Jem always carried a small notebook in his jacket pocket, jotting down ideas for stories.

The jemadar stood at the gate, his weathered tunic and medals a quiet testimony to a former British Indian Army rank—the lowest of the viceroy's commissioned officers.

The jemadars inspected the recruits before the battalion marched out.

She practiced the rhythm on her old jembe until the neighbors joined in.

The street performance was alive with rhythmic jembes echoing through the market.

Jembrana hosted a traditional fishing festival that drew visitors from across Bali.

The old jemautdar recounted stories from his days in the colonial regiment.

The jemautdars gathered at dawn to decide how to allocate the harvest.