could they have disappeared from the face of this earth together with Kusno?
But be that as it may Kusno would not lose hope. He was born in misery, lived with misery. And even if his 1001 pants disappeared and became rags, Kusno would continue to fight against suffering even if only to obtain another pair of 1001 twill pants.
The only thing Kusno was not yet able to understand was why there were still always wars. Kusno felt like someone who had been sacrificed.
Featured image credit: From Historia.id, Celana Pendek Pendiri Bangsa – Menteri Penerangan Amir Sjarifuddin, memakai jas kedodoran, celana pendek, sambil merokok, berpose bersama presiden Sukarno, wakil presiden Mohammad Hatta, dan para menteri kabinet pertama Republik Indonesia di halaman rumah Sukarno, di Jalan Pegangsaan Timur No. 56 Jakarta, pada 4 Oktober 1945.
Between three mountains
embracing the moon.
From a broad arm of steel
emerges one thousand hands.
In a great flood that is unexpected
not because of strength,
not because of intelligence,
but because of the element of chance.
Of the strong and the intelligent
many die helplessly.
The pure small children
although they are powerless
survive the disaster
And saved also are those
who once more become young children
and dissolve into the universe.
WS Rendra, Ode to a Great Flood (Syair Banjir Besar), Lotus Poems (Syair Teratai), Sinar Harapan Daily, 19 April 1975 (Accessed from Armin Bell, Kumpulan Fiksi Blog, Collected Fiction Blog.)