‘Fire is something you can look at for hours before you realise its other properties: it destroys and it creates.’
– Adrian Matejka,
No sane person would ever want to shout or hear the dreaded four-letter word, but there it was, repeated rapidly over and over.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” came the desperate and unmistakable cries, distant yet piercing.
The shouts served more as a warning than a plea for help, for everyone knew that when an uncontrollable fire broke out in the jungle during a shifting cultivation cycle, attempting to put it out was usually futile. The nearest fire brigade was tens of miles away, and even if it were closer, reaching the fire was impossible due to the absence of a motorable road.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” the cries continued, shattering the calm and peacefulness of the jungle.
Until that moment, my little brother and I had been eagerly attempting to catch small fish in a little stream using only our hands. We stood waist-deep in the stream, which ran through the middle of a muddy tract of land that our parents were preparing to turn into our paddy field for the year.
The year was 1963. I was ten years old and Little B was eight.
As we stood there, mouths agape, observing plumes of smoke rising above the treetops on a hill slope upstream from us, our father rushed past us towards the telltale sign of a bushfire. He reminded us to be careful and to stay where we were, but curiosity propelled us to follow him.
Once our father disappeared from our sight, we began running, which proved difficult due to the uncleared jungle path. The grass and shrubs towered over us.
As we approached the fire, we noticed a substantial area that had been cleared for planting hill paddy. Several men were already present, but all they could do was watch as the fire rapidly transformed into an inferno.
No one had any pails or containers to carry water. The closest water source was a small stream at the foot of the hill, several meters away from the fire. Creating a long bucket bridge to transport water to extinguish the flames was impossible, given the limited manpower of fewer than ten men present that day.
We stood at a safe distance, our eyes fixed on the frantic men, as they hurriedly salvaged the farm owner’s meagre possessions from his hut. A sudden shift in the wind had unleashed the fire’s fury towards his dwelling, and the urgency in their actions was palpable.
Amidst the chaos, one of the men broke away from the group and ran towards us, clutching a large earthen jar containing a modest amount of rice. With a sense of urgency in his voice, he implored us to take the precious sustenance away. Without hesitation, he swiftly rejoined the others, resuming his role in the rescue efforts.
Little B and I exchanged a meaningful glance, our hearts heavy with the weight of the situation. Yet, we remained rooted to the ground, unable to tear our eyes away from the mesmerising spectacle of the raging inferno. Its destructive power was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, leaving us motionless like statues.
If you are not familiar with the process of subsistence farming in remote rural areas, understand that in the practice of shifting cultivation for hill paddy, the first step involves clearing the jungle of trees and shrubs. Once these cleared areas have been left to dry for several weeks or even months, they are set ablaze.
To prevent the fire from spreading to the nearby jungle, a firebreak is created around the perimeter of the clearing before any burning takes place.
On the designated “burning day”, it is preferred that multiple farmers within the same area simultaneously set fire to their respective forest clearings instead of working alone. This collaborative approach allows them to better control the fire and prevent it from getting out of hand.
However, occasionally, strong winds can cause the fire to become uncontrollable and “jump” across to the surrounding forest, resulting in bushfires.
When a fire initially gets out of control, the farmer or person responsible for starting it usually attempts to extinguish the flames manually. If this proves unsuccessful, they are left hoping that the fire will naturally die out or not consume the entire forest.
Unfortunately, there have been instances where bushfires have caused significant damage to nearby properties, including rubber plantations, pepper plantations, fruit trees, farmhouses, and huts.
In general, tropical jungles, due to their humidity, are not highly prone to widespread bushfires. However, the main concern lies in peat swamps, as when they dry out, fires can easily burn deep underground, exacerbating the situation. Fortunately for everyone involved, that was not the case before us that day.
As the flames danced voraciously, their orange and red tongues licked hungrily at the surrounding landscape. The fire roared with a deafening intensity, a symphony of crackling, hissing, and whooshing sounds that echoed through the air. It seemed as though the very atmosphere trembled in response to its immense power.
The towering inferno devoured everything in its path, leaping from tree to tree with a malevolent grace. Each time it engulfed a new target, a burst of sparks and embers erupted, painting the mid-afternoon sky with a fiery brilliance. The crackling sound was relentless, like the clattering of a thousand wooden branches breaking under the force of an invisible hand.
Occasionally, a gust of wind would whip through the area, adding a haunting chorus to the symphony of destruction. The flames would respond, surging upward in a wild, untamed dance, their tendrils reaching towards the heavens in a bold display of power. The whooshing sound that followed was like the collective sigh of the forest as if nature itself mourned the loss of its creations.
Despite the danger and devastation unfolding, we remained transfixed, unable to tear our eyes away from the terrifying yet awe-inspiring scene. It was a moment frozen in time, where the weight of the situation weighed heavily upon our hearts, and our bodies felt rooted to the ground, immobilised by the overwhelming presence of the raging inferno.
In a remarkable twist of fate, the very wind that had helped unleashed devastation upon the farmer’s humble abode seemed determined to make amends. With an air of redemption, it drove the inferno downhill, as if seeking to rectify the havoc it had wrought. Gradually, the flames dwindled and succumbed, their fiery dance coming to an end where the hill and the swamp merged.
As night fell, the farm owner and his wife sought refuge with a nearby neighbour, their wooden hut reduced to ashes.
Remarkably, the following morning brought a glimmer of hope amidst the ashes. Several determined men gathered at the site of the fire, ready to undertake the task of constructing a new hut. Having learned from the bitter lesson of the previous day, they chose a site that was much closer to the water’s edge.
The men worked tirelessly, their hands skillfully transforming raw materials into a new hut, making it slightly larger and better than the old one. Logs were laid, beams were secured, and walls began to rise.
In a remarkable display of collective strength, the men completed the construction in a mere three days. This act of solidarity spoke volumes about the implicit bonds that tied them together. It was a powerful reminder that in times of adversity, the human capacity for compassion and unity can prevail, even amidst the smouldering remains of devastation.
As the final touches were added to the newly built structure, a renewed sense of hope permeated the air. From the ashes of destruction had emerged a symbol of resilience and rebirth, a beacon of strength, reminding all who witnessed the scene of the power that lies within a united community.
Four days after the fire, the farm owner and his wife returned to their newly erected dwelling, their hearts filled with gratitude for the support they had received. The scars of the disaster would forever be etched in their memories, but the support of their community would serve as a constant reminder that they were not alone.
Years later as an adult, and having witnessed a few more such fires, I stumbled upon this quote: “Fire is something you can look at for hours before you realise its other properties: it destroys and it creates.”
It was attributed to one Adrian Matejka, an American poet and writer, who was born in 1971, in Nuremberg, Germany, to an African-American father and a German mother.
The quote implies that fire has a mesmerising quality that captivates our attention with its dancing flames and radiant glow. Its dynamic nature can hold our gaze until you realise “it destroys and it creates”.
Matejka points out that on the one hand, fire is destructive, having the power to consume and reduce objects or structures to ashes.
On the other hand, fire is also associated with creation. It can transform matter and bring about change. Fire is crucial in various processes, such as cooking, forging metals, or generating energy. It can be a catalyst for growth and renewal, as it clears away the old to make way for the new. In this sense, fire represents both destruction and creation simultaneously.
Matejka highlights the dual nature of fire, emphasising its capacity to both destroy and create. It serves as a reminder that things in life can possess multiple facets and that a deeper understanding often requires us to look beyond the surface and delve into the complexities of a subject.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
