The old road to Batu Berendam village

   

The old road to Batu Berendam village
      by Wan Chwee Seng

From a parking lot at Taman Melaka Baru, Melaka I gaze at the steady stream of traffic making its way along a  tree-lined avenue. 

A view from the parking lot at Taman Melaka Baru, Melaka

Then I think to myself 'Fifty years ago I would be standing in knee-deep mud'. Back then this place was just a  swamp land where mud skippers frolicked among the tangled mass of aerial roots.

It was the mid-fifties and we were then living in a small village in Batu Berendam which was about four miles from Melaka Town. The village consisted of a few wooden shops which were located at the intersection of Bachang Road and the old road leading to the Batu Berendam airport and another three shops located at the junction of the road leading to Jelutong. Most of the villagers stayed in wooden houses with palm-thatched roofs. The houses stood far apart and were scattered over a wide area. The new townships of Melaka Baru, Taman Merdeka and the other Taman , which the younger generation are familiar with, were then either paddy fields or peat swamps. 

The old kampung shops in 2012

I remember just before Taman Melaka Baru, a rickety, wooden bridge used to straddle the Sungai Putat river. Mother told us a long time ago there was a huge rock at the bed of the river and hence the place came to be known as 'Batu Berendam' which means 'submerged rock' in Malay.

After the swamp land, verdant patchwork of paddy fields stretched as far as the eyes could see.     

Just before the bridge  an enormous tree stood beside the road.
With thick, gnarled trunk and massive boughs with roots that hung down like tentacles , it became a  prominent and familiar landmark for the residents of Batu Berendam. During the day its spreading boughs and luxuriant foliage provided a welcome shelter and shade for  pedestrians and cyclists who had to traverse the long narrow road flank by open paddy fields.

The huge tree beside the road

 However, as soon as the sun sank slowly behind the distant horizon, the tree which provided shade and security during the day became  an object of fear in the deepening darkness.I remember, when we cycled home at dusk, an eerie feeling would grip us the moment we caught sight of the tree. We would pedal with breakneck speed along the dark, deserted and unlit road until we reached the nearest house, our friend, Sunny Poh's house, which was located about half a kilometers from the tree. The faint, flickering light of oil lamp that filtered from the house provided us a sense of relief. It was not the darkness that we most feared, but the story the adults told us about the place where the tree stood. 

One moonlit night, we were told, a cyclist was cycling home after a night out in Melaka Town. He had just cycled past the tree when with each push and creak of the pedals, the bicycle seemed to get heavier and heavier. Thinking that something was wrong with the rear tyre, he peered over his shoulder. What met his eyes, sent a shiver down his spine. A beautiful, uninvited guest was sitting comfortably on the rear carrier of his bicycle.

Hitching a ride

If the story was to deter us from going out late at night it certainly had the desired result.

I remember, later an old Hindu priest who was also a palmist used to sit under the tree and for a dollar or two, we kampung kids could have our palms read.

 Today, the swamps and paddy fields have  all disappeared from view. The gnarled tree too has been uprooted  and in its place stands a modern factory. With the brightly-lit road and the incessant drones of motor vehicles, the spectre that used to haunt the fertile imagination of a youngster has finally been dispelled.

A stream of cars