A tale about what it means to be a friend
THE BOY AND THE PYTHON
by
Janaka Stagnaro
I
On a distant island called Borneo, in a time when men sent forth ships with sails, a baby python broke his way out of an egg. The snake, still wet from living in the egg, slithered into the tall grass, leaving behind nine other unhatched eggs, without ever knowing his siblings to come. The shadow of an eagle, in search of snakes and other tasty creatures, fell upon the python, no larger than two villager's hands, as he lay perfectly still. The shadow passed and a frog hopped near. With a flash, the amphibian became the snake's first meal, swallowed whole. Satisfied, the snake slithered under a bush, and soon dreamed the dream of frogs.
The years passed and the python, whom all the creatures called Naag, grew from the frogs, mice, rats and bats, lizards and small birds, or anything else that moved and was not larger than himself.
One day, as Naag coiled his powerful muscles around a baby boar that was just a little smaller than himself, the snake felt a commotion in the bush coming his way.
'Sssshh, little boar, relax to my grip; it is no use fighting the journey you'll soon make down the long dark tunnel of my belly. Why struggle, when soon you'll live in my sleep?' After a few minutes, the boar lay still.
Just as the python unhooked his jaws to fit over his meal and begin the long process of swallowing, two men came crashing into the clearing. They carried a large chest and dropped it heavily onto the ground. Naag's green body hid him well as he lay still in the shadows of the grass and watched.
"I will not carry this chest for you any longer,' said the shorter man wearing a scarf on his head, a pistol tucked in his trousers.
'You will', said the larger man, who wore a large hat and carried a pistol as well as a sword. 'We have not far to go.'
'Why should I, when I will only get a few pieces and you get the rest? I should at least get half...and if not half I will take all.'
The short man drew out his pistol and two shots echoed through the jungle. The birds and monkeys screamed at the noise.
Never before had the snake felt such vibrations, besides the thunder of storms. So filled with fear, he dreamt no boar dreams that day, slipping away into the thick bush.
II
The python, now longer than two horses and as thick as two friends embracing, looked like an enormous thick vine as he waited on a large tree branch for a meal to come his way. No creature existed bigger than himself now, so every creature could become a feast. Yet, three full months had passed and no creature had come his way, and the hunger in his belly cried to be satisfied.
'I am hungry,' said Naag aloud to no one in particular, while thinking of Tajai the Hornbill and her nest near by; which, of course, the baby hornbills would not satisfy his great hunger, but would make a very fine appetizer.
'You are always hungry,' said a voice high above in the tree, 'except, of course, when you're sleeping off a meal. All you do is eat and sleep.'
Naag looked up and saw Hutan, an orangutan, hanging by his long arms high in the tree and making puckering faces with his elastic lips .
'So. What else is there?' asked the python.
'There is a world to explore, vines to swing upon, hugs to be hugged.'
'I know nothing of such things. Though I can faintly remember an orangutan dream or two I dreamt...ah, so long ago, that perhaps contained such notions,' said Naag, as he tried to look into Hutan's eyes. 'But such dreams fade in the daylight of my hunger. Let me dream you now, Hutan, if you seek to teach me such things.'
'No, not I,' said the orangutan, moving another branch higher and avoiding the gaze of the snake, lest he fall under his spell. 'For such a lesson would only fade again to a new hunger. For a month, maybe two, you would sleep contented, only to have the hunger once more. I can eat my fill of fruit, that's fine. But without a friend, with a belly full, I will die.'
'Your warm body in my belly would suit me just fine,' said Naag as he slowly made his way closer.
Yet, as the days passed, and with so much time just hanging about on the branch, and no orangutan dream to dream, Naag began to think what Hutan had meant when he talked about having a friend. After all, pythons knew no family nor companions, only food.
Just as he was ready to let such thoughts forever slip away, he heard a rustling below. He waited. The rustling grew louder as the creature neared. It didn't matter what it was, his belly blazed. As the creature came directly below the branch, down came an awful shadow, knocking it to the ground.
The python wrapped his enormous body around his prey, making sure it had no chance to escape. Even the largest of tigers would not be able to fight its way to freedom.
'Let's see what sort of meal I have and what dreams I'll soon dream,' said the snake.
In his coil wiggled helplessly a boy on the verge of becoming a man.
'It's one of those orangutan-like creatures without the hair. It has been long since I have seen such a creature. And never have I tasted one.'
'Please, do not eat me, King of Snakes,' said the boy, his breath nearly squeezed away. 'If you eat me, my mother will have no one to find fruit in the jungle and she will starve. With my death, will be hers.'
'Why should that concern me?'
'Because surely you have a heart,' said the boy.
'I have this pulsing in my body that gives me strength.'
'No, that is not what I mean. It is a warmth you feel when you see, let's say, a friend.'
When Naag heard the word friend his hold lessened.
'What is this thing called a friend?' Naag asked.'What does it taste like? Hutan the orangutan spoke of one, but I have never had a friend.'
'A friend is not something you eat. It is someone you can trust, who is there when you need help and someone you find joy in helping.'
'Strange. Are you sure you do not eat them? What if I am hungry, will not my friend then appease my hunger?'
'No, not by being eaten,' said the boy, 'because then he would never be able to visit you again, and that would be a horrible thing to do to you.
'Horrible?' asked Naag. 'You speak in riddles, Hairless-Orangutan.'
'It is horrible because having just made a friend, the rest of your days would be filled with loneliness of having no hope of him coming to visit you or the chance of you going to see him.'
'What you speak of I cannot understand, for I have never had something called a friend.'
'Then let me be one,' said the boy with hope. 'Let me go and every month I will return and visit you, bringing you one of the village animals for you to feast upon. No longer will you have to wait so long for your next meal. It will be my pleasure in helping you.'
'How do I know you will return?' asked Naag, eying the boy with his yellow eyes.
'That is trust. Without it, no friendship can ever exist.'
The boy, whose name was Maraga, returned to the village that night, none the worse for his encounter with the python, except a few sore ribs.
'Hey, Maraga, I see your basket is empty, just like your future,' called a voice from the darkness.
Maraga knew very well Tarik's voice. A knot would twist every time he met the Rumah's oldest son.
'Not much food for your mama is it?' Tarik continued his taunting. 'If you want, I still have some bones with some meat left on it. You're welcome to give them to her, so you won't look like such a failure.'
Tarik's laughter haunted Maraga as he made his way through the village to his hut.
'Where have you been?' asked his mother when he came inside. Without saying a word he put the empty basket in the corner and sat down on the bare dirt floor by the central fire pit across from her.
'Mother, I failed to find us food for the night, I am sorry.'
'Do not worry, my son, my stomach is small enough to miss a night's meal without rumbling too much. It has been worry, not hunger, that has plagued me.'
For a long silence, Maraga sat looking at the cold stones in the pit.
'A giant python fell upon me today and made ready to swallow me before I persuaded it to let me go.'
His mother gasped, then arose quickly and hugged him affectionately, which he absently received.
'I am so glad you are safe. I will give offerings to the forest gods tomorrow for your return.'
'I escaped, mother, by promising the snake an animal from the village every month.'
'Every month? How can we do such a thing?'
'I do not know. All I know is that I made a promise. Tomorrow I will ask Rumah Mahakam to help me. And to fulfill his promise to my father.'
The next day, as the roosters roamed the orange-clay streets, impressing the hens with their cock-a-doodles, Maraga was bowing to the Rumah, whose large belly sagged with age. Tarik, whose belly threatened to surpass his father's, stood behind the Rumah.
'What do you seek, Maraga?' asked Mahakam.
'Your Greatness, a long time ago, when my father bled from the wounds from the great crocodile that he slew saving your life, you vowed to honor any wish he had. His wish was to grant me one wish from you. And in your gratitude, you agreed. Never have I asked for it, Your Majesty, until today, out of desperation.'
The Rumah listened quietly as Maraga retold his capture by the python and the subsequent promise.
'Great Rumah, please honor the spirit of my father, by helping me honor my promise.'
'Father,' interrupted Tarik, 'We cannot afford such a promise when many of our village barely having enough to eat.'
Mahakam raised his hand for silence.
'I remember your father well and the promise I made. Take a chicken today and begin to honor your promise.'
Maraga bowed in gratitude and left the great hut, feeling the burning stare of Tarik as he departed.
The boy came to the tree where the python fell upon him and called out, not wanting to be dropped upon again.
'I am here,' answered Naag. 'And my hunger torments me.'
'I have brought you a gift, to appease your hunger, and to thank you for my life.'
Maraga placed the live chicken under the tree, its legs and wings tied. The boy backed away.
'Why have you left me here?' clucked the chicken. 'I have eggs I can still lay.'
'I am afraid, chicken, that no more eggs will you lay,' the boy said. 'You are helping me honor a promise and your life will help my new friend. Thank you.'
Naag landed with a thump upon the chicken and the fowl felt nothing else.
'Ahh, how warm this body feels amidst my coils. How good will it be to dream again a dream other than hunger's,' said the snake before his mouth became too full.
Maraga watched silently before departing to search for fruit for his mother.
III
Three moons had passed and three chickens journeyed down the long dark tunnel. When the fourth moon was beginning to fill and the time for Maraga to fulfill his promise once again, the boy approached Naag with another chicken. When the chicken saw the python she began to cluck madly and flap her wings about.
'Great Snake, why be contented with such a scrawny meal as I, when pigs squeal all throughout the village? Surely, you cannot grow with such little morsels as myself and my three sisters before me.'
Naag drew to within a tongue flicker from the terrified chicken.
'You are right, little bird. I do not grow with such food, and chicken dreams are only full of pecking about and laying eggs.'
It withdrew and looking away from Maraga said, 'My stomach cries for pig.'
'I will return,'said the boy expressionlessly, though his stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of asking the Rumah for a pig.
Rain fell in a shower that in a matter of seconds no part of Maraga remained dry, the huge drops bouncing off of his dark skin. And while the chicken looked pitifully drenched, it wouldn't stop clucking thankfully as they walked back to the village, until Maraga clamped its beak shut with his hand.
Streams from the rain coursed through the village streets when Maraga and the chicken returned. He proceeded directly to the Rumah's thatched palace. The boy felt relieved slightly that Tarik stood nowhere near to make the situation any worse. The Rumah sat eating monkey meat with two of his many wives waiting on him. His face knotted in a scowl when he saw Maraga entering with the chicken.
Maraga gulped at the scowl. 'Forgive my intrusion, Great Majesty, I beg permission to speak,' said Maraga as he bowed before the man.
After an enormously long few minutes, the Rumah nodded for the boy to speak. Just then, one of his daughters, Vatua, walked in. She was the sun itself to Maraga's eyes. Of course, in a village the size of perhaps a thousand souls, no one remains unseen, so Maraga had spied Vatua before. But only fleeting moments; for like all the Rumah's wives and daughters, she had to keep mostly to the palace compound. Maraga was certain that all those present could hear his heart pound when he watched her walk over to her father. When she looked at him, he remembered the grip of the python when all his breath was squeezed away.
She smiled slightly at him for a moment before quickly averting her eyes shyly.
The Rumah's eyes glowed with joy at seeing his daughter come to him. Always she was his favorite of his children and guarded her the most. Soon she would be a woman, on any of the coming moons. The thought of losing her in marriage was already a wound in his heart, but many rumahs have asked for her already.
'Did you come here to be a bouquet for my meal, my loveliest flower?' the Rumah asked his daughter.
'I did, indeed, father,' she replied as she sat at the low table. 'Will this young man dine with us as well?'
A flush, like the hot winds of the dry season, blew through every pore of Maraga's body at hearing her call him a man.
'It is only Maraga,' the Rumah replied. 'He will soon go.'
Turning to the visitor, he asked, 'What is it? Why do you still hold the chicken?'
Maraga looked foolishly at the chicken. Then spoke with great effort.
'I have just returned from the Great Python, Your Majesty, and...um...he refused this offering...'
'What?!' bellowed the Rumah, rising up with his anger. 'A snake has refused an offering from me?'
'He...well...is tired of dreaming chicken dreams...'
'Yes, yes,' interrupted the chicken upside down, 'doesn't want chicken dreams, no, not at all, wants only pig dreams, yes, only pig dreams--'
Maraga clamped his hand over the chicken's beak once more, though he desired to wring its neck instead.
'A pig?!'
'Yes. A pig, I'm afraid.'
Silently, with no one aware, Tarik walked in, hiding in the shadows. He smiled at Maraga's plight. However, when he saw Vatua, his sister, look at his enemy with compassion and with something more than compassion, his smile turned into a snarl.
'Father,' she said in a tone as soothing as the silk shrouds traders would bring from the lands farther north, 'please tell me of this guest's plight and the snake you speak of.'
At her touch and her voice the Rumah's demeanor softened and he sat down. He told her of Maraga's promise and the promise of his own.
'So you, too, father, made a promise,' she said.
'Yes, he did,' came a voice out of the shadows. Tarik moved into the light as he approached. 'And he has kept it. He did not say he would give whatever animal that snake might happen to want each time. How many pigs will satiate this beast? And when it becomes tired of pig, what then?--goats?--our children? It was only to be a village animal. Not what kind. That is all.'
Tarik glared at his sister.
'Father, you do not need to fulfill the promise any longer to uphold your honor,' Tarik continued. 'You have kept your word.'
'Yes, but father, what about Maraga's promise to the python?' Vatua asked. 'You have kept your word to the words of the promise, but have you to the spirit of the promise?'
The Rumah looked confused, pulled between the two siblings. Maraga just held his breath, while his heart flew to this beautiful girl defending him.
'Are you questioning the Rumah,' asked Tarik, scornfully, 'who is beyond reproach? If any is to be questioned it is this boy who claims that he must feed some snake that is so particular it won't eat chickens anymore. Odd, is it not? Maybe it has eaten no chickens. Maybe there is no snake at all. Maybe,' continued Tarik pointing at Maraga, 'this is a ploy to rob the village of our food.'
Maraga did everything he could to hold back screaming at the son of the Rumah. He could taste the blood of his tongue as he bit down.
The Rumah asked for silence and sat for fifty breaths before making reply.
'I have made my decision. I have kept my word to the promise I made to Maraga's father by honoring the promise of his son. With the return of the chicken comes the end of the promise. No more needs to be done. I will continue no more and I suggest to you, Maraga, do the same, having kept your promise to the snake -if there was ever a creature.'
Maraga looked up in protest. 'But...I - '
'Go. Go before we see whether your tale is true or not,' said the Rumah, crossing his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.
Maraga, jaw open in desperation, looked pleadingly at the Rumah and then to Vatua. She returned his look with a tender gaze that said she was sorry.
He let go of the chicken, which squawked as it flew outside to join its sisters, and turned heavily away. Maraga glanced over at his shoulder at Tarik's mocking face. Maraga had never wanted to kill before.
That night, Vatua walked with the heavy steps of melancholy as she paced the compound gardens. The rain had stopped and the full moon shone silver upon her soft features. She heard a rustling behind her and saw Tarik draw near.
'Why so glum, sister?' said Tarik, shooting the last word like a blow dart. How he hated her. He despised how much dotage their father would bestow upon her. For what? Would she be a Rumah like he would be some day? No, nothing more than one of many wives of some rumah.
She said nothing, turning her back to him.
'I don't know why you should feel so sad, when, after all, in a few moons, you'll be the new wife of Patu.'
She turned hard around, her face wild with fear.
'What are you saying? Do you just seek to taunt me, Tarik?
'Oh, sister, I am not having sport with you. I speak the truth. Our father needs an alliance with Rumah Patu and your marriage to him would accomplish that.'
'Patu, the cannibal? It is said when he tires of a wife he shuts them away, only to be slaves or perhaps even a meal. How could father do this to me?'
'Those are only rumors about Patu. Anyway, I convinced Father - '
'You, Tarik, why!?' she interrupted him, reaching out to touch his arm. He threw her arm off as though it was a biting fly.
'I convinced him because I reminded him how wonderful you are, that since you have never disappointed him, why should you disappoint Patu. Any of his other daughters, your sisters, would surely displease Patu. And the longer Patu is happy, the longer the alliance would hold.'
'It is not only women that satisfies Patu, gold will as well,' she said hopefully.
'Sister, we have no gold left. It has been long since the whites with their long boats have come this way.
'All we have are women.' As he walked away he cried to the shocked girl.'Keep gazing at the moon, beloved sister. One of them will make you a woman...and a wife.'
IV
'Mother, I have to,' said Maraga to his mother in their hut just as Tarik left his sister.
'You can't, son. If you are caught it will mean your death. It is taboo.
'Mother, I am dead already. I am only walking this world and talking to you because of the promise I made to Naag. If I break my vow I will not only dishonor my father's spirit, but all my ancestors'.'
He went over to the thatched wall and pulled down the spear that his father, Kumching, used to slay the crocodile.
'I am sorry, mother.'
Carefully, Maraga left his hut, making sure no one would spy him leaving with a spear into the jungle. After seeing none walking about, Maraga quickly slipped into the bush.
Tarik, standing to the side of a neighboring hut, watched his foe disappear into the jungle.
'Hunting, are we?' he said to himself, smiling maliciously.
The spear felt heavy in Maraga's hands as he softly stepped along the wet trail. Three years ago he last touched it when he placed it upon the wall, the day his father's body burned in the pyre. The spear had tasted much blood in the days his father hunted with it as the Rumah's hunter, the last time with the blood of crocodile. Often Maraga had gone with his father on the hunt to watch and to practice silent stalking, to be as a shadow amidst the trees. He went on all the hunts, except the last.
'You will stay here, Maraga' Kumching commanded.
'But, father, let me come.'
'The Rumah insists of coming along with his men. We will march fast towards the territory of the Angry One.'
'You'll be hunting the rhino?! Oh please, let me come.'
'No. Forget I ever have said this, but the Rumah is a foolish one and thinks he is favored by the gods, and that the rhino horn will bring him more power. I am afraid disaster will fall upon us.'
Kumching looked down upon his son, placing his strong hand on the boy's shoulder and said, 'I do not want to risk what I consider the most precious thing in my life.'
They never did find the rhino, for to reach its territory several large rivers had to be crossed, infested with the great crocodiles. The Rumah, feeling divinely protected, ignored Kumching's warnings of the crossing point. It was there that the beast nearly got the Rumah if it hadn't been hit by the spear thrust. But crocodiles die slowly, and this one tore at its slayer. And his father breathed his last on the banks, asking for the promise.
'I will make you proud, father,' whispered Maraga as he searched for a sign of the passing of boar. As the moon began its descent the hunter discovered fresh scat of the quarry he sought. He waited above the trail, sitting in a branch overhead, hoping to do what Naag had done to him. The winds began to pick up and soon the moon disappeared in the rush of clouds. The thunder drums rolled in the distance and the trees danced in the flashes of lightening. Maraga could hear the pouring of the rain as it approached across the tree tops and then covered him and everything around with water. Yet on he waited. Then he heard, barely audible in the downpour, the grunting of a sow to her young one.
'Stay close,' she grunted.
'I need your flesh, mother,' Maraga said silently. 'Your young I will leave to multiply.'
Down he jumped, holding onto the spear tightly as he thrust it between the shoulders of the sow. The sow screamed horribly until Maraga smashed a boulder on top of its head, sending the creature into unconsciousness. This had to be done as pythons will only eat what still contains the spirit.
'Thank you, Boar Spirit, from my father and his ancestors. I am helping a friend.'
'You are helping no one Maraga, except for me,' said Tarik, walking forward out of the bush, a spear in his hand. 'Helping me rid the village of a breaker of taboo.'
Tarik placed his hand on the spear embedded in the animal.
'You know the penalty of hunting the Rumah's game. All animals are his and his alone. By his will you hunt, by his will you live, and by his will you die.'
Naag, not too far distant lying in a tree, watched the lightening and felt the thunder. Not since he was young and the size of a man did he fear the crash of thunder. Nothing caused him fear. Yet he felt something in the jungle was not right, and it troubled him like nothing has ever troubled him before. He felt concern, and it seemed to twist his spirit into a knot.
'I must go and find out what pulls me to go,' he said to himself.
He slipped from the branch and wound his way on the wet jungle floor, guided by this feeling, picking up speed like a fallen tree sliding down a mountainside in the mud.
Maraga looked into the eyes of his enemy. 'Why do you hate me so, Tarik? Never have I done harm to you.'
'Shut up! Since when does the son of the Rumah must answer to a fruit picker and now a taboo breaker?
'Bow down,' Tarik shouted, his spear pointed at Maraga's chest, as lightening flashed with a thunder crash.
Maraga stood tall and shook his head. He felt no fear, feeling as though his father and all the ancestors stood behind him.
'No, Tarik, I will not bow to you.'
Tarik's face changed into a demon's with rage; his hands strangling the spear in their grip.
'I hate you, Maraga, and your pride. You may bow to my father but your heart pounds with superiority of your father saving the life of mine. And such pride cannot thrive in the village. I will tell the Rumah that you resisted my capture and I had to slay you, and no one will question me.
'I feel sorry for you, Tarik,' said Maraga calmly, antagonizing the other even more.
'Go join your father.'
Maraga closed his eyes and waited the thrust.
'I don't think so,' said a deep voice, before a scream answered.
Maraga opened his eyes and saw Naag coiled tightly around a terrified Tarik. Naag stared at his capture.
'I have still yet to dream the hairless-orangutan dream and to taste its flesh.'
'Let me go. Help me,' came Tarik's muffled voice as the python squeezed harder.
Maraga, feeling more pity than revenge, picked up the other's fallen spear.
'Let him go, Naag. I have a boar now, whose spirit you may dream this night.'
'Yes, I would prefer the sweet meat of boar than to this. There is something sour that oozes in its sweat.'
Tarik fell to the ground as Naag quickly uncoiled. Tarik gasped for breath.
'Go Tarik. Go and remember that again my family has saved one of yours.'
Tarik stood up and looked fearfully at the serpent sniffing now the sow.
'Oh, I will always remember. But you remember this: Vatua will be wed in a few moons to Patu. And after he tires of her, she will join you with the Ancestors.' Tarik smiled maliciously before walking away.
'Thank you, Naag,' said Maraga gratefully, though his heart seem to bleed at the words of Tarik. 'You saved my life.'
'I did what I did. There was no choice. Something drew me here.'
'Whatever it was, I am alive because of you.' The boy threw down Tarik's spear and walked over to the sow and removed his spear. 'Here is my offering--a gift to my friend.'
'Hmmm,' said Naag, 'friend, you say. Perhaps it was that that called me here.'
The rain had stopped and Maraga watched the sow disappear down the long dark tunnel; its body's shape distorting the python's form.
'Naag, I do not know what to do. I must return to the village and save Vatua from Patu, and to care for my mother. Without me she will starve, for no one will provide for her, especially now.'
'I do not understand the hairless orangutan and its ways. Once before I saw two of them fight and thunder erupted from them,' said Naag, slowly and sleepily.
'What are you talking about?'
'I will show you after I sleep.'
'But how long will you sleep.'
'I never know how long a dream will be,' said the snake as he drifted to sleep.
Maraga looked up at the moon and thought of Vatua.
V
Weeks passed, the moon disappearing and now growing fat once more. Maraga waited in the bush watching one of the Rumah's men begin to nod in the shadows. He was the second sentinel of the night to be watching his mother's hut. A nightly practice since the altercation with Tarik, waiting for Maraga's return. A few breaths after the man's head rested on his spear, Maraga slipped through the night's shadows, a sack over his shoulder. Through the window he threw the sack of fruit. As Maraga stood beneath the window, listening to his mother call softly his name, the sentinel began to stir. All the man's drowsy eyes could see was a shadow disappearing into the bush.
The next day, while Maraga was sitting next to Naag, kicking the snake occasionally to help speed along the waking process, the Rumah Patu came visiting, to see for himself this Vatua he was told about. A hundred boats with strong warriors paddling, brought him to the island. A special seat was arranged to seat his enormous mass of a body. Several young wives fanned him as he looked at Mahakam and Vatua sitting at her father's feet.
'You have a fine looking daughter. She pleases me very much,' said Patu, his jowls jiggling as he spoke. He tore into a leg of pig.
'We are honored by your opinion, Great Rumah Patu,' answered Mahakam, his eyes not hiding the shame burning inside.
'Is she a woman yet?'
'Not as of yet.'
Patu grunted. 'Soon. Very soon I can see. And of course, you will keep her safe until then. Yes?'
'Of course, Your Greatness.'
Vatua, her stomach threatening to rise at the thought of being with such a man, avoided her brother's taunting smiles, and hopelessly looked out the window towards the sea. To the sea gods she silently vowed that to them she would come, sinking into their depths before she allowed Patu to touch her.
'Come on, you sleepy beast, wake up!' cried Maraga as he straddled on top of Naag. Suddenly, a shudder ran up and down the great serpent's body, and a yellow eye was looking at Maraga at last.
'Why is it that you sit upon me?'
'I have been waiting for you to awaken and to help me out of this mess. Vatua will probably be wed by the coming full moon. I must do something.
'What was it that you wanted to show me?' asked Maraga.
When a python makes up its mind to move it can travel very quickly. When there is such a large mass of body propelling the creature forward, after gaining momentum, even a rhino could not stand in its way.
And so Maraga held on for his very life, as Naag's body twisted and turned around trees and crashed through the bush. All the animals of the jungle, save the macaques whose curiosity overwhelmed their fear and caused them to watch, from a safe distance of course, the sight of a human riding upon a serpent. No stories were ever told of such a sight. Maraga could hear through the whish of wind and vines whipping at his ears the monkey tribe screeching: 'Lookee, lookee, lookee, lookee.'
Suddenly, Naag began to slow down, and then finally stop in a clearing in the tall grass. Maraga got down and heard a crunch under his feet. Looking down he saw that he stood on the rib cage of what was once a man. A few feet away was the former owner's head, apparently dragged from the body by a scavenger. Naag flicked his tongue onto the skull.
'It is strange, is it not, that once dreams danced inside this cage, and so important they seemed. But now the dreams have fled, with no one to taste them. What is the purpose of dreaming if no one eats them? Where do the dreams of this creature lie?'
'I do not know,' replied the boy, holding the skull. 'Maybe it is for humans, who are not the food of beasts, to live out their dreams or risk having them become only ghosts when death finally comes.
'But these are matters left for the wise ones. All I know is that I must act what my heart compels me to do. And act now to save Vatua.'
Maraga stepped through the grass, following Naag. Less than a stone's throw away they came upon the second skeleton, at the foot of a large trunk, a few shards of clothing clinging to the bones. A sword and pistol next to the remains. Maraga found that the trunk held fast, until a few blows of a large stone on its lock. The trunk creaked open as Maraga breathlessly raised the lid.
'My God!,' said Maraga as his eyes opened as wide as a monkey's. He stood there breathless, gazing inside. Finally he could speak. 'I have a plan Naag.'
Maraga walked unarmed into the village at midday the following day, his back straight. The village guards rushed upon him with their spears.
'Take me to the Rumah now,' Maraga said evenly.
As he was led to the Rumah's compound, Tarik met him.
'So Maraga, you have come to your death.'
Maraga looked his adversary straight in the eyes, feeling a power as though his father's courage filled his limbs and pumped his heart. 'No Tarik, I have come to bear witness to what the Ancestors know.'
Naag wound his way up into high branches of the jungle. Hutan, whose lips pursed in surprise, slowly swung down nearer to the serpentine visitor.
'Naag, what brings you here? Your movements are not silent, so you do not hunt.'
'I do not hunt, even though my belly is no longer full.'
'There is a strange talk amongst the jungle creatures. It is said you have gone to the Hornbills, and have promised never to dream Hornbill dreams again, if they assist you.'
'That is true, Hutan.'
'The forest talk speaks also of you going to the Boars and promising to never dream the dreams of boars, in return for their help.'
'This is true, as well, Hutan. And that is what I have come to tell you and to ask for.'
'Why is this, Naag? It is not like you.'
'You have told me, once before, that without a friend, even with a bellyful, you would die. I think I have found a friend. That I have become a friend. And for a friend I act.'
Hutan said nothing, giving only one of those orangutan smiles.
Maraga stood, after having bowed in respect, looking into the faces of the Rumah and the Elders of the village as they impassively sat before him. Vatua sat in the corner, her heart sickened at what was to happen.
'You know that the penalty of breaking taboo is the penalty of death,' said the Rumah. "You not only hunted the Rumah's game for yourself but attacked the son of a Rumah. You will be burned at the stake for such crimes.'
'What have you to say?' asked an elder.
'I know well the punishment of breaking taboo and know such actions deserves death; but I have broken no taboo as has been claimed. It is true I hunted. But I hunted not for my sake, but for the sake of the village in appeasing the spirit of my father and the spirits of the jungle. For if I had not honored my promise to the Great Python, than the dishonor would cause the spirit of my father to haunt this village and the spirits of the jungle to wreak havoc upon those who would walk within the jungle's shadows.
'As for the second taboo,' continued Maraga as he looked defiantly at Tarik, 'it was not I who attacked, but Tarik.'
Tarik laughed mockingly. 'You are a desperate liar. It is your word against mine. And I swear upon the honor of the lineage of my father the Rumah that I speak with truth.'
Maraga smiled. 'And I swear by my father's spirit and spirits of the jungle that I speak truth. That you tried to kill me and the Great Python rescued me.'
'How will you prove this?' asked another elder.
'If I speak the truth, then let the gods fill this village with gold. If they do so, I shall be proved innocent, and be entitled to marry Vatua if she so chooses.'
His eyes glanced over to her and for a split second, as only love can do through eyes, she felt the power of hope in his words.
'Someone as low as you marrying the Rumah's daughter,' mocked Tarik. 'Even such a thought, no matter how impossible of fulfilling it, is an insult to the Rumah.'
'Not only that,' continued Maraga, 'but Tarik must be exiled into the jungle for the rest of his life.'
'And if the gods do not come to your aid,' asked the Rumah, 'what do you grant?'
'I will welcome the fire, without uttering any curses nor threats of returning as a ghost.'
The clouds of the night sky blew slowly across the full moon. Maraga looked up at the shining sphere in the sky. Footprints quietly approached like the first rains after the dry season.
'You shouldn't come here. Your father would not like this,' he said to Vatua.
She said nothing, her eyes wet with tears. She stroked his smooth cheeks. If his hands had not been tied behind the stake, it would have been very hard not to break a taboo of touching a Rumah's daughter without permission.
'Is there any hope for us, Maraga?'
'We are not alone. We have the jungle itself behind us.'
The light began to emerge from the east, painting the sky first gray, then adding spots of red. All the village was standing around Maraga, looking east across the ocean. All but Tarik who enjoyed watching Maraga instead.
Maraga watched the sky become redder as well. 'Yes, we have the jungle behind us,' he said to himself softly, 'but they're taking their own time in coming.'
Suddenly, just as the sky filled with red and the tip of the sun began to inch over the horizon, looking like a glowing plate expanding, the flapping of wings could be heard. Then the ping of the first gold coin upon the ground. Then another and another, and soon it was like a golden rain of coins. Those who looked up, and few did since most could not pry the eyes from the gold, saw a flock of hornbills dropping coins from their enormous beaks.
As the last coin fell to earth, the bushes around the village erupted in loud grunting. Out of the bushes burst forth hoards of boars, with golden jewelry dangling upon their tusks. The people, including Tarik, stood frozen in place, as the boars kneeled in front of Maraga and piled the gold in front of him. When the last boar turned and retreated back into the jungle, from the trees hundreds of gold objects - nuggets, goblets, utensils, earrings, knifes, as well as precious jewels - were flung.
Vatua, her heart bursting with joy, ran over to Maraga and they both watched the orangutans bombard the village.
Then it was over. The sun rose and shone upon the gold-laden village. The Rumah glanced over at his son who dropped his head in shame. His father turned away and walked over to Maraga and his daughter. With a knife made with a golden hilt he picked up from the ground, Mahakam cut the rope from Maraga's hands.
'You are as my own, Maraga. And the spirit of your father is honored in the Rumah's house.'
Vatua kissed Maraga and placed her hands in his. Maraga excused himself for a moment and went to his mother, whose tears glistened like the pearls upon the ground. He bowed to her. As he turned from her he watched Tarik silently go off into the jungle, never to be seen again. Maraga felt no joy at seeing his foe vanquished, no sense of revenge at all. Instead, he silently wished that the spirits of jungle would protect Tarik and help him attain wisdom.
Several nights later, Maraga, married and, no longer a boy, walked under the full moon into the jungle. A pig he pulled by a rope.
'Don't you think a pig is the same as a boar?' asked the pig, trying to get out of its predicament.
'Sorry, dear pig, not quite the same. You are honoring a promise and your dreams will not be lost.'
Hutan was sitting on the branch next to Naag when Maraga came with the pig.
'Your friend is here,' Hutan said, giving a big lippy smile.
'Yes, he has come. My friend. My friend whose company is more important than the meal he brings. My friend, whose dreams I dream.'
THE END
copyright Janaka Stagnaro
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