Pramoedya Ananta Toer

On the day before Suharto was forced to resign his presidency in 1998, after 32 years in power, you could see fire in the skies over Jakarta. I hopped on a bus, where two young Balinese men sitting opposite me were happily singing a hymn about Dasamuka.
Dasamuka is another name for Ravana, the ten-headed evil king of Lanka in the Hindu epic Ramayana, and he was relevant in Indonesia that day: Jakarta was burning just as Lanka burned after Ravana’s defeat, but the destruction in the epic was expected to usher in a golden age, with the return of Rama from exile.
Indonesia’s finest writer, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, who died last month aged 81, would have liked that hymn, for the men on the bus were doing what he did as a writer: recounting a story from the past to explain the present. But then, in Brechtian fashion, Pramoedya would have shaken us to our senses, saying: life does not imitate art.
The above is an excerpt from the obituary “The Power of the Pen” written by Salil Tripathi in the New Statesman.

