The Auditor General S Report And Other Stories

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But first, one of the other stories.
Centuries ago in this part of the world, the Nusantara, there lived a wise sultan. He ruled over a remarkably fertile country. Lush rice fields watered by clear running rivers stretched out for miles around an active volcano, Gunung Berapi. Year after year, the harvests were bountiful. His people became numerous.
The Sultan was mightily pleased because his revenue came from a head tax paid in rice. Their bellies full, his subjects were happy to pay this tax. But in recent years, the sultan’s tax revenue began to show a steady decline. The granaries, once full, were often depleted before the next harvest. The sultan was puzzled.
It was surely time for him to tour the villages and districts of his realm. Everywhere he went, his subjects looked well-fed, well-clothed, and full of cheer.
The women, looking their best, were dressed in rich fabrics and jewellery. District chiefs wore pearl necklaces and wavy daggers set with precious stones tucked into their waistbands.
Children, full of vigour and energy, spun tops, flew kites, and played ball games. The Sultan said to himself, looking annoyed: “My lands are fertile but my khazanah (treasury) is nearly empty! I suspect no one is paying their taxes in full.”
As they say, “Happy sultans are all happy in the same way but each angry sultan is angry in his own way.”
He was determined to get to the bottom of things. If nothing was done, there was every danger he would lose his status as the richest man in the land. A poor sultan will surely lose his daulat (sovereignty).
“And of late, my nobles all avoid me, using every ruse known to them!” exclaimed the sultan, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Then one day it struck him that his people had grown very fat. Yes! All of them! Surely they must be living off the fat of the land!
Their shining silk garments could not hide their fatted condition. And that of their wives also! Thick gold necklaces, silver anklets, shimmering bangles, and jewel-studded nose-rings and earrings could not hide their obesity.
“I have been fooled. I’ve been had,” fumes the sultan. As if in agreement, Gunung Berapi, in the distance, rumbles afresh. Puffs of white smoke rise up steadily against the blue sky as rays of brilliant sunshine fall upon fields of ripening rice.
‘I will get them!’
The ruler had been diddled for sure, but how? Surely his loyal officials, kakitangan yang setia, cannot be part of it?
Then, like Archimedes, the Eureka moment came to him while he was having a bath! He was sloshing about inside a large, Ming-era glazed jar decorated with dragons and maidens, a gift from Emperor Yong-lei himself to an ancient forebear of his with a handwritten message of brotherly love and affection. And some advice: “Mari kita sama-sama kaya. (Let’s get rich together)”
He hears himself shout out like it was a proclamation: “The volume of rice stolen from my granaries is equal to the number of people not accounted for in the Register of Heads and Households!”
Not wanting to run into the streets stark naked like that clever Greek, he dresses up slowly. “I will get them!” he hissed, moustache bristling with anger.
The diddle was simple and cunning. The farmers connived with the village chiefs, understating the number of heads in their household, thus paying less rice tax after the harvest.
Before sending the collected tax to the district chiefs, the village chiefs got into the act by understating the headcount, retaining a portion of the collected rice for themselves.
In the spirit of lebih kurang (more or less), the district chiefs shut an eye and kept some of the rice revenue for themselves yet again by understating the number of villages in their district.
Everyone, right up to those in charge of the royal granaries, was on the take! In case you are curious, the native word for this arrangement is “Berpakat (Conspire)”.
The whole of their society had become corrupt! Like now. And everyone was complicit! Like now.
The sultan’s simple single-tier tax mechanism, without the complications and complexities of GST or SST, had been taken advantage of by officials hell-bent on enriching themselves at the sultan’s expense. Who can blame the sultan for exploding like a volcano?
Indeed, he had a difficult problem on his hands - a masa’alah besar. If he took a firm stand on corruption, both the officials and his people may become disloyal.
On the other hand, if he did nothing, he would eventually lose his grip on power and with it, the prestige and privileges he was accustomed to. “I hate money politics!” cursed the sultan, biting his teeth.
A royal dream
The sultan thought hard for days and nights. There is nothing like a masa’alah besar to wonderfully concentrate a person’s mind.
After a while, it dawned on him that to beat the corrupt officials at their game, he must simply outwit them! “All these little devils are no match for the real one,” mutters the sultan, a devious smile on his face.
The trick was to accurately ascertain the number of individuals in each village without alerting his corrupt officials that a national census was being carried out.
If they somehow got wind of this census, the whole enterprise would be thwarted by his officials - they would once again under-declare the number of persons in a household.
Now, in these parts of the Nusantara, dreams are powerful things. Especially royal dreams. The closest thing we moderns have to “royal dreams” are “visions”. Like Vision 2020.
It was now time for the sultan to make his dream public! He calls for a meeting in his palace, with all his nobles, high officials, district chiefs, and village heads.
Nervously, they gather at his palace, a modest affair filled with servants, helpers, and hangers-ons of every ilk as the drums beat with raw energy.
A very obese official draped in layers of silk and brocaded headgear calls the meeting to order. In pin-drop silence the sultan begins, with much gravitas, to relate to them his dream.
Here and there he drops lines from religious texts and quotes ancient proverbs beloved by his people. But throughout his speech, his face remains stoic, impassive, as if it was a statue. It is hard to capture with mere words what he told them but here is a gist in the everyday language of today.
“Last night, it rained like the heavens themselves had opened up. Who among us here was not terrified by the unusual ferocity of the thunder and lightning? And the winds blew without let-up. All the world was restless!
“And I awoke to an extraordinary dream. I had a dream! A dream-drama that unfolded one scene at a time!
“Gunung Berapi was rumbling, belching huge plumes of smoke and ash. The crater rims were bathed in an eerie glow of flickering light that grew in strength until the whole mountain was drenched in a dazzling light.
“Then the gods of Gunung Berapi spoke directly to me, saying the following in a voice that appeared to make its slopes tremor and tremble:
“‘I have made your harvests bountiful, your people many. I have kept you safe from famine, drought, and disease. In other lands, people suffer one misfortune after another. But now your people are in danger! Dishonesty and greed have become second nature to them! For the love of your people you must, O sultan, do as you are told! You…’”
The old sultan paused and looked up to the heavens before sipping from a cup of burnished brass. He looked at the faces of the fat men sitting cross-legged on the ground around the Royal Dais. A smile creases the sultan’s face. Their mute faces appeared to be nothing more than dark smudges topped by elaborate headdresses.
Sensing the triumph of his will and the genius of his politics, the sultan continues.
“As it was vouchsafed to me by the gods, to ensure our protection from evil, the gods of Gunung Berapi have requested a small needle from every person in this land. Village chiefs must bundle up these needles with a cover note of the names of everyone in their villages.
“Send these bundles to the district chief. He in turn will put together these smaller bundles into a larger bundle, after writing down the name of the district. Once this is done, come to my palace directly. These bundles must be handed to me in person before the next moon appears in the Heavens.
“When all the needles, one for each person in my realm, are in my safekeeping, the royal swordmaker will forge 13 identical swords, one for each district, as instructed by the gods. On the auspicious eighth day of the fifth month of the year, we will make an offering of these freshly forged swords to the gods of Gunung Berapi.
“The gods will bless these swords. If there is disease or drought in a village, a blessed sword will be sent there forthwith and all will be well again. If pestilence or famine persists, it is clear proof an official failed to record the name of every person in every village as instructed. The fate of your families is in your hands! Now go forth and do your duty.”
To please the gods
Driven by fear, the needles were collected, neatly bundled up with cover notes, and sent to the sultan by hand. The palace scribes wrote down carefully the number of needles received against the names of the villages in each district.
The collected needles, now in the thousands, were melted down and made into 13 “magical” swords.
On the appointed day, with great ceremony, the swords were carried to the base of Gunung Berapi. There, the sultan indicated to his nobles that the final ascent to the very rim of the crater was his sole responsibility.
He remarks to them that a true sultan, like gold, does not fear fire! In a sombre mood, he sets off alone to the summit of Gunung Berapi.
By late afternoon, he is within sight of a small cave just below the rim of the volcano. He is tired and sleepy. He lies down clasping the 13 magical swords and dozes off.
After a while, he walks down the mountain with the swords firmly held against his chest. The gathered nobles whisper in awe that the gods have turned the sultan’s face to chalk.
With much reverence and some fanfare, the swords are carried into the palace. Without the knowledge of his subjects and his officials the sultan had just completed the first accurate census of his realm.
And more importantly, he had done it with the cooperation of the rakyat (citizens) and the cunning and crafty nobles of his land!
There is great rejoicing throughout the realm. To ensure the gods remain pleased, births and deaths in every village are now accurately reported and recorded in the ledgers of the palace.
Soon, the royal granaries are full again. But some officials and nobles are bitterly unhappy. They miss the good old days of taking a cut at every harvest.
Unable to change their profligate ways, they take to stealing rice directly from the granary, first by pilfering and then by organising a racket which the sultan soon finds out.
He summons his prime minister and instructs him: “I want the auditor-general to give me a report detailing those involved in stealing from the granary!”
As I said, the Auditor-General’s Report on vaccines and ventilators is another story!
(Adapted from Alfred Russel Wallace’s “The Malay Archipelago” published in 1869)
-Mkini
MURALE PILLAI is a former planter and now runs a logistics firm.
The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of MMKtT.

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