2025

A Short Story by Putu Wijaya, published in Kompas Daily, December 29, 2024

“The Boeleleng in Olden Times photo exhibition demonstrates that even in colonial times, religious life was accompanied by a high degree of tolerance. Look at the Hindu and Muslim leaders welcoming Governor General de Jonge. Notice the Chinese, Arab, and Indian shops. Observe the cremation ceremony for a member of the royal family from 1894, as well as the temples, bathing sites, and Pabean harbor. All of this aims to instill pride in the younger generation in the past, preserving cultural heritage while boosting tourism as a gold mine of foreign exchange.”

Amat sits deep in thought. Ami peeks at the newspaper her father is reading.

“Why the long face, Dad?”

Amat sighs.

“Two hundred years from today, in 2210, there will definitely be another Olden Times exhibition about our lives today. What do you think they will write?”

Ami replies flatly.

“Bali in Olden Times: The subak system of irrigation channels around Tabanan was in a state of disrepair. Whole mountains had started being bought up by the wealthy and government officials from Jakarta. Beaches were being seized by five-star hotels to entertain tourists. The Balinese people no longer wanted to farm; they preferred to ride motorbikes as tour guides, to work in supermarkets, as hotel staff, or to open art shops. Street vendors, hawkers, and scavengers flooded in from outside the island. And the Balinese people began to move out for a quieter life, to refuse to work on menial tasks in their own villages. Construction workers, bakso meatball soup hawkers—all were migrants.”

Amat closes his eyes and murmurs.

“But the people who visit the Bali in Olden Times exhibition in 2210 will still say, ‘How beautiful Bali was in 2010,’ just like the visitors to the Boeleleng in Olden Times exhibition say now.”

Ami laughs.

“You can’t stop change, Dad. Life flows forward. Unless you want to become a museum piece. That would mean mummifying yourself—living like Tarzan in the jungle, wearing nothing but a loincloth forever. Is that what you want?”

“No. And I will not be going to the Boeleleng in Olden Times exhibition!”

“You don’t have to go, so long as you make a donation.”

Amat shakes his head and leaves Ami. He leaves the house, and goes for a walk.

Before he realizes it his feet have carried him a long way. He glances around, observing every corner. He examines the houses, shops, walls, and the street signs. He notices the traffic passing by, and the people he encounters.

“Two hundred years from now, where will all of this go? What will Bali be like?” Amat whispers to himself.

“Two hundred years ago, was there someone in Boeleleng going for a walk, like I am now, wondering where the Boeleleng of 200 years before had gone? Could they imagine what Boeleleng would look like in 2010? More importantly, are they happy or sad?”

Amat stops at the town square and sits down.

“I believe if they knew what things are like now, they would be happy,” Amat continues to murmur. “Why happy? Because they wouldn’t have to deal with the chaos we have now. Overcrowded cities, roads swallowed up by motorcycles, religious tensions everywhere, terror bomb threats. Not to mention the envy of seeing people so wealthy they own whole hills, beaches, even rivers and mountains. No one willingly goes bankrupt. A quiet life is better than constant strife, while the corrupt shamelessly siphon off the people’s money without punishment!”

Suddenly, a hand taps Amat on the shoulder. Startled, he assumes it’s a pickpocket. He reacts quickly, moves into a defensive stance. But faster still, the butt of a rifle lands against his head.

Amat stumbles as he tries to stand. A kick follows. Then he feels himself being stomped on. Before losing consciousness, he hears muttering in Dutch.

Amat doesn’t understand Dutch, but somehow he knows they are angry with him. He isn’t supposed to be sitting around idly in the town square while others are working. Moreover, the town square isn’t for natives—it belonged to the white man. This means Amat has been transported back to colonial times.

The square in these times is greener, more beautiful. The trees are more lush. The streets are quiet and and they are tidy. There are no demonstrations, only the frightened faces of the oppressed.

A hand pulls Amat up to sit.

“Why are you lying down here, Dad?” asks Ami, who finds her father asleep near the town square.

Amat smiles bitterly.

“I was transported back into the past because of that exhibition, Ami.”

“Because of the exhibition?! Ah, if you want to sleep, do it at home. I’m leaving for Boeleleng now. Do you want to come along?”

“To see the exhibition?”

“Not to see it—I’m on the organizing committee.”

Amat smiles wryly.

“Even though the past was calm and serene, I prefer life now. Sure, there’s pollution and corruption, but that’s true everywhere. I’d rather live in this country which you lament, which is free and independent, rather than have the peace of a colonial subject. In August, there should be an exhibition about the beauty of independence—not the comforts of colonial life!”

Ami is taken aback, but does not wish to argue. She hands him an invitation.

“This just arrived. Mom asked me to open it because it says ‘urgent.’ A friend of yours in Boeleleng has invited you to see the exhibition.”

Without waiting for a reply, Ami gets on her motorbike and drives off.

Amat opens the envelope and reads.

“Dear Amat, the Olden Times exhibition invites us to reflect on what we’ve achieved after over half a century of independence. What’s been lost, what’s been gained, and what we can work toward. The younger generation should not compare themselves only with what we can see in other countries, which only breeds disappointment. Instead, they should see for themselves the magnitude of the change. In the future, that change will be even faster and greater, leaving no time for idleness. The lazy will be crushed. If you can’t attend, I understand. We all have things we need to do, working every second to meet the challenges of our times. We live in the third millennium—not a century ago, when life moved at a more leisurely pace. Freedom!”

Amat folds the letter and decides to go to Boeleleng that very day.

“An exhibition can be seen from many angles. Only a creative heart can find value in it and escape the epidemic of complaining and criticism which has become a national fever no one dares call an epidemic,” Amat says to his wife as he sets off.

That was a decade ago. Now 2025 is at the door, ready to replace 2024. Amat is still lost in thought when a WhatAp message arrives from Ami, who is at a workshop in Jakarta.

“The workshop’s finished. I’m coming home. There’s a Djakarta in Olden Times exhibition at the Ismail Marzuki Arts Center, like the Boeleleng in Olden Times exhibition you once commented on. Take Mom for a little outing. We can head back home together later.”

Amat is about to reply when his wife appears with a cup of coffee.

“So, are we going to the Djakarta in Olden Times exhibition, dear?”

Before Amat can answer, she adds a reminder.

“It’s fine to admire what’s no longer here. But isn’t it better to cherish what’s here now, before it too is gone?”

Jakarta, 10 December 2024

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Putu Wijaya was born April 11 1944 in Puri Anom Tabanan, Bali. Tempo magazine journalist/editor, writer, film and theater director. He has written over 40 novels, 50 plays, 100 monologues and 1,000 short stories. His awards include Doctor Homoris Causa from the Indonesian Art Institute (ISI) Yogyakarta, as well as numerous national awards, awards from FFI, DKJ, IKJ, Koran, SEA Writers Festival, Fullbright, Habibie Award, Ubud Writers and Readers Festival, among others. He founded Mandiri Theater in 1971.

The current version of 2025 is based on the 2025 by Putu Wijaya published in Kompas daily newspaper on December 29, 2024, retrieved from https://ruangsastra.com/34132/2025/. Featured image credit: De Poenggawa van Soekasada leest de Patih van Boeleleng (tweede van rechts) voor van een lontarblad.