Tara's visits to Kinan's house every time the jasmine bloomed on a Thursday afternoon had become a routine that Kinan, the homeowner, was well aware of. Sometimes, even when Kinan was not home, Tara was still permitted to enter the small garden at the house.
Kinan was sitting leisurely in the living room, knitting a scarf she planned to give to her unborn baby when it arrived in a month. The creaking sound of the waist-high bamboo gate opening could be heard from inside. Tara's presence was visible through the glass window of the living room.
Humming softly, Tara pushed open the waist-high bamboo gate and walked toward the garden at the back of the house. She began picking jasmine flowers and placing them in the basket she carried.
"Almost three years of being your neighbor, and I still don't know what the jasmine is for?" Kinan asked from the back doorway of her house, which opened directly to the garden.
Tara nearly jumped. She steadied her breath, then turned toward Kinan. "A religious ritual," she said. "Only for the purification of ancestral spirits. Once I mix water into a basin and pour it over my body, my body will be healthy and protected from evil spirits," she said with a sweet smile. Then Tara left after expressing her gratitude.
Five years of living as tempe traders — tempe being a traditional fermented soybean cake common in Javanese households — had not satisfied the greed of Tara and Hendra, her husband. Until one day, they made a prosperity pact with a shaman from the southern mountain. On the condition of payment in fresh blood, they agreed.
As a required element of the prosperity ritual, they had to collect seven kinds of flowers. Now Tara went to the end of the block to collect frangipani flowers that had fallen in the public cemetery garden. At home, they only had five kinds of flowers planted — bougainvillea, rose, white champak, ylang-ylang, and hibiscus. Meanwhile, Hendra collected fresh cemetery soil that had not yet grown grass.
Night had arrived. Tara brought a tray containing seven kinds of flowers, incense, black coffee, a bunch of bananas, and several banknotes to the empty room in their house.
Shortly after, Hendra arrived carrying a two-meter folded white burial shroud, candles, matches, and a handful of cemetery soil wrapped in cloth. He began preparing all the equipment before their ritual commenced.
"Honestly, I had no intention of targeting Kinan, but her curiosity earlier bothered me a little. If I let it go, it could cause us trouble," said Tara as she sprinkled the seven kinds of flowers into a basin of water. — Mas, a respectful term of address for an older or equal-aged man in Javanese culture, is the way a wife addresses her husband.
"Very well," said Hendra as he sprinkled seven spoonfuls of salt and cemetery soil in a circle surrounding the basin. "Remember, don't let the flame die. I don't want to be a pig forever!"
The candle was lit. Hendra prostrated himself, and Tara covered him with the burial shroud. After that, Tara sat cross-legged in front of the candle and began chanting the incantation.
"O mighty pig, I summon thee,O mighty pig, seven kinds of flowers I offer unto thee,O mighty pig, a handful of soil I trust as the veil that shields this ritual,O mighty pig, with this soul I carry, open the gate to the dimension of your existence,O mighty pig, transform into the body of Hendra, your devotee."
The water in the basin rippled, the flame swayed and flickered, and nearby, Hendra had transformed into a black-furred pig. The pig immediately headed toward Kinan's house, two houses across from theirs. Meanwhile, Tara kept watch over the candle to keep it burning. In that village, few residents had electricity in their homes. Most of them still used oil lamps.