Award winning and acclaimed Indonesian author Ahmad Tohari was born on June 13, 1948 in Tinggarjaya, a village near the city of Banyumas in Central Java. Born into a large farming family, Ahmad carried the countryside he loved in his heart wherever work took him during his younger years. He voiced this love in his writing, which mostly centers on village life and morality. His father, a devout Muslim, passed his own strong beliefs to Ahmad, who sees himself as a progressive religious intellectual. He supports Islamic beliefs and laws while living in harmony among Indonesia’s diverse ethnic cultures and traditions.

Ahmad Tohari is a prolific writer and the author of eleven novels, two short story collections, and many other literary accomplishments. He is the recipient of the South East Asian Writers Award and was awarded a fellowship to the International Writing Program of Iowa City, Iowa. He is also a respected journalist who makes regular contributions to Suara Merdeka, the well-known Central Java newspaper, and Tempo, the established Indonesian weekly.

Ahmad Tohari is best known as the author of the trilogy, Ronggeng Dukuh Paruk (The Dancing Girl of Paruk Village), published by Gramedia in 2011. The novels have been translated into Dutch, English, German, and Japanese, and producer Shanty Harmain adapted the novels into the film, The Dancer. Tohari is also held in high regard for his knowledge of Javanese art. He currently lives near Purwokerto, where he runs an Islamic school with his family and is consultant for the regional office of the Indonesian Ministry of Culture and Education. For a complete list of Ahmad Tohari’s published work, visit
www.ahmadtohari.com

Blokeng first appeared in the short story collection, Senyum Karyamin (PT Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2000), copyright © 2000 by Ahmad Tohari. Revised version copyright © 2013 by Ahmad Tohari. Published with permission of the publisher and author.
Translation copyright © 2013 by Elisabet Titik Murtisari.

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BLOKENG

Maka Blokeng pun melahirkan bayinya: perempuan. Lalu kampungku tiba-tiba jadi lain, terasa ada kemandekan yang mencekam. Kampung penuh kasak-kusuk, bisik-bisik, dan cas-cis-cus. Jelas ada keblingsatan, tetapi masih dalam bentuknya yang laten. Keblingsatan itu kini baru tampak menggejala sebagai merosotnya jumlah senyum sesama warga, berganti menjadi wajah-wajah kaku karena curiga. Saling curiga tentang siapa ayah bayi Blokeng.

Perihal perempuan hamil di luar nikah, sebenarnya tidak lagi menjadi persoalan yang mengesankan di kampungku. Sudah acap terjadi babu dari kampungku pulang mudik membawa buntingan anak majikan. Atau entah anak siapa. Ada anak perawan mendadak lenyap dari kampung dan pergi entah kemana untuk mencari tempat yang jauh agar kelahiran haram-jadahnya luput dari pengetahuan orang sekampung. Banyak lagi cerita seperti itu.

Tetapi tentang si Blokeng memang tak ada duanya. Kecuali dia adalah perempuan yang secara hayati sempurna__seperti baru saja terbukti__sama halnya dengan perempuan-perempuan lain. Selebihnya, siapa pun tak sudi diperbandingkan apalagi dimiripkan dengan Blokeng. Ini kepongahan kampungku yang dengan gemilang telah berhasil memelihara rasa congkak dengan cara mempermainkan nilai martabat kemanusiaan.

Jadi, ketika Blokeng bunting, lalu melahirkan bayi perempuan, kampung blingsatan. Perempuan-perempuan berdecap-decap sambil mengusap dada.

“Gusti Pangeran, bajul buntung mana yang telah menyerbu Blokeng?” Ya, perempuan. Mereka masing-masing punya suami yang tak bisa membebaskan diri dari kecurigaan yang telah menutup seisi kampung. Atau karena perempuan-perempuan itu sudah sama-sama merasakan perihnya melahirkan bayi. Perih, tak peduli bayi itu sudah lama diidamkan, lagi pula anak seorang suami yang sah. Bagaimana tentang si Blokeng yang melahirkan anak antah berantah?

Kaum lelaki kampungku cengar-cengir. Tanpa seorang pun terkecuali, mereka bergabung dalam paduan sas-sus. Tanpa kecuali, sebab mengasing diri sama artinya dengan mengundang perhatian khalayak dan pada gilirannya tanpa ampun lagi bakal tertimpa tuduhan menghamili Blokeng. Dan kampungku memang pongah. Tuduhan membuntingi Blokeng, di luar segala urusan hukum atau aturan lainnya, dianggap sebagai perilaku purba yang paling tidak bermartabat. Sebab Blokeng memang tak ada duanya dan setiap perempuan akan merasa demikian malu bila diperbandingkan dengan dia.

Dulu ketika Blokeng baru diketahui hamil empat bulan ada seorang hansip yang bertanya kepadanya, siapa ayah si jabang bayi.

“Mbuh,” jawab Blokeng acuh.

“Eh, katakana saja, demi kebaikanmu sendiri dan demi bayimu yang pasti memerlukan wali bila kawin kelak.”

“Mbuh, mbuh-mbuh-mbuh!”

“Eh, jangan alot seperti itu. Aku ini hansip, kamu tak boleh mungkir. Atau kudatangkan polisi kemari?”

Blokeng tak mengerti apa itu polisi. Tetapi dia mengerti orang-orang berseragam yang pernah menarik tangannya agar dia menyingkir dari onggokan sampah pasar karena bupati mau datang meninjau pasar. Seperti monyet melihat belacan. Takut dalam citra satwa. Itulah kesan perasaan yang tergambar dalam wajah Blokeng. Wajahnya menciut.

“Ular.”

“Ular? Yang membuntingimu ular? Baik, tapi katakan ular siapa?”

“Ular koros.”

“Aku tidak main-main!”

“Mbuh-mbuh-mbuh!”

Pak hansip mulai berang. Ternyata baju seragamnya tidak cukup ampuh sebagai alat penarik pengakuan Blokeng. Maka dicarinya tali. Pak hansip berpura-pura hendak membelenggu Blokeng.

“Aku tak boleh berkata apa-apa. Kalau mulutku bocor dia akan memukulku dengan ini.” Kata Blokeng sambil menggamit lampu senter pak hansip.

“Jadi ayah bayimu datang ke sarang ini membawa senter? Dia lelaki yang mempunyai senter?”

“Mbuh.”

Maka keesokan hari tersiar berita: ayah bayi Blokeng adalah seorang lelaki yang memiliki lampu senter. Kampungku yang pongah kemudian memperlihatkan gejala aneh. Lampu-lampu senter lenyap. Yang berjalan malam hari lebih suka memilih suluh untuk penerangan. Ronda malam dan hansip kena marah karena mereka menjaga kampung hanya dengan menggunakan korek api, bukan lampu baterai. Tetapi lampu senter terus menghilang dari kampungku yang pongah.

Sekali waktu ada sas-sus baru. Katanya, Blokeng memberikan keterangan lain tentang laki-laki yang membuntinginya. Dia adalah seorang laki-laki yang malam-malam merangkak ke dalam sarangnya dan memakai sandal jepit. Blokeng tidak tahu persis siapa dia karena sarang Blokeng yang terletak di atas tanah becek tak pernah berlampu. Tidak pernah. Dunia Blokeng adalah dunia sampah pasar, dunia tanah lembab, dan dunia yang tak mengenal lampu. Kampungku yang pongah berkelit dengan jurus yang lain lagi. Kini orang mencari bakiak dan bandol sebagai alas kaki. Sementara itu sandal jepit lenyap dengan serta merta.

Sampai Blokeng dengan selamat melahirkan bayinya dibidani nyamuk dan kecoa. Tapi bayinya tangguh seperti anak kerbau yang lahir di kubang lumpur. Bayi Blokeng adalah anak alam sendiri, meski alam becek penuh cacing. Kelahirannya ditandai oleh tingkah kampungku yang jadi blingsatan dengan kehebatan yang kian hari kian meningkat.

Adalah Lurah Hadining, lurah kampungku, kampung yang pongah. Sejak semula Lurah Hadining mengerti adanya kemandekan yang mencekam dan lalu meningkat menjadi keblingsatan kampung. Dalam perkembangan tertentu keblingsatan adalah keresahan warga. Lurah Hadining tidak punya tafsir lain atas keresahan ini kecuali sebagai seteru rancangan pembangunan. Tentu. Maka keblingsatan beserta anak cucunya harus dibedah, bila perlu dengan menggunakan sinar laser atau pancaran zarah.

Lurah Hadining tersenyum. Setelah sekian hari memikirkan cara buat melenyapkan keblingsatan warganya akibat kelahiran bayi Blokeng. Kini dia telah menemukannya. Semua laki-laki di kampungku disuruhnya kumpul. Tak ada yang mau mangkir karena ketidakhadiran berarti seorang diri menentang arus yang justru mengundang kecurigaan. Kampungku mengira Lurah Hadining hendak melotre siapa yang harus bertanggung jawab atas kelahiran bayi Blokeng.

Ternyata kampungku yang pongah salah duga. Lurah Hadining tidak memutar lotre. Dia berpidato lebar dan panjang. Katanya antara lain, “Blokeng bukan perawan Mariam. Dan bayinya bukan Yesus yang ketika lahir sudah mampu mengatasi keblingsatan semacam ini. Pokoknya Blokeng tidak seperti keluarga Mariam yang diberkati banyak hal surgawi. Blokeng hanya diberkati sampah pasar.”

Kemudian Lurah Hadining meminta kampungku menjadi saksi. Demi melenyapkan keblingsatan para warga maka dia menyatakan dengan sesungguhnya bahwa dialah yang bertanggung jawab atas kelahiran bayi Blokeng. Dia sudah membayar dukun bayi. Dia sudah menyiapkan lincak bamboo dan tikar pandan untuk mengangkat Blokeng bersama bayinya dari tanah yang lembab. Ibu lurah sudah siap dengan catu makanan sebelum Blokeng mampu berjalan kembali ke sampah pasar.

Sejenak kampungku terpana mendengar ucapan Lurah Hadining. Namun sesaat senyum legalah yang tampak di mana-mana. Lega. Kesaling-curiga sirna. Mereka berbondong-bondong berjalan mengikuti Lurah Hadining yang menuju sarang Blokeng. Ada yang memikul lincak, ada yang mengangkat gulungan tikar dan ada yang pulang dulu hendak mengambil pelita penuh minyak. Semua buat Blokeng. Semua ingin memperhatikan nasib orang yang paling tidak bermartabat di kampungku.

Gubuk Blokeng penuh dirubung orang. Suara langkah kaki di tanah becek. Suara anak terjatuh atau tergelincir lumpur atau tinja penghuni sarang itu. Lincak dipasang dalam satu-satunya ruangan dalam sarang Blokeng. Hampir penuh. Dan tikar digelar. Blokeng diminta bangkit dari tanah bersama bayinya. Dia naik ke tempat tidur tanpa sepatah kata, tanpa sedikitpun memperlihatkan rasa pada wajahnya. Blokeng hampir tak pernah berhubungan dengan siapa pun dalam bahasa yang memperlihatkan perasaan, apalagi bahasa lisan. Sekali lagi, Hadining meminta kampungku menjadi saksi bahwa bayi Blokeng adalah anaknya.

“Setidaknya ayah bayi ini pasti seorang lelaki. Nah, saya pun laki-laki, bagian yang sah dari kelelakian. Jadi, saya tidak bisa begitu saja dianggap mengada-ada dengan mengakui bayi Blokeng sebagai anakku.”

Lagi, kampungku memperlihatkan kelegaan yang demikian nyata. Namun kemudian kampungku terheran-heran. Mereka melihat di sana Blokeng termangu setelah mendengar kata-kata Lurah Hadining. Termangu dalam citra hewani. Lalu dalam gerakan sama sekali tidak bermartabat, tidak bertata krama, Blokeng melepaskan bayinya. Didekatinya Lurah Hadining. Dibukanya kopiah kepala kampung itu. Lurah Hadining yang terkesima membiarkan saja perilaku Blokeng.

“Tidak,” kata Blokeng sungguh tanpa tanda memperlihatkan perasaan, “yang datang kemari malam-malam tidak berkepala botak. Bukan orang ini.”

Kampungku tergagap, tak terkecuali lurahnya, sedetik setelah mendengar ucapan Blokeng. Lihatlah wajah-wajah mereka yang baur dan buram. Mereka menggaruk kepala masing-masing yang sama sekali tidak botak kecuali Lurah Hadining. Di bawah rambut lebat otak mereka mulai berpikir untuk berkelit menghindar dari kemungkinan tuduhan membuntingi Blokeng. Sungguh, keesokan hari kampungku sudah berubah gundul. Gundul di sini, gundul di sana, di mana-mana terlihat lelaki gundul. Dan keblingsatan tetap mencekam kampungku yang pongah.

Hanya Blokeng sendiri yang tidak ikut blingsatan. Dunianya yang tidak cukup akal membebaskannya dari dosa, dari keharusan mempunyai suami sah, dan dari kepongahan yang akan menelorkan keblingsatan dan kepura-puraan. Tetapi bukan berarti Blokeng sekali pun tidak bisa bertindak seperti perempuan kebanyakan. Suatu pagi Blokeng membawa bayinya ke depan pintu gubuk, dilelo-elo, ditimang-timang. “Cowet, anakku. Ayahmu itu mbuh. Tetapi jangan bersedih, yah. Lihatlah itu, orang-orang gundul. Lucu, ya?”

Seperti tahu kata-kata emaknya, Cowet yang masih bayi tertawa ngakak. “Hek-hek-hek. Hik-hik-hik.”

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Elisabet Titik Murtisari was born and raised in Salatiga, Central Java —a city she loves because of its multicultural community and Dutch history. She obtained her Masters in Translation Studies from the Australian National University (ANU) and PhD in the same field from Monash University, Australia. To pursue her passion for teaching and research, she returned to her hometown as a lecturer at Satya Wacana Christian University. Her academic interests include translation—especially literary works—culture, sociolinguistics, and pragmatics.

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BLOKENG

Blokeng gave birth to her baby—a girl—and suddenly our kampung, our village, was full of secrets, whispers, and gossip. It was clear something had disturbed the villagers even though they pretended nothing had happened. The hostility showed in taut faces, lack of smiles, and eyes filled with suspicion aimed at any man capable of fathering Blokeng’s child. We no longer considered pregnancy out of wedlock an exception. Many of the girls who work as maids away from home have returned carrying the child of their master or whoever impregnated them.

Once a young girl vanished from the kampung. Rumors said she had moved far away to give birth to an illegitimate baby and hide it from us. There were many other such stories.

But Blokeng’s story is different. She was biologically perfect—as had been proven by the baby’s birth—like the rest of the women in the kampung.

Apart from this, the women would have been insulted if they were compared with her. This was the arrogance of my people. In their arrogance, they proudly manipulated human dignity.

So when Blokeng became pregnant and gave birth, the whole kampung was in uproar. The women said, “Ck, ck, ck,” while rubbing their chests in exasperation and disbelief.

“My lord, what scoundrel attacked Blokeng?” They were all concerned since each had a husband, who, as a man, could not escape the suspicion clouding everyone’s mind. Or because they, too, had experienced the pain of childbirth—which was very painful no matter how much they desired it and conceived from a legal husband. But what about Blokeng, who gave birth to a child from nowhere?

The men in my kampung grimaced. Every one without exception joined the gossip sessions. None of them missed these, since isolating oneself attracted people’s attention and the man would be pitilessly accused of impregnating Blokeng. My kampung was indeed arrogant. Making Blokeng pregnant, apart from its legal and other consequences, was considered the most degrading primitive thing to do. Because no one was like her, any woman found it humiliating to be compared to her.

When people found out Blokeng was four months pregnant, a civil guard asked her whose child she carried.

“Mbuh, I don’t know,” she answered indifferently.

“Just tell us for your own good and for the sake of the baby, who needs a guardian to marry him or her when grown up.”

“Mbuh, mbuh-mbuh-mbuh! I don’t know and I don’t care!”

“Don’t be stubborn. I am a civil guard. You can’t evade my questions. Or should I ask the police to come here?”

Blokeng did not know what the police represented, but she understood they were people in uniform, some of whom had pulled her away from the market’s rubbish pile because the mayor was going to make an inspection. Hearing the word, she became frightened. Cringing, she looked like the monkey that saw a mongoose.

“Snakes.”

“A snake made you pregnant? All right, but tell me whose snake?”

“A rat snake.”

“I’m not kidding around.”

“Mbuh-mbuh-mbuh!”

The guard became annoyed. His uniform was not impressive enough to make Blokeng tell him who had fathered her child. He fetched a rope and pretended he was going to tie her up.

“I can’t tell you nothing. If I open me mouth, he’ll hit me with this,” Blokeng said, while touching the guard’s flashlight with the tip of her index finger.

“Did your baby’s father carry a flashlight? Is he a man who uses a flashlight?”

“Mbuh.”

The next morning the news spread. The father of Blokeng’s baby was a man with a flashlight. This rumor caused the upright villagers to stop using flashlights and those needing a light when they went out at night used a bamboo torch instead. Men who were scheduled for the kampung night patrols as well as civil guards got in trouble when they chose to use matches instead of flashlights. Yet battery-powered lights continued to disappear.

Sometime later another hearsay circulated. Blokeng supposedly had provided additional information about the man who impregnated her. The man who had crawled into her “nest” wore flip-flops. She could not identify him since her muddy dirt-floored hovel never had any lighting. Yes, never, because Blokeng’s world consisted of the market’s rubbish pile and a dank shack void of light.

My arrogant kampung again found a way to avoid being a suspect because of the rumor. Clogs and tire sandals became popular while factory-made flip-flops disappeared.

This continued until Blokeng delivered her child safely, with mosquitos and cockroaches standing by as midwives. The baby was as tough as a buffalo’s calf born in a mud pool. It was nature’s child, although nature in this case consisted of mud packed with soil worms. The birth made people increasingly uneasy.

The lurah, the head of our kampung, recognized the problem from the start. In its development, the crisis had made people restless. Lurah Hadining considered the upheaval a hindrance to the kampung’s development programs. He had to get rid of the unrest at all costs.

Lurah Hadining smiled. After pondering for several days on how to eliminate his people’s unrest, he found the solution. He ordered all the men to assemble. Everyone attended the gathering since being absent would make one a suspect. People thought the lurah was going to conduct a lottery to choose the one responsible for the birth of Blokeng’s baby.

They were wrong. The lurah did not conduct any lottery. Instead, he made a very long speech. He said among other things, “Blokeng isn’t the Virgin Mary, and her baby is not Jesus. Blokeng has not been divinely blessed like Mary and her family. Her life is only the market’s rubbish.”

Then Lurah Hadining asked the villagers to be his witness. He said that for the sake of ending the kampung’s turmoil he was taking responsibility for Blokeng’s baby. He would pay a nursemaid to take care of the baby, and also prepared a small bamboo cot with a mat of pandan leaves so Blokeng and her baby would not have to sleep on the ground. In addition, his wife promised to give Blokeng food until she could walk to the market again to scavenge.

For a moment, everyone was stunned at Lurah Hadining’s speech, but then smiles of relief appeared on the villagers’ faces. How comforting it was that their suspicion of each other was gone. Following their lurah, the villagers flocked to Blokeng’s place bearing gifts. Some carried the cot, others the mat, and some went home to get a lantern with its bowl full of oil. Everyone wanted to show their concern for the least fortunate person of our kampung.

The villagers crowded Blokeng’s hut. One could hear the suction of the soles from rubber sandals as people moved across the wet dirt floor. A child screamed when it slipped and fell in the mud, or was it feces? They placed the cot in the one-room shanty—it filled almost the entire space—and spread the mat. They asked Blokeng to get up from the dirt floor. She numbly obeyed and climbed with her baby on the cot, a blank expression on her face. Blokeng barely communicated with people, not even by facial expressions, let alone words. Once again, Lurah Hadining asked the villagers to witness his declaration as the father of Blokeng’s baby.

“This baby’s father is, without doubt, a man. I am a man and have proven myself to be a normal one. So I can’t be considered to have made things up to claim Blokeng’s baby as mine.”

Once again everyone was visibly relieved. Blokeng, who had quietly listened to the lurah’s speech, now looked at him like a cunning animal. Without saying a word, she left her baby, moved toward Lurah Hadining, and took off the kampung elder’s peci. Though shocked, he allowed her to take off his cap.

“Nope,” Blokeng said, without showing any emotion. “The man who came here that night wasn’t bald. It wasn’t him.”

All the men, including Lurah Hadining, were shocked at what she said. Soon their faces turned murky. They scratched their heads, which, except for the lurah’s, were not bald. Under their thick hair, their brains worked hard to get rid of any suspicion they might have fathered Blokeng’s baby.

The next morning, the men of my kampung had turned bald. Clean-shaven heads were seen everywhere, and restlessness spread through my kampung once again.

Blokeng was the only person who did not seem anxious. Her simple world had no room for sin; she had been set free from the obligation to have a legal husband, the arrogance that produced restlessness, and hypocrisy. But this did not mean she could not act like a normal woman.

One morning, Blokeng took her baby to the front of her hut. “Cowet, me baby,” she crooned, rocking the baby. “Me don’t know your father, but please don’t be sad. Look at all the balloon-like heads. Don’t they look funny?”

The baby, as if having understood what her mother said, roared with laughter, “Ha ha ha. He he he.”
 

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