The Southerners Must Perish Tonight
by Faisal Oddang

Translated from Indonesian into English by Raka Ibrahim

Writer’s notes: Tolotang is a traditional belief system in South Sulawesi, which translates to “The People of the South.”

We were forced into official religions, made to document our betrayal on our ID cards, and stray away from our God–Dewata Sewwae. We were helpless to do anything but acquiesce, with bitter hearts. On a Friday, sometime in the late sixties, over torrential downpour, a gang of soldiers approached Uwak–the elder entrusted with the salvation of Tolotang believers, in life and in death. I hurried to my room.

“Uwak, you must choose a religion. Or your people won’t receive your rights as citizens of this state. You can be expelled, or someone might run amok. Uwak, you know precisely what would happen.”

I listened in from my room, separated only by cement sacks stretched on bamboo poles, and held together with a concoction made from boiled sago. I was Uwak’s only daughter, and I kept myself to my room most of the time. I guarantee, I have listened in to most of Uwak’s conversations with his guests–if not all of them.

Enough, Uwak, enough!, I thought.

I didn’t want any more bloodshed. Dewata Sewwa loved us so much, He wants to test our resolve. Uwak told me that one night, somewhere in the woods, as we ran away from the guerrilla fighters who torched our village. You were there among these soldiers, Upe, the man who once promised to marry me once our nation wrestled its independence from our oppressors.

You once told me that after your duty to the motherland is done, you would return to me and serve Dewata. But you betrayed your promise. You had to kill me, and I never questioned your love again after that fateful night on 7 August 1954. That night is seared into my memory. It was a year after your commander–and you, of course, as part of the South Sulawesi Guerrilla Corps–declared your opposition to the central government. Don’t try to explain your motives; I know you were refused entry into the Indonesian Republican Armed Forces. Red tape kept you and your friends out. That’s what you told me, a day before you joined them in their struggle in the jungle. But there is something you need to explain above all, something that bothered me even as I escaped from the specter of death: didn’t we love each other? Why did you want to kill me? Is it simply because I worship a different God than the ones recognized by the State?

“You’re finally home, Upe,” I said that night, welcoming you. And I allowed you into my house, your steps causing a glorious din on my wooden floor.

“It’s so cold outside tonight. But it was so hot this afternoon!” And I thought a guerrilla fighter like you would find humor in my pathetic small talk.

My lover is finally home, I thought. I have yet to satisfy my celebration by gazing at your gaunt, cracked face. I have yet to finish observing your eyes that have lost some of their former clarity, when something struck my chest. You battered me with the butt of your rifle, and as I tumbled to the ground, I saw you pointing your weapon at me. I saw your men peeking through the slits in my window.

I still looked into your eyes. I saw the rivulets of tears streaming down your cheeks, and I made time to remind you, to bring you back to your senses. I will always remind you. Upe, wake up!

“Mateko!”

You screeched, wishing death upon me in crude Buginese.

The sound of shots fired echoed in the air. Three shots, and you seem to forget how to finish off a target barely three meters away, because you missed each time. But I didn’t want to gamble and presume your true intentions. I got up, as you gazed at me. For a moment, I looked into your eyes again, seeking any semblance of love that remained. We stood like that, motionless. That is until my tears fell as I saw you weeping in silence. It was easier to find regret than love in your eyes–eyes that once seduced me into a love like madness and made us promise to live a lifetime together, as long as we have time left to live.

Everything changed. You changed, and I must accept that you may not harbor any love for me anymore after the night I lost you. Or at least, the night I lost the old you, Upe.

“Run,” you whispered quietly, and I rushed to rouse Uwak. We ran from the back door, and disappeared into the woods, not knowing where we would end up.

“Dewata Sewwa loved us so much, He wants to test our resolve,” Uwak cried, as our footsteps ceased and our last strength evaporated from our bodies.

“Uwak, answer now!”

I was shocked. That soldier yelled at Uwak. I heard it loud and clear, and it takes me back to you and the night that separated us, Upe.

Thirteen years have passed. Now, we believers of Tolotang must once again face unnerving memories and anxieties. The aroma of burnt bodies and rancid blood emanating from the charred remains of houses, and rivers where people refused to fish anymore, since they believed its fishes had consumed human flesh.

“Who are you?” Uwak replied sternly. “Don’t you have any manners? It’s my house, you’re guests. Be polite or I’ll tell you to leave!”

I know how stubborn Uwak can be, unshakeable like his faith in Tolotang. I got up, fixing the collar in my gown you gifted to me all those years ago, when you still toiled in the fields. At the corner of the room, through a small tear on the cement sack partition, I can peek outside. Three men in striped uniforms are sitting cross-legged. Across them is a man with a sarong draped around his shoulders, a black peci, and a rolled-up tobacco between his index and middle finger. It’s Uwak.

A soldier, perhaps the oldest of them, cleared his throat and attempted to appease Uwak.

“We’re just doing our job, Uwak,” he explained, much calmer than his colleague. “This is part of our duty to malilu sipakainge–remind and care for each other. We’re just executing orders,” he said. Then he arose with a grin, stating bluntly: we will return with papers for you to sign.

For a month, I hid with Uwak in a simple shed we built in the forest before Uwak decided to visit our relatives in Sengkang. Thankfully, they took us in. We moved around from one relative to the other. We sojourned at Sengkang, then Soppeng, then to Bone, and several months in my mother’s family home in Ujungpandang. You don’t need to ask how she’s doing, Upe. Surely you must have heard of the Tolotang elder’s wife, whose head was found floating on the river separating our village. The news had yet to sink in when you came to our home and left a scar that remained on my chest to this day. The wound healed, but the pain persists.

“Isuri!”

I heard Uwak yelling from the front porch. I hurried to him.

“We must be ready,” he said. “In the name of Dewata Sewwae, you must be ready, too.” He stressed his final words. I understood what he wanted to do. Uwak will refuse to choose any religion other than Tolotang. In these times, I remember you, Upe; how are you? Where are you? Oh yeah, how many children do you have now? Or, are you still alone like me, even as I approach my forties. My eyes are watering. I didn’t notice Uwak embracing me.

“I know what you’re thinking, Isuri.” Uwak patted my shoulders softly. “We have lost so many people. Even your own mother. Go all the way for God.”

I can't contain my tears any longer. Perhaps it has long streamed into Uwak's arms. My chest feels like it's caving in.

"Enough, Uwak," I said, weeping. "Just do what they want. Don't sacrifice anyone, it's enough. Dewata Sewwae doesn't care what it says on our ID card. Whatever it says on that damned thing, as long as we worship and pray as Tolotang, it won't be a problem."

"Think this through, Isuri."

"But, Uwak..."

"I'm not finished," Uwak said. "It's better to die by a soldier's bullet than by this village's anger. It's better to soil the government's rules than soil another man's religion. Do you understand?"

I nodded, helpless. My heart still raged against the idea of defying the government. But I feared Uwak even more. 

Two years ago, I was locked in a tense stand-off with Uwak. We must decide between returning to Sidrap or to continue burdening mother’s relatives in Ujungpandang. Uwak considered while I weighed our options. A day before our discussions, a delightful news that would certainly concern you spread through the radio and fliers. Even the mosques relayed the news in excitement. 3 February 1965, deep in the jungle by the Lasolo river, your people were massacred by the government’s soldiers. Done with your insurrection, they sent other men here, this time to massacre our faith.

The rain endures, as people return from Friday prayers back to their fields. The soldiers will come soon, and we must choose.

“Choose, Uwak,” I pleaded.

“Promise me something.”

“Anything. For you. For Dewata Sewwae.”

“Whatever it says on our ID card, we are still Tolotang.”

We agreed, and when the soldiers came, Uwak signed the papers in near-total silence.

Ten years have passed since our ID card officially changed. I still await your return, Upe, and so does Uwak. He’s now lying frail on our bed. His cough is getting worse, and his sand-filled spittoon is rancid with blood. Sometime after a long cough, he prayed for the joyous marriage I promised him ten years ago. It was his final prayer.

I broke down in tears. I regretted lying to him.

We will get married. He will come, and if we don’t comply with the government’s rules, our marriage won’t be recognized by the civil court. Our union will be difficult, the villagers won’t agree to it, and we will never live in peace. Please, Uwak, understand this. Choose, I beg of you.

Uwak’s stance softened. For our happiness, and for the promise of your hand in marriage. Ever since that day we have waited for you, Upe. Even though I don’t know if you survived the massacre of 3 February 1965.

Makassar, 2015

Orang-orang dari Selatan Harus Mati Malam Itu

Kami dipaksa menganut agama resmi, mencantumkannya di KTP, dan dipaksa menjauhi Tuhan kami--Dewata Sewwae, tentu kami tidak berdaya lantas harus menerimanya dengan dada lapang yang perih. Jumat, pada akhir tahun enam puluhan, pada siang yang hujan, segerombol tentara mendatangi Uwak--tetuah yang dipercaya akan menyelamatkan orang Tolotang saat hidup dan setelah mati. Aku bergegas menuju bilik.

"Uwak harus memilih, atau hak sebagai warga negara tidak kalian dapatkan, bisa saja diusir, bisa saja ada yang bertindak di luar kendali, Uwak sudah tahu sendiri, bukan, apa yang akan terjadi?"

Aku mendengarnya dari balik bilikku yang hanya disekat dengan pembungkus semen setelah direkatkan pada tiang-tiang bambu dengan ramuan rebusan sagu. Aku anak Uwak satu-satunya--dan aku lebih banyak tinggal di dalam bilik. Percakapan Uwak dengan tamu-tamunya, jika tak boleh kusebutkan selalu--aku menjamin, hampir semuanya kudengarkan.

Cukup, Uwak, cukup! batinku.

Aku tidak ingin ada korban lagi. Dewata Sewwae begitu mencintai kita, sehingga Ia menguji seberapa kuat kita bertahan, Uwak pernah mengatakan itu padaku pada suatu malam, di dalam hutan, saat pelarian kami menjauhi pasukan gerilya yang membakar kampung kami. Di antara pasukan itu, ada kau salah satunya, Upe, lelaki yang berjanji akan menikahiku setelah kemerdekaan berhasil direbut dari tangan penjajah.

Sekalipun pernah kau katakan bahwa setelah tugasmu membela negara selesai, kau akan kembali menemaniku mengabdi pada Dewata, kenyataan yang kudapati sungguh berbeda; kau harus membunuhku dan aku tidak pernah lagi bertanya apakah kau masih mencintaiku atau tidak setelah malam tujuh Agustus 1954. Malam yang tidak akan kulupakan. Tepat setahun ketika pimpinanmu--dan kau, tentu saja, sebagai bagian Kesatuan Gerilya Sulawesi Selatan menyerukan perlawanan terhadap pemerintah. Sungguh, tidak perlu kau jelaskan alasannya; aku tahu kalian ditolak masuk Angkatan Perang Republik Indonesia. Semua itu jelas, kau, dan kawanmu yang lain tak lolos administrasi.  Kau sendiri yang bercerita padaku sehari sebelum kau ikut berjuang keluar-masuk hutan. Ada yang perlu kau jelaskan melebihi semuanya, ada yang masih terus mengganggu hingga pada pelarianku menjauhi maut aku masih terus bertanya; bukankah kita saling mencintai, kenapa kau ingin membunuhku tanpa alasan yang dengan mudah bisa kumengerti? Apakah hanya karena Tuhanku dengan Tuhan yang diakui negara kita berbeda?

"Kau pulang, Upe, akhinrya," sambutku malam itu. Dan kupersilakan kau masuk begitu pintu rumah panggungku yang menimbulkan derit kasar terbuka.

"Di luar dingin, kalau malam, ya begini. Siang, panasnya minta ampun." Dan kupikir gerilyawan seperti kau akan merasa kalimatku tadi adalah basa-basi paling lucu.

Akhirnya kekasihku pulang, gumamku dalam hati. Belum selesai kurayakan kebahagiaan itu dengan cara berdiam menatap wajahmu yang tirus dan lekang--belum habis kutatapi bola matamu yang tidak sejernih dulu, sesuatu menghunjam dadaku. Kau memoporku dan begitu aku terhuyung-terempas ke lantai papan, kulihat kau mulai mengarahkan moncong senapanmu ke tubuhku.  Sekilas kulihat beberapa anak buahmu mengintip di celah jendela.

Masih sempat kulihat matamu. Masih sempat kulihat air yang hampir menetes ke pipimu, dan masih sempat kusebut namamu, menyadarkanmu, selalu kusempatkan; Upe, sadar!

"Mateko!"

Kau membentak sekaligus menyumpahiku segera mati dengan bahasa Bugis yang kasar.

Suara letusan senapan terdengar. Tiga kali tembakan dan kau sepertinya lupa cara mengenai sasaran dari jarak tiga meter, semuanya meleset. Namun, aku tidak ingin bertaruh lantas menebak-nebak apa yang akan terjadi selanjutnya. Aku berdiri menjelang tubuhmu yang geming. Sejenak, aku menatap matamu lagi, berusaha menerka sisa-sisa cinta yang ada. Kita sama-sama diam. Hingga beberapa saat air mataku akhirnya jatuh karena tangisanmu yang tanpa suara. Aku jauh lebih mudah menemukan penyesalan dibanding cinta di matamu--yang dulu membuatku tergila-gila dan membuat kita sempat berjanji untuk hidup bersama, selama yang kita bisa untuk bertahan hidup.

Semua berubah, kau berubah, dan aku harus menerima kenyataan bahwa kau mungkin tidak punya cinta lagi setelah malam ketika aku kehilanganmu. Kehilangan dirimu yang dulu, maksudku, Upe.

"Lari," bisikmu lirih dan aku bergegas membangunkan Uwak kemudian kami lari lewat pintu belakang ke arah hutan tanpa pernah tahu akan berakhir di mana.

"Dewata Sewwae begitu mencintai kita, sehingga Ia menguji seberapa kuat kita bertahan," lenguh Uwak begitu langkah kami yang payah terhenti lantaran kehabisan tenaga.

"Uwak, ayo jawab!"

Aku tersentak, Uwak dibentak dengan keras oleh tentara itu. Aku jelas mendengarnya dan hal itu melamurkan ingatanku tentangmu dan malam yang memisahkan kita itu, Upe.

Setelah tiga belas tahun, kini kami seluruh penganut kepercayaan Tolotang harus kembali berhadapan dengan keresahan-keresahan dan ingatan-ingatan mengerikan. Tentang aroma daging bakar dan anyir darah yang tercecer di sekitar rongsokan bekas pembakaran rumah, dan tentang sungai yang ikannya tidak ingin dimakan penduduk sekitar karena dipercaya memakan daging manusia.

"Kalian siapa?" balas Uwak dengan bentakan, "sopan santun bertamu belum tahu, ha? Ini rumah saya, sopanlah. Atau saya usir?"

Aku tahu jelas bagaimana watak Uwak, keras, sebagaimana imannya pada ajaran Tolotang. Aku sedikit beringsut, membetulkan kerah daster yang bertahun-tahun lalu kau hadiahkan saat kau masih bertani. Di sudut bilik ada celah untuk mengintip akibat sekat bungkus semen yang robek. Aku melihat ada tiga orang berpakaian loreng yang duduk bersila. Seorangnya lagi, juga bersila, tidak dengan pakaian loreng, melainkan dengan sarung yang ia sampirkan ke pundak, dan peci berwarna hitam, lintingan tembakau terjepit di antara telunjuk dan jari tengahnya--dia Uwak.

Tampak seseorang yang kuduga paling tua dari ketiga tentara itu berdeham lalu menenangkan Uwak.

"Kami sedang bertugas, Uwak," jelasnya, lebih lembut dari rekannya, "kami sedang mengadakan operasi malilu sipakainge, kami hanya menjalankan perintah," sambungnya lantas berdiri diikuti yang lain sambil tersenyum sinis mengucapkan: kami akan kembali membawa berkas buat diteken.

Selama hampir sebulan aku dan Uwak bertahan di gubuk sederhana yang kami bangun seadanya di dalam hutan sebelum Uwak memutuskan untuk mengunjungi kerabat di Sengkang--yang mujur bagi kami, bersedia menampung. Kami berpindah-pindah, dari kerabat yang satu ke kerabat yang lain. Dari Sengkang, Soppeng, Bone, dan sempat pula beberapa bulan di Ujungpandang, rumah keluarga Ibu. Tidak perlu kau bertanya soal kabar Ibu, Upe. Aku tahu, kau tak mungkin luput mendengar berita istri ketua adat Tolotang yang ditemukan kepalanya oleh warga,  di sungai yang membelah kampung kita. Berita itu belum juga reda ketika kau mendatangi rumah kami dan memopor dadaku yang sampai hari ini masih menyisakan luka. Luka yang sembuh--dengan rasa sakit yang tidak pernah hilang.

"Isuri!"

Kudengar Uwak berteriak dari ruang depan. Aku bergegas.

"Kita harus siap," bukanya, "demi Dewata Sewwae, kau juga siaplah," ia menekan di kata-kata terakhirnya. Aku sudah paham apa yang ingin Uwak lakukan. Dia akan menolak memilih agama selain Tolotang. Tentu kau tahu, di saat seperti inilah aku akan mudah mengingatmu, Upe; apa kabarmu? Kau di mana? Dan, o iya, sudah berapa anakmu sekarang? Atau masih tetap sendiri sepertiku, bahkan pada usia yang menuju kepala empat ini. Mataku mulai berkaca-kaca. Aku tidak sadar Uwak telah merangkulku.

"Saya tahu yang kau pikir, Isuri." Uwak menepuk halus pundakku. "Kita sudah kehilangan banyak orang, bahkan Ibu kau sendiri. Jangan setengah-setengah buat Tuhan."

Aku tidak sanggup menahan air mata yang kuduga kini telah basah di lengan Uwak. Terisak. Dadaku sesak.

"Cukup, Uwak," ucapku terbata-bata di sela tangisan, "turuti saja mereka itu, jangan korbankan siapapun, sudah cukup. Lagipula Dewata Sewwae tidak peduli KTP kita, Uwak. Agama apa pun yang ada di KTP, selama kita menyembah dan beragama dengan cara Tolotang, tidak akan jadi masalah."

"Pikirlah dulu, Isuri,"

"Tapi, Uwak--"

"Saya belum selesai," sanggah Uwak, "lebih baik ditembaki tentara daripada dibunuh orang-orang di kampung ini. Lebih baik menodai aturan pemerintah daripada menodai agama orang lain, paham?"

Aku mengangguk lemah, namun tetap saja aku tidak setuju untuk melawan pemerintah, aku bisa apa, aku lebih tidak berani melawan Uwak.

Dua tahun lalu, aku berunding setegang ini bersama Uwak. Kami harus memutuskan kembali ke Sidrap atau tetap merepotkan kerabat Ibu di Ujungpandang. Uwak menimbang, aku memperhitungkan. Sehari sebelum perundingan untuk menentukan sikap itu, ada kabar menyenangkan sekaligus membuatku meresahkanmu, lewat radio dan selebaran yang disebar. Bahkan toa masjid tidak luput memberitakannya. 3 Februari 1965, di dalam hutan--tubir Sungai Lasolo, orang-orangmu mati ditumpas pasukan kiriman pemerintah--yang akhirnya juga mengirim orang-orangnya untuk menumpas kepercayaan kami.

Hujan belum berhenti, dan orang-orang yang pulang salat Jumat telah kembali ke sawah. Sebentar lagi tentara itu datang, dan kami harus memilih.

"Pilih saja, Uwak," bujukku.

"Mau berjanji?"

"Apa pun, demi Uwak, demi Dewata Sewwae."

"Apa pun agama di KTP, kita harus tetap Tolotang."

Kami sepakat, dan ketika tentara datang, Uwak tidak banyak bicara sebelum dan setelah meneken surat pernyataan.

Sudah sepuluh tahun berlalu setelah KTP kami resmi berubah. Aku masih menunggumu datang, Upe--begitu juga Uwak. Kini ia terbaring lemah di ranjang kami, batuknya semakin parah, kobokan yang kuisi pasir untuk wadah ludahnya yang bercampur darah sudah sangat amis. Beberapa saat, berselang setelah batuk yang panjang, Uwak mendoakan kebahagiaan buat pernikahan kita yang sepuluh tahun lalu kujanjikan buatnya. Doanya yang terakhir.

Air mataku jatuh, aku menyesal membohonginya.

Kami akan menikah, dia akan datang, dan jika kita tidak mengikuti pemerintah, artinya kita cacat administrasi. Pernikahan kami akan susah, orang kampung tidak akan sepakat, dan kami tidak akan tenang, Uwak. Kumohon, mengertilah, memilihlah. Aku membujuk.

Uwak luluh. Demi kebahagiaan kita dan demi kau yang akan menjadikanku istri. Sejak hari itu kami menunggumu, Upe. Meskipun aku tidak pernah tahu kau selamat atau tidak saat penyerangan 3 Februari 1965. 

Makassar, 2015

Faisal Oddang graduated from Hasanuddin University in Indonesian literature. He wrote a collection of poems Perkabungan untuk Cinta (Mourning for Love) and Manurung was shortlisted for Kusala Sastra Khatulistiwa Literary Award in 2018. His novels Tiba Sebelum Berangkat (Arriving before Departing) and Puya ke Puya (From One Heaven to Another) were among the winners of the 2014 Jakarta Arts Council Novel Competition and Tempo Best Novel 2015. His latest books include the short story collection, Sawerigading Datang dari Laut (Sawerigading Came from the Sea) and a novella Raymond Carver Terkubur Mi Instan di Iowa (Raymond Carver Buried in Instant Noodles in Iowa).

He has been awarded ASEAN Young Writers Award 2014 from the Government of Thailand, Kompas Best Short Story Award 2014 and 2018, Tempo Art Figure 2015, and Robert Bosch Stiftung Funds 2018 from Literarisches Colloquium Berlin. He attended the Iowa International Writing Program in 2018, United States, London Book Fair in 2019, and Agor Drysau Festival, Wales in 2019. He founded Makassar Institute of Literature: a school of creative writing, and is currently also working in Kabisat Publishing Company.

Thank you to Raka Ibrahim for translating Faisal’s writing.