Tales that ride on the wings of a fruit bat
As dusk fades into night, a fruit
bat swoops low across the patio and streaks toward a neighbouring longan tree
veiled in a cobweb of fishing net.
The sight transports me to
another time and place.
World War II had just ended. In a
darkening sky, a dark mass winged its way slowly and silently above grandpa’s
house in Batu Berendam, Malacca. Lingering fear of war planes made us gazed at
the overhead spectacle with a tinge of apprehension.
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| Flying foxes winging their way toward a rambutan tree |
Suddenly, the boughs of a nearby rambutan tree began to shake as if hit by a gust of wind. Murky shapes and unseen plumage fluttered among the foliage. Giant fruit bats or flying foxes had descended on the tree to feast on the ripe rambutans. With veiled threats and shouts, my young cousins tried to scare them away. They rose and hovered momentarily above the tree and then settled down to resume their feast.
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| A rambutan tree |
The next morning, seeds and rambutan rinds littered the ground while spiny shells hung like sea urchins from half-barren branches.
My cousin, Alan, had watched the
unfolding drama with keen interest. Years on, the night’s incident would remain
vivid in his memory.
On an adjacent land, next to the
village well, stood a rambutan tree which in season was laden with luscious
fruits. The tree was the pride and joy of our grandaunt and the envy of the
village kids. She kept a vigilant watch on her prized tree and made it clear
that it was strictly off-limits to the mischievous kids who roamed the
neighbourhood.
On his way to the well, Alan
would often stop to gaze longingly at the succulent fruits and wondered about
their reputed sweetness.
One evening, on learning that
grandaunt and her family were out in town, he decided to pull a prank on her
and take the opportunity to savour the fruits.
Safely and comfortably ensconced
on the best branch, his deft fingers began to pry open the spiny shells.
Relishing the sweet and juicy flesh, he let the seeds and part of the rinds
fall to the ground, while half-broken rinds were left to dangle from the
branches.
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| Comfortably ensconced on the branch of a rambutan tree |
Early the next morning on his way to the village well, Alan noticed grandaunt inspecting her rambutan tree. The scene that met her eyes bore the tell-tale signs of a fruit tree that had been foraged by flying foxes. Upset, she let loose a stream of expletives in her peranakan patois. Hearing grandaunt berating the innocent flying foxes, a broad grin spread across young Alan’s tanned face as he tried to stifle a chuckle.
Another evening found him
creeping stealthily under the leafy canopy of tapioca plants on grandaunt’s
tapioca patch.
In the fast fading light, he
began to dig hurriedly at the base of a mature tapioca plant until the tuberous
roots were exposed. From the clump of tubers, he selected three large ones. The
loose soil was carefully compacted and covered with dried leaves until all
traces of encroachment had been well concealed.
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| Uprooting a tapioca plant |
The acrid smell of smoke and charred wood, mingled with the fragrant scent of burnt tapioca permeated the night air, as a bunch of playful youngsters sat round a smouldering wood fire to relish the simple yet delicious fare.
As the days slipped by without
any hue and cry from grandaunt, the kids knew the evening foray had gone
undetected. Later, if she discovered some of her tapioca was missing, she would
most probably lay the blame on some burrowing rodents.
As night thickens, the wingtip of
a bat brushes against my ear and my thoughts snap back to the present. Alone in
the darkness, I smile to myself, as I recall the youthful pranks that Alan’s
wife, Gillian, related to us. I remember life in the kampung was quiet and
peaceful. We would roam barefoot around the whole neighbourhood without our
parents having to worry about us getting abducted or robbed.
As burglary and theft were
practically unheard of then, the doors of houses were open from morning till
dusk and we could move freely in and out of the houses. However, fruits and
tapioca occasionally went missing and the most likely culprits were the
“foraging flying foxes” and the “burrowing rodents”.
