By Keris Mas

Translated by Chang Shih Yen

Translator’s Note

I chose to translate Keris Mas because he was Malaysia’s first National Laureate. I like this story because it covers a lot of aspects of Malay culture. There is the religious aspect, such as preparations for Eid celebrations after the fasting month and the reading of the Quran. In the story, Siti recites Surah Yusuf, which is the twelfth chapter of the Quran. There are also cultural aspects in the story, like traditional clothing and hairstyles, and even a mention of how to address people in a polite way, as with Awang’s knowledge of how to ‘call’ his mother and aunty.

*Yau Bee Ling - Abide II (2016), Oil, etched acrylic and acrylic medium on jute canvas, 84.5 cm x 60 cm*
Image description: The painting depicts a pair of hands, held together as if in prayer. The hands are outlined in white contour lines, against a background rendered in shades of blue and green.

Siti sat at the veranda of her room facing the yard, looking at her little son Awang who was only one year and eight months old, jumping up and down, running here and there, following the bigger children playing tag.

Her heart felt truly healed to see that Awang was healthy and happy, hearing the loud chattering from his mouth, even though it was unclear what he was saying, if people chased, he chased them back, if people ran he also ran. Sometimes the bigger children collided with him. He fell flat. Siti panicked, afraid that the apple of her eye would feel hurt and cry. But, Awang never cried; in fact he would laugh and get up again to chase the person who had crashed into him. Siti massaged her chest. Her heart felt truly relieved.

After a long time, her thoughts flew far away, far away to who knows where, to the place that she had been searching for and asking about in her heart.

“Where is he now?”

She returned to stare at her child who was happy playing and slowly she sighed with tears streaming down her cheeks. In just a blink of an eye the ease that was in her heart to see her healthy child playing had changed to sadness remembering her sweetheart, Awang’s father, who was now stranded who knew where.

In a week’s time, people would be cheerful and happy celebrating Eid. The children who were so happy playing were already imagining the happiness of Eid. From a room inside the roar of a machine could be heard. Minah was sewing new clothes for her children. And in the kitchen, there was the raucous laughter of young girls. Lili, Minah’s daughter, and her friends were busy making cakes for Eid. In short everyone around her was getting ready, waiting for and celebrating the arrival of Eid.

She suddenly ran down to where little Awang was having fun playing tag. She took him, picked him up and hugged and kissed him, taking him up to the veranda, while covering him with tears to her heart’s content.

Little Awang, who was still innocent and didn’t understand anything, thrashed about in his mother’s lap. He didn’t want to be hugged or cried over, he had been having fun at his game. He screamed, asking to be released to go back down to the yard.

At last, Siti let go of her son for him to return to the yard and looked with a cracked heart at the apple of her eye, who was lucky not to realize his lot in life, having been abandoned by his father for months now.

Who knew where his father was now. Since he left, he had never sent any news. Who knew if he was dead or alive, who knew if he was safe or suffering.

When he first left, he said he wanted to find work to increase their income and relieve their tight lives a little. He had a small business that was worth two or three hundred ringgit that was sold to pay for the fare and the expenses of him leaving. He promised that it wouldn’t be long, one or two months, and he would return to invite them to move to the new place that he wanted to head to.

But now it has been almost a year without any news from him. Who knew whether or not he had found any work, who knew if he was stuck somewhere. If he was dead, she didn’t know where his grave was; if he was drifting, she didn’t know at which river mouth he could be.

Since the start of the fasting month, she had been waiting just in case Awang’s father would return, or at least send a letter or some news.

Everyone else was cheerful and happy surrounded by their family and all their loved ones. Those who were far away came and got together, those who were nearby came and gathered, once a year in this good month and on this good day to get closer to their friends and family. But she was left hanging around by herself, with a son who was still small and who didn’t know anything about what was known as life. She had no relatives, no family, not even any close friends, abandoned by a husband who had left to who knew where.

After ten days, then twenty days of fasting had passed, her hope of seeing the father of her child return was totally gone, but she still had hope that she would at least receive a letter as a sign of whether he was dead or alive before Eid arrived. If that happened, it would heal a heart that longed for revenge, it would heal the misery and suffering that she had borne for months. But that also did not happen, not one letter, not even lies and rumours brought by the wind.

Since the start of the fasting month, Siti had begun selling tapioca cakes every afternoon at the front of her house near the intersection. She made a lot of sales, but the profit was not satisfactory; she could only hope to lighten her expenses a little during the fasting month.

Including this afternoon, there were only five days left to have an opportunity for sales, after that people would be celebrating Eid and her cakes would surely not be popular anymore.

For the twenty-five days that she had been making sales, every day she tried to save a few cents. Her big intention was to buy clothes for Awang so that he could celebrate along with other people. For herself, there was nothing out of the ordinary. She still had old clothes that she had kept which could be taken out for Eid. Even if she had no new clothes she wouldn’t be disappointed as long as Awang was not unlike the children of other people who would surely be wearing new clothes. To wait for his father to send money would surely be a pointless matter.

She wiped her tears that she hadn’t even realized had spilled over, once again wetting her cheeks.

The children who had been noisily playing had left, running and chasing each other to the yard next door. Awang climbed up the stairs while crying, wanting to follow the bigger children.

She pulled the apple of her eye, the author of her heart, into her lap, while she wiped with her shawl the sweat that was wetting his whole body.

Blown by a gentle breeze from the wide-open yard, Awang slowly closed his eyes in his mother’s lap. He looked truly tired after running after the bigger children earlier.

Sleep, my child, my dear, let mother go to the kitchen to make cakes to sell this afternoon. If I get two ringgit more, mother will buy a beautiful red shirt for you for Eid.

Tears fell again. She carried the child into the room, and put him to sleep in a baby hammock. After that she went into the kitchen. It was two o’clock.

At the end of the day, she counted all the money that was in her hand after the afternoon sales. The total was four ringgit and forty-five cents. A mere forty-five cents was her net profit, after all her expenses for the fasting month were taken out from the sales. Four ringgit was her capital, capital borrowed from Minah.

In her heart, tomorrow or the next day she would walk into town to buy maybe two pieces of bright cloth to make a shirt for her dear child. But she only had forty-five cents. She sighed and her eyes filled up with tears. But she quickly pressed down the feeling. Tomorrow or the next day there was still an opportunity to gather one or two ringgit more, she told herself, persuading her worried and anxious heart.

The days passed. There were only two more days left before Eid. Siti counted her money, subtracted the capital that had to be returned to Minah, and saw her net profit was eighty cents.

*Yau Bee Ling - Abrupt Meeting (2008), Oil on canvas, 168 cm x 214 cm*
Image description: The painting features two large faces rendered in black contour lines. The faces lean closely against each other. Their facial features are only vaguely distinguishable against the busy, multicolored brushstrokes that fill up the faces entirely.

It was late at night. The voices of people taking turns to read the Quran out loud could be heard from the surau that was not far from her house, pleading like a voice from a clean and pure heaven, appeasing her worried and sad heart. But the sound of firecrackers that every so often thundered, lit by children who were cheerful and happy waiting for a joyful Eid, and the sound of the unceasing roar of Minah’s sewing machine from the next room as she finished sewing clothes for her children, new clothes that would be worn on that Eid, made the sadness rise again in Siti’s heart, so deep that she could not hold it back.

Slowly she brushed the head of her child who was fast asleep while lamenting in her soul: “Your fortune is so unlucky, Awang. Since small you have been disturbed by difficulty. Don’t cry, ya, my child. On the day of Eid, we will go to the grave of your grandmother. And when we are there, we will complain that your father didn’t buy you new clothes for Eid…”

Meanwhile in her heart, she still had hope that she would make a few more cents the next day. With that thought she entertained her heart and slowly she kissed the forehead of her child who was sleeping. Then she took the Quran and read the Surah Yusuf in a soft, sweet voice and with a calm and loving heart.

In fact, Siti, who was young and good-looking, had long come to the attention of many of her neighbours in the same village. Old and young, male and female, dried their eyes far away from her. The young women said about her that she was beautiful but very stupid to wait for a man who had been gone for months without sending any alimony, not even sending news.

“She brings shame onto women,” said those young women. “You are still young and beautiful, allowing a man to do this to you. Wouldn’t it be good if you just call it quits, and get married with someone else?”

“It’s hard to find a woman like that Siti,” the older people said in contrast, “loyal to her husband, able to look after herself and bring up her child. She even knows how to find an income that is halal.”

“It’s a pity that she hasn’t got divorced from her husband; if not, let me be the father of that child,” said half the young men who were crazy about her beauty and her good manners.

But Siti, even though she knew about the rumours and whispers around herself, stayed quiet and took no notice. She was confident that her husband would return to get her, tomorrow or the next day, or in a month or two. Even if it was in a year or two, she would still wait loyally.

That afternoon was the last afternoon that she would sell cakes for the fasting month, because tomorrow afternoon people would surely not buy anymore because they had already prepared all sorts of different cakes in each of their homes for Eid.

The day after tomorrow, Eid would be here.

The air of a joyful Eid had come and covered all the faces of the faithful who had for almost a whole month been holding back hunger and thirst. Each person looked cheerful, and each face reflected the feeling of radiant happiness.

Siti sold happily because on that day many of her cakes were unusually popular.

Such a sweet smile she gave when she was serving the people who came to buy from her, wrapping up the tapioca cakes with a clear face, and so friendly while she chatted with customers.

The pink baju kebaya she wore brightened up her face, which was langsat yellow, and her thick black hair curled like waves to her neck, where a big clump hung like ripe fruit ready to fall. Truly that afternoon she seemed sweeter than usual and looked happier.

She raised both her hands to the back, to adjust the big sanggul of her hair, so that her slim waist could be seen clearly.

From the front came a young man riding a sports bike with a small, empty basket. The young man looked handsome and stylish. From afar, he was already smiling at Siti who was so gorgeous adjusting her sanggul. Siti looked shy, returning the smile of the young man, whom she had already known for a long time.

It seemed that Awang, who was there close to his mother, also knew him. As soon as the man got down from the bike, Awang came closer to him while calling in a language that no one could understand and holding the young man’s bicycle.

“Do you want to fill that basket, Mr. Mat?” Siti asked sweetly and in a friendly tone.

“Yeah, Miss Siti. And this time, maybe it’s the last time that I get to try cakes for the fasting month made by you, Miss Siti. So fill it up.”

“Surely, Mr. Mat, you don’t mean to fill it up with all the cakes that are left. Even if it’s true that you say my cakes are delicious, you surely won’t be able to finish eating all these cakes, there are so many of them.”

Mr. Mat explained that he meant to give to charity at the mosque. At home, he said, there was no one who could bake cakes, because of that he meant to buy all of Siti’s cakes.

Siti placed all the cakes into Mr. Mat’s small basket. Three ringgit and twenty cents was the price for all of them.

Mr. Mat gave her a five-ringgit note. He did not accept his change of one ringgit and eighty cents. “Let it be for Awang to spend this Eid,” he said. He caressed Awang’s head and then he left, leaving a smile and a meaningful look at Siti.

Siti forcefully tried to decline the young man’s gift, but the smile and the meaningful glance melted her heart. What’s more, when she saw Mr. Mat caressing her child’s head, the apple of her eye, the author of her heart, she didn’t think things through. She felt that the gift was from a sincere heart, and Awang’s earnings were something that she should not reject.

After riding around on his bike, Mr. Mat returned soon after, coming close to her when she was ready to go home, “If you’re willing, do come to my house for Eid, Miss Siti. Maybe with your coming, my house, which is so lonely and quiet, will be a bit brighter too. My mother will be there to entertain you,” he said while smiling and laughing.

“How can I get rid of the loneliness in your house, Mr. Mat, when I myself am fully shrouded in loneliness like you, too,” answered Siti.

“Yes, it seems we both live in loneliness. But I’m confident, if Miss Siti came, my house will be bright, my mother will be grateful and I will not forget your kindness.”

Siti hung her head. She knew there was an ulterior motive, there was hidden meaning behind those words that were spoken by Mr. Mat. She took Awang and carried him and as she did that she answered, “I pray that hopefully your house will immediately get a radiant light even though I have never gone there,” she said, while picking up her basket and bench from where she had been selling her cakes. Then she turned again, looked calmly at the face of the young man, and said, “People want to celebrate Eid. I’m sorry if I have offended you, Mr. Mat…” She lowered her head and her footsteps took her away from that place.

* * *

*Yau Bee Ling - Protection (2013), Oil on canvas, 153 cm x 122 cm*
Image description: The painting depicts a portrait of an individual with her arms wrapped around two younger figures. She gazes down at them with a smile. All three figures are outlined in swift, free brushstrokes. Their forms are filled in with bright shades of orange and yellow against a blue background.

Awang was fast asleep, looking as if he was tired out, lying on the bed.

Siti counted her money. One ringgit and eighty cents she set aside, putting it on the mattress near her child. The rest totalled one ringgit and fifty cents after subtracting four ringgit, the money for capital, which would be returned to Minah.

Last night, eighty cents, today it had become one ringgit and fifty cents, which meant that her profit today was seventy cents. If she took out the expenses for tomorrow, about fifty cents, the remainder was a net one ringgit.

It was only one ringgit, the result of one month of saving during the fasting month, that she had hoped to buy clothes for Awang for Eid with.

She thought for a moment. After that, she got up from where she was sitting and took the one ringgit and eighty cents that she had placed near her sleeping child. This was a sincere gift from Mr. Mat to Awang. The one ringgit and eighty cents she added to the one ringgit of her earnings to make two ringgit and eighty cents.

“Your earnings are also low, Awang. Tomorrow we will go to town to look for a red shirt. Tomorrow night mother will sew it, and on the morning of the next day you can celebrate Eid with a red shirt,” she said slowly to her child who was sleeping, while placing her cheek against Awang’s cheek.

Her tears flowed again. She sat pensively massaging her child’s head.

The night air had cooled. It was almost morning, but a morning that was near to Eid felt like nine at night. Voices were still loud from the kitchen of the people next door making and baking cakes. The sound of Minah’s sewing machine never stopped roaring, still finishing up the clothes for Eid.

That morning she had seen Minah’s husband bringing back a few cuts of cloth for his children’s clothes. Awang, who didn’t understand anything, also followed Minah’s children who were happy and cheerful to receive the gift from their father.

That scene was reflected again in her mind. She gave a small sigh, and her memories flew far away to Awang’s father, who was far away who knew where. What happiness to receive a gift of new cloth for her child’s Eid clothes brought by a husband back from work, in the afternoon at the end of the fasting month. When would she be graced with a happiness like that?

Slowly she held again the money that she had placed near her knee, and took out one ringgit and eighty cents.

What a kind heart Mr. Mat had, the young man who was clean and pure. He had a good job and good manners and was loving. She knew that Mr. Mat had feelings for her, even more so since his wife had died a few months ago. That heart was a clean and honourable heart based on a love of nurturing life and setting up a peaceful household.

Mr. Mat had once mocked himself, and for her that mocking had aroused a heart that was dormant after being left by her husband for almost a year. She realized that Mr. Mat did not want to be straightforward because he knew that she had not yet broken up with her husband.

If Mr. Mat had been frank, it would have been really difficult to give her answer. She saw that Awang was growing big and healthy. When his father had first left, he had still been crawling. Now he was already running, and he was able to play with the big children. He knew how to say a few words, and he was skilful in calling mother and aunty, which was how he addressed Minah. It was only father that he did not know how to say.

What would his father say in future if he came back and saw Awang calling someone else father or dad? That was a question that she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t bring herself to cut her pure ties with her husband, a husband who was good and ambitious, who had never been rough, or even scolded her. He had left because he wanted to improve the state of their lives, which were a little tight, because he had high ambitions to improve their social standing for the safety of his child and wife at the end of the day.

No, she was not willing to lie to her heart. She still loved her good husband, and she would still love him and wait until he who had gone returned, even if she had to wait for years more.

Suddenly, she picked up Awang, who was not aware of anything, hugged him tightly in her lap, and watered him once again with tears.

“Grow up quick, child, we can go and look for your father…” she slowly lamented.

Awang, startled awake from his sleep, wiped the tears of his mother that fell on his cheek, and he also started crying.

“Don’t cry, child… tomorrow mother will buy a shirt, a pink shirt for Eid that your father likes…”

Awang cried again, faint sobs into the middle of the night, as if joining in the feelings of sadness and melancholy that were storming in his mother’s soul.

“Be quiet, ya child. When Eid comes, wear your new clothes and we will go to grandmother’s grave. We will complain, your father didn’t come home for Eid…”

Awang choked back sobs and stopped crying, then fell back asleep again, asleep in his mother’s lap, she who was suffering from longing for revenge.

Mastika, August 1948

*Yau Bee Ling - Yellow Counter Top (2005), Oil on canvas, 100 cm x 130 cm*
Image description: The painting depicts a vibrant scene with various domestic objects including pots, stoves, utensils, kitchen equipment, bottles, and jars. The objects are arranged in a crowded manner, and are rendered abstractly in blue, against a bright-yellow middleground and a tiled, green background.

About the Author

Keris Mas was the pen name of Kamaluddin Muhamad (1922-1992). He was Malaysia’s first National Laureate in 1981. He was most famous for his short stories. This story “Celebrating Eid at Grandmother’s Grave” was one of his earlier works.

About the Translator

Chang Shih Yen is a writer and translator from Malaysia. She has a Master’s degree in Linguistics, and speaks English, Malay, Chinese, Spanish, and Portuguese. She is the author of a collection of short fiction entitled Around The World: Short Stories by Chang Shih Yen, and a work of nonfiction, Chang Shih Yen’s Pandemic Diary: Surviving Covid-19 lockdown alone and without internet. She has also written a children’s book, Putra and his Silver Keris.

*

One of Malaysia’s foremost painters, Yau Bee Ling’s 25-year career is a deeply personal commentary on women’s complex roles in contemporary society. Her own experience forms the basis for her symbolism and
autobiographical themes, especially the conflict of responsibilities brought about by shifting female identities from woman, wife to mother. Family and community ties engage her inner self in a complex tango between duty and independence, hope and fear, success and failure. She explores the question of meaning within this context, probing existential questions, pondering, finally, her own legacy.

Each series of paintings is charged with its own distinctive energy, reflective of her state of mind, her emotional wellbeing and the way she perceives her place in the world at the time. Her works are therefore a
cathartic process for her as she struggles to reconcile the meaning of life, through the layering and scraping back of paint and colour, navigating her way through the twisting terrain of her paintings in the search for truth.

Bee Ling has exhibited extensively in exhibitions across China, Pakistan, Sweden, Singapore, Bangladesh, Japan, Indonesia and Malaysia and represented Malaysia at the Asian Art Biennale in Dhaka, Bangladesh
in 1999 and at the Fukuoka Triennale in 2002. Her collection is also at the Kuandu Museum of Fine Arts, Taipei National University of The Arts, Taipei, Taiwan, where she was Kuandu Artist in Residence at the Kuandu Museum of Fine Arts in Taipei in 2016. Her works are in the permanent collections of numerous private and public collections including Mulpha, Maxis Berhad and the Fukuoka Asian Art Museum.

Celebrating Eid at Grandmother’s Grave

By Keris Mas

Translated by Chang Shih Yen

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