It’s been a while since I’ve read an Indonesian book, and my knowledge of Indonesian authors are now limited. And I have never heard of Hamka, that he wrote many novels and essays throughout his time just after the Indonesian independence. Although his influence may not be as titanic as that of Pramoedya, he was largely influential as a moralistic writer. Hamka’s influence stretched beyond his native Indonesia, and his ties remain with the Malay culture, thus transcending the border into Malaysia. His books are prominent when I last visited a Malay book fair.
The Indonesian language is beautiful in its written form — soft-spoken and poetic. Thus, is a great vehicle to explore ethical teachings. Given Hamka’s religious background, it is a courageous study of a controversial subject to explore the root of prostitution and the effects of it. Although the book is didactic, it doesn’t take away from the tragedy of the plot — a woman framed by her in-laws, a husband with an act-first-think-later temperament, and her demise as she tries to make do with the clothes on her back.
The opening chapter is a letter is written by the disgraced wife, Mariah, for the husband who kicked her out of the house, as she come to a realisation that her letters won’t be read, and that she has given up hope of their reconciliation. The tone of the letter switches gradually from immense sadness to scathing bitterness. And it’s beautiful to read.
And we are all perverts here in some ways, that we take the pleasure of reading tragedies such as these. Mariah’s life becomes a pinball from one shelter to the next. Her beauty, without the protection of the husband’s masculinity becomes a gross disadvantage as she cannot stay in one place too long. There is always a jealous wife, men like vultures, and a lack of choices. Her brief marriage with the cook who guzzled away their wealth was a result of her lacking alternatives and protection. Her descent into prostitution is due to the husband’s recklessness.
We see Mariah’s descent even further as the years pass and her half-orphaned child grew up to be one of the most prominent lawyers in the capital city. Age is not kind for women like these, and beauty is fleeting, and often exploited. Mariah became cannon fodder to other prostitutes of higher grades as she struggles to hold on to her clients and the prospects of being married to became impossible. Her fate in the story is a logical end to the story and the teachings of the novel.
But there are a few things that make me question if there are still characters like Mariah in this day and age, when women are more liberal and there are more support networks available that is not your immediate family? Maybe Mariah’s situation is a little different because she no longer had any family and had to rely on strangers and distant acquaintances which automatically put her in the back foot. There are a lot of other things going against her. But this is a silly question, because I know of cases like these in Cambodia where girls much younger than Mariah are sold into prostitution. They are sold for similar reasons: that the family has a lack of choices.
Terusir is great for gendered reading, especially in regards to women’s sexuality. In the novel, Mariah never really owns her sexuality, and though it provides her a means for a living as a lady of the night, it further exacerbates the possibility of reconciliation with her son. Where her attractiveness becomes an impediment, other women saw her as a threat to their husbands, that it was difficult for her to find employment this way. She was also regarded as a “stained” woman, and this perception was more real than the fact itself — that she was innocent.
The tone of Hamka reminds me somewhat of Pramoedya who often have his own philosophical meanderings, especially through Minke’s inner monologues. Although Hamka’s voice is not as popular, I am still happy to see that his works are still published even beyond the country of his birth.
