THE VILLAGE BULLY

For reasons knowbody knew Din was known as the village hooligan – a ruffian and a tough guy. He was the sameseng kampong – a leader of sort to a gang of hoodlums. Parents warned their children not to associate themselves with him or his gang.

But Father had a different opinion and termed him or his friends as 'merely' harmless village bullies.

He had a well build physique and was tall and handsome. It was no secret that some women folk loved his flamboyant lifestyle as he had the persona of the popular film star Sharif Dol of Singapore Jalan Ampas Film Studio fame of that period. Yes, he was the Sharif Dol of my village, secretly adored by the ladies and loudly detest by the men folks.

We were of different age level then. He was a grownup while I was still a junior. I knew him as he used to frequent the only grocery store in our neighbourhood managed by the proprietor’s new wife.

Later there was this hush-hush news on the birth of a baby girl out of wedlock in our village. The identity of the mother was put under wrap, and the baby girl was immediately offered for adoption. Little was known who fathered the baby girl, while some believed the village Sharif Dol was the culprit.

Soon after the baby girl was adopted and became the pride of a childless couple.

Rumours had it that our Sharif Dol had absconded to a faraway place for sensitive reasons only known and discussed amongst a few village elders. Also was the reason on the sudden closure of the only grocery store in our neighbourhood, and the proprietor’s young wife gone missing. Some had it that the couple had marital problems. They were divorced. The wife returned to her parents in a faraway village. It was also rumoured that she eloped with Sharif Dol.

Whatsoever those sordid affairs were eventually forgotten and buried with times and so were Sharif Dol and his gang of hoodlums.

*****

The sudden demised of my eldest cousin Yong Kalsom on the 2^nd Muharram came as a shock to me. She was a 75 years old and an all times hardcore poor. (A piece on her life struggles was posted on this blog March last year as part of my PRU13 postings.)

Only a couple of days ago I remembered and missed her.

As the funeral was to be after Zohor prayer, I braved the wet weather and drove the 200km route back to my ancestral village Tanjung Bayan to pay my last respect. I was received on arrival by her adopted daughter and her husband.

Villages, neighbours, as well close relatives were at her funeral. Except for some close nieces and nephews, I hardly knew most of the attendees.

I admitted that I had been for some 40 years now, living apart from my ancestral village and seldom returned. And as I reminiscence the good old days brought up as a Kampung Boy, I recognised a familiar figure walking with a limp entering the compound, from the main road not too far distant away. Somehow I recognized that familiar face as our once renowned Sharif Dol. I couldn’t believe my eyes, as the lonely figure hobbled towards where I was sitting almost unnoticed by those present. Eagerly I approached him. We exchange greetings and shook hand. Rightly, he was Din the once flamboyant Shariff Dol of Kampung Tanjung Bayan.

I remember it was sometimes in the late fifties I last saw him. He may not remember nor recognised me, but it was him alright.

Later he sat by himself underneath the house, cutting a lonely figure as a frail old man. At times his eyes half closed and his lips trembles. While some others paid their last respect and leaved, he waited till the end of the funeral rites and joined the imam for the Jenazah Prayer.

****

Later that evening while driving back to Petaling Jaya, the chance of meeting long lost relatives and some kampong folks and also Din the village Shariff Dol of the late fifties at Yong Kalsom funeral brought back fond memories growing up as a Kampong Boy in the Malay Settlement. Some loose fragments of past memories concurred vividly in my mind as I tried to piece in my mental picture frames the proper ‘continuity’ on the changing events that were long forgotten.

I was flabbergasted on the dramatic ‘rought cut’ that my wild mind finally assembled, connecting some of those happenings to the timely adoption of my adopted niece.

Hopefully I was not influenced by the miss conception and wished Hajar was duly informed and had met her true biological parents whoever they maybe. Wallahualam.

As for now she and her family need to collect the pieces ( if any ) and go on with their lives.

Alfatihah for Yong Kalsom.