A prickly situation

Meeting the prisoner on death row caused my skin to prickle as if a porcupine had walked over me.

‘Take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter what horrendous crime has been committed and she now resides in this hideous jail. She is still a human being with a soul and deserves dignity as her death approaches.’ I told myself.

At first her voice was shrill and as sharp as barbed wire; as we talked of ordinary things her tone became less prickly. She must have felt comfortable with me because she asked me to call her by her inmate nickname “Old Shazza’.

I noticed a rash around her neck. She said the prison issue clothes on her skin felt like the sting of nettles. Her skin was old, wrinkled, pale and delicate, like a faded English rose; whereas her prison outfit was rough, dull brown and ill-fitting. “One size fits all in this shit hole” she added.

Delicately I broached the reason for my visit which was her impending execution. I asked if she was a religious person and if so, did she have any last wishes.

She told me she had become a Hindu before her marriage to Ketut, a Balinese man. As she told the story of her traditional Balinese marriage her voice softened, she occasionally had to stop to sob, wipe away tears and recall memories from long ago. I listened quietly in fascination.

“We got married in the hills of Bali on a crisp February morning in 2000 in the courtyard of Ketut’s simple family home under the shade of a frangipani tree. I was a tad nervous because I had heard all sorts of stories about what to wear, how to behave and what I should do. I had been told to bring a spare sarong as Ketut and I would have to bathe each other in the river. That seemed weird, but I was prepared to go along.

Ketut’s relatives and sticky beak neighbours crouched on the ground near the entrance to the compound waiting for us. The Holy Man was there too, dressed in white with a few simple offerings spread around. We walked behind him and the ceremony began. The priest held burning incense in one hand and a silver bowl of holy water in the other, he lowered his head and started chanting.”

Old Shazza’s eyes clouded as she remembered that eventful day.

“I was in a blissful state, marrying my handsome Ketut. We wouldn’t be rich, he would continue his security guard job at the Sari Club, we would live a simple life, but I’d found my man.

She continued “Only then, I noticed the small chicken next to the offerings.”

Shazza’s fist contacted the wall with a thud.

“Suddenly, wham – its head was chopped off, blood was spilt, and the evil spirits were left to eat the remains as we all moved into the family compound, taking the God’s blessings and good spirits with us.

She digressed “that machete, the one that took the chicken’s head off so cleanly, it was the sharpest weapon I’ve ever seen. I would have loved to own that on some of my later adventures, but I won’t tell you about them.”

I shuddered and was glad she didn’t want to discuss her ‘adventures’ and what she might have done with a machete. The prisoner continued.

“The next part of the ceremony was weird and noisy. We walked around the courtyard 3 times amongst smouldering coconuts and bamboo that was lit so that it exploded like gunshot. Get this … I had a basket on my head. In it was shaved coconut, a string of Chinese coins and an egg. All Hindu symbols of course. Each time I’d finished a circuit of the courtyard, balancing the basket on my head, I had to sit on a shaved coconut and stir rice porridge that was boiling in a terracotta pot on a small make-shift oven on the ground.

Ketut walked behind me carrying a wooden pole over his right shoulder and a small stick in his left hand. From the pole swayed a little rice package, symbolizing him being the provider for the family. Tied to the front of the pole was a sprouting coconut tree symbolizing our married life which hopefully would grow straight, proud and bountiful like the coconut tree. The pole, with different weights, had to be balanced carefully. It represented that in life the man would receive twice as much as the woman. The family laughed and made all sorts of jokes, most of which I couldn’t understand, they were probably rude. They told Ketut to hit my back with the small stick, he did that so gently. I tell you, I was no shrinking violet, and this part made me wonder what married life would be like.

Next, we had to walk through a piece of string tied between 2 trees. That is to symbolise the crossing of a new threshold. Ketut then had to spear a small woven leaf mat with his security guard knife, the point finely and sharply chiselled; all the while balancing the pole. Fortunately, he had strong shoulders. Oh, he was such a spunk. This was obviously a symbol of male strength and again had the guests rolling around in laughter.

Shazza paused and chuckled to herself. She must have been remembering the laughter of the crowd, or perhaps the virility of Ketut.

“We then had to do the washing each other part of the ceremony. We were led to the little river at the back of the compound. Wait, did I say little river, more like a slow flowing drain although the water was cleanish. The woman is supposed to wash the man’s shirt as a symbol of servitude. Dear Ketut didn’t want to offend my Pommy morals and washed his own shirt, and put it in the sun to dry. I was glad I took the advice to bring clean clothes. Feeling refreshed from the river I put on my sarong of red, symbolising love, marriage and the start of a new life together.

The ceremony ended by Ketut and me feeding each other roast chicken and rice porridge. I was so happy ... despite the dead chicken, the blood, the weird ceremonies, all that symbolism.”

… then Shazza began to sob.

“You know girlie” she continued, “I’ve never told anybody in this joint that story, hell, they don’t know shit about me. You must be very special to make me blab to you. Funny isn’t it? The Hindu name given to me before my marriage is Laksmi. She is the goddess of wealth, good fortune, youth, and beauty. Ha ha, look at me now, some voluptuous Goddess in this stinkin prison!”

My heart went out to Old Shazza, the Goddess Laksmi. My knowledge of Bali Hinduism is sketchy but I remembered a quote in the Mahabharata, the celebrated Hindu epic, when Laksmi became the consort of the God Wisnu.

After they had bathed and put on their ornaments,

They looked as sweet as the conjoined beauty of lotus and honey,

Wiping away my own tears I felt fondness for Laksmi and Ketut, her beautiful God-like man. I could imagine her with Ketut, the conjoined beauty of lotus and honey. I was honoured she had told me her love story. I didn’t want to push her trust further by asking her what happened to Ketut. Given that I knew he worked at the Sari Club I surmised perhaps he was killed in the Bali bombing. I remembered waking up to the news on 13th October 2002 and learning about the bomb that shook the world. The 2002 Bali bombings killed 202 people, including 88 Australians, 38 Indonesians, 23 Britons, and people of more than 20 other nationalities, with a further 209 injured. I imagined Ketut was working that fateful evening and now 23 years later it would be too painful to ask Shazza about it.

We hadn’t yet discussed her last wishes, so I gently asked again if she had any. Her answer totally floored me. She said she had never had her teeth filed by a Holy Priest and that she would like to have her canine teeth filed before her life ended. I looked closely at her teeth, she wouldn’t need a steak knife, those dog-like teeth could rip the toughest meat apart. I was reminded of the Monty Python skit of ‘sharp, pointy teeth’.

Shazza explained that a family can perform the ceremony on the corpse before cremation. The sharp edges of the canine teeth are removed as Balinese Hindus believe the offending sharpness symbolises the evil traits of a person. Gulping in horror, I asked what evil traits might be? The internee responded

“Oh, stuff like greed, desire and rage.”

I thought ‘possibly those evil traits that have led her to this horrific place, but maybe in the next life she will have a chance to redeem herself?’

That request sent my mind reeling, thoughts of files, drills, sharp instruments in a prison. How was I going to accomplish this wish? I was going to have to do some research and find a Hindu Holy man. Other inmates had requested fillet mignon as their last meal, 'Bat outta Hell' by Meatloaf played, incense burned, photographs of loved ones displayed; but teeth filing was a new one.

I had read her file before entering the cell and knew she had no living relatives, so her request would have to be performed pre-death.

Who am I to judge a person’s life, but I knew I had to honour this woman by granting her last wish. There, but for the grace of the Gods, go I.