Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison

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СКАЧАТЬ not studying the written word, she dedicated hours listening to short-wave radio broadcasts, even when it was obvious that she did not understand the many languages that filled the air. Within time, she mastered the rudiments of English; her stilted attempts to communicate in that medium encouraged by her father, whose own knowledge of the language had remained reasonably intact. At fourteen, Angela was given even greater advantage over her peers when she was sent to further her studies in the provincial capital, Samarinda.

      Angela’s attendance at high school provided her with access not only to the capital’s limited libraries, but an abundance of magazines and newspapers, which fed both the domestic and foreign readership base, resident in Samarinda. She learned to appreciate the extent of natural wealth that was being exploited across Dayak lands. She saw, first hand, the harvest from Dayak, traditional forests when these were seized and surrendered to powerful timber groups, the tens of thousands of huge rafts of precious timber creating unbelievable log jams along the Mahakam River. Her understanding of how the real world revolved became painfully apparent as she became increasingly aware of the Indonesia’s thuggish, ruling elite, and Jakarta-based tycoons who enriched themselves, at the Dayak population’s expense.

      And, as Angela became older and more venturesome, so, too, did her horizons grow. She visited government offices under guise of seeking information for school projects, devouring material across a wide spectrum covering commerce, politics and the environment, her knowledge of social and ethnic issues profound, in her mind. She ventured into the city’s growing slums where young, Dayak women, many still in their early teens, wandered the squalid streets soliciting, and she was shocked that this could be so, concerned, even at her tender age, that she was looking through a window in her people’s future. By the time graduation arrived, Angela Dau had blossomed into a mature, intelligent, and very determined young woman, convinced that unless the Dayak people could achieve some semblance of autonomy within the near future, they were doomed. She returned to her village and appealed to her father for the opportunity to study at the Institute of Technology, in Bandung, arguing that it was imperative she advance her studies there – Jonathan, at first, uncertain that sending her to Java would be the correct choice. When the villagers learned of her wish they gathered to support Angela, pledging as a community to provide the funding to enable her to attend. Reluctantly, the chief finally agreed, insisting that his daughter remain under the care of an old friend in Bandung, his approval also conditional on the understanding that she undertake the shaman initiation ceremony before departing. Few amongst the Longhouse community had even considered that Jonathan Dau might be contemplating passing his mantle to Angela. Although there were some whose hopes were dashed when it became apparent that he would do so, none begrudged her right to succeed their chief, particularly as she had so clearly demonstrated that she had inherited at least some of her father’s powers.

      With only two days remaining, Jonathan and Angela embarked on their demanding trek to the secluded, ancestral cave. Now, as she followed her father’s footsteps up the difficult terrain, Angela’s excitement grew, for this day she would realize her dream – the right of succession, a claim, which until that time, had only been granted to the male line in her family.

      ****

      Angela followed her father’s footsteps as they ventured deeper and deeper into the virgin forest, stopping upon silent command to view long-tailed parakeets, or the occasional macaque gobbling leaves high in a canopy draped with creeping lianas and fern. They made their way through the jungle environment, as the land continued to rise. Five hours into their journey Jonathan finally stopped and pointed towards a rocky outcrop a few meters further up the slope. ‘We’ll enter through there.’

      Angela squinted, unable to identify anything against the late afternoon sun’s rapidly fading light, and was virtually upon the natural, limestone caverns before the entrance became apparent.

      ‘Come, Angela, follow me.’ Responding to her father’s encouragement, she stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the cavern’s dark and cold interior and her pulse rose, reminded that it was here, in this setting, where generations of shamans had conducted similar initiation rites, bestowing powers on an heir apparent.

      Angela remained standing while Jonathan unpacked his haversack, the cave coming alive when he lit a circle of candles placed at the base of a heavily carved, altar-shaped rock. Stalactite-formed, candle flows attached to the rock evidenced past visits, Angela’s thoughts on those who had gone before her wondering if they, too, had been as apprehensive at what lay ahead. Her eyes wandered the cave’s irregular walls, curious as to which of her ancestors had been responsible for the art forms depicting forest creatures and game. Angela accepted that her ancestors originally came to earth from the Seventh Heaven, in the form of hornbills, and also believed that life was continuously controlled by the spirits of her ancestors, and that these spirits were often reincarnated in all living forms, such as deer, the beloved hornbill and even snakes and frogs – all of which were depicted here.

      Deeper into the cave where the shadows fell darkest Angela detected a narrow passage. ‘Papa.Where does that lead to?’

      Jonathan lifted one of the candles, level with his head, his features severe in the half-light. ‘You will learn what lies there, later. Come, kneel with me – we shall offer a prayer then go outside to wait for the moon to rise.’

      She moved to his side where Jonathan sprinkled drops of fragrant water into her hands then his own, each touching their faces gently, in a gesture of cleansing. Then, together, they crouched before the stone altar to join in the familiar chant asking for divine protection, whilst expressing their gratitude to the spirits.

      ****

      Father and daughter stood in harmonious awe as the moon reached the fullness of its white gold, nocturnal bloom, casting a spell across the verdant landscape, giving life to the soft layers of mist, blanketing rivers and valleys, far below.

      ‘It’s time.’ Jonathan’s voice brought Angela back from the hypnotic panorama.

      Filled with a reassuring calm, she smiled peacefully. ‘I’m ready, Papa.’

      The shaman took Angela and held her lovingly, by the shoulders. ‘You must always remember, my daughter, that your soul is your inner guide, and that you are a manifestation of your soul in the physical and material sense. During the indoctrination process, you will become aware of a powerful light, at which time your soul will disconnect from its physical form and take you to the Supreme Being. Do not fight against this light, but relax and merge with it. Do not be frightened – you will think that you are alone, but this will not be so.Your guardian will be at your side.’

      ‘Is that you, Papa?’

      ‘No,my child,your guardian,or spiritual guide was selected back in time,and takes the form of the hornbill. Once you are fully committed to the latihan trance, the scenes of your life will unfold and you will be transported through these images to places of extreme horror, as a test.The hornbill will carry you through safely. Do not be afraid.You are about to commence the most enlightening experience of your life.’

      ‘Thank you, Papa.’

      Jonathan Dau’s arms dropped to his side. ‘Then we should proceed.’

      Angela closed her eyes, drawing the crisp mountain air into her lungs, then followed her father slowly into the candle-lit cave where the ritual would be held. She knelt on her knees, head bowed and hands clasped together, senses heightened as flickering shadows danced against stone-carved walls and incense drifted through their sacred surrounds.

      ‘Are you ready, my daughter?’ And with Angela’s response, the shaman sprinkled sacred dust he had gathered, over her СКАЧАТЬ