Curse of the Black Shaman

Vina is a good-looking Indonesian widow in Jakarta. She phoned me in Singapore. "I'm sick," she said in a harsh whisper.

"Did you see a doctor?" I asked.

"I visited one today. He can do nothing for me."

"What's the matter?"

"A shaman put a curse on me," she said weakly.

"How do you know that?"

"An old woman told me when she looked at me. People often die from the spell of a dukun santet."

"Do you mean a black shaman, an evil shaman?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Who would want to put a curse on you?"

"My husband's mother may have paid a shaman to cast a spell. She dislikes me."

"Singapore has the best medical care in the region," I said. "Let's get you to a doctor in Singapore before we talk about black magic. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Vina responded. "The old woman could be wrong."

Vina flew to Singapore. I met her at the airport and took her to a doctor's office. She had no fever, but she was languid. She had difficulty standing and talking.

The doctor is an old friend. He examined her for more than an hour before he met with me. "I can find nothing wrong with her," he said.

"Is it a psychosomatic illness?" I asked.

"She mentioned a black shaman," he said.

"Thanks," I said. "I know what do to."

Vina is Muslim. She also is a superstitious person with the threads of shamanism in the tapestry of her mind. Followers of shamanism believe in the ability of shamans to communicate with gods, demons, and ancestral spirits in an unseen world. "Shamans can use their powers to cure the sick and discover the hidden," an old trader once told me. "Shamans who are willing to use their powers for negative purposes are black shamans. Black shamans can cause illnesses."

My friend Santee has expertise in these kinds of matters. She is an Indonesian businesswoman in Jakarta. I phoned her and explained the situation. I asked, "How do I find a world-class shaman to reverse a curse?"

"You should bring her here," Santee said.

I took Vina back to Jakarta.

Santee met us at the airport. "I made an appointment with a very powerful shaman," Santee told me.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

"The appointment is first thing in the morning," Santee replied. "I will take Vina. You should not go. The shaman will charge more money if he sees an American with us."

"Are you sure you want to take Vina by yourself?"

"We will have no problems," Santee answered. "Vina will sit in a dark room. Somebody will beat on a tambourine. The shaman will go into a trance and coax the evil spirit from Vina's body."

"Will the process take a long time?"

"No," Santee said. "This shaman is for VIPs. Important people expect fast service."

The next day the two women visited the shaman. Eight hours later, Vina showed up at my hotel room door. She gave me a kiss as soon as she saw me. "You are more than a friend," she said. "You saved my life."

"You look perky," I said.

"The evil spirit is gone. It's flying around with fruit bats somewhere."

"Did you dispatch evil spirits to attack your late husband's mother?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I don't like to use demonic forces to hurt people."

"I admire your self-restraint. How did you like the shaman?"

"He was nice," she said. "He has the gift of prophecy as well as healing. Many shamans are just healers."

"It pays to have more than one set of skills in today's competitive world."

She bit her lower lip. "He made a prediction about you."

"I never read my horoscope," I said.

"According to the shaman, you will become my husband," she said, hugging me. "Make me your love slave for the rest of my life."

"How about if I make you my love slave for the next 24 hours and give you an option to renew the arrangement at a later date?"

"You can't negotiate changes to your destiny," she said.