“Should not my heart leap with joy when it sees that I have been selected amongst many to turn lamentation into prayer, weeping into thanksgiving?
“Yes, I am very glad to be in Bantam-Kidool.
“I said to the woman who shares my sorrows and increases my happiness:—
“ ‘Rejoice, for I see that Allah gives a blessing on the head of our child! He has sent me to a place where work is to be done, and He thought me worthy to be there before harvest-time. For the joy is not in cutting paddy;[3] the joy is in cutting the paddy which one has planted. And the soul of man does not rejoice in wages, but in the labour that earns those wages.’ And I said to her: ‘Allah has given us a child; and there will come a time when he shall say: “Do you know that I am his son?” and then there will be those in the country who will greet him with love, who will put a hand on his head and say: “Sit down to our dinner, and live in our house, and take your portion of what we have; for we knew your father.” ’ [[131]]
“For, chiefs of Lebak, there is much to be done in your district.
“Tell me, is not the labourer poor? Does not your paddy often ripen for those who did not plant it? Are there not many wrongs in your country? Is not the number of your children small?
“Is there no shame in your souls when the natives of Bolang, which lies over there in the East, visit your country, and ask, ‘Where are the villages, and where the husbandmen, and why do not I hear the gamlang,[4] which speaks joy out of a mouth of brass, nor the stamping of paddy by your daughters?’
“Is there no bitterness in journeying from here to the South coast, in seeing the mountains that have no water on their sides, or the plains where the buffalo never drew the plough?
“Yes, yes, I tell you, that your soul and mine are sad because of these things; and, therefore, we are grateful to Allah, that He has given us the power to labour here.
“For we have in this country fields for many, though the inhabitants are few. And it is not the rain which fails, for the summits of the mountains suck the clouds of heaven to the earth. And not everywhere are rocks that refuse a place to the root; for in many places the ground is soft and fertile, and calls for the grain, which it is willing to return you in a bended blade. And there is [[132]]no war in the country, whereby the paddy is trodden down while yet green, nor is there sickness to paralyse the patjol.[5] Neither are the sunbeams more powerful than is necessary to ripen the grain, that has to be food for you and your children; nor banjers,[6] that make you say, ‘Show me the place where I have sown.’