Salimah’s reputation as a dangdut queen lasted until at least the mid-nineties. That’s when things changed. More and more villagers proclaimed themselves pious. They gathered in the mosque and zealously denounced those addicted to dangdut or, more precisely, addicted to Salimah’s provocative gyrations. The loudest protests came from Haji Ahmad, a local authority. Previously, he’d seemed unperturbed by her presence. Even his wife regularly chatted with Salimah after Tarawih prayers during Ramadan. Now, Haji Ahmad said, ‘The provocative dancing of dangdut bringeth only evil. No good can come of it. Guard thyselves, O my fellow Muslims, from immorality, from liquor, and from accursed women.’

His condemnation grew. ‘And indeed, how great the distance between sight and sound. It is not dangdut that is sinful, but intoxicating women, who arouse lust. Such women are the root of fornication, of zina. The zina that we often fail to notice, O Muslim brothers and sisters, is the adultery of the eyes.’

Haji Ahmad believed dangdut as a musical form could be redeemed, as when the king of the genre, Rhoma Irama, preached through song. He still remembered when Rhoma, now a haji, visited the village. It was several years ago, before Suharto’s fall. The former president’s party, Golkar, was campaigning in the village. Although Haji Ahmad couldn’t forgive Rhoma for abandoning his struggle on behalf of an Islamic political party, the shrill singing of the lord of dangdut met with his firm approval:

‘Emancipation of women, do not oppose the will of God, this is calaaaaaamity…’

‘Amen.’

‘O ye women, keep thine honour!’

Now it wasn’t the wail of Rhoma that could be heard but the voice of Haji Ahmad reverberating through mosque loudspeakers: ‘For too long, the people’s morals have been allowed to go to ruin. Look at what our children watch on television. All manner of Western influence. All manner of unseemly nakedness. All manner of decadence. Let us engage in moral jihad!’

His rage reached its peak during the Independence Day celebrations. Nothing truly unprecedented transpired but the incident took place in broad daylight, when the sun made everything more shameful. A man clambered onto the stage to dance with Salimah. Although he only jerked his thumbs around while barely moving his hips, his eyes were unblinking, staring at Salimah’s shoulders and the motion of her hips as she shimmied.

Suddenly, a shout from the audience: ‘Hey! He’s got a hard-on!’

Others repeated the cry and some hooted. The audience was in a half-mocking, half-jealous uproar. At the song’s end, shouts thundered forth, accompanying the man’s descent from the stage. Salimah continued her singing but that afternoon everyone’s head carried a vivid set of pictures: Salimah’s curves, a lustful male gaze and a physical reaction witnessed by all.