The port of Air Manis, on the coast of Sumatra, was small but proud. Its fishermen knew every current and every wave. On a market day, among the ships arriving loaded with spices and silk, one stood out for its size: three masts, sails white as clouds, and a deck where sailors worked in spotless uniforms. At the bow, with one hand on the railing and the other in the pocket of a vest with golden buttons, stood Malin Kundang. He had kept his promise. He had returned rich.
From the dock, a small woman with white hair made her way through the crowd. Her hands were hardened from years of fishing and sewing. Her clothes were humble, and her shawl was frayed at the edges. But her eyes, the moment she saw the ship, sparkled like those of a young girl. 'Malin! My Malin has returned!' she shouted, and ran towards the dock as fast as her old legs would allow. The ship's crew saw her coming, and some turned to their captain with expectant expressions.
Malin Kundang saw the woman approaching. He saw her clearly: the worn shawl, the cracked hands, the poor clothing. He glanced sideways at his wife, elegant and well-dressed beside him. And then he did something that none of the sailors who witnessed it would ever forget. He extended his arm and gently pushed her away, as if brushing aside a beggar in a busy street. 'Step away, madam. I don't know who you are. I have no mother like... that.' The dock fell into absolute silence. Only the sound of the sea could be heard.
Malin's mother staggered backward but did not fall. Her eyes did not cry. She stared at her son with a calmness more terrible than any scream. Then she raised her hands to the sky with the posture of someone who had waited a lifetime to do exactly this. 'Malin Kundang,' she said in a voice soft but clear as water. 'If you have forgotten who brought you into this world, let the world remember for you.' The sky above the port began to darken in a way that had nothing to do with ordinary clouds.
The lightning didn't come immediately. First came a different sound: like someone was pounding the inside of the spice crates with an urgent rhythm. Bonk. Bonk. BonkBonkBonk! The ship's cargo hold shook. The lid of the largest crate flew open. And out emerged, with a cinnamon leaf stuck to its head and smelling of nutmeg, Tung Tung Sahur. Its carved face assessed the situation in half a second. The very dented bat was already in position.
'YOU!' Tung Tung pointed at Malin Kundang with the bat with a precision only achieved through years of practice in waking people who don't want to get up. 'THAT LADY BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD!' Malin's bodyguards moved towards the strange wooden log. Tung Tung didn't even look at them. It took a step forward, and its bat hit the ship's deck with a BONG so loud that sailors on neighboring ships felt the impact in their feet. The bodyguards stopped. 'I'm not going anywhere,' announced Tung Tung. 'Karma has a schedule, and I'm its assistant.'
Malin Kundang tried to laugh. 'A talking log is going to give me lessons?' He ordered his sailors to throw Tung Tung into the sea. Six men tried to grab it. Tung Tung, which weighed exactly what a tropical log needs to weigh to be impossible to move without heavy machinery, simply didn't budge. Then three more men joined in. Then another four. In total, thirteen sailors formed a human chain trying to dislodge a wooden log that looked at Malin Kundang with its knot-carved eyes with an expression of serene patience.
'Malin Kundang,' said Tung Tung, completely ignoring the thirteen men hanging from its wooden arms. 'Last chance. Apologize to your mother.' Malin crossed his arms. 'I don't need advice from a piece of wood.' On the shore, the mother still held her hands high. The sky continued to darken. Tung Tung sighed—or at least made the sound wood makes when something presses it—and raised the bat one last time. The bat glowed. Malin Kundang, for the first time in years, felt genuine fear. And then came the BWOOOONG!
The bonk from Tung Tung was different from all the others. It wasn't a blow of physical force. It was something that can only be described as the sound the universe makes when someone has done something bad enough for the very fabric of reality to decide to intervene. The energy of the impact flowed through Malin Kundang's body from feet to head. The thirteen sailors stepped back. Malin's wife let out a scream and jumped into the lifeboat. And Malin Kundang felt his feet stop being feet and start becoming something else. Something more permanent. More mineral.
When the sun rose again over Air Manis, in the place where Malin Kundang's ship had been, there was only a stone statue with the expression of someone who realized something very important too late. On the shore, Malin's mother, with the shawl still on her shoulders, looked at the statue in silence. Tung Tung approached her and stood by her side without saying a word. After a long while, the woman sighed. 'Can you help me get back home?' The wooden log offered its wooden arm with unexpected courtesy. And together they walked back to the village, while the sea waves slowly erased the last traces of the most arrogant ship that had ever docked at the port of Air Manis.
