Love and Death in Bali

by Vicki Baum

  “Now they are going to jump down,” the old man said. The three wives emerged on to the bridge in their white robes. They were giving the last touches to their dresses and their hair, for they wished to look their best when they appeared in heaven. Those behind Pak surged forward, to be pushed back with all his weight. Suddenly the flames shot up, as great jars of oil were poured on to them. Two of the wives stepped to the edge of the bridge, exchanged a smiling glance and put their hands to their hair. Pak observed that each held a dove. They both jumped down at the same moment, and as their bodies fell vertically through the air the doves flew away.

  “Mbe!” the old man exclaimed with satisfaction, “there go their souls to heaven to find their happiness.”

  The third wife had meanwhile stepped to the edge of the bridge. She did not smile and her eyes were closed. The fire roared below and she hesitated for the twinkling of an eye. Then she jumped and the dove flew away. “She was afraid,” the old man said contemptuously.

  The crowds began to disperse at once. There was a noise like a thunder-clap from the puri and Pak gave a start and gripped the smith’s arm. “Cannon,” he said with a laugh. “Shall we go now?” Pak said, coughing. The gamelan had struck up again to conduct the guests back to the puri. The relations of the wives had left the bridge and smilingly joined their companions.

  “I’ll make you a proposal,” the smith said when they had joined the crowd on the road which was now streaming back to the puri. “I have taken a fancy to your cock. Yesterday I made a hundred ringits by betting on him. I will give you those hundred ringits for him. Don’t be a fool. Give him to me.”

  Pak hesitated for one second only. “Not for a thousand,” he said. Never had his cock been so dear to him as now. The smith gave no sign of his disappointment. He clapped him on the back and laughed and they parted the best of friends, after Pak had gone to fetch the Srawah from the house where he had spent the night.

  Next morning they set out on the return journey to Badung, and Pak congratulated himself on having news to tell which for once in a way Puglug did not know already. Towards noon they made a halt at a spring to drink and water the horses. Pak sat by the roadside with Lantjar and took the cock out to give him an airing. The anak Agung Bima, who had chosen Lambon for the puri, came strolling up and stood beside them. Pak folded his hands politely. “Is that the cock that killed our lord and master’s red one?” the anak Agung Bima asked.

  “It is, your Highness,” Pak said with a modest air, although he was puffed up with pride.

  “A fine cock,” the anak Agung said. He bent down and lifted the bird from the grass with his own hands, ran his fingers through his plumage and felt his weight. The cock crowed, flapped his wings and struggled. The anak Agung held his feet and counted the rings on his middle claw. “A genuine Srawah,” he said with awe. Pak nodded. “I have been offered a hundred ringits for him,” he said. It was more than he could do to keep it in.

  “The lord has taken a fancy to your cock. He does you the honor to accept him,” the anak Agung Bima said. He beckoned to a man and gave him the bird to take away.

  Pak was left with the empty basket by the side of the road. His gullet was bitter as on the day when the eyes of his brother Meru were put out.

  The End

  A MOTOR-CAR went at full speed along the Konigsplein in Batavia. The dust swirled up in Boomsmer’s face and he took out his handkerchief and held it in front of his face.

  Nevertheless, it went too slow for him. The gravel of the approach to Government House crunched under the wheels. The white building and its pillared portico glared silently in the sunlight. Boomsmer jumped out and ran up the wide steps. It was cool here on the clean flagstones. Boomsmer looked at his dusty handkerchief, wiped the sweat from his brow and then dusted his shining black shoes. He wondered next what to do with the dirty handkerchief and then, making a ball of it, threw it, after glancing round, into a dark corner beside the steps. Then he went through the folding doors into the vestibule of the Council room.

  Van Tilema was standing looking out through the lofty window. “Here you are—at last,” he said almost rudely as Boomsmer made his bow. “The others are all in there.”

  “I have come as fast as a motor-car could bring me, Herr van Tilema,” Boomsmer said in an injured tone. “I’m still feeling shaken all to bits.” Van Tilema turned on him with a face that showed his ill-humor.

  “What is all this we hear, Herr Resident?” he said without offering Boomsmer a seat. “It is incredible—three widows burnt! Three innocent women! We are not in the Middle Ages!”

  Boomsmer let his hands fall to his sides. “I felt like having a stroke when Gusti Nyoman told me about it.”

  “The Governor-General is beside himself,” van Tilema went on, pointing at last to a chair. Boomsmer sat down, bending only from the hips. “Appalling that such a thing should happen in a Dutch colony.”

  “They are still cannibals in Borneo,” Boomsmer said in his injured voice. “What can you do with these fools of natives?”

  “What you should do is your own affair, Herr Resident,” van Tilema said. “It is out of the question for such things to be tolerated. The Government appointed you as Resident of Bali because you were a young man who had grown up with the modern ideas that inspire our colonial policy. The Governor-General was convinced that you would administrate Bali in accordance with his views. And now this happens the moment you have taken up your post! It was the Government’s belief that many of our difficulties in Bali were to be imputed to the fact that the worthy Berginck was too slack— owing to his age. But I must say this for him: Nothing of this kind would have happened in his time. Three women burned! Do you understand what that means? Can’t you see how the English press would seize on it and trumpet it abroad if it got wind of it!”

  Boomsmer pushed out his lower lip. The English could mind their own business, he thought. The English had been rammed down their throats ever since the Boer War. He had had enough of them. Yet when he thought of the widows being burned he felt a sensation of nausea—as though he actually smelled the charred human flesh. It was revolting, cannibalistic and not to be tolerated: in that, he agreed with the Government. His indignation rose as he thought of it. Van Tilema, when he saw how red in the face he was, signed to a servant who was squatting in a corner and the kipas began to fan the air.

  “I regret that I was unable to prevent this shocking occurrence, Mynheer van Tilema,” Boomsmer said. “I entirely agree with the Government that such doings cannot be tolerated. They not only violate the treaties concluded with South Bali but are in flagrant contradiction with those dictates of humanity endorsed by the Government of the Netherlands. In my opinion it is the last straw.”

  “Yes—or the spark in the powder cask,” van Tilema said. Boomsmer’s heated face cleared. It positively bloomed above the tall collar of his tunic. “His Excellency General Veldte has intimated to me already that action must be taken. I should be overjoyed, van Tilema, overjoyed! Regrettable as the occasion is, I should welcome it if it meant that we at last employed force to establish our rule over South Bali in accordance with those humane and civilized principles which are constantly being set at naught by these scoundrelly rajas. It is high time,” he said, getting up in his excitement and pacing to and fro, “it is high time to vindicate our honor. The Government has endured it too long, far too long.”

  “You are an idealist. All our younger officials are great idealists,” van Tilema said with scarcely perceptible irony. He was a man of taste. He liked good books. He was writing a book himself about Javanese architecture. Tall talk was repugnant to him. “When I joined the service in Bali as a young man we were still all realists. It was impressed on us all that the Government had no money to spare and was out for profit. Copra, harbor dues, imports and exports—in the tradition of the old Company. We were merchants. Now our policy follows a new fashion—ethics, humane views, high principles, the rights of the native population and so f
orth. I quite agree. I have had quite enough of the rajas and it is high time we taught them a lesson. I could never stand those gentry and their households and satellites. I am all for the simple sudra—the peasant. The real Bali is to be found in the village community and its ancient laws. I believe in guns, as you do, as a means of clearing out the rajas and restoring to the villages the influence they had in the old days. The mere thought of women being roasted alive makes my blood boil. As far as that goes we see eye to eye, Herr Resident.”

  Boomsmer looked at his watch. “I think it is time we went in,” he observed. He felt with disquiet that he was sweating at every pore. It was his pride to appear perfectly cool in any climate. He felt for his handkerchief and then remembered that he no longer had one. As soon as the Commissarius turned away he quickly wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Now his hand was moist and he had to wipe it on the lining of the pocket of his white tunic. Meanwhile, his forehead was perspiring once more. “Pretty hot in Batavia today,” he said with a conciliatory smile.

  “Think so?” van Tilema said with raised eyebrows as he opened the door.

  The Council room was a large and lofty room, now in semidarkness owing to the drawn curtains. A life-size portrait in oils of the Queen in full regalia hung on the wall. There was a large table surrounded by chairs. The green baize tablecloth had had to be forgone, as the mould of the tropics always ate it away. There was a carafe of water on the table and a large glass jar with a lid containing cigars. Several men were standing about in the room—General Veldte, with a blond, pointed beard, turning gray, and one or two members of the Council of India, of which van Tilema was a member. The new Resident of Bali and Lombok was greeted with varying degrees of disesteem. The General merely gave him a nod, for they had already had a word together on Boomsmer’s arrival in Batavia.

  “Well, Boomsmer, this is a nice business in your part of the world,” Mynheer De Voogt, who had known him from his earliest years, remarked.

  “For the last time,” Boomsmer replied grimly. The door in the opposite wall was opened by a servant and Arnheim, the GovernorGeneral, entered the room. The Governor was a man of medium height with gray hair and his eyebrows were so close to his vivacious brown eyes that they, too, looked dark. His movements were quick and abrupt and gave the impression that he was always in a hurry to dispose of the matter before him in order to proceed to others of greater importance. He was popular, although he had the reputation of being an autocrat. Perhaps he was, but he always took the responsibility for his decisions and if anything went badly he never put the blame on his subordinates.

  The company greeted him respectfully but without ceremony, since the cigars on the table implied that the sitting was not of an official character. Most of them were longing to smoke, but they had waited for the Governor’s arrival. Arnheim went quickly to his seat at the head of the table and sat down. The kipas were set in motion. “Good morning, gentlemen,” the Governor-General said, looking round in good humor. “Are we all here? Kuiper not here yet? I think we may begin without him. Cigars? Cigarettes?” He started the glass jar, which looked like one of those jars for cheap sweets in a confectionery shop, on its course round the table. “Will anyone have a drink?” he added, making it clear that the members of the Council were there only as guests and not really for a conference.

  The Governor-General himself took a cheroot no bigger than a cigarette and began speaking at once.

  “I have summoned you, gentlemen,” he said, obviously in the best of spirits, “to tell you that the expedition to South Bali is a settled thing. Our troops will be ready to embark on the tenth of September. General Veldte has laid his plan of campaign before me and will be glad to give you all the necessary information. I only wish now to sum up once more the reasons for this decision, every aspect of which has been debated by the Council of India.”

  The gentlemen smoked and the kipas wafted the hot air from one end of the room to the other. There was an atmosphere of drowsy and relaxed attention such as prevails in a class-room when the master talks and the pupils are not called upon to open their mouths.

  “The territories of Badung, Tabanan, Bangli and Klungkung have for years past given us more than sufficient grounds for taking action against them. They have signed treaties which they had made no attempt to carry out. Our protests have received rebellious and contumacious answers. A few days ago the lord of Badung announced his final refusal to pay the sum demanded of him. Tabanan has backed him up and if we do not show our fist we shall have Buleleng up in arms as well one of these fine days. In South Bali things are done that we cannot shut our eyes to. The rajas continue to execute their cruel mockery of justice; they have heads and hands cut off and keep their subjects in dread of tortures which it makes one’s hair stand on end even to hear of. In Bangli a man was executed by dragging him over thorns and broken glass until he was dead. In Badung a man’s eyes were put out for some trivial offence. You all know what occurred over the wreck of the Sri Kumala, and no redress has been made. If the Government has tried again and again to employ peaceable means, the South Balinese owe it principally to Mynheer van Tilema, who has again and again put in a good word for them.” The Governor conveyed this official reprimand with a smile; and the Commissarius acknowledged it by rising half-way from his chair. This was merely a by-play, for the two men were fast friends.

  “And now,” the Governor-General proceeded, raising his voice, “and now there is this horrible, this inconceivably horrible occurrence in Tabanan. Gentlemen, we live in the twentieth century; and in our close proximity, under the sway of our own Dutch Indian Government, innocent women are murdered, slain in the most gruesome and barbarous fashion. This shocking affair, which should never have been allowed to happen, shows us that not a day must be lost in sending our troops to Bali. It is our duty to administer our colonies in such a way that we can look the world in the face with a clear conscience. It is our duty to disseminate Dutch ideas and Dutch progress throughout the island. It is our duty to protect the rights of the natives and at the same time to root out the cruelties and dark superstitions and customs which cause them so much suffering. You will agree with me, gentlemen, when I say that nothing must prevent us from carrying civilization and enlightenment to the colonies which form a part of the great kingdom of the Netherlands.”

  A murmur of assent went round the table. Boomsmer poured himself out a glass of water. Van Tilema looked at a fly that had settled on the portrait of the Queen. He knew it all already.

  “Some will ask whether the cost and the risk to our troops are justified by what we stand to gain,” the Governor went on with a quick observant glance round the table. “Well, all I have to say to that is that it is not a matter of gain—not of gain to be reckoned in so many sacks of coffee or rice or in guilders. Our gain is a spiritual, or, if I may so put it, an ideal gain. It is our prestige, the respect shown us by the world at large and an extension of our own power and influence with which we are concerned. It depends on our colonial policy whether we stand on an equal footing with other Powers who also have great colonial possessions.” (England again, thought Boomsmer.) “We all know how much needs to be done in the islands for the advance of civilization and enlightenment. Step by step we must further the work of civilization. And our next step must be the complete subjection of Bali.”

  A murmur of enthusiastic approval greeted this conclusion. The Governor leant back and lit a fresh cheroot from a match held out by his neighbor. He had apparently said all he had to say.

  “Your Excellency,” van Tilema said when silence had fallen, “I believe I speak for us all in thanking you for your statement. We are all in full agreement with your views and are ready to uphold them in the Council of India. We love the Colonies and we wish to justify our pride in them. As for myself, I have a particular feeling for Bali, which—I freely admit—may perhaps be a trifle sentimental. But for that very reason I will do anything to make a recurrence of the scandalous and horrible e
vents that have occurred in Tabanan impossible.”

  “My heartiest thanks, Mynheer van Tilema,” the Governor said in conclusion of the proceedings. “I knew we should all be of the same opinion, gentlemen.”

  Before the Governor had time to rise from the table, Boomsmer was on his feet. “Your Excellency, General Veldte, gentlemen,” he said hastily, “as Resident of Bali I have one word to say. Deeply as I deplore the inconceivably terrible triple murder at Tabanan, I am almost glad of it since it has tipped the scales in favor of military action. I thank your Excellency for his intention of making Bali a part of the great kingdom of the Netherlands, in spirit and in fact, and if necessary with sword in hand.”

  He sat down and felt in his pocket, but finding no handkerchief there looked round the table with a rather sheepish smile. The Governor got up and gave him a casual nod. Van Tilema blinked his eyes when he heard the big words that came so easily and unprompted from Boomsmer’s mouth whenever he opened it. “You must excuse me, gentlemen, I have to be at Buitenzorg by two,” the Governor said, reaching the door before the words were out of his mouth. As soon as he had gone they all began to talk at once as they left the room.

  “I’ll make a job of it in fourteen days with three battalions,” General Veldte said. “I shall take three companies of engineers too, for bridge-building and so on. I’m glad the Governor has put his foot down at last.”

  “We have native agents in all districts,” Boomsmer explained to De Voogt. “And we have detailed reports of the number of arms in the puris. I have made sketch maps of the most important strategic points; they are being printed at the present moment for the use of our officers.”

  “Well, what do you make of it, Van Tilema?” a short stout councillor asked the Commissarius. “Is this expedition against Bali only a holiday outing? They say the Balinese are dangerous enemies.”

  Van Tilema shrugged his shoulders. “I am no prophet,” he said. The little councillor held him by a gold button of his white tunic.