A short story by Gde Aryantha Soethama

The village head’s announcement that bungalows were going to be built in our village left us all speechless. Granted, many of us were happy that the bungalows would bring some money into the village, and help us to pay off our debts. But we were also concerned that it would destroy us.

"Don’t worry," said the village head. "We will keep our rice paddies. Not all of them, of course, because many of them will be turned into bungalows, parks and roads."

At the monthly meeting, the village head assured us that Pak Jamah* was building the bungalows in our community’s best interests. "Pak Jamah wouldn’t do anything to harm our community. He is a very generous man," said the village head. "All he is asks is that we agree to his plans, before some other person with less noble motives comes along."

We all knew Pak Jamah was a generous man. Under the direction of our village head, we had built a house for him. A simple house, made of local materials, gleaned from the surrounding countryside: coconut wood, thatch for the roof, river stones for the foundations and woven bamboo bark for the walls. But its fence made of compacted dirt made Pak Jamah’s house stand out in our village. No more than fifty meters from Pak Jamah’s house built a temple dedicated to the local subak*, named Pura Ulunsuwi. We were sure Pak Jamah would like the house for its view of the temple, of the terraced rice paddies and the path that wended its way through them, and of the coconut palms in the distance. These beautiful surroundings made Pak Jamah’s house seem like the hermitage of a sage.

The first time Pak Jamah came to our village, he arrived in an old jeep. He strolled around the rice paddies, greeting the farmers in a friendly manner. After that, he kept coming back, sometimes as often as twice a week. He would sit in the warung*, and chat with the villagers, then sleep over at one of the villager’s houses. We warmed to him quickly. Whenever we asked, he would always say he was from overseas, and that he was already married. We liked it when he lavished praise on our village, saying how beautiful it was, with its terraced rice paddies and its steps that led down the valley. And we liked it when he said that our village was where he wamnted to end his days.

When Pak Jamah offered to help restore Pura Ulunsuwi, everybody was pleased. He even suggested that we expand the area of the temple, and he paid for everything.

"I want to have a house here," he said, and we were glad to grant his request to buy three are of land neighbouring on Pura Ulunsuwi. We believed he wanted to meditate in our village, which was nestled at the foot of Mount Batukaru.

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