The tray tipped at the Sekaten stall. Sekar caught the kotak just before the wajik could slide into the dust. Gamelan music clanged all around. Sekar blinked at the neat rows and said, “I have to share these fairly.”
Sekar opened the kotak wajik and counted for the first group. She cut half a tray, then added one fourth more with a small knife. Sweet palm-sugar smell drifted up. She lined the shiny pieces on banana leaves and whispered, “Half plus a quarter... that is three fourths.”
More people came up to the stall. Sekar took back one third of a box for the next plate, then she needed one sixth more to make the shares match. The cloths overhead flapped and snapped. She tapped the table, changed the thirds into sixths, and said, “Two sixths and one sixth make three sixths—that is one half.”
A sudden gust flipped the paper sign. Three wajik squares hopped off the tray and landed on a drummer’s cap with a sticky plop. “Oh!” said Sekar. Boom-boom went the drum under the laughing crowd. She scooped the pieces back and quickly figured out the missing fraction.
Sekar spread banana-leaf squares all across the stall. She moved the wajik piece by piece, adding one fourth and one half, then subtracting one third by turning them into twelfths. The lanterns glowed orange on the shiny sweets. Sekar grinned when the last tricky share fit exactly, with no crumbs left over.
Sekar handed out a fair kotak wajik to each person. The stall filled with munching, chatter, and the soft rustle of leaves opening. Gamelan notes rang through the evening air. Sekar stacked the empty boxes with a pleased little laugh as the festival sparkled on.
