by Rory Marron
‘Last time,’ Taruna grunted as yet again he returned the blade to the fire, this time for several minutes. When he withdrew it he held it upwards. Against the velvet black of the tropical night sky the glowing steel of the keris pulsed like a blood-red moon. Taruna’s face was tense, all his concentration on the subtle changes in the metal’s colour as its temperature fell. Suddenly he quenched the steel in the trough, immersing it completely. There was an angry, snake-like hiss.
When Taruna pulled the blade from the water it was a dark, dull grey. He looked at it with satisfaction and handed it casually to Lamban. Even without a handle the keris had a marvellous balance.
‘It has nine luq,’ explained Taruna, referring to the number of waves. ‘That was to ensure panimbal—tranquillity—the symbol of heaven. That, at least, I could control. But its pamir is in the hands of God.’
Pamir, the surface pattern, would become visible only after polishing, after which the blade’s special powers would be released. Lamban knew the legends. Some keris brought prosperity while others could warn the wearer of danger. Equally, some could be cursed.
Taruna took back the blade and squatted at the bench to use first the chisels, and then the sharpening and polishing stones. Lamban sat beside him in silence. It was late afternoon, after the rays of sunlight penetrated the forge, when they paused for water. Only then did the passage of time seem to register with the swordsmith. Neither of them had eaten for over twenty-four hours.
Taruna stood, rolling his head and stretching his shoulders and back. His joints cracked like snapping dry twigs. He laughed. ‘I’m getting old.’ From a cupboard he brought out a glass jar fastened with a large rubber stopper. It contained a yellowish liquid with a crystalline sediment. He pointed to a large enamel bowl in one corner of the forge. ‘Bring the blade and that bowl. Make sure it is clean and dry, then bring four limes.’
Grateful for the chance to move, Lamban sprang up to wash the dish. When he returned with the limes Taruna had already prepared a cushion, a collection of bottles and a bowl of water. ‘Watch,’ he said taking the fruits from Lamban. ‘The juice will bring up the nickel and reveal some of the pamir.’
Taruna took the keris and cut the limes in half. The blade sliced them effortlessly. Quickly he rubbed the exposed fruit halves over the metal, covering the blade in juice that collected in the bowl. Flecks of silver began to shine in the otherwise dull metal. All eight halves of lime were used before he was content. Much of the blade now shone brightly.
Next Taruna scooped up a handful of dust, letting it fall slowly off his palm. It swirled in a small cloud towards a goat and kid tethered on one side of the clearing. Tut-tutting, Taruna led the animals away. When he returned to his cushion he saw Lamban’s puzzled expression and pointed to the jar.
‘This is alrahgar, an acid containing arsenic. It’s poisonous, so keep behind me, up wind. But be ready, the breeze is playful today. If the gas reaches you, close your eyes. Do not breathe in.’
‘Yes, Master,’ Lamban replied nervously.
Taruna placed the keris back in the dish of lime juice and shook the jar. Keeping it at arm’s length, he pulled out the stopper and let the acid trickle over the blade. Immediately it began to froth, and a dense yellow cloud billowed upwards before it was caught by the breeze and carried away. Vigorously Taruna began to rub in the acid with a cloth.
‘What—!’ Lamban gasped in amazement. The exposed iron in the blade was turning a deep black.
Taruna continued his painstaking work, adding drops of rose and jasmine essence to the bowl of water before rinsing a last time. The delicate scents banished the sulphurous odour of the arsenic.
Lamban stared at the keris in sheer wonder. A pattern of broad, horizontal silver bands ran down the blade. At last the pamir was revealed.
Yet Taruna seemed perturbed. ‘I was afraid of this,’ he sighed.
‘Master?’ Lamban asked softly.
‘It is buntel mayit—the Death Shroud—only the strongest and truest of warriors can control such a powerful blade. It is an omen. Make of it what you will.’
As he offered the blade the smith’s expression was grave. Lamban was not listening. Awed, he gripped the keris hilt reverently, letting the sunlight play over the dazzling pamir. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Imperial Japanese Navy Liaison Office, Djakarta
Commander Tashiro gave a sharp double, then single rap on the polished teak double-doors. It was a simple signal but it reminded his superior, Rear-Admiral Ishida, that a Japanese army officer was about to enter. Even though his visitor was expected, Ishida instinctively checked once more that there was nothing on view that could be of interest to the rival service. He heard Tashiro speaking.
‘Shitsurei shimasu.’—Please excuse me.
Ishida knew that Tashiro would be bowing before, with imperceptible delay, placing his hands on the gilded handles, straightening—again the formality covering the deliberate slowing tactic—and pulling them towards him with a flourish. Yet even now, Tashiro’s arms, spread wide across the entrance, effectively blocked any forward movement.
Ishida’s gaze settled on a top-secret signal he had just sent Naval Headquarters in Tokyo. It was an embarrassingly short list of the warships available for the defence of Java. He pursed his lips and covered it with a report on rice inventories on Bali. He was certain that Army Intelligence knew of the parlous state of the Japanese Navy, just as the Navy was equally aware of the Army’s reduced capability. For the previous twenty years, however, neither he nor any officer he had served under had ever volunteered information to the Army. He was not about to start now. Like most Japanese naval officers, Ishida blamed the expansion-obsessed Army for Japan’s dire military situation. Time after time the Army had rejected the more cautious policies of the Navy. Now, thanks to them, Japan’s fate was sealed.
‘Admiral Ishida, Major-General Yamagami is here.’ Tashiro was standing just inside the room, the guest still caught in the web of etiquette at the threshold. I must congratulate Tashiro, Ishida thought; I could have composed a haiku by the time Yamagami was finally in the room!
In the doorway, the straight-backed, stocky Yamagami was looking politely but inquisitively at Ishida. His tailored uniform was spotless, as was the white, open-necked shirt that emphasised the rows of campaign ribbons across his chest. Like Ishida he favoured knee-high boots. He held his long, curved sword by its leather scabbard in his right hand, point forward and edge down. It was a traditional samurai courtesy indicating no ill intent.
Yamagami entered the room briskly. If he was irritated by Tashiro’s exaggerated formality, or if he had even noticed, he was not letting it show. Ishida eased his lanky frame up from his seat to greet his visitor formally. Yamagami had become Gunseikan—Chief of Staff—of 16th Army a year before but they had first met in early 1942, just after the conquest of the Netherlands Indies. Ishida squirmed inside as he remembered bragging to Yamagami that the Pacific Ocean was now a ‘Japanese lake’. Soon afterwards had come the disastrous naval battle at Midway, and then last October, the shambles at Leyte Gulf.
‘General, you are most welcome! It has been some time since I had the pleasure of talking with you privately.’ Ishida’s voice bore no indication of the nervousness he felt. After the invasion, the Japanese Army had been given control of Java and Sumatra; and the Navy all former Dutch territory east of Bali. On Java itself the Navy’s presence was confined to the yard at Surabaya on the east coast and a liaison office in the capital. Relations with the Army had not been smooth.
Yamagami bowed stiffly. Ishida deliberately returned the bow much lower than etiquette demanded, emphasising the respect he was giving his visitor. That at least, Ishida thought, should arouse the old fox’s curiosity! He felt his stomach flutter. Yamagami was no fool. He also greatly outranked Ishida and was a most politically astute career officer. Ishida was sure that had the war gone differently the General would have risen to join the military gov
ernment in Tokyo. For now, though, he was the most influential man in Java. Without his assistance, or at least tacit approval, Ishida’s plan would fail.
‘Indeed Admiral,’ replied Yamagami with an easy formality. ‘I only wish the circumstances were as pleasant as previously. At that time, I recall, we of the Yamato race were winning victories beyond compare.’
With a huge effort Ishida kept his features impassive, though he was seething at the veiled insult, certain that the General had said ‘Yamato’ quite deliberately. The name of the ancient kingdom was often coined as a poetical reference to Japan, so it was not odd in itself. Except that Yamato also happened to be the name of the battleship in which Admiral Kurita had fled from Leyte Gulf, after his flagship had been sunk. Yamagami was insinuating that the Navy was responsible for Japan’s present difficulties. Ishida fumed, his features impassive. Damn those arrogant army fools! He was sorely tempted to offer Yamagami his choice of Indian, Burmese or Japanese tea. Since the invasion of India had failed and their troops were now in humiliating retreat across Burma, it would have made his point perfectly. Instead, he let the barb pass, reminding himself that he could not afford to waste his opportunity.
‘Yes, alas times have changed.’ He gestured towards a pair of colonial-style teak and rattan-weave chairs. ‘Please sit down. May I offer you some iced Java tea?’
‘No thank you, I am pressed for time.’
With a clipped bow, Tashiro left, closing the doors with a soft click. Yamagami took off his cap and tossed it on to a low table between them. His close-cropped hair around his bald pate was shot through with grey. Until recently, Ishida remembered, it had been far darker. To his surprise, his visitor lounged, his booted right calf resting on his left knee and his sword propped against his right thigh.
Ishida had decided long before to come straight to the point. It was a dangerous approach because he would be leaving himself open to a charge of defeatism. But he had gone over the scenario a hundred times and decided it was the only way to appear sincere.
‘General, I know you are very busy, so I must speak frankly.’ His mouth was dry. ‘Please excuse my rudeness but I wish to give you my thoughts on the future of this country.’ He wondered if he had put too much emphasis on the last word.
‘Indeed? I am listening.’
Ishida cleared his throat. ‘Japan has freed the peoples of Malaya, Burma, the Philippines, Indo-China and Indonesia from the yoke of colonialism. How can we ever forget the warmth of the welcomes for our soldiers and sailors after the Western Powers were swept away? “All Asia Under One Roof” was our dream!’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘We were so close. Alas, now our dream is…fading.’
Yamagami’s face was a mask.
Ishida watched him raise a hand and begin to stroke his chin. He pressed on. ‘Freedom, however, is treasured by those who receive it. I am sure you, like me, desire to see this legacy survive Japan’s coming…departure.’ He saw the first unease register in Yamagami’s eyes but ignored it, very glad now that he had rehearsed his lines. ‘For all we know, the enemy might invade Malaya, Sumatra or Java tomorrow. Already the 16th Army is preparing for last stands in the mountains near Cianjur and Wonosobo.’ Ishida watched for a reaction. Yes, we are reading your signals! But Yamagami did not even blink and Ishida pressed on, admiring his visitor’s self-control.
‘We both know that Japan is on her knees. Our merchant shipping losses are catastrophic. No oil or raw materials reaches our factories, so there are no spare parts for tanks, artillery or ships! The Navy faces other problems. Our diesel stocks are close to zero. We have little aviation fuel, which means no air cover, so our few serviceable ships cannot operate far from port.’
Ishida pressed on. ‘Here, General, in confidence, we can admit privately that we can do little to help our homeland other than ensure that the Allies pay the maximum price for the Indies. I believe the Indonesians would sacrifice millions to retain their freedom. In this, our cause can become their cause. For this reason, I urge you to use the sixty-five thousand men in the Java militia in the coming campaign. By doing so we can gain valuable time for Japan. But in return, of course, we must do our utmost for the nation of Indonesia.’
Yamagami sat up, his eyes hawk like. ‘Do you have information that the Centre is ready to grant independence to Indonesia?’ By ‘Centre’ Yamagami meant the military government in Tokyo.
‘Un—unfortunately no, I—’ Ishida stammered, slightly unnerved by Yamagami’s direct question. ‘At least not yet, I simply wish to help our Indonesian friends defend themselves. I fear the Centre does not appreciate the urgency of the situation. In years to come Japan will need allies in Asia. We can lay the foundations of those relationships now.’ His chest tightened as he waited to be berated.
Yamagami’s face gave nothing away but his fingers were flicking idly at the red and gold silk tassel hanging from the pommel of his sword. When he spoke it was with tired exasperation. ‘As you well know, only a few months ago some of our closest Indonesian “friends” rebelled at Kediri and killed a number of our men. We trained the militia. We trusted them. To my great dismay they have betrayed that trust. I am aware that our Government has not yet made good certain promises but that is hardly the responsibility of the Army…or the Navy.’
Ishida gave a conciliatory nod and raised his fingers to smooth his thin moustache.
Yamagami let some of his irritation show. ‘More immediate problems require our attention. An enemy invasion for one! Food and clothing are scarce. My men are on reduced rations! If the Indonesians now blame us for their troubles and consequently we are no longer popular or, if we cared to know, even welcome here, it does not concern me. It should certainly not concern you. Our sole duty is to Japan.’
Ishida was not surprised by the stock answer. After all, no General was about to admit to a Vice Admiral that they were going to lose the war. He wondered just how much credence Yamagami gave to information coming from Tokyo. The Centre was riven with factions. As MacArthur and Nimitz advanced on Japan, so the heads rolled and the idiocy increased! His own command was still receiving orders to deploy ships that had been laid up for lack of spares or battle damage for months. He held Yamagami’s gaze and committed himself in a rush.
‘The rebels were just a few ungrateful hotheads and they were severely punished. True, there have been problems and incidents but the vast majority of the Indonesians will rally to us. I have three suggestions that I respectfully ask you to consider. The first is that General Nagano should request the Centre to announce Indonesia’s immediate independence.’ Nagano was the senior military commander on Java but he was no politician, which was why Ishida needed Yamagami.
‘Second, all spare arms and ammunition captured from the Dutch should be handed over to the militia. Third, the more co-operative nationalist leaders such as Sukarno and Hatta should broadcast on the radio, encouraging the people to join us in our stand.’
Yamagami sat in silence, truly stunned by Ishida’s audacity in even thinking of such a direct proposal. What arrogance, he thought. Never mind the admission that the Navy was reading their communications, which was bad enough! As for the militia, army policy was to disarm them quietly over the next few weeks and isolate the nationalist leaders in case of further rebellion. Did the Navy know that too?
A little unnerved by Yamagami’s silence, Ishida shrugged his shoulders to lessen the tension. ‘Only suggestions,’ he said waving his hand. ‘I simply wish to contribute in some way to the defence of Java and thus of Japan.’
Yamagami looked at his watch. ‘I shall certainly consider what you have said.’ I may also mention it to the authorities he thought acidly. ‘I agree we should overlook nothing that might help us in our war operations. Having said that, the military and political implications are considerable.’
Ishida nodded cautiously. Yamagami continued. ‘As you know, agreed policy foresees eventual independence for Java only. Sumatra and Malaya are nowhere near as advanced and
are to become provinces of Japan. Your proposal—I mean your suggestion—would require Imperial approval and now…well, such procedures take time.’
Yamagami stood up. The meeting was over. ‘You must excuse me. As you know, I am in a hurry to reach Semarang.’
‘My apologies, I have delayed you long enough,’ said Ishida.
He rose, ringing for Tashiro as he did so. ‘Please convey my regards to your staff.’
‘Very interesting to hear your ideas, Ishida. Until next time.’ Yamagami bowed casually and turned on his heels. The doors opened as he approached them, allowing him to continue without breaking his stride.
Pleased with himself and more than a little relieved, Ishida returned to the elegant antique desk and ran his hand over the polished wood. Rendered in exquisite veneer in the top was the crest of the Dutch East India Company. He pushed the chair back to stretch his legs and looked around the huge, ornately decorated room. It was almost as big as his house in Japan. Until the invasion it had been the office of the British Consul. Portraits of the former consuls still hung on two walls. Ishida’s staff had wanted to take them down but he liked the room immensely and had insisted that his predecessors remained in place to bear silent witness to Japan’s triumph.
Over the fireplace, a framed photograph of Emperor Hirohito looked incongruous in the large space that had been occupied by a gilt-framed oil painting of King George VI. Not for the first time Ishida wondered how his own portrait would look on these same walls in a hundred years. He laughed aloud at his own vanity. There was a single knock on the door. Tashiro entered.
‘Your horse is saddled, Admiral, and your escort is waiting.’
‘How am I for “ammunition”?’
