Introduction to 2025 series of short stories.

Merdeka Iman

Aryl Timothy Madilah loves reading and learning about language. He studies translation at the English Literature Department, Faculty of Languages ​​and Arts, at Satya Wacana Christian University.

Madilah has taught at the Pelangi Nusantara Course and Training Institute since 2023, and also teaches Indonesian for foreign speakers and English for high school students. He often writes fantasy-style stories on his Wattpad page and shares short poems on Instagram, @himthatlilomayday.

Aryl’s winning question: Does the story’s location actually exist and, if not what inspired you to create it? How and why did you choose which Indonesian words to translate and which Indonesian words not to translate for the English reader?

Aryl Timothy Madilah: timothymadilah024@gmail.com.

 

***

 

Merdeka Iman

Angin sepoi bertiup masuk dari jendela-jendela kelas, mengusir rasa gerah yang disebar oleh terik Magelang. Langit hari itu bersih dari awan meskipun Maret baru bersua, sehingga atap genting kelas itu tidak cukup untuk mencegah udara beringsang. Para murid di kelas itu baru selesai memberi salam serempak kepada Paulus, guru pelajaran agama, setelah jam pelajarannya berakhir. Dia beranjak dari meja guru, sementara para murid kembali duduk, merapikan meja, mengorek-ngorek isi tas, dan saling bercengkerama.

Paulus menghentikan langkahnya tepat di ambang pintu, lantas berbalik dan memanggil seorang murid. “Mardika!” Dengan alis mengernyit, bibir melengkung ke bawah, dan mata memicing, Paulus mencari sosok yang dia panggil. “Nanti ke ruang guru. Saya mau bicara denganmu.”

Perhatian para murid teralihkan sejenak. Ada yang menoleh ke arah Paulus, ada yang menoleh ke arah Mardika. Paulus kembali melangkah keluar dari kelas itu, sementara Mardika mengembuskan napas pelan, menatap lelah ke arah Paulus yang pergi meninggalkan kelas.

Bunyi lonceng berdentang keras, menggema mengisyaratkan jam istirahat.

***

Para murid berbondong-bondong keluar, menyapa semburat keemasan di luar kelas. Lapangan sekolah menjadi ramai oleh murid-murid yang lalu-lalang dengan tas di punggung mereka. Mardika berjalan menyusuri selasar dengan langkah lambat dan mata terpatri ke depan. Tidak menyadari ada Rahardian di belakangnya.

“Woi!”

Mardika tersentak kecil, punggungnya ditepuk sampai berbunyi halus. “Kaget!” Dia menoleh kesal pada Rahardian, pemuda yang kini berjalan beriringan di sebelah kanannya. “Kenapa?”

Rahardian tergelak. “Jalanmu kayak orang lesu. Gampang dibikin kaget.”

Mardika hanya menggeleng. “Kebiasaan.”

Rahardian menghela dan mengembuskan napas, meredakan tawanya. Dia merangkul Mardika sampai bahu Mardika oleng sedikit. “Pak Paulus bilang apa aja tadi? Aku tunggu kamu sampai istirahat selesai, kamu tidak muncul-muncul.”

“Biasa,” jawab Mardika. “Di mejanya di kantor guru, aku diceramahi panjang lebar soal nilai agamaku. Katanya aku tidak ada niat belajar, tidak ada keinginan berubah. Suaranya keras banget sampai guru-guru lain melirik-lirik ke meja kami. ‘Minggu depan sudah penilaian tengah semester, kamu mau nilaimu anjlok kayak semester lalu?’ Begitu katanya. Habis itu aku malah didoakan sama dia. Dimintakan tuntunan Roh Kudus.”

Rahardian kembali tertawa, keras tawanya mengundang mata beberapa murid di parkiran sekolah. “Memang ya, bapak kita itu. Kelakuan luarnya aja mendukung kepercayaan berbeda, padahal aslinya cari muka. Mana ada guru agama, guru agama Islam sekali pun, yang bacain ayat ke siswa di dalam ruang guru? Ngawur, sembarang.”

“Hus, Yan, banyak orang,” tegur Mardika.

Rahardian membalas dengan decak tak acuh. “Nggak salah, kok. Biar aja didengar orang.” Mereka sampai di pelataran parkir. “Ayo, cari makan dulu.”

Mardika mengernyit. “Belum makan?”

“Kamu ‘kan lama banget di sana tadi.” Rahardian menyodorkan helm candangan dan menyalakan motornya. “Ayo. Sembahyangmu masih lama, ‘kan?”

Mardika menggeleng, tidak percaya bahwa Rahardian sudah sabar menunggunya supaya mereka bisa makan bersama. “Ayo. Di tempat biasa ya?”

***

Lampu teras telah menyala temaram ketika Mardika tiba di depan rumah. Dia melakukan salam kepalan kepada Rahardian, mengucapkan terima kasih dan bilang sampai bertemu besok. Rahardian lantas melaju melewati jalan kecil berpenerangan remang-remang. Ketika Mardika memasuki halaman rumah, motor bebek hitam telah terparkir di kiri pintu pagar sebelah dalam, siap untuk dibawa keluar. Melihat itu Mardika buru-buru masuk ke dalam rumah.

“Sugeng dalu, Pak, selamat malam,” ucap Mardika ketika memasuki rumah. Dia menghampiri Hartono, ayahnya, yang sedang duduk di kursi ruang tamu. Mardika menyalami ayahnya dengan membungkuk dan menempelkan dahinya ke punggung tangan ayahnya.

“Sugeng bengi, selamat malam Nang,” balas ayahnya. “Kenapa baru pulang?”

“Tadi pergi makan sebentar, diajak Rahardian,” jawab Mardika halus. “Bapak sudah siap?” tanyanya, mengabaikan penampilan ayahnya yang sudah berpakaian rapi dengan lurik, kemeja coklat tua berlengan panjang dengan bujur garis hitam, dan blangkon, penutup kepala khas Jawa. Di sebelah ayahnya, juga ada bungkusan.

“Tinggal tunggu kamu.” Ayahnya berdeham sekali. “Mandi dulu sana. Mau sembahyang harus bersih.”

Mardika berjalan cepat menuju kamar, melepas tasnya, dan melesat ke kamar mandi. Setelah kira-kira lima menit berlalu dia sudah kembali ke kamar. Sesaat kemudian dia keluar dengan kemeja dan celana panjang serba hitam, menghampiri ayahnya yang sudah berdiri di ambang pintu dengan bungkusan di tangan.

“Astuti tidak ikut, Pak?” Mardika celingak-celinguk.

Dari bagian dalam rumah terdengar suara melengking menyahut, “Ogah!”

Ayahnya memejam.

Mardika menggelengkan kepala sambil menggumam, “Anak itu.”

“Sudah, sudah. Sudah makin malam, tidak baik berlama-lama,” putus ayahnya. Dia mengangkat bungkusan yang dipegangnya sampai setinggi dada Mardika. “Nang, pegang ini. Ayo kita pergi.”

Mardika menerima bungkusan itu, melangkah keluar rumah sembari menutup pintu dan menguncinya.

***

Mardika dan Hartono melintasi jalan setapak di antara kubur-kubur berkijing. Mereka kemudian berhenti di sisi sebuah kuburan dengan nisan kayu yang berterakan nama Watiningsih, ibu Mardika. Mardika membuka bungkusan yang berisi dupa, kemenyan, dan kantung kecil berisi kembang. Dia menaburkan kembang ke atas kuburan itu, sementara Hartono meletakkan dupa dan kemenyan di depan nisan. Sesudah menyalakan dupa dan kemenyan itu, keduanya bersimpuh. Mereka mengatupkan tangan, memejamkan mata, dan memanjatkan doa.

Dalam doanya untuk sang ibu, Mardika terbayang peristiwa tepat setahun lalu, ketika keluarganya berduka karena kepergian sang ibu. Hanya ada Pak RT dan sedikit warga yang membantu pemakaman waktu itu, karena pembatasan akibat wabah COVID masih diberlakukan. Namun yang lebih membekas di ingatannya adalah kenyataan bahwa ibunya dimakamkan menurut tata cara Islam. Semua warga yang menyempatkan diri membantu, yang jumlahnya bisa dihitung dengan jari, seluruhnya muslim.

Hati Mardika ngilu seakan ditusuk jarum tiap kali teringat akan hal itu. Orangtuanya adalah penghayat Kapribaden yang teguh, yang giat dalam menjalankan ajaran Romo Semono. Namun, keadaan memaksa mereka untuk melepas kepergian sang ibu dalam tata cara yang tidak mereka anut. Dalam doanya untuk sang ibu, Mardika menyisipkan permohonan pada Moho Suci, pada Tuhan, agar ketika ajal menjemput, ayahnya maupun dirinya dapat dimakamkan menurut tata cara penghayat Kapribaden.

Ketika Mardika membuka mata, dia mendapati ayahnya sedang merapikan barang yang mereka bawa. Walaupun raut muka Hartono datar, Mardika merasakan ada kelegaan yang terpancar dari wajah itu. Mardika ikut berdiri, memegang nisan kayu itu sesaat, kemudian melangkah mengekori ayahnya dalam diam.

“Bapak ya, Nang,” Hartono membuka percakapan, “dulu sebenarnya pengin Ibu disemayamkan menurut Kapribaden.”

“Hm.” Mardika membalas, antara terkejut dan tidak. Kepalanya sedikit menunduk mencoba mengatur langkah di jalan setapak yang berpenerangan remang-remang.

Hartono meneruskan. “Waktu itu memang susah. COVID bikin kita tidak bisa berbuat banyak, hanya bisa narimo, menerima dan ikhlas. Bapak, ya, Nang, bukannya tidak suka dibantu mereka. Toh caranya juga mirip dengan cara kita menyemayamkan orang meninggal.”

Iya, mirip, hati Mardika menyahut, tapi —

“Tapi rasanya Ibu seperti dijauhkan dari kita, Nang.” Hartono meneruskan suara hati Mardika.

“Iya, Pak.” Mardika kini menyuarakan isi hatinya. “Aku usahakan Bapak kelak enggak sampai seperti itu.”

Hartono terkekeh pelan. “Masa depan tidak ada yang tahu, Nang. Tapi yang paling penting kamu tetap teguh dengan kepercayaan kamu. Tetap dituntun Moho Suci untuk menggapai apa yang mau kamu gapai. Bapak bangga sama kamu, Nang, karena kamu tidak malu mewarisi apa yang Bapak-Ibumu ini percayai. Bapak yakin, nantinya orang-orang akan lebih terbuka lagi dengan orang-orang seperti kita ini.”

“Iya, Pak,” jawab Mardika.

Mardika berhenti sejenak ketika mereka sampai di gapura pekuburan. Dia menengadah, memandang bulan yang hampir berwujud separuh. Awan mendung perlahan menutupi langit, dan rasanya ada setitik air menyentuh pipinya. Mardika buru-buru menghampiri Hartono yang telah menyalakan motor.

***

Bekas hujan yang mengguyur basah Magelang malam itu hilang sama sekali pada keesokan harinya. Terik siang menembus rambut Mardika yang sedikit gondrong, membuat kepalanya kepanasan selagi dia dan Rahardian melintasi lapangan sekolah. Begitu sampai di selasar depan kelasnya, mereka berdua duduk di lantai.

“Panas banget, gila!” Rahardian mengeluh. “Lain kali jangan tinggalin bukumu di rumah.”

Mardika mengipasi tengkuknya dengan buku catatan yang baru saja mereka ambil dari rumahnya. “Ya maaf, kupikir udah masuk tas tadi pagi,” dalihnya. “Makasih udah pinjamin motor, ya.”

“Aman.” Rahardian mengangkat jempol, kemudian mengibas-ngibaskan kerah seragam batiknya. “Untung Pak Satpam baik, mau ngijinin tadi. Oh ya, catatan agamamu lengkap, ‘kan?”

Mardika berhenti mengipas, membuka-buka buku catatan yang dipakainya mengipasi tengkuk dan leher sedari tadi. “Lengkap, kok,” jawabnya yakin setelah memeriksa isi buku itu tiga kali. Dia lalu menoleh kepada Rahardian. “Terakhir yang Perdamaian dalam Budaya itu, ‘kan?”

Rahardian mengangguk. Kemudian dia terkekeh kecil, sepertinya tergelitik oleh sebuah ingatan yang menyelip muncul.

“Kok ketawa?” Mardika mengernyit.

“Enggak, jadi ingat aja,” ujar Rahardian. “Waktu itu ‘kan Pak Paulus bahas soal beriman lewat iman orang lain. Lucu aja, soalnya kelakuan beliau ke kamu itu justru nggak mencerminkan hal itu.”

Sontak Mardika memutar ingatan. Benar memang, waktu itu Paulus membahas banyak tentang bagaimana semangat tolong-menolong dan gotong-royong itu sudah ada di Indonesia sejak dulu kala. Beliau juga dengan penuh semangat menekankan bahwa semua itu adalah nilai Kristiani yang muncul dengan corak kedaerahan. Bagi beliau, itu adalah bukti kehadiran jiwa Kristiani di bumi pertiwi ini. Pendapat itu menggelikan bagi Mardika, mengingat semua contoh itu sudah lama ada sebelum agama Kristen masuk.

“Aku memang bukan Kristen taat ya,” Rahardian melanjutkan, “tapi bukannya contoh-contoh yang dikasih Pak Paulus itu semuanya lebih ke arah nilai budi pekerti ya? Artinya bukan cuma punya orang Kristen. Pendeta gerejaku kalau bahas soal itu juga selalu bilang, semua agama, semua kepercayaan itu punya nilai budi pekerti yang umum sifatnya, yang menuju pada kesejahteraan manusia.”

Mardika menyetujui. “Semua kepercayaan memang tujuannya untuk kesejahteraan manusia kok, tapi selain itu juga kesejahteraan manusia dengan dunia sekitarnya. Semua adat yang kami lakuin itu nggak cuma asal menyembah roh, apalagi setan. Aku pernah bilang ‘kan, kami mengajarkan untuk laku tresno welas lan asih marang opo lan sopo wae, mencintai dan berkasih sayang kepada apa dan siapa saja. Adat kami itu ya sama saja dengan ibadah yang dijalankan oleh para penganut agama.”

“Makanya. Beliau itu sebenarnya justru enggak menerapkan nilai-nilai yang beliau ajar kalau masih memandang rendah kamu. Katanya saja, ‘Kasihilah musuhmu,’ tapi ini murid sendiri kok tidak dikasihi,” rangkum Rahardian.

Mardika mengangguk, bersependapat. Tepat setelah itu dentang lonceng terdengar, mengisyaratkan para murid untuk kembali ke kelas.

***

Tiga hari telah berlalu sejak percakapan Mardika dengan Rahardian, tetapi Mardika masih bisa mendengar samar-samar perkataan Rahardian di telinganya. Apapun yang berurusan dengan kepercayaannya akan selalu meninggalkan bekas di jiwa Mardika. Buku catatan agama yang diterawanginya sedari petang turut menimbun gundah. Sekeras apapun Mardika mencoba mempelajari kisi-kisi ujian agama besok, gundah hatinya selalu mengganggu perhatiannya. Otak Mardika masih bergelut dengan kenyataan bahwa kebebasan iman belum juga bisa benar-benar dia rasakan.

Mardika merasa pelipisnya seperti ditusuki jarum. Dia memutuskan untuk berhenti sejenak. Dia melempar bukunya ke atas meja ruang tamu sampai menimbulkan bunyi kecil. Tepat pada saat itu, matanya menangkap sosok Astuti berjalan menuju pintu depan. “Mau ke mana, Dik?” Alisnya mengkerut mendapati adiknya berpakaian rapi dan santai, juga menyampirkan tas selempang kecil.

“Ikut temen, ke kota,” jawab Astuti tanpa menoleh pada Mardika.

Mardika menjeling ke arah gawainya yang menyala, memeriksa jam. Sudah pukul enam sore kurang sepuluh menit.

“Ikut ibadah bareng di gereja temenmu lagi?” Mardika menebak, samar-samar terdengar dengusnya.

“Iya, Mas,” Astuti menjawab, pendek dan datar. Tangannya membuka pintu, tetapi dia belum melangkah keluar. Dia menawarkan dengan suara malas, “Mau ikut?”

Mardika mengembuskan napas. “Enggak. Cuma tanya.” Dia heran juga dengan tawaran adiknya.

Astuti menggeleng kecil. “Anak muda itu ya bergaul toh, Mas. Bukan sibuk sembahyang aja.” Tangannya melepas pegangan pintu, merogoh ke dalam tas selempangnya dan mengeluarkan gawai.

Oh, anak ini …. Kernyitan heran Mardika berubah menjadi kernyitan jengkel. “Mulutmu itu ngawur banget, sembarangan. Keluar rumah itu pamit, bukan cari perkara.”

“Iya, iya. Pergi dulu, temenku udah sampai.” Astuti melangkah keluar, setengah tergesa.

“Hati-hati di jalan! Pulang nanti jangan kemalaman!” seru Mardika. Dia lalu berdiri, pergi menutup pintu yang ditinggalkan terbuka oleh Astuti.

“Ikut ibadah bareng temen cuma cari seru-serunya aja,” gumam Mardika sembari menutup pintu. “Ibadah macam apa itu. Dasar. Dikiranya sembahyang itu nggak guna, apa?” Mardika kembali duduk di kursi ruang tamu. Menatap penat buku catatannya.

Bagi Mardika, belajar untuk ujian itu bukanlah hal yang amat sulit. Hanya saja, dia selalu kehilangan minat setiap bertemu dengan pelajaran agama. Sedari sekolah dasar, nilainya di setiap ujian, dengan rentang nilai tertinggi seratus, tidak pernah melebihi tujuh puluh. Mardika tidak pernah puas dengan belajar agama orang lain; dia ingin merasakan belajar agamanya sendiri di sekolah.

Bukan berarti Mardika tidak diajarkan sama sekali tentang agama dan kepercayaan oleh ayahnya. Namun, Hartono memang lebih sering mengajarkan padanya berbagai ajaran dan cara hidup sebagai seorang penghayat Kapribaden. Mardika mempercayai dan melakukan semua itu dengan penuh keyakinan hingga kini, dan selalu merasakan kedamaian dengan melaksanakan ajaran-ajaran itu. Itulah yang membuatnya teguh pada kepercayaannya.

Namun Mardika rindu untuk mempelajari kepercayaannya, yang baginya adalah agamanya, dengan bebas di sekolah.

***

Hartono duduk menemani Mardika, setelah meminta izin dari kantor kepolisian tempatnya bertugas untuk mengikuti penerimaan hasil ujian anaknya. Keduanya duduk menghadap Paulus yang sedang memaparkan perolehan nilai Mardika. Siang itu langit penuh oleh awan kelabu.

Sepanjang pemaparan yang dilanjutkan penjelasan oleh Paulus, perhatian Mardika berkelana ke mana-mana. Otaknya enggan mendengarkan kata-kata wali kelasnya itu. Toh penjelasannya itu-itu terus, pikir Mardika, nilai-nilainya bagus tapi masih bisa ditingkatkan.

Ketika Paulus membahas pelajaran agama, Mardika tetap tidak acuh. Pelajaran itu selalu menjadi titik rendahnya, titik yang wajib dia tingkatkan. Telinganya sudah lelah dengan nasihat itu.

“Makanya saya jadi khawatir dengan perkembangan rohani anak Bapak,” ujar Paulus, menatap Hartono lekat-lekat sambil berdeham kecil.

Mardika yang menangkap perkataan itu seketika mengernyit tipis, melirik Paulus.

Hartono mengguratkan senyum kecil dan terkekeh singkat. “Bapak tidak usah khawatir soal itu. Saya selalu mengajarkan ihwal kerohanian pada Mardika juga kok di rumah, Pak,” jelasnya.

“Itu bagus, Pak Har,” tanggap Paulus, “tapi karena ini pelajaran Agama Kristen, saya sebenarnya berharap Mardika bisa belajar lebih giat juga untuk mendapat nilai yang memuaskan seperti di pelajaran lainnya.” Paulus mengunci kedua tangannya di atas meja. Matanya beralih sesaat ke arah Mardika.

“Iya, cuma memang nilai itu tidak betul-betul bisa dijadikan patokan ya, Pak,” balas Hartono.

Mardika tersenyum samar mendengar sanggahan lembut ayahnya.

“Justru itu salah, Pak Har.” Paulus menyanggah. “Nilai ini ‘kan capaian pemahaman, ya. Tapi pemahaman itu juga dilihat dari sikap dan kepribadian. Karena ini pelajaran agama Kristen, sepatutnya capaian siswa itu menunjukkan kalau dia mampu dalam hal hidup sebagaimana yang diajarkan.”

Tiba-tiba saja rasa gerah merayapi sekujur tubuh Mardika. Perutnya bergejolak, dadanya ngilu, kepalanya panas.

Hartono kembali terkekeh pendek. “Mardika ‘kan bukan Kristen, Pak.” Hartono halus mengingatkan sebelum melanjutkan, “Bisa dapat nilai segitu, walaupun agama itu bukan punya dia, buat saya memuaskan kok, Pak.”

Paulus menunduk, menggeleng pelan. “Bukan apa-apa, ya, Pak Har, cuma saya tetap menekankan capaian yang lebih baik lagi. Selama bersekolah di sini nilai agama Kristen Mardika selalu saja hanya rata-rata. Maka dari itu, pemahamannya tentang agama Kristen harus ditingkatkan, bukannya dibiarkan. Penghayat itu ‘kan juga menerapkan nilai-nilai Kristiani sebenarnya,” jelasnya.

Kepala Mardika kini terasa mendidih. Tangan kanannya mengepal di atas pahanya, sedikit gemetar. Kejengkelan yang menimbun ngilu di dadanya hampir mencapai lidah dan membuatnya ingin memuntahkan bantahan.

Hartono, masih menyambut penjelasan Paulus dengan senyum. Sudut matanya dapat melihat tangan Mardika yang mengepal. Diam-diam Hartono menggenggam kepalan Mardika. “Nanti saya bicarakan ke Mardika lagi, ya, Pak,” tutup Hartono.

Mardika mengatur napas pelan-pelan, mencoba menelan semua kejengkelannya.

Mardika dan Hartono berdiri. Mereka menyalami Paulus, kemudian beranjak pergi dari kelas itu. Mendung siang itu mulai menebarkan rintik-rintik ketika mereka pergi.

***

Sudah dua hari hujan dan gerimis bergantian tumpah mengguyur Magelang. Mardika duduk bersila di lantai kamarnya, ditemani suara rintik gerimis dan temaram lampu. Hawa senja nan sejuk yang mendekap Mardika membuatnya tenang. Matanya memejam, napasnya dalam dan teratur. Tangan kanannya lekat di depan ulu hati, dengan telapak menghadap ke kiri, sementara tangan kirinya berada di kiri tubuhnya, sedikit di bawah rusuk. Mardika bersembahyang, menumpahkan gundah dan kesalnya.

Dalam batinnya, Mardika mengingat kembali perkataan Paulus. Mardika merenungkan mengapa perkataan itu membuatnya begitu marah. Dia lantas mengingat semua perkataan, juga perlakuan yang pernah diterimanya. Mardika menarik napas dalam lalu mengembuskannya, ya mengembuskan semua beban hati itu keluar. Dia mengukuhkan keadaan batinnya dan menerima semua yang telah berlalu. Kemudian berdoa untuk keluarganya dan semua penghayat kepercayaan agar mampu manunggal, menyatu dengan Moho Suci.

Tepat ketika Mardika membuka mata menyelesaikan sembahyangnya, terdengar suara motor tiba. Mardika berdiri dan melangkah keluar kamar. Di teras dia mendapati Hartono sedang membuka jas hujan.

“Sugeng dalu, Pak, selamat malam,” sapa Mardika, menghampiri dan menyalami Hartono dengan menempelkan dahi ke punggung tangan ayahnya.

“Sugeng bengi, Nang,” balas Hartono. “Daerah Mungkid deras banget. Teman-teman pegiat yang lain tadi pengen nunggu di sekolah habis menanyakan soal pengadaan pelajaran buat penghayat, tapi Bapak nggak mau. Pengennya langsung balik, tidur.”

Keduanya berjalan ke dapur mendapati Astuti yang asyik makan di ruang makan sambil sesekali membuka gawainya.

“Sugeng bengi, Ndhuk. Lagi makan toh?” Hartono menyapa Astuti.

“Sugeng dalu, Pak. Iya,” balas Astuti ringkas.

“Gimana, Pak?” Mardika mengeluarkan semangkuk garang asem ayam dari lemari makan.

“Masih susah, Nang.” Hartono menyeduh air, kemudian mengambil dua piring dan dua sendok. “Waktu kami datangi, tiga minggu yang lalu, katanya permohonan untuk pengadaan mata pelajaran agama bagi penghayat sedang diurus.

“Sekarang mereka berkata, ‘Tidak bisa dilanjutkan. Harus menghadap dinas DIKBUD.’ Padahal waktu itu pengajar buat penghayat ada dan bareng kami, segala berkas juga sudah lengkap.” Hartono mematikan kompor, menuang air panas ke salah satu gelas, lalu mencampurnya dengan sedikit air dingin dan mengakhiri, “Kan menyusahkan begini ini.”

Mardika dan Hartono membawa semua makanan dan minuman itu ke ruang makan. Astuti beranjak ke dapur dengan piring kosong.

“Jadi masih belum bisa ada pelajaran penghayat di sekolah ya.” Mardika menyimpulkan. Dia memejam sesaat, komat-kamit berdoa, kemudian membuka mata dan mulai menyantap makanannya.

“Bisa, sebenarnya,” ujar Hartono, “cuma baru bisa sebagai pelajaran tambahan, bukan wajib.”

“Itu pun nggak masalah menurutku.” Mardika meyakinkan ayahnya.

Hartono menatap anaknya, tersenyum. “Nanti bakal bersurat lagi ke sekolahmu, mau bantu nganterin?”

Mardika ikut tersenyum. “Mau dong.”

“Mantap.” Hartono terkekeh singkat.

Mulai dari langkah kecil, batin Mardika. Hatinya mantap untuk mengusahakan kebebasan beragama yang selalu bergema lewat berita dan semboyan, di dunia nyata maupun dunia maya. Mardika bertekad membantu mengusahakan hadirnya pendidikan agama bagi penghayat kepercayaan, mulai dari sekolahnya. Mengumpulkan sesama murid yang juga penghayat kepercayaan di sekolahnya. Mardika ingin mendorong mereka untuk teguh dalam iman mereka sebagai penghayat dan menyuarakan hak mereka untuk merasakan kesetaraan dalam mengenyam pendidikan agama. Ramai-ramai bertemu dengan pihak sekolah, kalau harus, batin Mardika lagi, atau sekalian bawa pihak DIKBUD.

Mardika bertekad menggapai kebebasan beragama, beriman, atau berkepercayaan yang sesungguhnya. Mereka akan bebas mengamalkan kepercayaan masing-masing sesuai dengan hak hidup masyarakat merdeka.

 

*****

 

Freedom of Worship

Yuni Utami Asih has loved poetry, short stories, and novels since elementary school. She stepped into the world of translation after hosting the launch of Footprints/Tapak Tilas (Dalang Publishing, 2023), a bilingual short story compilation in celebration of Dalang’s tenth anniversary. The first novel she translated was Pasola (Dalang Publishing 2024), by Maria Matildis Banda. Her most recent work was translating the 2025 series of six short stories to be published in installments on Dalang’s website.

Apart from teaching at the English Language Education Study Program, Faculty of Teacher Training and Education, Mulawaran University, Asih is involved in educational workshops for teachers in Samarinda, East Kalimantan, Indonesia, and surrounding areas.

Yuni Utami Asih: yuniutamiasih@fkip.unmul.ac.id. 

****

 

Freedom of Worship

It was only early March, yet the skies were clear and the tiled roof couldn’t protect the school from the sultry heat gripping Magelang. The students had just said goodbye to Mr. Paulus, the religious studies teacher, after class had ended. Mr. Paulus left his desk while the students tidied theirs, chatting with one another and rummaging through their school bags.

At the classroom door, Mr. Paulus turned. “Mardika!” With furrowed brows and down-turned mouth, Mr. Paulus squinted, looking for the student he had called. “I want to talk to you at my desk in the teachers’ room.”

For a moment, the students’ attention was divided. Some turned to look at their teacher, others to look at Mardika. Mr. Paulus continued out of the classroom, while Mardika sighed and stared wearily at his teacher’s departing back.

The bell, signaling recess, rang loudly.

***

Students carrying backpacks poured out of the classrooms and into the golden sunshine, crowding the sidewalks surrounding the school. Looking straight ahead, Mardika walked slowly, unaware of those around him.

“Hey!” Someone tapped his shoulder.

Mardika let out a startled gasp. He turned irritably to Rahardian, the young man now walking beside him. “You scared me! What?”

Rahardian laughed. “You walk like you’re in a daze. It’s easy to scare you!”

Mardika shook his head. “Just a habit.”

Rahardian sighed, holding back his laughter. He shook Mardika’s shoulder lightly. “What did Pak Paulus say? I waited for you until recess was over, but you never showed up.”

“Just the usual,” Mardika replied. “He lectured me about my poor grade in religious studies. He said I don’t show any interest in learning, and I don’t seem motivated to change. He spoke so loud that other teachers looked over at our table! He reminded me that next week is the midterm, and did I want the same bad grade I had last semester. Then he prayed for me. He asked the Holy Spirit to guide me.”

Rahardian laughed so loud that some students in the parking lot turned to look them. “It seems his nature to act as if he supports different beliefs,” Rahardian chuckled, “but actually it’s just apple polishing. Have you ever seen any religion teacher, even a Muslim one, who reads verses to students in the teachers’ room? It’s crazy! It’s ridiculous!”

“Hush, Yan,” Mardika warned his friend. “There are a lot of people around.”

Rahardian shrugged. “I didn’t say anything wrong. I don’t care if people hear me.” They arrived at the parking lot, and Rahardian started his motorcycle. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Mardika frowned. “Haven’t you eaten yet?”

“No, you were with Pak Paulus for so long. Come on. We still have time before it’s your prayer time, right?”

Mardika shook his head in disbelief. Rahardian waited for me just so we could eat together. “Let’s go!” he said. “The usual place, OK?”

***

The porch light shined dimly when Mardika arrived home, accompanied by the roar of Rahardian’s motorcycle. Mardika thanked him and said he would see him tomorrow. The two fist-bumped, then Rahardian roared off down the narrow, shadowy road.

As Mardika entered the yard, he noticed a black moped parked inside the gate, ready to go. He hurried into the house. “Sugeng dalu, good evening!” Mardika called out using the proper level of respectful Javanese. Hartono, his father, sat in a living room chair. Mardika bowed and rested his forehead against the back of his father’s hand.

“Sugeng bengi, good evening, Nang,” his father replied. “Son, why are you so late coming home?”

“Rahardian invited me to have dinner,” Mardika replied softly. “Are you ready?” He ignored the fact that his father was already neatly dressed in lurik, a dark-brown, long-sleeved shirt with black stripes, and blangkon, traditional Javanese headwear. Mardika noticed the bundle next to his father.

“Just waiting for you.” Mardika’s father cleared his throat. “Take a shower first. You must be clean for prayers.”

Mardika walked quickly to his room, dropped his school bag, and darted into the bathroom. He returned to his room in five minutes and dressed in a black shirt and trousers, then joined his father, who stood in the doorway holding the bundle.

“Is Astuti not coming?” Mardika asked, looking around.

“No!” came a shrill reply from inside the house.

Mardika’s father closed his eyes.

Mardika shook his head and muttered, “That child.”

“Just let it be,” his father said curtly. “It’s getting late. It’s not good to keep lingering,” He held out the bundle he was holding to Mardika. “Nang, please, carry it. Let’s go.”

Mardika took the bundle. After he and his father stepped out of the house, he closed the door and locked it.

***

Mardika and Hartono walked along the cemetery path between the tombs. They stopped beside a wooden grave marker bearing Mardika’s mother’s name, Watiningsih. Mardika untied the bundle, which held incense, frankincense, and a small bag of flowers. He sprinkled the flowers over the grave, while Hartono lit the incense and frankincense in front of the grave marker. Then the two knelt, clasped their hands, closed their eyes, and recited their prayers.

In the prayers for his mother, Mardika recalled the past year, in 2020, when his family mourned her passing. Only the village chief and a few neighbors had helped with the funeral because of the COVID-19 pandemic restrictions. But what pained him more than anything was that his mother had been buried according to Islamic customs. The residents who helped could be counted on two hands. They were all Muslims.

Mardika’s heart ached every time he thought about it. His parents were staunch Kapribaden believers, who practiced the teachings of Romo Semono. Kapribaden was one of the region’s many local religious beliefs, passed down and practiced from generation to generation. These beliefs were not included in the “official religions” recognized by the government of Indonesia.

Circumstances had forced Mardika and his father to bury Watiningsih in a way different from their belief. In the prayer for his mother, Mardika inserted a request to Moho Suci, God, that when death came for his father and himself, they could be buried according to the Kapribaden tradition.

When Mardika opened his eyes, his father was tidying up the things they had brought. Although the expression on Hartono’s face was flat, Mardika felt a sense of relief radiating from it. Mardika rose, clasped the wooden grave marker for a moment, then silently followed his father.

“As for me, Nang,” Hartono opened the conversation, “I wanted to bury your mother according to Kapribaden custom.”

“Mmm.” Unsure about his feelings, Mardika kept his head down and focused on placing his feet carefully on the dimly lit path.

“It was a difficult time,” Hartono continued. “COVID kept us from doing much. We could only narimo, accept, and be strong. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the help to bury her during that time. After all, the way they bury their dead is similar to ours.”

Yes, it’s similar, Mardika thought, but –

“But it feels like Ibu has been removed from us, Nang.” Hartono finished Mardika’s thoughts.

Mardika now spoke up. “Yes, Pak. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen to you.”

Hartono chuckled softly. “No one knows the future, Nang. But the most important thing is that you stay true to your beliefs. Stay guided by the Holy Moho to achieve what you want to achieve. I’m proud of you, Son, because you’re not ashamed to practice what your parents believe in. I’m sure others will become more accepting of people with beliefs like us in the future.”

“Yes, Pak.”

Mardika paused when they reached the gate of the cemetery. He looked up at the halfmoon. As gray clouds slowly covered the sky, he felt a drop of water touch his cheek. Mardika hurried to join Hartono, who had started the moped.

***

All traces of the rain that soaked Magelang that night were completely gone the next day. The afternoon heat penetrated Mardika’s medium-long hair, and his head felt hot as he and Rahardian crossed the school grounds. When they arrived at the walkway in front of their classroom, they both dropped to sit on the floor.

“It’s so hot, it’s crazy!” Rahardian complained. “Please don’t forget your books at home anymore!”

Mardika fanned the back of his neck with the notebook they had just fetched from his house. “I’m sorry, I thought it was in my bag this morning,” he said. “Thanks for lending me the motorcycle.”

“Don’t worry.” Rahardian gave a thumbs-up, then loosened the collar of his batik uniform. “It’s a good thing the security guard was kind enough to let us go. So, did you finish your notes for the religious studies class?”

Mardika flipped through the notebook he had been fanning himself with. “Yes,” he replied confidently. After checking the contents of the page three times, he turned to Rahardian. “The last lesson is on Peace in Culture, right?”

Rahardian nodded, then chuckled, as if suddenly remembering something.

Mardika frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Rahardian said. “I just remembered Pak Paulus talked about practicing one’s faith through other people’s. It’s funny, his behavior towards you doesn’t reflect that opinion.”

Mardika raked his memory. Pak Paulus always talked a lot about the spirit of helping and the mutual cooperation that had long existed in Indonesia. He passionately emphasized that these Christian values had blended with regional cultural conduct. This to Pak Paulus proved the presence of Christianity in Indonesia. Mardika thought Pak Paulus ridiculous, because all examples he had mentioned, had prevailed long before Christianity was established.

“I’m not a devout Christian,” Rahardian continued, “but don’t the examples Pak Paulus gave mainly address ethical values? That means it’s not just meant for Christians; it’s meant for everyone. My pastor always says that all religions and beliefs have ethical values that are general in nature and lead to human welfare.”

Mardika agreed. “All religions and beliefs are not only for human welfare, but also for the harmony between people and their environment. All the Kapribaden customs we practice are not just randomly meant to worship spirits, let alone demons. I’ve told you before, the Kapribadens teach to practice tresno welas lan asih marang opo lan sopo wae: love and compassion for everything and everyone. Our customs are the same as the practices of other religious believers.”

“That’s why I think Pak Paulus doesn’t apply the values he teaches if he still looks down on you,” said Rahardian. “Pak Paulus told us, ‘Love your enemies,’ but he doesn’t even love his own students.”

Mardika nodded just as the bell rang, directing students back to class.

***

Three days had passed since Mardika’s conversation with Rahardian, but Mardika could still hear his friend’s words. Mardika always remembered everything that dealt with his beliefs. The notebook of religious studies he had been poring over since early afternoon was also weighing on his mind. No matter how hard Mardika tried to study for the upcoming religious study exams, his anxiety always interfered with his attention. He kept struggling with the fact that he had never felt the freedom of worship.

Mardika’s temples throbbed. He decided to take a break. He tossed the book on the living room table, where it landed with a light thud. He saw Astuti walking towards the front door. “Where are you going?” he asked, frowning when he noticed his little sister was dressed to go out and carried a small sling bag.

“To the city, with a friend,” Astuti replied without turning to her brother.

Mardika glanced at his glowing cellphone, checking the time. It was ten minutes till six in the early evening. “Going to a Christian church with your friends again?” Mardika scowled.

“Yes,” Astuti replied curtly. Opening the door, she asked, “Do you want to come?”

“No, I don’t. Just asking.” Mardika sighed. His sister’s invitation surprised him.

Astuti shook her head. “Young people need to socialize, not just pray.” She let go of the door handle, reached into her sling bag, and pulled out her phone.

Oh, that child … Mardika’s look of disbelief turned into annoyance. “Watch your mouth! You’re supposed to say goodbye properly when you leave the house, not look for an argument!”

“OK, OK. I gotta go; my friend is here.” Astuti hurried out, leaving the door open behind her.

“Take care!” Mardika called after her. “Don’t come home too late!” He closed the door.

“Joining friends for worship is just socializing for fun,” Mardika muttered. “What kind of worship is that? Youth. Does she think praying is useless?” Mardika sat back down on the living room chair and stared wearily at his notebook.

For Mardika, studying for exams was not difficult, unless he had to study religion. He always lost interest. Ever since elementary school, his score on every religious studies exam never exceeded seventy out of one hundred. He just wasn’t interested in learning someone else’s religion; he wanted to learn about his own Kapribaden religion at school.

It was not that his father did not teach Mardika anything about other religions and beliefs. It was just that Hartono more often educated him about the many ways of life as a Kapribaden believer. Until now, Mardika had always accepted and practiced those teachings with conviction. He felt peaceful when he performed the rituals that grounded him in his beliefs. Mardika longed to learn more about his Kapribaden faith — his religion — freely at school.

***

Hartono obtained permission from the police station where he worked to attend the parent-teacher meeting. He now sat with Mardika, facing Mr. Paulus, who was explaining Mardika’s scores. Outside, gray clouds filled the sky.

Throughout Mr. Paulus’s presentation, Mardika’s attention wandered. His brain refused to listen to his homeroom teacher. After all, the explanations are always the same, Mardika thought. My grades are good but could still be improved. When Mr. Paulus discussed religious studies, Mardika remained indifferent. It was always his low point, the academic area he needed to improve on. He was tired of the same advice.

“That’s why I’m so worried about your son’s spiritual development.” Mr. Paulus cleared his throat and looked intently at Hartono.

Mardika, who caught the words, frowned slightly, glancing at his teacher. Hartono quirked a small smile and chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I teach Mardika about spirituality at home.”

“That’s good, Mr. Har,” Paulus responded, “but since this is a Christian religious studies class, I hope Mardika can study harder to get the same satisfactory grades he manages for other subjects.” Mr. Paulus folded his hands together on the table and glanced momentarily at Mardika.

“Yes, but grades can’t really be used as a benchmark,” Hartono replied.

Mardika smiled faintly at his father’s gentle rebuttal.

“That’s exactly what’s wrong, Mr. Har,” Mr. Paulus countered. “Grades do indeed represent the value of an achievement or understanding. But understanding can also be measured in one’s attitude and demeanor. Since we are addressing Christianity, the student’s achievement should also show that he is capable of living as taught.”

Suddenly, Mardika’s whole body felt hot. His stomach churned, his chest tightened, his head ached.

Hartono gave another short chuckle. “Mardika is not a Christian,” Hartono subtly reminded Mr. Paulus. “The grade my son received, despite the fact that Christianity is not his religion, is good enough for me.”

Mr. Paulus looked down, shaking his head slowly. “No offense, Mr. Har, it’s just that I have to insist on better achievements. Mardika’s grades in religious studies have always been average. Therefore, his understanding of Christianity must be improved, not ignored. The Kapribaden believers also apply Christian values.”

Mardika’s head now throbbed painfully. His trembling hand clenched his thigh. The indignation building up in his chest was about to reach his tongue and spew out an angry rebuttal.

Hartono, however, continued responding to Mr. Paulus with a smile. From the corner of his eye, Hartono saw his son’s clenched fist and quietly grasped it. “I’ll talk to Mardika again later,” Hartono said.

Trying to swallow all his aggravation, Mardika breathed slowly. Father and son rose and shook hands with Mr. Paulus. As they left the room, it started to rain.

***

For two days, Magelang was drenched in rain. Mardika sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, accompanied by the pattering rain and dim lights. The cool twilight air embraced Mardika and calmed him. He closed his eyes and breathed, deep and regular. He placed his right hand against his breastbone with his palm facing left, while his left hand rested, palm up, against his waist. In this traditional position, Mardika prayed, pouring out his frustration and irritations.

Mardika recalled his teacher’s words. He remembered all the scoldings and the treatment he had received. He pondered why those words made him so angry. Mardika exhaled another deep breath, slowly releasing all his burdens. He accepted all that had passed and centered himself. Then he prayed for his family and all Kapribaden believers to merge with Moho Suci.

Just as Mardika finished his prayer and opened his eyes, he heard a motorcycle pull up to the house. Mardika stepped out of the room. On the porch, Hartono was taking off his raincoat.

“Sugeng dalu, good evening.” Mardika placed his forehead against the back of his father’s hand.

“Sugeng bengi, Nang,” Hartono replied. “It was raining heavily in the Mungkid area. The other advocates wanted to wait at the school after asking about the provision to add Kapribaden to the religious studies curriculum, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go straight back to bed.”

The two of them walked into the dining room, where Astuti was eating while occasionally glancing at her cellphone.

“Sugeng bengi, Ndhuk,” Hartono greeted his daughter. “What are you eating?”

“Sugeng dalu, Pak.” Astuti replied briefly.

“How did it go?” Mardika asked his father, as he took a serving bowl of ayam garang asem, spicy coconut chicken stew, from the food cupboard.

“It is still difficult, Nang.” Hartono boiled some water, then took two plates and two spoons. “When we visited the school three weeks ago, the teacher for Kapribaden was with us, and all the paperwork had been completed. We were told that the application for the provision to teach the Kapribaden religion in school was being processed. But now they say we can’t continue. We have to go to the Office of Education and Culture.” Hartono turned off the stove, poured hot water into a glass, then mixed it with a little cold. “It’s troublesome.”

When Mardika and Hartono carried their dinner into the dining room, Astuti took her empty plate to the kitchen.

“So Kapribaden still won’t be taught at school.” Mardika briefly closed his eyes, mumbled a prayer, then started eating.

“It can be taught, actually,” Hartono said, “but only as an elective, not as a compulsory subject.”

“That’s fine with me, too,” Mardika assured his father.

Hartono looked at his son, smiling. “Would you like to help me when I write to your school?”

Mardika returned his smile. “I will.”

Start with small steps, Mardika thought. He was determined to work for the religious freedom that was always being broadcast through news and slogans. in the real and virtual worlds. Mardika planned to tenaciously promote the freedom of religious education, starting from his school. He wanted to gather fellow students who were also Kapribaden believers and encourage them to be firm in their faith, and to voice their right to be treated equally in receiving religious education. If necessary, we’ll meet with the school management, Mardika thought, and at the same time meet the authorities at the Education and Culture Office.

Mardika was determined to achieve true freedom in any religious expression. Everyone should be free to practice their respective beliefs in accordance with the right to live in an independent, free society.

*****