Tiger Stone

by Deryn Mansell

  Kancil followed Kitchen Boy’s gaze and was surprised to see Small Aunt standing next to Mother. She looked cross. Big Uncle glowered at Kitchen Boy. He said nothing.

  Kitchen Boy let the silence stretch to an uncomfortable length before he continued. “Well,” he said, “you should have believed her. Luckily for us (not so luckily for the bandits) they buried their treasure in the very cave where your sister found me all those years ago – a cave that a certain family of tigers considers to be their private property.”

  He looked up at Small Aunt. “Do you think it’s time they knew the truth?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “As you wish,” she said. “The holy woman I serve, the woman who was the daughter of the old Bhre. She is the boy’s mother. She told me where to find him but she is silent on the identity of his father and why she chose to leave him in the care of tigers.”

  I was right! Kancil thought, remembering the day she had sat under the banyan tree with Kitchen Boy. I wonder if he always knew or if my curiosity made him ask questions.

  “So it looks like I’m the closest thing to Majapahit royalty that this village has seen for many a year,” Kitchen Boy said. Big Aunt was making horrified choking noises. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “I have no desire to marry your daughter.”

  He turned back towards Big Uncle. “Trust me, the treasure is safe where it is, and I wouldn’t recommend anyone try to retrieve it without my help. And no, I didn’t fight the bandits off by myself, but they won’t be troubling you again.”

  Big Uncle picked up the golden bowl and inspected it closely. Intricate scenes of gods and demons were carved into the outer surface and the lip and foot of the bowl were trimmed with golden rope. He passed the bowl to Ki Sardu, the priest, who gazed at it in a rapture.

  “We should bury it again,” the priest said. Everybody looked at him in surprise.

  “Ki Sardu is right,” said the juru kunci. “The gods have abandoned the forest temples. The treasure is not safe there until they return, and the tigers have proven themselves to be good guardians. They will give us a signal when it is safe to retrieve it.”

  Kitchen Boy bowed respectfully to the juru kunci. “I can take you there tomorrow,” he said. Then he spoke to Dalang Mulyo. “Sir, is it true that you will leave tomorrow, making for the port of Pekalongan?”

  Dalang Mulyo nodded.

  “Bapak Thani,” Kitchen Boy said, addressing Big Uncle again. “I humbly beg that as a reward for my part in ridding the village of the bandit scourge, I be released to follow Dalang Mulyo and his troupe. I believe the dalang is in need of an apprentice.”

  Dalang Mulyo looked a little surprised then he smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Why not?”

  Kancil felt faint. Was Kitchen Boy weaving a clever plan to help her escape or was he going to abandon her? Big Uncle had the look of a man accustomed to being in control, watching the power slip from his grasp. He looked towards Big Aunt in confusion. She was glaring at Kitchen Boy, her mouth turned down in distaste.

  “Your services will be required when it is time to retrieve the treasure,” Big Uncle said.

  “Tigers have no use for gold,” the juru kunci said slowly, “and nor do humble villagers. The tigers will protect the treasure until the gods require it and Mbah Merapi will reward us for not succumbing to greed as the bandits did.”

  “So it would appear that I’m not really needed after all – once I’ve helped bury this bowl again tomorrow morning,” said Kitchen Boy.

  Big Uncle waved his hand dismissively. “Go then,” he said, “you won’t be missed.”

  “There is one other thing,” said Kitchen Boy, retrieving a small cloth-wrapped parcel that was rolled into the waist of his sarung. “I found this.”

  He placed the cloth before Big Uncle who unwrapped it to reveal a pendant made of polished stone. The stone was striped with bands of golden and chocolate brown that shimmered like layers of light. The pendant was set in a thin silver frame that hung from a string made of knotted twine.

  The village elders all inspected the pendant closely. The priest shook his head. “This is not from the forest temple,” he said.

  “Was it buried with the treasure?” Big Uncle demanded.

  Kitchen Boy leaned his head to one side; he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “It was … nearby,” he said. “It … ahem … it is, of course, up to the village elders to decide what happens to it, but I had a strong feeling when I picked it up that it should go to the kitchen girl.”

  The juru kunci, who was inspecting the pendant, looked at Kancil thoughtfully. Before he had a chance to speak, Big Uncle took the pendant from his hand.

  “No!” Big Uncle said. “My daughter suffered the most from that impostor. She should be the one to receive this gift. My dear …” he turned to Citra who was sitting beside him and handed her the pendant. Kancil saw Kitchen Boy’s face fall.

  Citra hooked a finger through the loop at one end of the necklace and held the pendant up to the light. “Today was to be my wedding day and you promised me gold,” she said. “This isn’t gold, it’s a trick of the light. Anyway, it’s broken.” She held up the other end of the necklace, which was frayed – there was nothing to fit through the loop, to clasp it round the wearer’s neck. “You might as well let her have it.” She leaned forwards to drop the pendant on the floor in front of Kancil. As she sat back she caught Kancil’s eye. She smiled.

  Dalang Mulyo reached over and picked up the pendant. “You’re the girl who doesn’t speak, aren’t you?” he said to Kancil. She looked up at him and nodded.

  “It’s true this pendant is not made of gold,” he continued. “But this stone has come from far away and I do believe that it might have the power to lift the curse of silence that has befallen you.” His face was serious but there was a twinkle in his eye. Was it possible he had overheard her talking to Kitchen Boy?

  “And you know,” the dalang added, “I think I have the very thing to fix the clasp.” He took a small bag from his luggage and began searching its many pockets and pouches. “A boy I met on the road from Bubat gave it to me in exchange for food – said it was a lucky charm. Funny thing is, he had eyes like yours. I knew there was someone you reminded me of. Ah, there it is.” He held up a tiny cowry shell, then turned to the singer, handing her the shell and the necklace. “My dear, you have much nimbler fingers than me,” he said.

  The singer carefully tied the frayed end through the shell then handed the necklace to Kancil.

  It might just be an ordinary stone, Kancil reminded herself, preparing for disappointment. She was scared, too. If the stone did have some kind of power, what would it do to her? Would she know how to control it? She held Kitchen Boy’s gaze for reassurance. He was transfixed, his mouth open in expectation. Clearly he didn’t think it was an ordinary stone.

  Suddenly, Kancil felt incredibly calm. She could sense her father sitting beside her, encouraging her to be brave. She took a deep breath.

  As the stone touched Kancil’s chest and she slipped the shell through the loop at the back of her neck, a strange sensation overcame her. For a moment she couldn’t focus and she panicked as she felt as though she was being sucked under water. Then her vision cleared. She was still sitting in the pendopo, looking at Kitchen Boy, and at the same time she was floating, watching a different scene. She could see Agus. He was at the port of Pekalongan, negotiating a passage back to Sunda on a trading ship. “Wait!” she told him in her mind. “Wait for me!” She saw him look up, a puzzled expression on his face; then he shook his head at the ship’s captain and walked away.

  At the same time, Kancil sensed her father walking away from her. She didn’t try to stop him. She knew it was time for him to go.

  “Look at her eyes,” said the singer. “Have they always had those gold flecks?”

  Kancil felt the colour rising to her cheeks; she didn’t like everybody staring at her. She looked down at her hands. Be brave, she told herself.
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  “Well, say something, girl,” Dalang Mulyo said. “Don’t make a liar of me.”

  Kancil looked up. “My name–” she began. Her voice sounded thin and weak. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, then in a clear strong voice she said, “My name is Kancil. I am from Sunda and I am not bandit spawn.” She turned to Big Uncle and bowed deeply. “Thank you for protecting me when I needed your help. I trust my mother has a home here should she choose to stay. But I must leave you now. My brother is waiting for me in Pekalongan.”

  EPILOGUE

  “Selokan, Selokan, Selokan.” The bus conductor hung from the door, calling out the destination as the minibus swung round the corner. When he saw Aryani step from the curb he tapped on the roof to alert the driver, who slowed down ever so slightly. Aryani leaped onto the bus. She had been in Yogyakarta for three months now and she was starting to feel at home, though getting on and off buses that never came to a complete halt was still a challenge.

  She let out a long sigh as she sat down on the cracked vinyl seat next to Dwi, who lived at the same boarding house as Aryani but went to a different school.

  “What’s up with you, Ani?” Dwi asked.

  Aryani shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “I just feel … weird.” She had woken at three that morning with a feeling in her stomach that had been coming back at her in waves all day – a combination of pre-exam anxiety and homesickness. She couldn’t figure out why, because her exams were ages away and she sometimes felt guilty about how much she didn’t miss the village. “It must be something I ate,” she said.

  “There’s someone to see you, Ani,” said Bu Erma, the landlady, when Aryani and Dwi arrived home. She nodded towards the front room.

  Sitting on the worn-out lounge chair was Bapak Surya, the neighbour who had brought Aryani to Yogyakarta. Her heart sank.

  “I’m sorry, Ani,” he said. He didn’t need to tell her that Grandma was dead; her stomach told her that.

  I should have known that was it, she thought. Why do I feel scared, though, like I’m about to sit a test?

  “You’ll have to pack quickly,” Bapak Surya said. “We need to be at the bus terminal in half an hour.”

  Back in her room, Aryani changed out of her school uniform and threw some clothes into an overnight bag. She was about to shut the wardrobe when she remembered – the pendant. Her hand searched for the little cloth bag she had hidden at the back of the top shelf. The bag was hot, as though it had been lying in the sun, and the anxious feeling in her stomach was so bad that she thought she might be physically sick. What had Grandma given her?

  She slipped the pendant out of its bag and stuffed it into her jeans pocket then dashed to the shared bathroom. The nausea passed and she splashed water onto her face and wrists. There was nothing for it but to put the pendant on and see what happened. Aryani was certain that something would happen – for some reason it felt perfectly natural that Grandma would have given her something magical. She could remember Grandma’s exact words: “You mustn’t wear the necklace until I am gone. When you do, you will understand.”

  Aryani lifted the humble twine necklace to her throat and slipped the shell through the loop at the back of her neck. The sound of rushing water roared in her ears and she gasped for breath, her vision blurred. As the noise subsided, her vision cleared and she was looking at herself in the mirror again. She could feel Grandma’s presence and there were others with her too. It was true, she did understand, though she couldn’t explain the feeling if she tried.

  A wave of giddiness washed over her. Aryani gripped the basin to steady herself and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she was in a forest. There were people around her, watching a boy walk towards a narrow gap in an embankment. It was the mouth of a shallow cave, where three earthenware jars had been wedged. The boy was carrying something in his arms. As he reached down to remove the lid of one jar and place the object inside, Aryani saw a flash of gold.

  A movement in the forest above the embankment caught her eye. A tiger! Aryani sensed the people around her draw back in fear. The beast could easily pounce and pin her to the ground but Aryani felt no fear. The boy also seemed unconcerned. He dipped his head in greeting to the tiger and the tiger settled back on its haunches. On guard.

  The boy turned around and grinned at Aryani. He looked so familiar, but who was he?

  Aryani realised she had been holding her breath. She gasped for air and the forest scene dissolved as her eyes flew open.

  She leaned over the sink and rested her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, holding her own gaze.

  Strange, she thought, I’ve never noticed those gold flecks in my eyes before.

  As she straightened up, she realised she wasn’t looking at herself any more; she was watching another scene unfold. The scene wasn’t a forest, it was an open field. Nevertheless, she was sure it was the same place where the boy and the tiger had been, separated in time by many centuries. It felt like she was watching a live broadcast on television but she was the camera.

  A small group of villagers was hurrying across the field towards a deep trench where five workers were waiting for them. The man leading the villagers had muddy legs and wore the same checked sarung and white singlet as the other workers. He was talking with great excitement to a man wearing the khaki uniform of a village official.

  “We’ve been digging the irrigation channel for Nyonya Cipto for days,” the man said, waving towards the trench. “Last night, as we were about to knock off, Witomoharjo’s hoe hit something hard. We thought that we’d hit rock, and that we’d be here for weeks. But when we came back this morning and started digging again we realised it’s not rock. It’s … it’s … something amazing!”

  Aryani knew what the workers had found. Kitchen Boy’s tiger spirits had protected the treasure for centuries. Why had they chosen this day, the day she received the tiger stone, to leave their post?

  “Ani, are you all right?” Dwi’s voice calling from the other side of the bathroom door broke the spell and Aryani was looking at herself in the mirror again.

  “I’m fine,” she called back. “Just … just a little upset.”

  “I heard about your grandma,” Dwi said. “I’m sorry for your loss. Is there something I can do? Can I help you pack?”

  Aryani stood up straight and brushed her fringe away from her eyes. She slipped the pendant out of sight inside the neck of her T-shirt. “No thanks, Dwi,” she said. “I have everything I need.”

  GLOSSARY

  Banteng: A breed of cattle native to South East Asia.

  Bapak: Literally “father”, a polite term of address for an adult man.

  Beras kencur: A jamu tonic for tiredness, usually made from kencur root, raw rice, tamarind and sugar.

  Bhre: Term of address for the ruler of a region in the Majapahit Kingdom.

  Dalang: The puppet master who acts out the wayang shadow puppet play and conducts the gamelan orchestra.

  Dalem: The enclosed back section of a joglo that serves as the private quarters.

  Gamelan: A traditional percussion orchestra consisting of gongs, kettles and xylophone-like instruments.

  Ibu: Literally “mother”, a polite term of address for an adult woman.

  Jamu: Herbal medicine.

  Jempana: A covered litter (palanquin) carried on poles on the shoulders of four or more bearers.

  Joglo: A traditional style of building with a steep roof held up by thick pillars. A joglo building usually has a deep verandah (pendopo) at the front and an enclosed space (dalem) at the back.

  Juru kunci: Literally “master of the key”, the juru kunci is custodian of a sacred place. The Juru kunci Merapi is custodian of Mount Merapi, the volcano near Yogyakarta.

  Kain and kemben: A kain is a length of cloth. In Javanese traditional dress, women wear a three-metre-long kain wrapped around the body from the waist down (in English, a “sarong” but see sarung below). The kain may be secured by a kemben, a very long str
ip of cloth wrapped around the body like a bandage from hip to armpit. The long-sleeved kebaya blouse, worn over the top of the kemben, became part of traditional dress after the time in which this story is set.

  Kangkung: A leafy green vegetable that grows in or near water (water spinach).

  Kayu putih: Literally “white wood”. Kayu putih oil is similar to ti-tree oil and eucalyptus oil. It is rubbed on the body or inhaled to treat everything from headaches to arthritis pain to travel sickness.

  Kencur: The root of a type of lily used in jamu preparations.

  Kendi: A flask with a spout for holding drinking water. Usually made from earthenware.

  Kentongan: A length of bamboo or hollowed-out teak wood, usually hung in a central place in the village. Different rhythms are struck on the kentongan with a stick to signal alarm, village meetings etc.

  Ki: A man with religious authority.

  Kris: A double-edged dagger with a wavy blade. Traditionally a nobleman would wear a kris in the back of his belt.

  Lontar: A type of palm leaf. Strips of lontar leaf, sewn together in a concertina arrangement, were used for writing on before the introduction of paper in Java.

  Mbah: Literally “grandfather” (Javanese), a polite term of address for an old man. “Mbah Merapi” means “Fiery Grandfather”.

  Nasi tumpeng: A dish of yellow rice moulded into a cone shape and served at a selamatan.

  Pendopo: A large, stand-alone open structure consisting of a roof held up by tall pillars, or a very deep verandah attached to the front of a building (see joglo). Used as a meeting place or for receiving guests, for ceremonies and community activities such as gamelan orchestra and dancing.

  Pesinden: A female singer with the gamelan orchestra.