Interpreter of Winds

by Fairoz Ahmad

  And the Devil snorted, which was a rather unbecoming habit of a divine creature, “Well, some murderers enter heaven too. And the imam, religious leaders of the like, some of them, we throw in hell.”

  And a shell-shocked Yusof said, the Devil must be lying and asked, why would such people go to hell. To which the Devil replied matter-of-factly, “Obviously because some of them ended up causing greater damage than the murderers.”

  And Yusof angrily asked, does it make you happy to see us suffer?

  And the Devil courteously replied, “I can assure you that I feel no happiness at all. Rather I feel as if my entire body has been dipped in mud that is slowly pulling me deeper into the ground. And after I clawed my way to the surface, I found myself trapped with an intense thirst. But it is not water that I needed. And as I desperately looked around for something that could quench me, the mud covering my body began to harden and a second layer of skin began to form all over, which cracked as I moved and this most unpleasant of sensations made me weep. And I entered a lake whose water washed my body and the smell of the water… that smell, Yusof! It was the smell that I needed to quench my thirst. It was a smell I had dreamt of once, when the world was still young and your religion much simpler. It is admirable of you, Yusof, to wish to defend your community, because after you left, the imam suggested that you be sacrificed. And everyone agreed.”

  With a flick of his finger, the Devil summoned the headman, who appeared instantly in front of them.

  “Tell Yusof why he is to be sacrificed,” commanded the Devil.

  The headman admitted sheepishly that it was much easier to sacrifice someone who was not around to contest the decision. And the headman said, truly we are sorry, we will hold a grand feast in your memory fully sponsored by Orang Kaya Zakaria. And the Devil flicked his finger again and the headman disappeared.

  To this, Yusof quivered in fear and let out a cry and asked, what will you do to me? And the Devil held Yusof’s hand and said, “Just follow me up the hill. Did you know that death is blue? My vision, each time a person dies, is stained blue. The earth, leaves, the skin of men—everything becomes blue for a moment.”

  And what then, is the meaning of all this? Yusof asked again, when they reached the hill.

  For the first time, the Devil looked hesitant and paused. He glanced at Yusof with the most sympathetic of eyes and said, “Perhaps there need not be any meaning at all.”

  4

  But the Stranger stifled a yawn and merely replied, “I shall sleep at the surau tonight. Good night.” And in the surau, he had recited the Quran, and the congregation had swayed to the hypnotic music of his voice, which blanketed the hall with the warm coolness of light.

  Yusof saw all of this from the scattered blue prism of his eyes and for the first time, felt his tongue unable to articulate what his heart wished to speak; and thus Yusof resolved the stranger conundrum—for an angel had spoken and its fingers were smooth, its smile was light, and its voice was beauty and it was not interested in questions like what its name was or anything of that sort.

  And up the hill, the Angel glanced at Yusof with the most sympathetic of eyes and said, “Perhaps there need not be any meaning at all.”

  And just like that, the night was over.

  Glossary

  From ‘Interpreter of Winds’

  Amok – A psychological state in which a person, usually a man, loses control and go on a killing spree or violent rampage. The person tends not to display violent tendencies previously. A Malay word which had entered the English language.

  Assalamualaikum – Arabic greeting that translates to ‘Peace be with you’. It is not necessarily used by Muslims only, although popularly conflated.

  Darul Ta’zim – Arabic for ‘Abode of Dignity’. It is the Arabic name for Johore, an important state in modern-day Malaysia. It used to be a key Islamic kingdom.

  Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiah – Hikayat means ‘tale’. Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiah is an existing manuscript which was theorised to be a mock manuscript written by a Bugis scribe named Husin bin Ismail for the American missionary Alfred North in around 1842. Husin peppered the text with his random musings, knowing that no one understood the language.

  Singapore Stone – A portion of a huge slab of stone found in the Singapore River. The slab was blown up in the 18th century to widen the river passageway. The slab was believed to date back to the 11th century. Its inscription remains undeciphered till today. The Singapore Stone now resides in the Singapore National Museum.

  Tuareg – A nomadic tribe in the Sahara desert. The Tuareg men veiled their faces. Also known as People of the Veil or People of the Sand.

  Waalaikumsalam – An Arabic greeting that translates to ‘Peace be with you too’.

  From ‘The Smell of Jasmine after the Rain’

  Badek – A liquor made of fermented rice.

  Bapak/pak – Can be used to mean ‘father’ or the more generic ‘Mister’. The latter is used as a sign of a respect when addressing an older person.

  Empu – A person considered to be a master in making a keris.

  Garuda – A large mythical bird which can be found in both Hindu and Buddhist mythology. Its features differ across cultures. It is the national symbol of Indonesia, where it is depicted as an eagle.

  Haram – An Arabic term that means ‘Forbidden’.

  Hijrah – The historical journey or migration made by the Prophet and his followers from Mecca to Medina in 622 C.E. The Islamic calendar (or the Hijrah calendar) begins on the year of that migration.

  Jemuwah Legi – An auspicious Friday in the Javanese calendar.

  Kyai – An expert in Islam or someone who is deemed to have a very deep understanding of the religion. The person has a higher status than just a typical ‘religious teacher’. The word is of Javanese origin.

  Keris – A dagger indigenous to the Malay world. Commonly spelt as ‘kris’ in English.

  Mbah – Similar to Pakdhe. But used to refer to a much older man. Usually a grandfather figure or a very old person who commands a lot of respect.

  MBok-Ayu – ‘Older Sister’.

  Muezzin – A person who gives the call to prayer in the mosque.

  Pakdhe – A more specific term than ‘pak’. Used to refer to an older man whom the addresser knows or is acquainted with.

  Pamor – The unique patterns found on the blade of a keris.

  Pesantren – Islamic boarding schools found across Indonesia. Varies in size and scale.

  Warung – A small coffee house found in villages and small towns. Also sells food and snacks, in addition to other types of drinks.

  From ‘The Day the Music Died’

  Muezzin – A person who gives the call to prayer.

  Nasyid – Islamic vocal music. Traditional nasyid does not utilise any musical instruments.

  Qiamat – Apocalypse.

  Ustazah – A female religious teacher.

  From ‘The Night of One Thousand Months’

  Fatwa – A religious opinion or edict.

  Imam – A religious leader who also leads prayer at the mosque.

  Orang Kaya – ‘Rich Person’.

  Pasak bumi – Also known by its more common name, Tongkat Ali, a plant thought to have aphrodisiac qualities

  Surau – A smaller version of a mosque.

  Notes

  In writing the stories, I have tried to be as faithful and accurate as possible to the subject matter, such as the keris, the spread of Islamic reformist ideas in 19th century Southeast Asia, the nature of winds, and the culture and history of the people I am depicting. Many gave me a feel of the dominant ideas of the time, and I tried to capture this feel, or the atmosphere of the time, in some of these stories, notably “The Smell of Jasmine after the Rain”. Some, I have relied on more directly to provide more factual depictions of the keris and wind.

  For readers who are interested to know more, I recommend the following texts as a good entry point: Lyall Watson’s Heaven�
�s Breath, Frey Edward’s The Kris, William Roff’s The Origins of Malay Nationalism and Anne Godlewska’s “Map, Text and Image. The Mentality of Enlightened Conquerors”.

  Words in English that are italicised are direct quotations from sources:

  From “Interpreter of Winds”

  The italicised words spoken by the angel Izrail (the Malay spelling for Israfel) when the King refused to honor his promise is a verse from the Quran (41:15). The italicized words in the Amir Hamzah story is a quote from Godlewska, while the italicized words on the waltz is from Watson.

  From “The Day the Music Died”

  The italicised words referring to the angel Israfel was partly inspired by a poem from Edgar Allen Poe, of the same name; as well as a verse from the Holy Quran (39:68).

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is an act of solitude and this inevitably means you need to be given the license by your better half to spend many hours of your life, and over long periods of time, in your quiet space, and be given the freedom to be lost in thought. Gloria Arlini granted this license, which was miraculously and thankfully, regularly extended.

  A work produced in solitude eventually have to face reality. A number of people have graciously and generously taken time away from their very busy schedule to provide comments and improvements—a metaphor stretched too far, a mistake here and there, a sudden change in pace, and so on. Nur Safiah Alias, Muhammad Farouq Othman, Chen Yuxuan and Intan Wierma Putri; they all have helped make this work better. Finally, a special thank you to AB. Widyanta from Universitas Gadjah Mada, for correcting my usage of Javanese terms in “The Smell of Jasmine after the Rain”.

  A special nod also to the young team at Ethos for making this work see the light of day—Justin, Xiao Ting, Suning, Kah Gay and their colleagues. A group of young people with drive and passion to see the power of stories bloom in Singapore, and taking risks to produce books such as the orbit series. And finally, a metaphorical hat tip to Mr. Fong, for the foresight of building this team before his retirement.

  About The Author

  Fairoz Ahmad is the co-founder of the award-winning social enterprise, Chapter W. The organisation works at the intersection of women, technology and social impact. For his work with the community, he was awarded the National University of Singapore's Outstanding Young Alumni award. He also lectures in sociology and community development at Temasek Polytechnic. Fairoz recently graduated from the University of Oxford with a Master of Public Policy (Distinction) under the Chevening-Oxford scholarship.

  Interpreter of Winds is a reflection of his experiences and observations growing up Muslim in a world too busy, too distracted, to understand one another, and his belief that the magic, wonder and richness of one’s history and culture, together with their quirks and eccentricities, could help narrow this gap in understanding.

  Giving Alms

  by Khin Chan Myae MaungAn excerpt from the short story “Stillborn”

  Ko Thike was not shaken by our son’s death the way he was with our daughter’s. Our first child was stillborn, gray and wet—a girl. She came with her fingers clenched in a fist, face veiled with thin blood vessels that clung to her skin. It was no one’s fault. The doctor was held up at the checkpoint for far too long. And curfew made it impossible for him to reach our house before morning. But it was not his fault, nor was it the fault of the British soldiers or the resistance that made them suspicious of night travelers.

  I took it upon myself to blame insignificant destinies—the doctor’s faulty bicycle chain. The sweet anise tea that kept the guards alert through the night. The number of chilies I ate during the pregnancy. All these insignificances colluded against us, but they came by no direct fault of ours.

  “Karma has failed us,” my husband whispered into our dark bedroom. With his hand over his mouth, he stopped himself from wailing. What an incredibly loud noise sorrow makes when muffled, a noise that distils the air in your lungs to heavy stones. I doubted that the Universe could be malicious, only terribly indecisive in its expanse, but I did not correct him. For years we waited on happiness; whatever it was, we held our breath waiting. Then Arkar came, and a deep exhale rushed through the house as his cries flooded the doors and windows.

  My baby had long curling lashes like his father. They caught tears like dew balanced on the fringes of a spider’s web. Round eyes—big ones, dark like tamarind pits ripe in melting fruit. The soft veins of his eyelids would twitch in his sleep as his lips parted slightly. The first few days of motherhood, they say a woman feels a thousand worlds passing through her at once. Each one a past life where she’s held the same face to her bosom and time collapses into one crushing moment of recognition.

  Oh, how I’ve known you for so many lifetimes, and here we are again.

  Arkar was beaten to death outside the south gate of Rangoon University. He choked on his own blood, body stripped naked and tied to a post—he was made an example of. Somehow, I expected it. Our son, the homosexual, would be beaten to death on the curbside and stripped of his dignity. So when the telegram came from the Rangoon police addressed to us, there were little words to be said between Ko Thike and I.

  What could we say to each other that we did not already know? That we were not expecting it? That he should have listened to us and married that girl we arranged? Or that we should have gone after him when he left. Ko Thike forbade it. For five years it was as though both our children had died at birth. One stillborn, the other treated as though he had been. Now we stared out the train car window, waiting for it to depart, gone to claim a body that was stranger to us.

  In conversation with Khin

  Fairoz I was intrigued by how influenced you were by the stories shared by your mother and grandmother. There is a power to inter-generational stories that we tend to disregard, especially in Singapore, where families are sometimes too busy to build a strong familial narrative with their children. Could you share one story that had a particularly strong influence on you?

  Khin There was a time when I was younger and more rebellious and did not have a strong connection with my family. It was definitely a process of settling down having the time to get to know my elders as people with their own interiorities. The more I had heard about their stories and lives, the more they became complex human beings. I think one of the stories that stuck with me throughout, was how my great grandmother had arranged my grandmother and grandfather’s marriage. My grandmother always told this story with regret and happiness, as if even after all those years she could not determine how she felt about the arrangement. I think it really taught me to pay attention to their emotions and to see them as people in their own right.

  Fairoz I was struck by a common theme of what I see as the sins of the father. Each story depicts a rather deep flaw in the father figure, that reverberates through the child’s life. I would be interested if you could elaborate more on the role of the father figure as a running theme in your story.

  Khin When I wrote these stories, I was very much focused on the mother-child relationship. Now that you mention it, I do see a lack of a father figure in the stories. But I can say it was not intentional. During that time, I was deeply interested in how women, in particular, pass down loss, trauma and pain to their children and other women. However, I think it would be wrong to say that men do not do this as well. I think it’s just done differently and in a way I personally am not familiar with.

  Fairoz Within the stories, there seems to be a gendered dimension to the act of storytelling. The stories women pass on their daughters are not similar to the stories that fathers pass on to their sons. How has this influenced you as a writer? Are there specific areas or themes that are especially prevalent in the stories that mothers pass on to daughters?

  Khin There is definitely a gendered dynamic to storytelling, especially when it comes to intergenerational storytelling. Culturally in Myanmar, the mindset when it comes to sons, is that it is not their duty to know and tell stories. Women carry stories, wom
en are teachers, women are traditionally those who have time to listen, tell and remember stories. It is not necessarily that men are not worthy of these stories, but rather, women are expected to care about the stories and pass them down. Here lies the underlying sexism. Paradoxically, I feel that there is value and honour in being chosen to pass down these stories by the elders.

  Fairoz In the story “Giving Alms”, I was pleasantly surprised to uncover a different and perhaps deeper meaning, to the idea of giving alms. The character literally sheds blood to earth and is forced to purify with water. I wonder, to whom or what is this gratitude for, and once again, it feels as if the sins of the father are carried by the child, and whether this is informed by a specific Buddhist or cultural worldview?

  Khin Partly yes, it is guided by some Buddhist thought, and that is just having a karmic experience. In modern western thought, karma is misunderstood and cut down to the basic idea of you give what you get. But in Theravada Buddhism, karma is not only from your current life but also accumulates from your past lives. It is this concept that makes us accept that things are out of our control. We’ve sealed our own fate many lifetimes ago. It gives balance to a chaotic world. I think that theme was explored in “Giving Alms” where sometimes bad things happen to good people and that’s okay.

  Others in the series

  a tiny space by fifi coo & family

  Notes After Terawih by Ziks