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Freedom of Worship

Yuni Utami Asih has loved poetry, short stories, and novels since elementary school. She stepped into the world of translation after hosting the launch of Footprints/Tapak Tilas (Dalang Publishing, 2023), a bilingual short story compilation in celebration of Dalang’s tenth anniversary. The first novel she translated was Pasola (Dalang Publishing 2024), by Maria Matildis Banda. Her most recent work was translating the 2025 series of six short stories to be published in installments on Dalang’s website.

Apart from teaching at the English Language Education Study Program, Faculty of Teacher Training and Education, Mulawaran University, Asih is involved in educational workshops for teachers in Samarinda, East Kalimantan, Indonesia, and surrounding areas.

Yuni Utami Asih: yuniutamiasih@fkip.unmul.ac.id. 

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Freedom of Worship

It was only early March, yet the skies were clear and the tiled roof couldn’t protect the school from the sultry heat gripping Magelang. The students had just said goodbye to Mr. Paulus, the religious studies teacher, after class had ended. Mr. Paulus left his desk while the students tidied theirs, chatting with one another and rummaging through their school bags.

At the classroom door, Mr. Paulus turned. “Mardika!” With furrowed brows and down-turned mouth, Mr. Paulus squinted, looking for the student he had called. “I want to talk to you at my desk in the teachers’ room.”

For a moment, the students’ attention was divided. Some turned to look at their teacher, others to look at Mardika. Mr. Paulus continued out of the classroom, while Mardika sighed and stared wearily at his teacher’s departing back.

The bell, signaling recess, rang loudly.

***

Students carrying backpacks poured out of the classrooms and into the golden sunshine, crowding the sidewalks surrounding the school. Looking straight ahead, Mardika walked slowly, unaware of those around him.

“Hey!” Someone tapped his shoulder.

Mardika let out a startled gasp. He turned irritably to Rahardian, the young man now walking beside him. “You scared me! What?”

Rahardian laughed. “You walk like you’re in a daze. It’s easy to scare you!”

Mardika shook his head. “Just a habit.”

Rahardian sighed, holding back his laughter. He shook Mardika’s shoulder lightly. “What did Pak Paulus say? I waited for you until recess was over, but you never showed up.”

“Just the usual,” Mardika replied. “He lectured me about my poor grade in religious studies. He said I don’t show any interest in learning, and I don’t seem motivated to change. He spoke so loud that other teachers looked over at our table! He reminded me that next week is the midterm, and did I want the same bad grade I had last semester. Then he prayed for me. He asked the Holy Spirit to guide me.”

Rahardian laughed so loud that some students in the parking lot turned to look them. “It seems his nature to act as if he supports different beliefs,” Rahardian chuckled, “but actually it’s just apple polishing. Have you ever seen any religion teacher, even a Muslim one, who reads verses to students in the teachers’ room? It’s crazy! It’s ridiculous!”

“Hush, Yan,” Mardika warned his friend. “There are a lot of people around.”

Rahardian shrugged. “I didn’t say anything wrong. I don’t care if people hear me.” They arrived at the parking lot, and Rahardian started his motorcycle. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Mardika frowned. “Haven’t you eaten yet?”

“No, you were with Pak Paulus for so long. Come on. We still have time before it’s your prayer time, right?”

Mardika shook his head in disbelief. Rahardian waited for me just so we could eat together. “Let’s go!” he said. “The usual place, OK?”

***

The porch light shined dimly when Mardika arrived home, accompanied by the roar of Rahardian’s motorcycle. Mardika thanked him and said he would see him tomorrow. The two fist-bumped, then Rahardian roared off down the narrow, shadowy road.

As Mardika entered the yard, he noticed a black moped parked inside the gate, ready to go. He hurried into the house. “Sugeng dalu, good evening!” Mardika called out using the proper level of respectful Javanese. Hartono, his father, sat in a living room chair. Mardika bowed and rested his forehead against the back of his father’s hand.

“Sugeng bengi, good evening, Nang,” his father replied. “Son, why are you so late coming home?”

“Rahardian invited me to have dinner,” Mardika replied softly. “Are you ready?” He ignored the fact that his father was already neatly dressed in lurik, a dark-brown, long-sleeved shirt with black stripes, and blangkon, traditional Javanese headwear. Mardika noticed the bundle next to his father.

“Just waiting for you.” Mardika’s father cleared his throat. “Take a shower first. You must be clean for prayers.”

Mardika walked quickly to his room, dropped his school bag, and darted into the bathroom. He returned to his room in five minutes and dressed in a black shirt and trousers, then joined his father, who stood in the doorway holding the bundle.

“Is Astuti not coming?” Mardika asked, looking around.

“No!” came a shrill reply from inside the house.

Mardika’s father closed his eyes.

Mardika shook his head and muttered, “That child.”

“Just let it be,” his father said curtly. “It’s getting late. It’s not good to keep lingering,” He held out the bundle he was holding to Mardika. “Nang, please, carry it. Let’s go.”

Mardika took the bundle. After he and his father stepped out of the house, he closed the door and locked it.

***

Mardika and Hartono walked along the cemetery path between the tombs. They stopped beside a wooden grave marker bearing Mardika’s mother’s name, Watiningsih. Mardika untied the bundle, which held incense, frankincense, and a small bag of flowers. He sprinkled the flowers over the grave, while Hartono lit the incense and frankincense in front of the grave marker. Then the two knelt, clasped their hands, closed their eyes, and recited their prayers.

In the prayers for his mother, Mardika recalled the past year, in 2020, when his family mourned her passing. Only the village chief and a few neighbors had helped with the funeral because of the COVID-19 pandemic restrictions. But what pained him more than anything was that his mother had been buried according to Islamic customs. The residents who helped could be counted on two hands. They were all Muslims.

Mardika’s heart ached every time he thought about it. His parents were staunch Kapribaden believers, who practiced the teachings of Romo Semono. Kapribaden was one of the region’s many local religious beliefs, passed down and practiced from generation to generation. These beliefs were not included in the “official religions” recognized by the government of Indonesia.

Circumstances had forced Mardika and his father to bury Watiningsih in a way different from their belief. In the prayer for his mother, Mardika inserted a request to Moho Suci, God, that when death came for his father and himself, they could be buried according to the Kapribaden tradition.

When Mardika opened his eyes, his father was tidying up the things they had brought. Although the expression on Hartono’s face was flat, Mardika felt a sense of relief radiating from it. Mardika rose, clasped the wooden grave marker for a moment, then silently followed his father.

“As for me, Nang,” Hartono opened the conversation, “I wanted to bury your mother according to Kapribaden custom.”

“Mmm.” Unsure about his feelings, Mardika kept his head down and focused on placing his feet carefully on the dimly lit path.

“It was a difficult time,” Hartono continued. “COVID kept us from doing much. We could only narimo, accept, and be strong. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the help to bury her during that time. After all, the way they bury their dead is similar to ours.”

Yes, it’s similar, Mardika thought, but –

“But it feels like Ibu has been removed from us, Nang.” Hartono finished Mardika’s thoughts.

Mardika now spoke up. “Yes, Pak. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen to you.”

Hartono chuckled softly. “No one knows the future, Nang. But the most important thing is that you stay true to your beliefs. Stay guided by the Holy Moho to achieve what you want to achieve. I’m proud of you, Son, because you’re not ashamed to practice what your parents believe in. I’m sure others will become more accepting of people with beliefs like us in the future.”

“Yes, Pak.”

Mardika paused when they reached the gate of the cemetery. He looked up at the halfmoon. As gray clouds slowly covered the sky, he felt a drop of water touch his cheek. Mardika hurried to join Hartono, who had started the moped.

***

All traces of the rain that soaked Magelang that night were completely gone the next day. The afternoon heat penetrated Mardika’s medium-long hair, and his head felt hot as he and Rahardian crossed the school grounds. When they arrived at the walkway in front of their classroom, they both dropped to sit on the floor.

“It’s so hot, it’s crazy!” Rahardian complained. “Please don’t forget your books at home anymore!”

Mardika fanned the back of his neck with the notebook they had just fetched from his house. “I’m sorry, I thought it was in my bag this morning,” he said. “Thanks for lending me the motorcycle.”

“Don’t worry.” Rahardian gave a thumbs-up, then loosened the collar of his batik uniform. “It’s a good thing the security guard was kind enough to let us go. So, did you finish your notes for the religious studies class?”

Mardika flipped through the notebook he had been fanning himself with. “Yes,” he replied confidently. After checking the contents of the page three times, he turned to Rahardian. “The last lesson is on Peace in Culture, right?”

Rahardian nodded, then chuckled, as if suddenly remembering something.

Mardika frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Rahardian said. “I just remembered Pak Paulus talked about practicing one’s faith through other people’s. It’s funny, his behavior towards you doesn’t reflect that opinion.”

Mardika raked his memory. Pak Paulus always talked a lot about the spirit of helping and the mutual cooperation that had long existed in Indonesia. He passionately emphasized that these Christian values had blended with regional cultural conduct. This to Pak Paulus proved the presence of Christianity in Indonesia. Mardika thought Pak Paulus ridiculous, because all examples he had mentioned, had prevailed long before Christianity was established.

“I’m not a devout Christian,” Rahardian continued, “but don’t the examples Pak Paulus gave mainly address ethical values? That means it’s not just meant for Christians; it’s meant for everyone. My pastor always says that all religions and beliefs have ethical values that are general in nature and lead to human welfare.”

Mardika agreed. “All religions and beliefs are not only for human welfare, but also for the harmony between people and their environment. All the Kapribaden customs we practice are not just randomly meant to worship spirits, let alone demons. I’ve told you before, the Kapribadens teach to practice tresno welas lan asih marang opo lan sopo wae: love and compassion for everything and everyone. Our customs are the same as the practices of other religious believers.”

“That’s why I think Pak Paulus doesn’t apply the values he teaches if he still looks down on you,” said Rahardian. “Pak Paulus told us, ‘Love your enemies,’ but he doesn’t even love his own students.”

Mardika nodded just as the bell rang, directing students back to class.

***

Three days had passed since Mardika’s conversation with Rahardian, but Mardika could still hear his friend’s words. Mardika always remembered everything that dealt with his beliefs. The notebook of religious studies he had been poring over since early afternoon was also weighing on his mind. No matter how hard Mardika tried to study for the upcoming religious study exams, his anxiety always interfered with his attention. He kept struggling with the fact that he had never felt the freedom of worship.

Mardika’s temples throbbed. He decided to take a break. He tossed the book on the living room table, where it landed with a light thud. He saw Astuti walking towards the front door. “Where are you going?” he asked, frowning when he noticed his little sister was dressed to go out and carried a small sling bag.

“To the city, with a friend,” Astuti replied without turning to her brother.

Mardika glanced at his glowing cellphone, checking the time. It was ten minutes till six in the early evening. “Going to a Christian church with your friends again?” Mardika scowled.

“Yes,” Astuti replied curtly. Opening the door, she asked, “Do you want to come?”

“No, I don’t. Just asking.” Mardika sighed. His sister’s invitation surprised him.

Astuti shook her head. “Young people need to socialize, not just pray.” She let go of the door handle, reached into her sling bag, and pulled out her phone.

Oh, that child … Mardika’s look of disbelief turned into annoyance. “Watch your mouth! You’re supposed to say goodbye properly when you leave the house, not look for an argument!”

“OK, OK. I gotta go; my friend is here.” Astuti hurried out, leaving the door open behind her.

“Take care!” Mardika called after her. “Don’t come home too late!” He closed the door.

“Joining friends for worship is just socializing for fun,” Mardika muttered. “What kind of worship is that? Youth. Does she think praying is useless?” Mardika sat back down on the living room chair and stared wearily at his notebook.

For Mardika, studying for exams was not difficult, unless he had to study religion. He always lost interest. Ever since elementary school, his score on every religious studies exam never exceeded seventy out of one hundred. He just wasn’t interested in learning someone else’s religion; he wanted to learn about his own Kapribaden religion at school.

It was not that his father did not teach Mardika anything about other religions and beliefs. It was just that Hartono more often educated him about the many ways of life as a Kapribaden believer. Until now, Mardika had always accepted and practiced those teachings with conviction. He felt peaceful when he performed the rituals that grounded him in his beliefs. Mardika longed to learn more about his Kapribaden faith — his religion — freely at school.

***

Hartono obtained permission from the police station where he worked to attend the parent-teacher meeting. He now sat with Mardika, facing Mr. Paulus, who was explaining Mardika’s scores. Outside, gray clouds filled the sky.

Throughout Mr. Paulus’s presentation, Mardika’s attention wandered. His brain refused to listen to his homeroom teacher. After all, the explanations are always the same, Mardika thought. My grades are good but could still be improved. When Mr. Paulus discussed religious studies, Mardika remained indifferent. It was always his low point, the academic area he needed to improve on. He was tired of the same advice.

“That’s why I’m so worried about your son’s spiritual development.” Mr. Paulus cleared his throat and looked intently at Hartono.

Mardika, who caught the words, frowned slightly, glancing at his teacher. Hartono quirked a small smile and chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I teach Mardika about spirituality at home.”

“That’s good, Mr. Har,” Paulus responded, “but since this is a Christian religious studies class, I hope Mardika can study harder to get the same satisfactory grades he manages for other subjects.” Mr. Paulus folded his hands together on the table and glanced momentarily at Mardika.

“Yes, but grades can’t really be used as a benchmark,” Hartono replied.

Mardika smiled faintly at his father’s gentle rebuttal.

“That’s exactly what’s wrong, Mr. Har,” Mr. Paulus countered. “Grades do indeed represent the value of an achievement or understanding. But understanding can also be measured in one’s attitude and demeanor. Since we are addressing Christianity, the student’s achievement should also show that he is capable of living as taught.”

Suddenly, Mardika’s whole body felt hot. His stomach churned, his chest tightened, his head ached.

Hartono gave another short chuckle. “Mardika is not a Christian,” Hartono subtly reminded Mr. Paulus. “The grade my son received, despite the fact that Christianity is not his religion, is good enough for me.”

Mr. Paulus looked down, shaking his head slowly. “No offense, Mr. Har, it’s just that I have to insist on better achievements. Mardika’s grades in religious studies have always been average. Therefore, his understanding of Christianity must be improved, not ignored. The Kapribaden believers also apply Christian values.”

Mardika’s head now throbbed painfully. His trembling hand clenched his thigh. The indignation building up in his chest was about to reach his tongue and spew out an angry rebuttal.

Hartono, however, continued responding to Mr. Paulus with a smile. From the corner of his eye, Hartono saw his son’s clenched fist and quietly grasped it. “I’ll talk to Mardika again later,” Hartono said.

Trying to swallow all his aggravation, Mardika breathed slowly. Father and son rose and shook hands with Mr. Paulus. As they left the room, it started to rain.

***

For two days, Magelang was drenched in rain. Mardika sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, accompanied by the pattering rain and dim lights. The cool twilight air embraced Mardika and calmed him. He closed his eyes and breathed, deep and regular. He placed his right hand against his breastbone with his palm facing left, while his left hand rested, palm up, against his waist. In this traditional position, Mardika prayed, pouring out his frustration and irritations.

Mardika recalled his teacher’s words. He remembered all the scoldings and the treatment he had received. He pondered why those words made him so angry. Mardika exhaled another deep breath, slowly releasing all his burdens. He accepted all that had passed and centered himself. Then he prayed for his family and all Kapribaden believers to merge with Moho Suci.

Just as Mardika finished his prayer and opened his eyes, he heard a motorcycle pull up to the house. Mardika stepped out of the room. On the porch, Hartono was taking off his raincoat.

“Sugeng dalu, good evening.” Mardika placed his forehead against the back of his father’s hand.

“Sugeng bengi, Nang,” Hartono replied. “It was raining heavily in the Mungkid area. The other advocates wanted to wait at the school after asking about the provision to add Kapribaden to the religious studies curriculum, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go straight back to bed.”

The two of them walked into the dining room, where Astuti was eating while occasionally glancing at her cellphone.

“Sugeng bengi, Ndhuk,” Hartono greeted his daughter. “What are you eating?”

“Sugeng dalu, Pak.” Astuti replied briefly.

“How did it go?” Mardika asked his father, as he took a serving bowl of ayam garang asem, spicy coconut chicken stew, from the food cupboard.

“It is still difficult, Nang.” Hartono boiled some water, then took two plates and two spoons. “When we visited the school three weeks ago, the teacher for Kapribaden was with us, and all the paperwork had been completed. We were told that the application for the provision to teach the Kapribaden religion in school was being processed. But now they say we can’t continue. We have to go to the Office of Education and Culture.” Hartono turned off the stove, poured hot water into a glass, then mixed it with a little cold. “It’s troublesome.”

When Mardika and Hartono carried their dinner into the dining room, Astuti took her empty plate to the kitchen.

“So Kapribaden still won’t be taught at school.” Mardika briefly closed his eyes, mumbled a prayer, then started eating.

“It can be taught, actually,” Hartono said, “but only as an elective, not as a compulsory subject.”

“That’s fine with me, too,” Mardika assured his father.

Hartono looked at his son, smiling. “Would you like to help me when I write to your school?”

Mardika returned his smile. “I will.”

Start with small steps, Mardika thought. He was determined to work for the religious freedom that was always being broadcast through news and slogans. in the real and virtual worlds. Mardika planned to tenaciously promote the freedom of religious education, starting from his school. He wanted to gather fellow students who were also Kapribaden believers and encourage them to be firm in their faith, and to voice their right to be treated equally in receiving religious education. If necessary, we’ll meet with the school management, Mardika thought, and at the same time meet the authorities at the Education and Culture Office.

Mardika was determined to achieve true freedom in any religious expression. Everyone should be free to practice their respective beliefs in accordance with the right to live in an independent, free society.

*****