Blue Blood of the Big Astana

Ibrahim Jubaira

Although the heart may care no more, the mind canalways recall. We started that same afternoon. The breeze was cool as it blew
The mind can always recall, for there are always things to against my face. We did not get tired because we talked on the way.
remember: languid days of depressed boyhood; shared happy She told me so many things. She said you of the big house had blue
days under the glare of the sun; concealed love and mocking fate; blood.
etc. So I suppose you remember too.
Not red like ours, Babo? Babo said no, not red like ours.
Remember? A little over the year after I was orphaned, my aunt
decided to turn me over to your father, the Datu. In those days, And the Datu has a daughter of my age, Babo?
datus were supposed to take charge of the poor and the helpless.
Therefore, my aunt only did right in placing me under the wing of Babo said yesyou. And I might be allowed to play with you, the
your father. Furthermore she was so poor, that by doing that, she Datus daughter, if I worked hard and behaved well.
not only relieved herself of the burden of poverty but also safe-
guarded my well-being. I asked Babo, too, if might be allowed to prick your skin to see if
you had blue blood, in truth. But Babo did not answer me anymore.
But I could not bear the thought of even a moments separation She just told me to keep quiet. There, I became so talkative again.
from my aunt. She had been like a mother to me, and would always
be. Was that really our house? My, it was so big! Babo chided me. We
dont call it a house, she said. We call it Astana, the house of the
Please, Babo, I pleaded. Try to feed me a little more. Let me grow Datu, So I just said oh, and kept quiet. Why did not Babo tell me
big with you, and I will build you a house. I will repay you someday. that before?
Let me do something to help, but please, Babo, dont send me
away I really cried. Babo suddenly stopped in her tracks. Was I really very clean? Oh,
oh, look at my hare-lip. She cleaned my hare-lip, wipping away
Babo placed a soothing hand on my shoulder. Just like the hand of with her tapis the sticky mucus of the faintest conceivable green
Mother. I felt a bit comforted, but presently I cried some more. The flowing from my nose. Poi! Now it was better. Although I could not
effect of her hand was so stirring. feel any sort of improvement in my deformity itself. I merely felt
cleaner.
Listen to me. Stop cryingoh, now, do stop. You see, we cant go
on like this, Babo said. My matweaving cant clothe and feed both Was I truly the boy about whom Babo was talking? You were
you and me. Its really hard, son, its really hard. You have to go. laughing, young pretty Blue Blood. Happy perhaps that I was. Or
But I will be seeing you every week. You can have everything you was it the amusement brought about by my hare-lip that had made
want in the Datus house. you laugh? I dared not ask you. I feared that should you to dislike
me, youd subject me to unpleasant treatment. Hence, I laughed
I tried to look at Babo through my tears. But soon, the thought of with you, and you were pleased.
having everything I wanted took hold of my childs mind. I ceased
crying. Babo told me to kiss your right hand. Why not your feet? Oh, you
were a child yet. I could wait until you had grown up.
Say you will go, Babo coaxed me. I assented finally. I was only
five thenvery tractable. But you withdrew your hand a once. I think my hare-lip gave it a
ticklish sensation. However, I was so intoxicated by the
Babo bathed me in the afternoon. I did not flinch and shiver, for momentary sweetness the action bought me that I decided
the sea was comfortably warm and exhilarating. She cleaned my inwardly to kiss your hand every day. No, no, it was not love. It was
fingernails meticulously. Then she cupped a handful of sand, only an impish sort of liking. Imagine the pride that was mine to
spread it over my back, and rubbed my grimy body, particularly be thus in close heady contact with one of the blue blood.
the back of my ears. She poured fresh water over me afterwards.
How clean I became! But my clothes were frayed. Welcome, little orphan! Was it for me? Really for me? I looked at
Babo. Of course it was for me! We were generously bidden in.
Babo instructed me before we left for your big house: I must not Thanks to your fathers kindness. And thanks to you laughing at
forget to kiss your fathers feet, and to withdraw when and as me, too.
ordered without turning my back; I must not look at your father
full in the eyes; I must not talk too much; I must always talk in the I kissed the feet of your Appab, your old, honorable resting-the-
third person; I must not Ah, Babo, those were too many to whole-day father. He was not tickled by my hare-lip as you were.
remember. He did not laugh at me. And so did your Ambob, your kind mother.
Sit down, sit down; dont be ashamed.
Babo tried to be patient with me. She tested me over and over
again on those royal, traditional ways. And one thing more: I had But there you were plying Babo with your heartless questions:
to say Pateyk for yes, and Teyk for what, or for answering a call. Why was I like that? What had happened to me?

Oh Babo, why do you have to say all those things? Why really do I To satisfy you, pretty Blue Blood, little inquisitive One, Babo had
have? to explain: Well, mother had slid in the vinta in her sixth month
with the child that was me. Result: my hare-lip Poor Jaafar, your
Come along, son; come along. Appab said. I was about to cry, but seeing you looking at me, I felt
so ashamed that I held back the tears. I could not help being
sentimental, you see. I think my being bereft of parents in youth my crying and my laughing. And even the pain you gave me
had much to do with it all. partook of sweetness.

Do you think you will be happy to stay with us? Will you not yearn That was my way. My only way to show how grateful I was for the
any more for your Babo? things I had not tasted before: your companionship; shelter and
food in your big astana. So your parents sent you to a
Pateyk, I will be happy, I said. Then the thought of my not Mohammedan school when you were seven. I was not sent to
yearning any more for Babo made me wince. But Babo nodded at study with you, but it made no difference to me. For after all, was
me reassuringly. not my work carrying your red Koran on my top of my head four
times a day? And you were happy, because I could entertain you.
Patek, I will not yearn any more for for Babo. Because someone could be a water carrier for you. One of the
requirements then was to carry water every time you showed up
And Babo went before the interview was through. She had to cover in your Mohammedan class, Oh, why? Excuse the stammering of
five miles before evening came. Still I did not cry, as you may have my hare-lip, but I really wished to know. Your Goro, your
expected I would, forhave I not said it? I was so ashamed to Mohammedan teacher, looked deep into me as if to search my
weep in your presence. whole system. Stupid. Did I not know our hearts could easily grasp
the subject matter, like the soft, incessant flow of water? Hearts,
That as how I came to stay with you, remember? Babo came to see hearts. Not brains. But I just kept silent. After all, I was not there to
me every week as she had promised. And you all of you had ask impertinent questions. Shame, shame on my hare-lip asking
lot of things to tell her. That I was a good worker oh, beyond such question, I chided myself silently.
question, your Appab and Ambob told Babo. And you outspoken
little Blue Blood joined the flattering chorus. But my place of sleep That was how I played the part of an Epang-Epang, of a servant-
always reckoned of urine, you added, laughing. That downright escort, to you. And I became more spirited every day, trudging
promise from me not to wet my mat again. behind you. I was like a faithful, loving dog following its mistress
with light steps and a singing heart. Because you, ahead of me,
Yes, Babo came to see me, to advise me every week, for two were something of an inspiration I could trail indefatigably, even
consecutive years that is, until death took her away, leaving no to the ends of the world.
one in the world but a nephew with a hare-lip.
The dreary monotone of your Koranchanting lasted three years.
Remember? I was youre your favorite and you wanted to play You were so slow, you Goro said. At times, she wanted to whip you.
with me always. I learned why after a time, it delighted you to gaze But did she not know you were the Datus daughter? Why, she
at my hare-lip. Sometimes, when went out wading to the sea, you would be flogged herself. But whipping an orphaned servant and
would pause and look at you, too, wondering. Finally, you would clipping his split lips with two pieces of wood were evidently
chime in, not realizing I was making fun of myself. Then you would permissible. So, your Goro found me a convenient substitute for
pinch me painfully to make me cry. Oh, you wanted to experiment you. How I groaned with pain under her lashings! But how your
with me. You could not tell, you said whether I cried or laughed: Goro laughed; the wooden clips failed to keep my hare-lip closed.
the working of my lips was just the same in either to your gleaming They always slipped. And the class, too roared with laughteryou
eyes. And I did not flush with shame even if you said so. For after leading.
all, had not my mother slid in the vinta.
But back there in your spacious astana, you were already being
Remember? I was apparently so willing to do anything for you. I tutored for maidenhood. I was older than you by one Ramadan. I
would climb for young coconuts for you. I would be amazed by the often wondered why you grew so fast, while I remained a lunatic
ease and agility. With which I made my way up the coconut tree, dwarf. Maybe the poor care I received in early boyhood had much
yet fear that I would implore me to come down at once, quick. No. to do with my hampered growth. However, I was happy, in a way
you would throw pebbles at me if thus refused to come down. No, that I did not catch up with you. For I had a hunch you would not
I still would not. Your pebbles could not reach me you were not continue to avail yourself of my help in certain intimate tasks
strong enough. You would then threaten to report me to your such as scrubbing your back when you took your bath had I
Appab. Go ahead. How I liked being at the top! And sing there as grown as fast as you.
I looked at you helpless. In a spasm of anger, you would curse me,
wishing my death. Well, let me die. I would die. I would climb the There I was in my bed at night, alone, intoxicated with passion and
coconut trees in heaven. And my ghost would shout, Dayang- emotions closely resembling those of a full-grown mans. I thought
Dayang, I am coming down! Then you would come back. You see? of you secretly, unashamedly, lustfully: a full-grown Dayang-
A servant, an orphan, could also command the fair and proud Blue Dayang reclining in her bed at the farthest end of her inner
Blood to come or go. apartment; breasts heaving softly like breezekissed waters;
cheeks of the faintest red brushing against a soft pillow; eyes
Then we would pick up little shells, and search for sea-cucumbers; gazing dreamily into immensitywarm, searching, expressive;
or dive for the sea-urchins. Or run along the along the long stretch supple buttocks and pliant arms; soft, ebon hair that rippled.
of white glaring sand, I behind you admiring your soft, nimble
feet and your flying hair. Then we would stop, panting, laughing. Dayang-Dayang, could you have forgiven a deformed orphan-
servant had he gone mad, and lost respect and dread towards your
After resting for a while, we would run again to the sea and wage Appab? Could you have pardoned his rabid temerity had he leaped
war against the crashing waves. I would rub your silky back after out of his bed, rushed into your room, seized you in his arms, and
we had finished bathing in the sea. I would get fresh water in a tickled your face with his hare-lip? I should like to confess that for
clean coconut shell, and rinse your soft, ebon hair. Your hair at least a moment, yearning, starved, athirst no, no, I cannot say
flowed down smoothly, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Oh, it was it. We were of such contrasting patterns. Even the lovely way you
beautiful. Then I would trim your fingernails carefully. Sometimes lookedthe big astana you lived inthe blood you had.
you beg you to whip me. Just so you could differentiate between Not even the fingers of Allah perhaps could weave our fabrics into
equality. I had to content myself with the privilege of gazing
frequently at your peerless loveliness. An ugly servant must not go mantle of the faintest conceivable pink. Gold buttons embellished
beyond his little border. your wedding garments. You sat rigidly on a mattress, with native
embroidered pillows piled carefully at the back. Candled-light
But things did not remain as they were. A young Datu from Bonbon mellowed your face so beautifully you were like a goddess
came back to ask for your hand. Your Appab was only too glad to perceived in dreams. You looked steadily down.
welcome him. There was nothing better, he said, than marriage
between two people of the same blue blood. Besides, he was The moment arrived. The turbaned pandita, talking in a voice of
growing old. He had no son to take his place some day. Well, the silk, led the young Datu to you, while maidens kept chanting songs
young Datu was certainly fit to take in due time the royal torch from behind. The Pandita grasped the Datus forefinger, and made
your Appab had been carrying for years. But II felt differently; it touch thrice the space between your eyebrows. And every time
of course. I wanted. No, I could not have a hand in your marital that was done, my breast heaved and my lips worked.
arrangements. What was I, after all?
Remember? You were about to cry, Dayang dayang. For, as the
Certainly your Appab was right. The young Datu was handsome. people said, you would soon be separated from your parents. Your
And rich, too. He had a large tract of land planted with the fruit husband would soon take you to Bonbon, and you would live there
trees, coconut trees, and abaca plants. And you were glad, too. Not like a country woman. But as you unexpectedly caught a glimpse
because he was richfor you were rich yourself. I thought I knew of me, you smiled at once, a little. And I knew why: my hare-lip
why: the young Datu could rub your soft back better than I amused you again. I smiled back at you, and withdrew at once. I
whenever you took your bath. His hands were not as callous as withdrew at once because I could not bear further seeing you
mine. However, I did not talk to you about it. Of course. sitting beside the young Datu, and knowing fully well that I who
had sweated, labored, and served you like a dog. No, no, shame
Your Appab ordered his subjects to build two additional wings to on me to think of all that at all. For was it not but a servants duty?
your astana. Your astana was already big, but it had to be enlarged
as hundreds of people would be coming to witness your royal But I escaped that night, pretty Blue Blood. Where to? Anywhere.
wedding. That was exactly seven years ago. And those years did wonderful
things for me. I am no longer a lunatic dwarf, although my hare-lip
The people sweated profusely. There was a great deal of remains as it has always been.
hammering, cutting, and lifting as they set up posts. Plenty of
eating and jabbering. And chewing of betel nuts and native Too, I have amassed a little fortune after years of sweating I could
seasoned tobacco. And emitting of red saliva afterwards. In just have taken two or three wives, but I had not yet found anyone
one day, the additional wings were finished. resembling you lovely Blue Blood. So single I remained.

Then came your big wedding. People had crowded your astana And Allahs Wheel of time kept on turning, kept on turning. And to,
early in the day to help in the religious slaughtering of cows and once day your husband was transforted to San Ramon Penal Farm,
goats. To aid, too, in the voracious consumption of your wedding Zamboanga. He had raised his hand against the Christian
feast. Some more people came as evening drew near. Those who government. He had wished to establish his own government. He
could not be accommodated upstairs had to stay below. wanted to show his petty power by refusing to pay land taxes, on
the ground that the land he had were by legitimate inheritance his
Torches fashioned out of dried coconut leaves blazed in the night. own absolutely. He did not understand that the little amount he
Half-clad natives kindled them over the cooking fire. Some should give in the form of taxes would be utilized to protect him
pounded rice for cakes. And their brown glossy bodies sweated and his people from swindlers. He did not discern that he was in
profusely. fact a part of the Christian government himself. Consequently his
subjects lost their lives fighting for a wrong cause. Your Appab,
Out in the astana yard, the young Datus subjects danced in great too, was drawn into the mess, and perished with the others. His
circles. Village swains danced with grace, now swaying sensuously possessions were confiscated. And your Ambob, died of a broken
their shapely hips, now twisting their pliant arms. Their feet heart. Your husband, to save his life, had to surrender. His lands,
moved deftly and almost imperceptibly. too, were confiscated. Only a little portion was left for you to
cultivate and live on.
Male dancers would crouch low, with a wooden spear, a kris, or a
barong in one hand, and a wooden shield in the other. They And remember? I went one day to Bonbon on business. And I saw
simulated bloody warfare by dashing through the circle of other you on your bit of land with your children. At first, I could not
dancers and clashing against each other. Native flutes, drums, believe it was you. Then you looked long deep into me. Soon the
gabangs, agongs, and kulintangs contributed much to the musical familiar eyes of Blue Blood of years ago arrested the faculties of
gayety of the night. Dance. Sing in delight. Music. Noise. the erstwhile servant. And you could not believe your eyes
Laughter. Music swelled out into the world like a heart full of either. You could not recognize me at once. But when you saw my
blood, vibrant, palpitating. But it was my heart that swelled with hare-lip smiling at you, rather hesitantly, you knew me at last. And
pain. The people would cheer: Long live the Dayang-Dayang and I was glad you did.
the Datu, MURAMURAAN! at every intermission. And I would
cheer, toomechanically before I knew. I would be missing you Oh, Jaafar, you gasped, dropping you janap, your primitive
so. trowel, instinctively. And you thought I was no longer living, you
said. Curse, curse. It was still your frank, outspoken way. It was like
People rushed and elbowed their way up into your Astana as the you to be able to jest even hen sorrow was on the verge of
young Datu was led to you. Being small, I succeeded in squeezing removing the last vestiges of your loveliness. You could somehow
in near enough to catch a full view of you. You, Dayang Dayang. conceal your pain and grief beneath banter and laughter. And I was
Your moon-shaped face was meticulously powdered with glad of that, too.
pulverized rice. Your hair was skewered up toweringly at the
center of your head, and studded with glittering hold hair-pins. Well, I was about to tell you that the Jaafar you saw now was a very
Your tight, gleamingly black dress was covered with a flimsy different a much improved Jaafar. Indeed. But instead: Oh,
Dayang-Dayang, I murmured, distressed to have seen you I wanted to get fresh water and rinse your dry, ruffled hair, that it
working. You who had been reared in case and luxury. However, I might be restored to flowing smoothness and glorious luster. I
tried very much not to show traces of understanding your wanted to trim your fingernails, stroke your callous hand. I
deplorable situation. yearned to tell you that the land and the cattle I owned were all
yours. And above all, I burned to whirl back to you and beg you and
One of your sons came running and asked who I was. Well, I was, I your children to come home with me. Although the simple house I
was. lived in as not as big as your astana at Patikul, it would at least be
a happy, temporary haven while you waited for your husbands
Your old servant, I said promptly. Your son said oh, and kept release.
quiet, returning at last to resume his work. Work, work, Eting.
Work, son. Bundle of firewood and take it to the kitchen. Dont That urge to go back to you, Dayang-Dayang, was strong. But I did
mind your old servant. He wont turn young again. Poor little Datu, not go back for a sudden qualm seized me: I had no blue blood. I
working so hard. Poor pretty Blue Blood, also working hard. had only a hare-lip. Not even the fingers of Allah perhaps could
weave us, even now, into equality.
We kept strangely silent for a long time. And then: By the way,
where was I living now? In Kanagi. My business here in Bonbon
today? To see Panglima Hussin about the cows he intended to sell,
Dayang-Dayang. Cows? Was I a landsman already? Well, if the
pretty Blue Blood could live like a countrywoman, why not a man
like your old servant? You see, luck was against me in sea-roving
activities, so I had to turn to buying and selling cattle. Oh, you said.
And then you laughed. And I laughed with you. My laughter was
dry. Or was it yours? However, you asked what was the matter. Oh,
nothing. Really nothing serious. But you see. And you seemed to
understand as I stood there infront of you, leaning against a mango
tree, doing nothing but stare and stare at you.
I observed that your present self was only the ragged reminder,
the mere ghost, of the Blue Blood of the big astana. Your resources
of vitality and loveliness and strength seemed to have been
drained out of your old arresting self, poured into the little farm
you were working in. Of course I did not expect you to be as lovely
as you had been. But you should have retained at least a fair
portion of it-of the old days. Not blurred eyes encircled by dark
ring; not dull, dry hair; not a sunburned complexion; not wrinkled,
callous hand; not.

You seemed to understand more and more. Why was I looking at

you like that?
Was it because I had not seen you for so long? Or was it something
else? Oh, Dayang-Dayang, was not the terrible change in you the
old servants concern? You suddenly turned your eyes away from
me. You picked up your janap and began troubling the soft earth.
It seemed you could not utter another word without breaking into
tears. You turned your back toward me because you hated having
me see you in tears.

And I tried to make out why: seeing me now revived old memories.
Seeing me, talking with me, poking fun at me, was seeing, talking,
and joking as in the old days at the vivacious astana. And you
sobbed as I was thinking thus. I knew you sobbed, because your
shoulders shook. But I tried to appear as though I was not aware
of your controlled weeping. I hated myself for coming to you and
making you cry. So

May I go now, Dayang-Dayang I said softly, trying hard to hold

back my own tears. You did not say yes. And you did not say no,
either. But the nodding of your head was enough to make me
understand and go. Go where? Was there a place to go? Of course.
There were many places to go to. Only, there was seldom a place
to which one would like to return.

But something transfixed me in my tracks after walking a mile or

so. There was something of an impulse that strove to drive me
back to you, making me forget Panglima Hussins cattle. Every
instinct told me it was right for me to go back to you and do
something-perhaps beg you to remember your old Jaafars hare-
lip, just so you could smile and be happy again. I wanted to rush
back and wipe away the tears from your eyes with my headdress.