Introduction to 2025 series of short stories.

Impian Sulastri

Gregorius Budi Subanar teaches the Doctoral Program in Cultural Studies at the Sanata Dharma University in Yogyakarta. Subanar writes fiction as well as nonfiction.

The following are some of his works:

Kinro Hoshi Pendewasaan Gereja Katolik di Indonesia Masa Pendudukan Jepang 1942-1945. (Penerbit Kanisius, 2024). Kisah-kisah Santa Theresia Kanak-kanak Yesus, (Penerbit Abhiseka Dipantara, 2022). Serat saking Rome: Dari Natal ke Natal (Penerbit Universitas Sanata Dharma, 2019). Mata air Air mata Kota (Penerbit Abhiseka Dipantara, 2019). Soegija A Child of Bethlehem van Java (Penerbit Universitas Sanata Dharma, 2015). Hilangnya Halaman Rumahku (Penerbit Universitas Sanata Dharma, 2013). Kilasan Kisah Soegijapranata (Penerbit KPG Kepustakaan Populer Gramedia, 2012). Soegija. Catatan Harian Seorang Pejuang Kemanusiaan (Penerbit Galang Press, 2012). This work was then filmed by Studio Audio Visual PUSKAT with Garin Nugroho as the director.

He can be reached at: gbsbanar@usd.ac.id

****

Impian Sulastri

Sulastri dibujuk ibunya untuk tetap tinggal di rumah yang ada di desa Sayangan, di pinggiran kota Wates, Kulon Progo. Padahal, bersama teman-teman sekolahnya, dia sudah berencana untuk berangkat ke Yogya. Setelah lulus Sekolah Rakyat, dia mau mendaftar di Sekolah Guru Pertama seperti Sugito. Kakak laki-lakinya itu sudah lima tahun tinggal di kota Yogya.

Impian menjadi guru sangat lekat dalam benak Sulastri. Rencana hidupnya memang dipengaruhi cerita Sugito, yang sudah di bangku kelas satu Sekolah Guru Atas. Setiap kali pulang ke desa, Sugito membawa kisah baru. “Asramaku itu dekat sekolah. Jalan kaki sepuluh menit. Teman-temanku datang dari berbagai daerah di Jawa Tengah, Jawa Barat, dan Jawa Timur. Yang dari luar Jawa juga ada beberapa orang. Tetapi penampilannya hampir mirip – serba sederhana. Pakaiannya seragam, baju putih dimasukkan ke celana pendek berikat pinggang yang juga putih. Bersepatu dengan kaos kaki. Tidak seperti kamu dan teman-temanmu di desa. yang bersekolah tidak pakai sepatu.”

Sulastri mendengarkan cerita kakaknya dengan penuh kekaguman. Hatinya tergerak untuk menjadi seperti murid-murid yang diceritakan kakaknya. Tetapi keinginan itu tidak diungkapkannya.

Sugito masih menambahkan cerita tentang sekolahnya. Tentang suasana kelas saat belajar, dan tentang kegiatan kerja bakti di luar kelas. Berulang kali hal-hal mengenai sekolah itu diceritakannya.

Ada dorongan lain yang ikut memupuk keinginan Sulastri. Dorongan dari seorang ibu guru kenes sekaligus keras. Seorang guru, Bu Lestari namanya, mewarnai hari-hari Sulastri selama di Sekolah Rakyat. Kehadiran Bu guru itu sangat membekas pada ingatan Sulastri. Saat mengajar, suaranya keras – sungguh berbeda dengan saat mengobrol. Berbagai mata pelajaran diajarkannya sendiri – dari hitung-menghitung yang menggunakan angka, ilmu hayat yang memperkenalkan makhluk hidup, dan ilmu bumi yang memperkenalkan peta tempat-tempat di Nusantara beserta kehidupan penduduknya. Betapa banyak pengetahuan yang dikuasainya, begitu batin Sulastri. Setiap kali dia berhadapan dengan gurunya, ada perasaan takut sekaligus kagum. Rasa kagum dan hormat itulah yang membuat Sulastri menggebu untuk mendaftarkan diri di sekolah guru di kota.

“Kamu di sini saja ya, tidak perlu ke kota. Tak perlu mendaftar masuk sekolah guru,” kata ibu Sulastri yang duduk di kursi panjang. Tangan kanannya berusaha meraih tangan Sulastri untuk diajak duduk di sebelahnya.

Sulastri menarik tangannya mengelak. Dia diam, agak membuang muka, setengah ngambek. Perkataan ibunya diabaikan.

Tanggapan Sulastri itu tidak menyurutkan ibunya untuk membujuknya. Ibunya berdiri lalu merangkul pundak anaknya, “Cukup dua kakakmu. Kanda dan yundamu sudah ada di sana. Nanti aku bakal sendiri di sini. Tak ada anak yang bisa membantuku mendampingi adikmu yang sangat nakal itu.”

“Tapi ini demi masa depanku, Bu. Pokoknya aku harus sekolah guru di Yogya.” Lastri melangkah pergi meninggalkan ibunya untuk menghindar dari bujuk rayunya.

***

Setelah kedatangan Jepang pada tahun 1942, guru-guru pribumi mengambil alih peran para guru Belanda yang selama zaman penjajahan Belanda menjadi atasannya. Guru pribumi sekarang menjadi orang-orang kepercayaan opsir Jepang untuk melaksanakan pengajaran anak pribumi, baik di kota sampai di pelosok, baik di kelas sekolah rakyat sampai sekolah menengah atas. Guru-guru pribumi pengganti guru-guru Belanda itu juga mengajar di sekolah calon guru atau sekolah kepandaian putri.

Hampir semua guru harus mengikuti Nippongogakko, pengajaran bahasa Jepang, yang diselenggarakan di berbagai tempat. Pengajarnya juga orang-orang pribumi yang telah menjalani pendidikan khusus. Untuk mengikuti dan menyelesaikan kursus bahasa Jepang, ada tahap-tahap yang harus ditempuh. Seseorang akan mulai kursusnya pada penempatan gyoku, tingkat lima, tingkatan yang paling rendah. Demikian seterusnya, sampai seseorang mencapai tingkat nikyu, tingkat dua. Ini merupakan tingkatan yang tertinggituk pribumi, tingkatan yang memungkinkan seseorang untuk bisa menjadi guru pengajar bahasa Jepang. Selain itu pejabat pengurus sekolah harus mengikuti pelajaran lainnya – pelajaran yang berisi ihwal kesetiaan. Dengan demikian, tokoh-tokoh pribumi yang diberi kepercayaan untuk mengajar tetap terikat dan patuh pada Jepang sebagai penguasa baru.

Meski keadaan berubah-ubah, pada awal pendudukan Jepang di Indonesia, kedua kakak Sulastri tetap bisa sekolah. Tempat-tempat pendidikan yang ada masih diminati oleh anak-anak pribumi. Setelah penjajah Belanda digantikan oleh penjajah Jepang, cita-cita para murid – menjadi guru yang mandiri atau menjadi orang yang terampil – tetap berkobar. Apalagi ada gerakan yang disebut Jepang Saudara Tua Asia sebagaimana terwujud dalam Gerakan Tiga A, Cahaya Asia – Pelindung Asia – Pemimpin Asia

***

Akhirnya, ibu Sulastri menyerah.

Sudah dua minggu Sulastri berada di asrama. Namun, dia belum bisa tidur nyenyak. Ada delapan anak perempuan dalam satu kamar dengan empat tempat tidur susun berderet-deret.

Berhubung kamarnya tidak terlalu besar, tempat tidurnya disusun berdekatan. Bisa dibayangkan penghuni kamar akan saling bercerita. Kamar pun tidak sepi dari bisik-bisik cerita dan keluhan penghuninya. Mereka tidak bisa tidur pulas karena alas tidur bukannya kasur tebal tetapi tikar tipis. Dengan begitu dara-dara belia itu tidak surut mengobral kisah.

Di asrama, Sulastri merasa kehilangan suasana rumah dan desanya. Dia mendapat teman sekamar bernama Ivon yang datang dari Sulawesi Utara, tepatnya Menado, Minahasa. Sulastri merasa senasib dengan teman sekamarnya. Bedanya, Sulastri tinggal di asrama atas kemauannya sendiri, sementara Ivon diajak oleh pamannya yang mengungsi dari tanah kelahirannya. Sebagai seorang serdadu Belanda, paman Ivon dianggap sebagai kaki tangan Belanda sehingga dia terpaksa melarikan diri dari tempat asalnya. Di dalam kamar tidur, kedua gadis remaja itu mengobrol sampai larut malam.

“Sstt, harap diam. Sudah malam; tidak boleh ada suara obrolan. Atau, besok kamu kena hukuman,” tegur ibu pamong asrama yang tengah berkeliling bertugas.

Setelah kata-kata ancaman itu, tak ada lagi suara yang terdengar, suasana berubah menjadi sunyi.

***

Kepengurusan asrama baru disusun setelah masa perkenalan selesai. Setidaknya hal itu, memperkenalkan warga penghuni asrama pada keadaan sekeliling dan sesama warga, butuh waktu sebulan. Warga asrama pun lalu mulai saling mengenal satu sama lainnya, dan selanjutnya bergaul lebih akrab. Meski terpisah dari keluarga, murid-murid baru tidak merasa kesepian, teman baru mereka dapat memberi rasa aman.

Beberapa jenis kepengurusan ditawarkan. Kepengurusan ini terdiri dari petugas-petugas, yaitu petugas yang mengurusi ruang makan dan dapur, ruang cuci dan kamar mandi, kamar tidur dan gang, kebun dan halaman, dan aula belajar dan perpustakaan. Pembagian tugas untuk warga asrama itu untuk melatih ketertiban hidup dan pelayanan pada sesama. Anak-anak baru, istilah untuk menyebut warga baru asrama, sudah langsung dilibatkan. Inilah tahap khusus yang harus dilewati oleh semua anak-anak asrama.

Sulastri memilih jadi petugas kamar makan dan dapur. Satu pilihan yang semata-mata digagas oleh ingatan pada kakak perempuannya. Setiap kerja di dapur, Sumiwi – yang tahu Sulastri tidak suka memasak – mengajak adiknya untuk membantu. “Sini, Lastri, kamu bantu aku untuk masak – sambil kuajari memasak dengan resep-resep masakan, tidak asal memasak.”

“Nggak mau Mbak, aku masih nemani Adi.” Sulastri berdalih menemani adik satu-satunya. Dengan cara itu, Sulastri terbebas dari tugas di dapur.

Sumiwi yang lebih pendiam ketimbang Sulastri, tidak mampu memikat hati Sulastri adiknya yang lebih suka berkegiatan di luar.

Setelah mengalami hidup di asrama, cara berpikir Sulastri berubah. Dia sebelumnya tidak mengira bahwa dapur dan kamar makan ternyata menjadi pusatnya kehidupan. Pengalaman yang meyakinkannya mengenai betapa pentingnya dapur itu justru sangat terasa saat seluruh penghuni asrama berada di bawah ancaman perang yang berkobar saat itu.

Sulastri terkenang Sumiwi, kakak sulungnya. Sumiwi sangat berbeda dengan kakak laki-lakinya. Sumiwi tak banyak bercerita tetapi banyak bertindak. Setiap pulang ke desa, Sumiwi mengajari ibunya untuk menyulam dengan benang wol. Ini merupakan ketrampilan baru yang diajarkan Sumiwi. Biasanya, kaum perempuan di desa kegiatan sehari-harinya menganyam bilah-bilah bambu atau membuat tali dari sabut kelapa. Kalau tidak mengajari menyulam, Sumiwi akan ikut kerja di dapur, memasak bersama seorang pembantu di rumah mereka. Dengan menyediakan makanan untuk keluarga dia merasa telah ikut “menopang” hidup keluarganya.

***

“Siapa kemarin yang meninggalkan handuk tidak bernomor di tali jemuran?” Bu Atmini, ibu asrama mengacung-acungkan sehelai handuk di tangannya.

Anak-anak asrama baru selesai makan siang. Mereka, yang masih duduk melingkari meja makan, langsung diam menundukkan kepala, saling melirik satu sama lain.

Akhirnya, setelah kediaman yang berlangsung lebih dari semenit, satu anak yang duduk di dekat Sulastri berdiri, mengaku, dan perlahan menghampiri Bu Atmini untuk memohon maaf.

Dengan suara lantang membahana, Bu Atmini memberi peringatan, “Harap diingat-ingat, semua barang pribadi dari ember, handuk, pakaian sampai pakaian dalam, semua harus diberi sulaman nomer sesuai nomor urut kalian masing-masing. Mengerti?”

“Mengerti, Bu,” jawab mereka hampir serentak.

“Jangan sampai terulang lagi. Siapa yang masih melakukan kesalahan semacam ini, akan mendapatkan hukuman. Para petugas kamar mandi dan ruang cuci harus ikut bertanggung jawab menjaga ketertiban.” Setelah menyampaikan peringatan itu, Bu Atmini membalikkan badan dan melangkah cepat meninggalkan ruang makan.

“Hati-hati dengan kata-kata Bu Atmini,” kata seorang kakak kelas Sulastri yang ada di ruang itu. “Dia akan menghukum kalian sesuai dengan peringatannya.” Semua anak asrama menutup mulut mendengarkan. “Kita ini seasrama banyak jumlahnya. Bisa kacau kalau barang-barang kita tertukar gara-gara tidak diberi nomer.”

“Maaf, Mbak. Saya belum terbiasa untuk memberi tanda,” kata anak yang tadi maju ke depan ibu asrama.

“Ya, sudah. Nanti langsung disulam angka yang menunjukkan nomor urutmu. Kalau tidak, kamu bisa dihukum. Termasuk para petugas yang seharusnya mengawasi bakal ikut terkena hukuman,” katanya mengingatkan.

“Ya, Mbak,” jawab anak itu takut-takut.

Inilah tahap penegakan tata tertib dan aturan asrama. Dengan begitu warga asrama diharapkan bisa mengatur diri sendiri. Tidak jarang, anak asrama sebelumnya tidak mengenal WC dan kamar mandi tertutup. Di desa, alamnya serba bersahabat. Urusan mandi dan keperluan lainnya semua dilakukan di sekitar sungai. Berbeda dari kehidupan di desa, di asrama yang serba tertutup, sebagian besar acaranya – mandi, makan, belajar di ruang kelas, dan seterusnya — dilakukan bersama dan dengan jadwal teratur.

***

“Ayo, Ivon, sekarang giliranmu menghabiskan jagung itu,” kata Mbak Margi, murid paling tua dan dituakan di meja makan itu.

“Ya, Kak.” Ivon terlihat agak bergegas mengunyahnya.

Ada delapan orang di satu meja, mereka makan saling berhadapan. Hanya piring Ivon yang masih berisi butiran jagung. Piring yang lain sudah rapi ditumpuk dipinggir. Semula, semua piring berisi butiran jagung antara satu atau dua sendok makan. Lalu mereka bersepakat, tiap pagi semua jagung ditampung dalam satu piring. Dengan demikian, setiap orang mendapat giliran sarapan jagung seminggu sekali.

Sulastri yang duduk berhadapan dengan Ivon sebenarnya merasa gemas terhadapnya. Berkali-kali Sulastri melirik pada sahabat barunya itu tanpa berbicara sepatah kata pun. Dari cara menyendok dan mengunyahnya terlihat Ivon tidak terbiasa makan jagung. Bahkan mungkin Ivon tidak pernah makan jagung. Berbeda dengan dirinya yang setiap kali ikut memipili jagung yang disimpan setelah panen. Jagung adalah bagian dari kehidupan Sulastri. Sebagai lurah desa, bapaknya tidak mendapat gaji dari pemerintah. Sebagai gantinya, lurah mendapat jatah hak pengolahan tanah baik sawah padi maupun kebun yang ditanami jagung. Ada tanah bengkok milik desa yang digunakan untuk menopang penghidupan pejabat pemerintahan tanpa gaji seperti itu.

Hidup Sulastri ditopang oleh jagung. Sulastri bisa memperkirakan berapa butir isi tiap tongkol jagung. Dia memipili sambil diajari menghitung butir-butir jagung oleh pembantu rumah tangga keluarganya. Satu tongkol melingkar ada antara sepuluh sampai lima belas butir, sedangkan memanjang antara dua puluh lima sampai tiga puluh butir. Di desanya, Sulastri tidak pernah kekurangan makan. Namun di asrama ini, sungguh berbeda keadaannya.

***

Setiap kali Sulastri bertugas membereskan piring, membawanya dari ruang makan dan mencucinya bersama kelompoknya, dia mencuri waktu untuk dapat bercakap-cakap dengan juru masak asrama. “Mbok, kalau masak jagung biasanya berapa takarannya?” Sulastri bertanya sambil membilas piring yang baru disabuninya.

“Hush, Nak, jangan tanya-tanya. Nanti dimarahi ibu asrama,” kata juru masak. Rupanya dia khawatir ketahuan memberikan keterangan mengenai pengeluaran dapur.

“Saya di sini sedang bertugas membersihkan dan mencuci piring. Jadi tidak menyalahi aturan,” jawab Sulastri. “Berapa panci, Mbok, takarannya?” Tanyanya lagi.

“Pokoknya irit, tidak boleh ada makanan yang dibuang. Harga makanan serba mahal,” jawab juru masak.

“Mana ada sisa makanan? Pembagiannya sedikit sekali.”

“Ya, memang. Persediaan bahan makan sangat sedikit. Itu ada beberapa karung di gudang persediaan. Kita harus serba mengirit. Jaman susah, Nak.” Katanya menghindar.

“Di desa, saya sering membantu ibu saya memipili jagung. Kami tidak kekurangan makan, Mbok.” Sulastri mencoba berbasa-basi untuk tetap dapat bercakap-cakap.

“Di sini orangnya banyak, Nak. Kalian harus prihatin. Di rumah saya, keluarga juga hidup prihatin. Kalau tidak irit nanti tidak akan cukup buat makan sebulan.”

“Saya kuatir nanti anak-anak asrama kekurangan gizi, Mbok,” keluh Sulastri.

“Iya, memang Nak. Tapi, ibu asrama bilang itu sudah cukup. Anak-anak asrama tidak akan sakit. Jadi saya percaya dan ikut perintahnya.”

“Ya, Mbok. Moga-moga saya dan teman-teman tetap sehat. Terima kasih, Mbok.” Sulastri menyudahi percakapannya. “Sehat ya, Mbok.” Sulastri menyalami juru masak.

“Ya, Nak. Kamu juga sehat.”

Setelah menyelesaikan tugas dapur, Sulastri mendatangi Ivon. Dia menanyai sahabatnya mengapa tidak menghabiskan sarapan jagungnya.

“Maaf, saya tidak terbiasa makan jagung. Di Minahasa tempat asal saya, kami terbiasa dengan bubur ketela. Ketela rebus yang dilunakkan lalu dicampur sayur. Terasa lunak, dan segar. Apalagi dimakan saat masih hangat,” kata Ivon pelan.

“Kamu bisa memberikan kepada teman kita yang lain. Jangan begitu caranya. Kamu menyia-nyiakan pemberian,” kata Sulastri mengingatkan.

“Aku tidak bermaksud menyia-nyiakan,” kata Ivon membela diri dengan suara tinggi.

Sulastri tampak menghela napas.

“Maafkan aku,” Ivon menyadari adanya nada kejengkelan pada suaranya.

Mereka lalu berangkulan erat.

***

Hari itu ada kegiatan kinro hoshi. Hampir setiap minggu, anak-anak diarahkan untuk kerja bakti di tempat-tempat umum. Kali ini mereka membersihkan lapangan rumput. Mereka ditugaskan untuk mencabuti rumput dan semak-belukar sambil melangkah membungkuk mundur.

Pagi-pagi di sela-sela jam belajar di kelas, Bapak dan Ibu Guru mengumpulkan murid-murid di pinggir lapangan. Lapangan itu cukup jauh letaknya dari sekolah dan asrama. Matahari mulai bersinar membakar kulit. Tidak ada pohon peneduh di sekitar lapangan. Hampir semua tanaman hanyalah rumput dan semak-belukar.

Dengan diawasi beberapa tentara Jepang, para guru mengatur anak-anak berdiri berderet-deret. Setiap anak ditempatkan berjajar dengan jarak sekitar dua sampai tiga meter, sepanjang rentangan tangan.

Saat semua sudah siap, peluit ditiup oleh seorang guru yang bertugas memberi aba-aba. Anak-anak mulai bekerja mencabuti rumput dan semak belukar secara mundur dengan alat seadanya. Tidak ada yang bersenda gurau. Semua bekerja teratur. Ini pelajaran istimewa. Bekerja tertata rapi walau dilakukan secara bersama-sama.

Murid-murid bekerja seperti halnya petani yang menanam padi di sawah, melangkah mundur. Konon, para pengawas Jepang yang pertama memperkenalkan cara kerja di sawah semacam itu – menanam padi secara larikan. Kalau geraknya maju, tentu akan menginjak-injak hasil kerjanya. Cara menanam mundur juga membantu penanam memusatkan perhatian, membatasi wilayah kerjanya, dan menghindarkan mereka untuk mengobrol. Kalau hasil pekerjaan penanam terlihat melenceng, meski cuma sedikit, semua bibit padi yang sudah ditanam akan dicabuti oleh pengawas yang ditugasi mengawasi tanpa pandang bulu. Lalu, penanam itu harus mengulang menanam dari awal.

Dalam pelajaran di kelas, secara sembunyi-sembunyi, para guru menyampaikan pesan khusus kepada murid-murid. Mereka menyiasati adanya pengawasan Sido-in, Pengawas Jepang Pengajaran Kota yang terkenal kekejamannya. Beberapa kali, Ibu Guru menghela nafas kemudian menjelaskan, “Memang keadaan sekarang ini darurat. Muatan pelajaran di kelas tidak banyak dibandingkan tahun-tahun sebelumnya. Pemerintah Jepang senang memanfaatkan tenaga murid untuk bekerja. Coba, kalian menemukan pelajaran apa yang ada di lapangan. Tidak diajarkan guru, tidak dengan buku bacaan.” Agaknya guru itu dilanda keraguan untuk berterus terang. “Tapi kalian mengamati lapangan. Mengamati antar teman. Kalian berbuat, kalian bertindak,” kembali Ibu Guru menghela nafas sebelum melanjutkan, “Kalian harus tetap berpikir. Jangan mau menjadi buruh tani. Kalian tidak akan dibayar. Kalian adalah murid, calon guru. Walau kerja dengan otot, tapi kalian tetap harus berpikir dengan otak.” Kata-kata Bu Guru itu terngiang di ingatan Sulastri.

***

Tahun 1950, Sulastri lulus Sekolah Guru Atas dan ditempatkan mengajar di sebuah Sekolah Rakyat di kota Solo.

Sulastri merasakan beberapa perbedaan mendasar antara dulu sebagai murid dan sekarang menjadi guru. Dia pernah dididik sebagai murid sekolah rakyat yang masih diawasi oleh pendidik-pendidik Belanda. Kemudian, menjadi murid sekolah calon guru diawasi kaki tangan Jepang. Sekarang, saat menjadi guru, Sulastri tidak lagi diawasi oleh Belanda atau Jepang. Dia menjadi seorang guru muda yang mengabdikan dirinya pada pendidikan anak-anak bangsa sendiri yang telah merdeka.

Setahun kemudian, Sulastri menikah dengan seorang guru sekolah rakyat yang bertugas di kota Semarang. Mereka sama-sama lulusan Sekolah Guru. Sulastri pun lalu mengikuti suami di tempat tinggalnya. Keduanya sama-sama mengajar di Semarang. Seolah didorong semangat muda, mereka mampu membagi waktu, sehingga di sela pekerjaannya, mereka terus belajar meningkatkan jenjang pendidikannya. Bersama suaminya, Sulastri bisa meraih gelar sarjana pendidikan. Sang suami menjadi guru bagi anak-anak Sekolah Menengah Atas. Sulastri memilih menjadi guru di sekolah guru setempat.

***

Puluhan tahun telah berlalu. Tahun 1990, Sulastri telah menyelesaikan tugasnya sebagai guru. Empat puluh tahun lamanya dia dan suaminya mengabdikan diri sebagai guru. Suatu masa pengabdian yang sangat panjang.

Mereka dikaruniai dua putra dan dua putri. Pada masa tuanya, mereka kembali hidup di Yogya. Anak-anaknya sebagian besar sudah menikah dan telah menyebar ke sejumlah kota di Jawa dan Sumatra. Mereka telah memberikan beberapa cucu.

Kebetulan istri anak bungsunya baru saja melahirkan. Sulastri, setelah meminta izin suaminya, pergi untuk menemani anak dan menantunya, sekaligus mendampingi cucunya, di Jakarta. Tugas seorang ibu bagi anaknya dan nenek bagi cucunya ini menjadi penyubur bagi kesehatan jiwanya. Hiburan pada masa tuanya.

***

Masih mengenakan daster pada pagi hari, Nenek Sulastri melayani cucunya yang minta dimasakkan popcorn dari bahan siap saji. Menantu perempuannya masih di rumah sakit sesudah melahirkan anaknya yang ketiga. Susah mendapatkan pembantu rumah tangga. Makanya Sulastri menjadi Uti, eyang putri yang menggantikan peran ibu.

“Uti, itu bungkusnya dimasukkan ke microwave. Ditunggu dua menit.”

“Ya, sebentar, Nenek akan masukkan,” kata Nenek Sulastri mengikuti petunjuk cucunya.

“Setelah bunyi kling, selesai,” cucunya memberi petunjuk lagi.

“Sekarang dikocok-kocok isinya; lalu dimasukkan lagi supaya bisa menjadi popcorn.”

“Ya,” katanya lagi mengikuti panduan cucunya.

Setelah microwave berbunyi, si cucu berteriak, “Uti! Uti! Popcorn sudah jadi. Sekarang Uti ikut makan popcorn.”

Uti Sulastri menuangkan popcorn yang masih hangat ke dalam mangkok. Pandangan matanya tertegun dan berkaca-kaca memandangi biji-biji jagung yang merekah putih menjadi popcorn. Butiran popcorn di tangannya itu membawanya pada kenangan semasa remaja yang pernah dialaminya dulu, terutama saat bersitegang dengan Ivon sahabatnya di ruang asrama gara-gara butiran-butiran jagung yang disia-siakan.

“Ayo, Uti, ini dicicipi popcornnya,” kata cucunya sambil tangannya menarik-narik tangan utinya.

“Ya, Uti ikut makan.” Tangan Uti Sulastri mengusap kepala cucunya yang menikmati popcorn yang masih hangat itu. Dia merasa lega cucunya tidak melihat butiran airmata yang tidak kuasa dibendungnya.

*****

Sulastri’s Dream

Purwanti Kusumaningtyas teaches at the English Literature Bachelor’s Program, Faculty of Language and Arts, Satya Wacana Christian University in Salatiga, Central Java. She earned her master’s and doctorate degrees from the American Studies Graduate Program, Faculty of Cultural Science, Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta. She has a wide range of interests, including mountain climbing and hiking, as well as poetry and short-story writing.

She has published her poems and short stories in anthologies, among others, “Furtive Notions” (DeePublish 2022) and “They Are Here” (DeePublish 2023). Some of her poems have been musicalized and performed in various non-profit, humanistic events, including LETSS Talk, a prominent feminist initiative in Indonesia, and Festival Musik Rumah (FMR). She has worked with Dalang Publishing since 2013, after discovering that she and the publisher share a passion to preserve and introduce Indonesia’s diversity to the world.

Purwanti can be reached at: purwanti.kusumaningtyas@uksw.edu

****

Sulastri’s Dream

Sulastri’s mother tried to persuade her daughter to stay in Sayangan, their home village in Java, on the outskirts of Wates, Kulon Progo. But Sulastri’s plan after graduating from elementary school was to enroll in the First Teacher Training School in Yogya, like her brother Sugito. He had been living in Yogya for five years.

Sulastri dreamed of becoming a teacher. Sugito, already in his first year at the Advanced Teacher Training School, strongly influenced her with his stories. Every time he returned to visit their village, he brought new stories.

“My dorm is a 10-minute walk from school,” he bragged. “My friends come from all over — Central Java, West Java, East Java, and outside Java! But we all look the same because we wear simple uniforms — white shirts tucked into white shorts with white belts. Unlike you and your friends here who go to school without shoes, we wear shoes and socks.

Sulastri listened to her brother’s stories with admiration. She wanted to be a student like her brother described, but she didn’t voice this desire to him.

Sugito continued telling stories about his school — about the classroom atmosphere during lessons and the community service projects that the students performed outside the classroom. He recounted these details over and over again.

There was another figure that nurtured Sulastri’s aspirations. Mrs. Lestari, a strict yet charming teacher, shaped Sulastri’s days during her time at the elementary school. She impressed Sulastri by how much she knew. She spoke forcefully — a stark contrast to the way she spoke when chatting. She taught various subjects in addition to arithmetic. In biology, Mrs. Lestari introduced living organisms; in geography, she produced maps of places across the archipelago, along with tales about the lives of their inhabitants. She faced her teacher with both fear and admiration. It’s amazing how knowledgeable she is, Sulastri thought. This also made Sulastri eager to enroll in the teacher’s college at Yogya.

But Sulastri’s mother, sitting with her on a bench, reached for Sulastri’s hand, pulled her close, and said, “You don’t need to go to the city to enroll in teacher’s college.”

Sulastri pulled her hand back and, pouting, ignored her mother.

Undeterred, Sulastri’s mother rose and put her arm around Sulastri’s shoulders. “It’s enough that your older brother and sister are already there. If you leave, I’ll be left alone here with no one to help me look after your very naughty younger siblings.”

“But this is for my future, Mother,” Sastri had said while walking away. “I must go to the teacher’s college in Yogya.”

***

During Indonesia’s Dutch colonial era, Dutch teachers were regarded — and treated — as superior to the local “common” ones. But after the Japanese ousted the Dutch, in 1942, local teachers became elevated in stature and held in higher regard. They became the trusted agents of Japanese officers to educate Indonesia’s indigenous children in the “Japanese way.” Suddenly, the local teachers took over teaching jobs across the islands — in the cities as well as in the remote areas. They taught every level of education, from elementary to high schools, as well as at the teacher’s college and girls’ vocational schools.

All teachers had to attend Nipongogakko, a Japanese language training program, whose instructors were also locals, but with specialized training. To become a Japanese language teacher, students began at the level five gyoku, the lowest level, and continued until they reached level two nikyu, the highest level. In addition, school administrators had to take lessons in Japanese loyalty. Thus, the locals entrusted with teaching would remain bound and obedient to Japan as their new ruler.

Despite the chaotic circumstances at the beginning of Japan’s occupation of Indonesia, Sulastri’s two older siblings were still able to attend the teaching school. The existing educational institutions remained popular among local children, and students remained strongly aspired to become independent teachers or skilled professionals. Moreover, there was a movement known as “Japan, the Elder Brother of Asia,” embodied in the Three A Movement: Light of Asia – Protector of Asia – Leader of Asia.

***

Finally, Sulastri’s mother gave in.

Now, Sulastri had been at the dormitory for two weeks. Still, she wasn’t sleeping well, with eight girls crowded into one small room that held two rows of four bunk beds squeezed together. The room was never quiet, filled with the girls’ chattings and whispers of stories and complaints. The young women never stopped talking. Furthermore, the bedding was not a thick mattress but a thin mat.

Sulastri missed her home and village. She had a roommate named Ivon, who came from Manado in the Minahasa district of North Sulawesi. Sulastri shared her background with Ivon. The difference between the two was that Sulastri lived in the dormitory by choice, while Ivon had been dropped there by her uncle, who, as a Dutch soldier, was considered a Dutch collaborator and had been forced to flee.

In their bedroom, the two teenage girls chatted until late into the night. “Shh!” the dorm supervisor scolded them as she was making her rounds. “Please be quiet or you’ll be punished tomorrow! It’s late! No more talking!”

After hearing those words, the room went silent.

***

The dormitory officers would be established after the new-student orientation period. It would take about a month to introduce the first-year residents to their surroundings and fellow undergraduates. As they came to know one another better, they all became closer, and despite being away from their families, the newcomers didn’t feel lonely because their new friends gave them a sense of comfort.

Each student chose from a list of responsibilities — such as maintaining the kitchen and dining hall, laundry room, bathroom, bedrooms, hallways, the garden and grounds, the study hall, and the library. The job divisions among dorm residents were intended as a training in discipline and kindle the spirit of serving others. It also encouraged the newcomers to mingle with each other, as participation was mandatory.

Sulastri chose to be the dining hall and kitchen attendant simply because of memories from home. Sulastri’s older sister, Sumiwi, knew that Sulastri didn’t like to cook. Still, each time she came home from school, she asked her younger sister to help her with work in the kitchen. “Come here, Lastri,” she would say. “Help me. I’ll teach you how to cook using a recipe.” But Sumiwi could never engage her younger sister, who loved outdoor activities better than domestic work. Sulastri used having to watch their only younger brother as an excuse to escape.

After becoming the kitchen attendant at the dormitory, however, Sulastri changed her ways. She had not realized that the kitchen and dining room were the centers of life. Her awareness about the significance of the kitchen only surfaced when they were all under siege of the ongoing war.

Now, Sulastri thought of Sumiwi. Unlike their brothers, Sumiwi didn’t talk much; instead, she was always busy. Whenever Sumiwi returned to the village from school, she taught her mother to embroider with wool threads. This was a new skill. Usually, women in the village spent their days weaving bamboo strips or making ropes from coconut fiber. When Sumiwi was not teaching her mother embroidery, she would be in the kitchen, cooking. This was how she helped support her family.

***

“Who left an unnumbered towel on the clothesline yesterday?” Mrs. Atmini, the dormitory housemistress, waved a towel.

The residents had just finished their lunch. They silently bowed their heads and glanced at one another around the dining table. Finally, a child sitting near Sulastri rose, claimed responsibility, and slowly approached Mrs. Atmini to apologize.

In a booming voice, Mrs. Atmini issued a warning. “Let me remind you that all personal items, including towels, clothes, and underwear, must be embroidered with your respective serial numbers. Understand?”

“Understood, ma’am,” the residents replied in unison.

“Don’t let this happen again. Next time, anyone who makes a mistake like this will be punished. The bathroom and laundry room attendants must also take responsibility for maintaining order.” Mrs. Atmini turned and left the dining hall.

“Pay attention to Mrs. Atmini” an older classmate warned. “She means what she says. There are so many of us in this dorm, it could be chaos if our belongings weren’t numbered and got mixed up.”

The girl apologized to the older classmate. “I am not used to labeling things.”

“OK, but now, embroider your registration number on your belongings right away. If you don’t, she’ll punish you. She’ll punish the attendants, too.”

Numbering was a way to maintain orderliness in the dormitory. Such discipline would help the dorm residents manage themselves. Many students didn’t know what a bathroom with doors looked like, because in their village, they lived close to nature. Bathing was done in the river. Unlike life in the village, everything in the dormitory — bathing, meals, studying — happened between walls, behind closed doors, and according to a strict schedule.

***

During mealtimes, eight girls sat around the table. At first, each plate held one or two spoonfuls of corn mixed with rice. But then the dorm supervisors agreed to pick all corn out of the corn rice and place it onto one plate. Thus, each girl would have corn for breakfast only once a week. Everyone else had rice. Margi, one of the oldest and most respected dorm residents, noticed the uneaten corn on Ivon’s plate. The others had already stacked their empty plates neatly.

“Come on, Ivon, finish your corn.” Margi said.

Sulastri, sitting across from Ivon, felt annoyed with her. Time and again, Sulastri glanced at her new friend without saying anything. Judging by the way she picked at and slowly chewed the corn, Ivon didn’t appear to be accustomed to eating it — if she ever had eaten it.

Conversely, corn was an integral part of Sulastri’s life. Her father raised corn and rice, and she helped shuck corn after harvest. As the village head, her father received rights to cultivate village-owned land that was set aside to support government officials who worked without a salary.

Sulastri could accurately estimate how many kernels were on an ear of corn. Her family’s maid had taught her to count the kernels as she shucked the cobs. The circumference of a cob held ten to fifteen kernels, while a row lengthwise held twenty-five to thirty. One ear of corn could feed three children. At home in her village, Sulastri never went hungry — something unheard of in the dormitory.

***

“Later, we’ll do kinro hoshi at the Balapan field, east of the city,” said Margi. “Our community service will be weeding the field. Please drink enough warm tea so you don’t faint in the field.”

Sulastri was quiet. At home, she was accustomed to doing yardwork in their sunny garden. Every afternoon, she swept and gathered dry leaves in the yard. During the dry season, she helped harvest corn, sweet potatoes, and rice in the fields. Strangely, however, although they studied at a school in the city to become teachers, they also had to work in the fields. Sulastri took a deep breath; she was not afraid of getting sunburned like her city friends. She was upset because her burning desire to learn various subjects at school was still not realized.

***

Every time Sulastri and her group did their job of clearing the table and washing the dishes, Sulastri made it a point to talk stealthily with the dorm’s cook. One day while rinsing dishes, she asked, “Ma’am, how much corn do you usually cook?”

The cook glanced around, worried about being caught informing a student about the kitchen’s allotment of corn rice. “Shh!” she shushed. “Don’t ask such questions. The housemistress will be angry.”

“I’m just here doing dishes, not violating rules,” Sulastri replied. She prodded, “How much are you allotted to cook, ma’am?”

“We must be economical and prevent food waste,” the cook whispered. “Food is costly.”

“But our portions are so small! How could there be food waste?”

“Our food supply is very limited. We have several sacks of corn in the warehouse, but we must make them last.” Clearly wishing to end the conversation, she added, “We’re going through a hard time and must be frugal.”

Sulastri ignored the cook’s attempt to disengage. “In my village, I often helped my mother shuck corn. We never lacked for food.”

The cook sighed. “We have many students in this dorm to be concerned about. In my house, our family must also be frugal; otherwise, we might not have enough food to last through the month.”

“I worry that the dorm residents will become malnourished.”

“I understand. But the housemistress said our portions are enough to keep the dorm residents from getting sick. So, I obey her instructions.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. I hope my friends and I will stay healthy. Be well,” True to Javanese custom, Sulastri put her two palms together and, bowing her head, brought her hands and face together.

After finishing the dishes, Sulastri left the kitchen, feeling frustrated. “Ivon,” she said, “why didn’t you finish your corn?”

“I’m sorry,” Ivon said softly. She was not used to eating hard corn kernels she had to chew one by one. “I am just not used to eating corn. I come from Minahasa and there, we have sweet-potato porridge for breakfast. The potatoes are boiled, mashed, and mixed with vegetables. It’s squishy and fresh. Especially when it’s warm.”

“If you don’t want to eat it, you can give it to one of the others,” Sulastri said. “Just don’t waste it.”

“I didn’t mean to waste it,” Ivon snapped defensively. Then, regretting her tone, she added, “I’m sorry.”

The girls hugged each other tightly.

***

Almost every week, the teachers gathered students to perform manditory community service known as kinro hoshi.

Early in the morning of the kinro hoshi, the teachers gathered about 166 students at the Balapan field, some distance away from the school and dormitory. The large field was treeless, only covered by weeds and brush, and the weather was quite hot. Their assignment for the day was to pull out the unwanted plants.

Under the watchful eyes of Japanese soldiers, the teachers organized the students in a single row, about an arm’s length apart. The row covered the entire length of the field.

When a teacher blew the starting whistle, the students, moving backward, started pulling up weeds and brush. They used whatever tool they happened to have. No one cracked any jokes. Everyone worked in a methodical fashion. This was a special lesson in working together, orderly.

Walking backward, they worked like rice farmers transplanting rice. People said that the Japanese supervisors introduced this transplanting technique, because if the farmers walked forward, they would step on the newly planted plants.

If a farmer deviated from an established row of the plants, the Japanese supervisor would indiscriminately pull out the rice plants and the farmer had to start from the beginning.

During class hours before the kinro hoshi, Sulastri’s school teacher had stealthily delivered important warnings to the students to avoid being supervised by Sido-in. The Japanese city teaching supervisor was notorious for his cruelty. The teacher took a deep breath several times, saying, “Kinro hoshi.” Appearing to worry about passing this information, she paused before continuing, “We live in a difficult time and cannot teach a lot of lessons in the classroom like we used to. The Japanese government likes to make use of student labor. So, try to find lessons in the fields and learn there, not just from lectures and textbooks. Pay close attention to the fields. Observe your friends. Do something, to preserve your integrity!” The teacher took another deep breath, then concluded, “You must keep thinking and learning. Resist becoming a farmhand. You won’t receive any payment. You are students, prospective teachers. Even though you do physical work, you must keep using your brains to think.” The teacher’s words echoed in Sulastri’s mind.

***

In 1950, Sulastri graduated from the Advanced Teacher Training School and was assigned to teach at a public elementary school in Solo, Central Java.

Sulastri recognized some basic differences between being a student and a teacher. As an elementary school student, she studied under the Dutch educators’ supervision. Then, she studied as a prospective teacher under the Japanese officials’ supervision. Now, she was a teacher and was supervised by neither. She was a young teacher dedicating herself to the young generation of their independent nation.

One year later, Sulastri married an elementary school teacher who worked in Semarang. They were both graduates from the Advanced Teacher Training School. Sulastri moved to Semarang, where they both taught.

Driven by their youthful spirit, they managed their time to pursue higher education while teaching. Along with her husband, Sulastri eventually obtained her bachelor’s degree in education. Her husband became a high school teacher. Sulastri chose to be a teacher at the local teacher’s college.

***

Decades passed. Sulastri retired in 1990. She and her husband had dedicated forty long years to teaching.

Their marriage was blessed with two sons and two daughters, who moved to different cities in Java and Sumatra. In turn, they married and provided Sulastri and her husband with grandchildren. In their old age, Sulastri and her husband moved back to Yogya.

When their youngest son’s wife delivered another grandchild, Sulastri, with her husband’s permission, went to visit them in Jakarta. Functioning as a mother to her children and grandmother to her grandchildren nourished Sulastri’s wellbeing and provided her with entertainment at her old age.

***

One morning, Sulastri, still wearing her house dress, was about to make microwave popcorn for her grandchild. Her daughter-in-law was still in the hospital after delivering her third child. It was difficult to find a maid so Sulastri became a grandmother who temporarily substituted for the young mother at home.

“Uti,” said Sulastri’s grandchild, using the Javanese term for grandmother, “please put the package into the microwave and wait for two minutes.”

“Yes, wait. I am doing it.” Sulastri followed her grandchild’s instruction.

“It’s done when the microwave beeps,” the grandchild said. “Now, shake it. Then put it back into the microwave to finish making it popcorn.”

When the microwave beeped, her grandchild shouted, “Uti! Uti! The popcorn is ready. Now let’s enjoy it.”

Sulastri poured the warm popcorn into a bowl. Stunned, she stared at the fluffy white balls the corn kernels had transformed into. Tears sprung into her eyes when she remembered her teenage years at the Advanced Teacher Training School and her spat with Ivon in the dormitory about wasting corn.

Enjoying the popcorn, Sulastri’s grandchild pulled on her arm. “Come, Uti, try this popcorn.”

Sulastri stroked her grandchild’s head and said, “Yes, I’ll join you.” She was relieved that her grandchild had not noticed the tears she had been unable to hold back.

*****