The Cowbell

Our time in Bali is finished; we are in the airport waiting for our flight to Singapore.  Our wonderful guide and new friend, Komang, delivered us about an hour ago. We have many tales of Bali but first a lovely story about Komang.  In our four days here we have grown to love him and I hope we will be able to stay in touch.

Komang spent five months in America in 2001.  In fact, he visited the Twin Towers just two weeks before the September 11 attack.  He also visited New Hampshire, Boulder, and even Fort Worth.  I asked him how it was that he was able to spend so much time there.  This is his story.

In 1996, he was working for a local guiding company and his assignment was to guide a wealthy couple from New Jersey on a two-week tour of Bali.  The day before their tour was over they were visiting a small quiet village in the mountains, when the American gentleman heard a cowbell tinkling nearby.  “Komang,” he said, transfixed, “I want that cowbell to keep as a memory of this beautiful place.  Can you find the cow and buy the cowbell from the owner?”  Komang, taken aback, told his client that the cowbells were not for sale because tradition forbids it.  “Everything can be bought if you offer the right price,” the man said. “Please find the cow and its owner and give him his price.”

Not wanting to displease his client, Komang searched the field, found the cow and as there were no people about, he trudged into the village and asked who owned the cow.  Finally, he was led to the owner and of course the owner told him that the cowbell was not for sale no matter the price. The ancients would be highly displeased.  Thus, a very nervous Komang returned to the small cafe where the couple was waiting and reported his findings.  “But not to worry,” he told the dejected man, “in town there are many antique shops where you can buy a beautiful ancient cowbell of your choosing.”  The man told him no, he didn’t want a cowbell from a shop, he couldn’t trust that it would be authentic.  He wanted the cowbell that he had heard in the country.  Or one similar, he conceded, one that he was certain had hung on the neck of a Balinese cow.

The couple was flying back to New Jersey the next day and time was short.  Undeterred, the gentleman asked Komang if he would find him his cowbell and mail it to his home in New Jersey.  Komang, though dubious, promised that he would. 

A promise is a promise, Komang told us in relating the story.  A man of character cannot break his promise.  Time passed and he couldn’t find a cowbell that fit the criteria that the man had specified. Two years passed and he worried about his promise even though he never heard from the man in New Jersey and there was no communication between them.  Another year passed, and then another, but he didn’t forget his promise.  Finally, desperate, he decided that he would remove the cowbell from one of his father’s cows and mail it to the man in New Jersey.  Of course, he couldn’t tell his father because his father would refuse for the same reason that the original cow owner had refused back in 1996.  And so he stole a cowbell from one of his father’s four cows. 

He wrote a letter to the man in New Jersey and packed it inside the cowbell, packed the cowbell in a box and took it to the Post Office.  Twenty-eight dollars to mail the cowbell to New Jersey!  He couldn’t believe it! Komang did not have that much money to spend on postage and so he took the package home.  The guilt about the theft was overwhelming.  His father never brought it up and Komang couldn’t bring himself to confess.  He prayed to his ancestors to forgive him for the theft while allowing him to keep his commitment—a lot to ask of the ancients. Twice, he returned to the Post Office with the packaged cowbell hoping for a drop in price but instead of the price dropping, it rose each time, the final price being a whopping $87.00!  He prayed every day to his ancestors to find him a way to deliver the cowbell to the man in New Jersey and still to make it up to his father.

After several months of these frantic prayers, Komang had a young American woman that he guided around Bali for a few days and told her the story of the cowbell. 

Fascinated, she asked Komang, “Where does your gentleman live?”

“He lives in New Jersey,” answered Komang.

‘I live in New Jersey!” said the young woman.  “What town?”

“Short Hills.”

“I live in Short Hills!”

Bottom line, the young woman agreed to deliver the cowbell in person when she returned home to Short Hills.  Surely, this was a miracle from the ancestors and a sign that the theft was forgiven.

Komang waited expectantly but heard nothing for several months.  Then one day he received a brief email from the man:

“Komang, the cowbell has arrived.  You must come to America.”

No instructions, just that single line.  Of course Komang didn’t have the money for the plane ticket, and even if he had, he couldn’t afford to abandon his wife and children without the support of his salary.  He emailed the man back and told him he couldn’t come to America because he couldn’t afford the trip and because he couldn’t take the time off from work.  The man told him he would wire the money for the ticket and Komang could work for him in his own house and for his various friends in their homes as well. He assured Komang that he would make more money working for him in America than he was making as a guide in Bali.

After discussing it with his wife, they decided that he must accept this opportunity.  He and his wife knew that there would not be any communication between them during his journey (no email or long distance phone capability in their village), but that he would save all the money he earned and return home to her in five months’ time.  She understood and agreed.

When he applied for a visa, he was 75^th in line that day and everyone ahead of him had been rejected.  He answered all the agent’s questions and was rejected as well.  In desperation, he told the agent the story of the cowbell and why he had to go to America.  After listening in rapt silence, the agent was so touched by Komang’s story that he immediately granted him a visa to go to America.   

During his preparations, people told Komang how terrible the long flight would be, but he said that when he finally got on the plane he was amazed at how luxurious it was.  He said he didn’t know he had to sit in an assigned seat and had taken a seat in First Class.  He thought it was like riding the bus—first come first served.  The flight attendant gently showed him to his proper seat in Economy, but he was so thrilled he didn’t mind the long flight or the cramped seat.

His benefactor met him at the airport.  It had been five years.  The American is a huge man and Komang told us he lifted him right off the ground and swung him around in his excitement at the reunion. 

Four months he lived and worked in the gentleman’s home and in the homes of his friends.  Twelve dollars an hour ten or twelve hours a day!  He was able to save more money than he would have made in a year in Bali.  One day in June the man said “Komang, today you don’t work.  Come with me.”  He drove Komang into New York, showed him the sights including the World Trade Center, took him to lunch, and when evening was approaching he drove him back to the big house in Short Hills where all was dark.  When they opened the door, the lights flew on and thirty people shouted “Surprise!”  It was a surprise birthday party for Komang and the gentleman had taken him out of the house so his wife and the other staff could prepare for the party.  Komang hadn’t even remembered that it was June 11, his birthday.

The next day, the man said again that there would be no work that day and to get ready to spend a long day sightseeing.  When he was ready he was greeted by a long limousine, driven to the airport and flown by private jet to New Hampshire for a brief visit.  Another limousine then drove him all the way back to Short Hills to be home before bedtime.  Komang could not believe his good fortune.

After working for the man for four months, Komang traveled around the US, again due to the gentleman’s generosity.  He returned home to his village, his wife and his children, five months after leaving Bali as he had promised, with better English, more marketable skills and a permanent job as a guide for Asia Transpacific Journeys in Boulder which is how we happened to have him as our introduction to Bali.

Is the story true?  I absolutely believe that it is.  If you could meet Komang you would believe it as well.  More about Komang soon.