Your Stories

This page will feature the selected short story of the month along with its English translation.

Bilingual writers, we would appreciate your help with the translation of Indonesian work into English. Please contact us at dalangpublishing@gmail.com

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Short story minimum 2000 words and maximum 3000 words.

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Suatu Subuh di Cihanjuang

Candra Padmasvasti was born in Bandung, October 11, 1974. She was raised in a family that values education and literature. Reading and keeping a diary have been her passions since childhood. As a consultant in children’s and women’s rights for national and international institutions, Candra often writes activity reports, training materials, and policy drafts.

The Sacred Waterfall is her first short story. Writing this story has underscored her belief that writing demands the courage to dream and an honesty to oneself.

Candra can be reached at c.padmasvasti@gmail.com.

 

 

Suatu Subuh di Cihanjuang

 

Alunan karinding, alat musik dari bilah bambu khas Jawa Barat, mengeluarkan nada tinggi melengking, berpadu dengan embusan angin malam yang dingin. Karinding selalu dimainkan di acara adat. Suara mendengung hasil perpaduan sentilan jari dan tiupan udara dari mulut si pemain, membuat suasana di pertemuan adat terasa mendebarkan.

Setelah acara selesai. Panitren, sang penjaga adat, berlari dari Bale Saresehan menghampiri jendela dapur Uwa Enok yang masih terbuka. “Sudah diputuskan! Citrik akan dinikahkan dengan Kang Dayat!” ujarnya di antara tarikan napas dan langkah kakinya yang bergegas menjauh. 

Uwa Enok yang sedang duduk di atas dipan di dekat jendela dapurnya langsung menutup wajah dengan kedua telapak tangannya. Wanita tua itu menangis, berusaha mencerna berita yang disampaikan oleh panitren.

Citrik yang sedang duduk menghangatkan tubuhnya di depan hawu, tungku kayu bakar, seketika merasa mual. Pepes jamur, lauk makan malam tadi, terasa mengimpit kerongkongannya. Gadis remaja tigabelas tahun itu menggelugut membayangkan Mang Dayat, lelaki paruh baya yang biasa dia panggil paman, akan menjadi suaminya.

Pernikahan Mang Dayat dengan Bi Nenden memang belum dikaruniai keturunan. Perilaku mereka sangat berlawanan, Mang Dayat suka berbicara, sedangkan Bi Nenden sangat pendiam. Perempuan di kampung kerap menggunjingkan kelakuan Mang Dayat, yang sering punya hubungan khusus dengan perempuan dari luar Cihanjuang. Sebagian dari mereka menuduh Bi Nenden yang tidak dapat memberikan anak, sebagai alasannya.

Mengapa harus aku yang memberinya anak? Citrik merasa jijik. Tangannya menarik tepian kain sarung dari sisi kedua lengannya, membungkus tubuh mungilnya, dan membenamkan kepalanya.

Citrik teringat kejadian beberapa hari lalu. Kala itu dia dan Uwa Enok sedang berjalan sepulang dari sungai.

Tiba-tiba dari barisan pohon, Mang Dayat muncul menghadang mereka. “Aduh wanginya,” goda Mang Dayat sambil mendekatkan kepalanya ke arah tubuh Citrik.

Citrik langsung menjerit dan berlindung di belakang badan Uwa Enok. Gelung Citrik terlepas, rambutnya yang hitam jatuh tergerai melewati pundaknya yang basah. Tubuh gadis itu hanya dibalut kain sarung, selepas mandi di sungai.

Citrik merinding karena masih bisa merasakan napas Mang Dayat di lengannya.

“Mau apa kamu, Dayat?” Uwa Enok membentak.

“Mau menikah dengan ponakanmu,” ujar Mang Dayat tergelak. Bau minyak rambut Mang Dayat tercium begitu kuat, mengalahkan wangi sabun mandi dari tubuh Citrik dan Uwa Enok. Mang Dayat mengusap kumisnya sambil menatap Citrik. Mata lelaki tua itu bergerak menyapu wajah pucat Citrik. Pandangannya menjelajahi leher yang jenjang lalu turun ke pundak nan putih. Bola matanya kian membesar saat tilikannya tiba pada pinggul sintal Citrik yang terbalut kain sarung basah.

“Jangan kurang ajar!”  Uwa Enok berteriak marah.

“Aku akan buatkan rumah terbagus di Cihanjuang untukmu, Citrik,” ucap Mang Dayat merayu Citrik tanpa menghiraukan hardikan Uwa Enok. “Kamu bisa dapat semua yang kau mau dengan uang hasil usaha ternakku.” 

Citrik masih tidak menjawab, kedua tangannya terus memeluk keranjang berisi baju yang baru dicuci sebagai tumpuan tubuhnya yang gemetar.

“Anak ini sudah mendapat rumah dari ku.” Uwa Enok berucap sambil mengangkat dagu, matanya menatap tajam lelaki yang ada di depannya. Lalu bibirnya mengatup, tarikan napasnya yang pendek diembuskan lewat kedua lubang hidungnya. 

“Rumah usang bekas perawan tua tidak pantas untuk gadis cantik seperti Citrik,” ejek Mang Dayat diikuti suara tertawanya yang menjengkelkan.

Wajah Uwa Enok memerah. Tangannya mengepal menahan amarah. “Awas! Aku laporkan kepada sesepuh adat!” Uwa Enok berteriak lantang.

Mang Dayat justru tertawa liar. “Dengan kepandaian ilmu sirep akan aku tembus mimpi sesepuh adat. Dia akan menuruti semua kemauanku.”

Uwa Enok tersentak. Dia diam kehabisan kata-kata.

Melihat perubahan sikap Uwa Enok, Mang Dayat kembali tertawa keras. Kedua tangannya bertengger di pinggang, menampakkan perutnya yang montok berguncang. “Aku berkuasa di Cihanjuang! Perempuan tua macam kamu tidak ada artinya bagiku.” Mang Dayat menunjukkan jari telunjuknya ke arah Citrik. “Dia milik aku!”

Citrik merasa dirinya diperlakukan layaknya barang untuk dimiliki. Tenggorokannya tercekat menahan tangis.

Uwa Enok masih diam mematung.

Mang Dayat berlalu menjauh.

Uwa Enok berbalik badan dan memeluk Citrik.

Keduanya bertangisan di sisi jalan setapak. Sesaat mereka merasa agak tenang, Uwa Enok mengajak Citrik pulang ke rumah.

“Ayo pulang malu jika ada yang melihat kita sedang bertangisan,” Uwa Enok mengusap air mata Citrik, “Kita pasti akan dapat jalan keluarnya.”

Kalimat terakhir Uwa Enok membuat hati Citrik tenang. Dua perempuan itu pun berjalan menuju ke rumah.

***

Keesokan harinya, pendar matahari lamat-lamat menerobos celah dinding dapur yang terbuat dari bambu. Citrik masih masygul menerima keputusan adat. Hanya dengan memasak pikirannya dapat teralihkan. Wangi dapur ini yang berlantai tanah dengan empat batang kayu pohon hanjuang di setiap sudutnya, seakan menjadi rahim ibu yang memberinya rasa tenteram. Uwa Enok pernah bertutur tentang pohon hanjuang. Batangnya terkenal kuat menopang bangunan. Daunnya berwarna merah dan hijau, melambangkan keseimbangan antara manusia dan alam. Menurutnya, pohon hanjuang adalah lambang perempuan Cihanjuang, yang kuat dan mampu menjaga keseimbangan keluarga. Singgasana perempuan Cihanjuang adalah dapur, tempat dia bertahta, mengolah apa yang diberikan alam menjadi makanan untuk keluarganya. “Kelak dapur dan seluruh isinya ini akan menjadi milikmu, Citrik,” Uwa Enok berkaul.

Tangan Citrik menggeser selot kayu, membuka jendela. Angin pagi yang dingin membuat pipinya yang putih bersemu merah. Kedua matanya menatap langit sejenak. Alis mata yang tebal dan bulu mata yang lentik, membuat Citrik terlihat cantik alami.

Dia teringat saat datang bersama Bapak dari Bandung ke Cihanjuang di bulan Agustus 1949. Cihanjuang, desa kecil di pegunungan Sukabumi adalah tanah kelahiran Bapak dimana Uwa Enok, kakak perempuan satu-satunya, menetap. Bapak menangis di pangkuan Uwa Enok, sambil menceritakan perihal rumah yang dibakar dan Ibu yang dibunuh gerombolan Tentara Islam Indonesia.

Saat itu, usia Citrik masih lima tahun. Kejadiannya terjadi begitu cepat. Malam itu dia terbangun sudah berada di gendongan Bapak. Pandangannya kabur tertutup asap, napasnya sesak oleh udara yang terasa panas sampai ke dada. Bapak berusaha keluar dari rumah, berlomba dengan jilatan api yang berasal dari rumah-rumah lainnya. Orang-orang berlarian, suara jeritan dan tangisan terdengar dimana-mana. Bapak dan Citrik menanti Ibu keluar dari rumah untuk mengajaknya berlari menjauhi kampung. Namun sayang, Ibu tidak pernah keluar dari rumah.

Bapak sering bercerita tentang dendamnya pada gerombolan yang membuat Ibu mati. “Kartosoewirjo, pemimpin gerombolan itu tidak puas dengan kemerdekaan Indonesia yang masih dibayang-bayangi Belanda,” kata Bapak berapi-api, “Dia memaksa Jawa Barat menjadi Negara Islam Indonesia.”

Menurut Bapak, gerombolan itu bergerilya di hutan-hutan untuk mempertahankan diri dari kejaran TNI-AD. Mereka membutuhkan persediaan makanan yang banyak. Biasanya, saat tentara Indonesia tahu bahwa gerombolan akan mendatangi kampung untuk mencari bahan makanan, mereka akan meminta warga kampung mengungsi. Gerombolan itu mengharuskan setiap rumah menyediakan beras atau bahan makanan di teras rumah. Jika tidak disediakan maka mereka akan merusak atau membakar rumah tersebut.

“Malam itu gerombolan Tentara Islam Indonesia di Tasikmalaya menyerang markas TNI-AD disana sehingga TNI-AD di wilayah Kabupaten Bandung harus berpindah tugas ke sana. Tidak ada yang tahu bahwa gerombolan itu akan datang ke kampung kita,” ujar Bapak pilu.

Sejak itu, setelah sekian tahun tinggal di Kabupaten Bandung bersama Ibu dan Citrik, Bapak kembali tinggal di Cihanjuang, kampung kelahirannya. Hari-hari Bapak hanya diisi dengan meratapi kematian Ibu. Sampai akhirnya Bapak mulai sering berbicara sendiri dan julukan orang gila melekat pada dirinya.

Tak sampai dua tahun sejak Citrik tinggal di Cihanjuang, pada suatu subuh Uwa Enok menemukan tubuh Bapak sudah kaku. Ajal menjemput Bapak di kala tidur. Kedukaan yang menimpa Citrik, membuatnya tumbuh menjadi gadis pendiam, yang jarang bergaul dengan anak-anak sebayanya.

***

Jemari Citrik yang lentik mengambil tiga batang kayu bakar, memasukkan satu per satu ke lubang hawu. Citrik menempelkan bibirnya yang tipis pada sepotong bambu pendek lalu meniupkan udara ke arah bara sampai menjadi api. Tiba-tiba dia tersadar belum melihat Uwa Enok sejak fajar.

Walaupun Uwa Enok terkenal jarang berbicara, Citrik selalu merasa lebih tenang jika berada di dekatnya. Uwa Enok adalah pengganti orang tuanya.

Citrik mengangkat langseng, alat untuk memasak air dan mengukus makanan, dan meletakkannya di atas hawu.  Langseng tembaga berwarna kuning keemasan itu terlihat seperti topi pesulap terbalik. Citrik berpendapat memasak itu memang mirip melakukan pertunjukan sulap.

Uwa Enok lah yang memperkenalkannya pada serunya memasak. Semua orang di Cihanjuang mengakui kepiawaian Uwa Enok memasak, karena masakannya selalu mendapat pujian dari sesepuh adat. Kata Uwa Enok, kemampuan memasak penting bagi perempuan Cihanjuang, tidak saja karena nikmatnya masakan akan membuat keluarga bahagia, tapi juga sebagai bentuk syukur atas apa yang kita dapatkan dari alam.

Saat masih tinggal bersama orangtuanya, Citrik membayangkan dia akan bersekolah seperti anak-anak lain. Namun bayangan itu pupus, karena di Cihanjuang belum ada sekolah. Anak-anak di Cihanjuang belajar dari alam.  Mereka belajar makna kesabaran dan keuletan melalui bertani.

“Alam adalah guru terbaik bagi manusia,” demikian wejangan Uwa Enok saat mengajarkan tentang ngahuma, menanam padi di ladang dengan cara tumpang sari. Padi ditanam bersama tanaman jagung dan pisang yang sudah ditanam terlebih dulu, sehingga tanah menjadi subur dan panen melimpah. Adat ngahuma ini adalah aturan yang tidak boleh dilanggar, supaya manusia tidak lupa dari mana dia berasal dan menghormati alam yang telah memberinya kehidupan.

Suara ketukan keras diikuti bunyi pintu dapur yang didorong kasar menyadarkan Citrik dari lamunannya. Dia membalikkan badan.

Terlihat Bi Nenden berjalan cepat menghampirinya. Istri dari Mang Dayat itu terlihat marah, tidak seperti biasanya. “Kamu pikir bisa memiliki suamiku karena kamu lebih muda?” Bi Nenden berteriak.

Citrik kaget merengket ketakutan.

“Perempuan tidak tahu malu!” Tangan Bi Nenden mendorong lengan Citrik dengan keras.

“Nenden!” Sebuah suara keras terdengar dari arah luar. Uwa Enok berjalan mendekat.

Saur kudu dibubut!” Uwa Enok mengingatkan falsafah adat untuk berbicara dengan hati-hati. “Ini rumahku. Kamu harus menghormatinya!” Uwa Enok berdiri di depan Citrik dengan sikap melindungi. Bibirnya bergerak merapalkan sesuatu. Tiba-tiba udara dapur terasa lembab. “Aku pun tak sudi Citrik menjadi istri kedua suamimu,” kata Uwa Enok tegas.

Semburat marah di mata Bi Nenden perlahan berubah menjadi tatapan kosong dan dia pun menangis tersedu-sedu. “Hampura, mohon maaf, Bi Nenden merajuk sambil berjongkok. “Kamu tahu bagaimana aku sudah lelah menghadapi suamiku yang buta oleh nafsu.”

“Dari mana suamimu belajar ilmu sirep?” Uwa Enok bertanya dengan nada memaksa. Pandangannya menyelidik menatap mata Bi Nenden yang langsung terlihat gugup.

“Dia belajar kepada seseorang dari selatan Pulau Jawa.” Bi Nenden menjawab lemah. “Ilmu itu menghancurkan suamiku.” Bi Nenden terisak.

Uwa Enok mengambil gelas dari rak bambu, mengisinya dengan air dari kendi, lalu meniup gelas itu sebelum disodorkan kepada Bi Nenden yang langsung meminumnya habis.

Uwa Enok berjongkok sejajar dengan Bi Nenden dan berbisik dengan suara lirih, “Mari kita ke mata air untuk minta petunjuk dari Nyi Mas Hanjuang.” Mata air Nyi Mas Hanjuang adalah tempat sakral yang berada di balik bukit. Uwa Enok sering berdoa di sana.

Kedua perempuan itu perlahan bangun dari jongkok. Uwa Enok menatap mata Bi Nenden lalu mengangguk dan menggerakkan kepalanya ke samping sebagai ajakan untuk berangkat. Mereka berjalan keluar dari dapur.

Jantung Citrik berdegup kencang saat dia memandang punggung kedua perempuan yang terlihat menjauh itu.

***

Hari sudah gelap, tapi Uwa Enok tak kunjung pulang sejak berangkat ke mata air Nyi Mas Hanjuang bersama Bi Nenden. Walaupun Citrik tahu Uwa Enok sudah biasa pergi ke mata air, hati Citrik tetap khawatir. Apakah Uwa Enok sudah makan? tanyanya dalam hati. Dia memandang lauk ulukutek leunca yang dimasaknya tadi pagi masakan kesukaan Uwa Enok yang terbuat dari oncom, campuran peragian tempe dengan leunca, jenis sayuran lalapan yang banyak tumbuh di daerah Jawa Barat. Citrik menunggu Uwa Enok sambil bergolek di pembaringan. Tidak berkuasa untuk tetap terjaga, akhirnya gadis itu pun terlelap.

***

Di tengah malam Citrik masih terlelap di pembaringan. Sinar lampu cempor membuat bayangan lekuk pinggulnya tampak di dinding. Suara tokek yang keras membuat Citrik terjaga dari tidurnya. Gadis itu mencari tubuh Uwa Enok di sebelahnya, tetapi hanya ada dirinya di pembaringan. Uwa Enok kenapa masih belum kunjung datang?  Citrik mengkhawatirkan Uwa Enok yang harus berjalan jauh ke mata air Nyi Mas Hanjuang.

Citrik teringat saat pertama kali berdoa di mata air Nyi Mas Hanjuang tahun lalu. Saat itu Citrik baru saja selesai mendapat haid yang pertama, dan Uwa Enok mengutarakan padanya bahwa sudah waktunya Citrik belajar doa khusus karena sudah menjadi perempuan dewasa. Perjalanan ke mata air Nyi Mas Hanjuang harus melewati hutan larangan. Hutan yang membentang di punggung bukit ini adalah wilayah sakral yang dilindungi oleh adat. Peraturan adat melarang wilayah hutan larangan digunakan untuk bercocok tanam, apalagi memotong pohonnya tanpa ijin dari sesepuh adat. “Tidak boleh pakai alas kaki dan tidak boleh bicara sepatah kata pun.” Uwa Enok menjelaskan adab sebelum melewati hutan larangan.

Malam itu, suara jangkrik yang riuh berirama menemani perjalanan dua orang perempuan, melalui hutan larangan.  Citrik berjalan di belakang Uwa Enok yang memegang obor. Citrik teringat rasa dingin di telapak kakinya saat menapaki tanah yang lembab. Baju hangat dan kain kebaya tebal tidak mampu menahan angin gunung yang menusuk sampai tulang. Saat itu, sebenarnya dia sudah lelah dan kedinginan, tapi mengadu pada Uwa Enok hanya akan membuat perempuan tua itu gusar. Citrik sudah hapal tabiat Uwa Enok. Jika keinginannya tidak terpenuhi pasti akan marah, berbeda dengan sifat dirinya yang selalu mengalah.

Air terjun Nyi Mas Hanjuang adalah sebuah bengkahan kecil di antara tebing. Mereka tiba di sana hampir tengah malam. Cahaya obor menunjukkan bebatuan besar di sekitarnya. Citrik mendengar suara air yang keras, menunjukkan air terjun ini deras dan letaknya cukup tinggi.

Uwa Enok menjura dan duduk di atas batu, diikuti oleh Citrik.

Tetap tanpa suara, Citrik langsung mengambil sesajen dari kain gendongan. Baskom berukuran kecil berisi satu ekor ayam panggang, sebuah kelapa muda dan bunga kenanga segenggam tertata rapi di atas batu.

Uwa Enok membakar dupa. Lalu kedua perempuan itu duduk bersila, mulai berdoa. Hanya terdengar derasnya suara air terjun, Citrik semakin tenggelam dalam semedinya. Wajah dan tubuhnya basah terkena cipratan air yang memandikannya. Rasa dingin di tubuhnya berangsur-angsur menjadi biasa. Wangi dupa memenuhi relung hidung dan mengantarkan pikiran Citrik melayang, mengapung, membubung bersama mantra yang mengalir dari bibirnya.

“Aku terima yang kau berikan” sebuah suara wanita yang lembut tiba-tiba terdengar di antara rapalan mantra. Nadanya jelas dan terdengar bersahaja. Suara itu bukan masuk ke telinga Citrik, lebih tepat terdengar di dalam kepalanya.

“Saya sudah melengkapi seluruh syarat yang Nyi Mas minta,” suara Uwa Enok, masih terdengar di dalam kepala Citrik.

“Ada di tanganmu,” suara lembut itu terdengar lagi.

Uwa Enok mengatupkan kedua telapak tangannya di atas kepala untuk beberapa saat, lalu menariknya ke pangkuan dengan gerakan cepat. Sesaat dibukanya kedua telapak tangan, terlihat besi tipis dan kecil berwarna emas kehitaman sepanjang telapak tangan. Uwa Enok kembali menjura dan mengucapkan rasa terima kasih.

“Keris ini adalah titipan yang harus kau jaga” suara lembut itu kembali terdengar, “Gunakanlah untuk menjaga keselarasan antara manusia dan alam.”

Uwa Enok kembali mengucapkan terima kasih lalu menyentuh lengan Citrik mengajak pamit pulang. Mereka berjalan menjauh dari mata air. Perjalanan pulang tidak seberat saat berangkat, terasa lebih cepat berlalu. Mereka tiba di kampung saat subuh mulai menyentuh punggung Gunung Cimentang.

Citrik melamun sambil rebahan di pembaringan. Lamunannya mengantarkan kantuknya kembali menyerang. Gadis itu pun kembali tertidur pulas.

***

Kabut subuh masih menyelimuti kampung Cihanjuang, ketika Uwa Enok membuka pintu dapur. Perempuan tua itu masuk dengan gerakan perlahan. Buliran keringat terlihat di dahinya, dia nampak kelelahan namun bibirnya tersenyum saat memandang Citrik yang terlelap di atas dipan bambu. Uwa Enok menarik selimut yang tergulung di kaki Citrik, dan menyelimuti tubuh gadis itu. Diusapnya kepala Citrik perlahan, sebelum merebahkan dirinya untuk beristirahat.

***

Saat malam Jumat Kliwon, malam Jumat yang dikenal keramat oleh penghuni Dessa Cihanjuang, Citrik menyiapkan sesajen di dapur seperti biasanya. Empat butir telur rebus, segelas kopi pahit, lima kuncup bunga mawar, segenggam bunga kenanga, satu butir kelapa hijau, dan satu sisir pisang mas. Sesajen disimpan di pojok ruangan bersisian dengan hawu. Uwa Enok yang mulai membakar dupa, merogoh isi kutang dan mengambil kain putih yang membungkus Keris Nyi Mas Hanjuang. Perlahan Uwa Enok menempatkan keris itu di antara sesajen setelah melepaskan kain pembungkusnya.  

Harum dupa mengisi dapur sampai ke langit-langit. Asap dupa dan hawu bersatu. Citrik duduk bersila di sebelah Uwa Enok. Keduanya menjura ke arah sesajen lalu menempatkan kedua telapak tangan di atas tungkai.

Uwa Enok mulai membaca mantra dengan suara lirih.

Hanjuang beureum hejo.  Hanjuang berwarna merah hijau.

Hanjuang nu ngaleupaskeun. Membebaskan simpul yang tercengkeram. 

Ti kiwa tengen luhung mancur. Hanjuang pembawa ilmu. 

Poek mongkleng sateuacan isuk. Di gelap gulita sebelum pagi.

Mantranya berbeda dari yang biasa kita baca setiap malam Jumat ya, Uwa?” tanya Citrik

“Perintah Nyi Mas Hanjuang.” Uwa Enok menjawab tanpa memandang wajah Citrik.

Melihat bahasa tubuh Uwa Enok, Citrik enggan bertanya lebih lanjut. Dia pun memejamkan mata dan mulai mengikuti rapalan mantra Uwa Enok. Beberapa saat kemudian, udara di dapur terasa lebih panas. Citrik melayang, mengapung, membubung bersama mantra yang mengalir dari bibirnya. Malam semakin tua, kabut dingin menyelimuti Cihanjuang, dan wangi kenanga ajek di dapur sepanjang malam.

***

Matahari dari balik Gunung Cimentang mulai beranjak naik. Citrik terlihat cantik menggunakan kebaya putih dan sarung berwarna hijau. Dia menunggu Uwa Enok menyiapkan dirinya untuk hadir di acara adat.

Tirai kamar tersibak dan Uwa Enok melangkah keluar. Wangi kenanga kembali menelusup ceruk hidung. Dia mengenakan kebaya putih yang biasanya, tetapi dia terlihat berbeda. Uwa Enok terlihat sangat anggun. Rambutnya disanggul cepol ke atas. Walaupun kulitnya telah keriput, tetapi terlihat bersinar. Uwa Enok tersenyum dan mengajak Citrik mengikutinya.

Citrik berjalan di belakang Uwa Enok, sesekali mencoba bersisian agar dapat mengintip wajah Uwa Enok. Citrik memeluk baskom berisi kue apem di dadanya, risau terjatuh.

Di Bale Saresehan sudah banyak warga yang datang untuk berdoa. Semua mata memandang Uwa Enok yang melangkah masuk. Dagunya terangkat, cepolnya yang tinggi membuat tulang pipinya menonjol.

Di ujung ruangan, terlihat kain batik dengan corak daun berwarna hijau dan merah, menutupi tubuh manusia beralaskan tikar pandan. Tadi pagi, panitren memukul kentongan dan mengabarkan kematian Mang Dayat kepada warga. Mang Dayat ditemukan meninggal saat tidur. Tubuhnya sudah kaku kala subuh menyentuh bumi.

Bi Nenden terlihat duduk menunduk di dekat jenazah.

Citrik menempatkan baskom yang dia pegang bersama kumpulan sesajen di dekat jenazah, lalu duduk di sebelah Uwa Enok. Wangi pandan di sekitar jenazah terpintal bersama harum kenanga dari tubuh Uwa Enok. Nada karinding melambat. Sebentar lagi acara doa kematian akan dimulai. Citrik melirik ke arah Uwa Enok.

Mata Uwa Enok memandang ke arah Bi Nenden.

Perlahan kepala Bi Nenden terangkat dan keduanya saling menatap.

Uwa Enok pun mengangguk lamban.

Sekelebat, Citrik melihat ada segaris senyum tipis di wajah kedua perempuan itu. Citrik tertegun. Daun-daun pohon hanjuang di sekitar Bale Saresehan berlenggok tertiup angin. Kematian selalu mengundang pilu, tapi kali ini tidak.

 

*****

 

The Sacred Waterfall

In 2005, Umar Thamrin received a Fulbright grant and a Catherine and William L. Magistretti Graduate Fellowship for his graduate studies in the United States. He completed his Ph.D. in Southeast Asian Studies with the designated emphasis in Critical Theory at the University of California, Berkeley, in 2016. Before returning to Indonesia in 2017, he received a one-year appointment as a research and teaching fellow at the University of Oregon.

Back in his home country, Umar became disturbed by several social conditions he encountered there, and is saddened that the common people have remained marginalized while society ignores the lessons of its history. These conditions have prompted him to think, to remember, and to write. He is currently teaching linguistics at Alauddin State Islamic University.

Umar can be reached at: umar2x.umar@gmail.com

 

The Sacred Waterfall

 

The reverberating tones of a bamboo karinding, mingled with the sighs of the cold night wind. As was custom, the Sudanese mouth harp was played during a meeting of the village elders. With the karinding placed between his lips, the player tapped the end of the instrument with his fingers to create the thin vibrations that added to the tension in the Bale Sarasehan.

At the end of the meeting, a village elder rushed from the civic center to Uwa Enok’s open kitchen window. “It’s confirmed!” cried the panitren to the old maid. “Citrik will marry Dayat!” Panting, he hurried away.

Seated on a bench inside the open kitchen window, Uwa Enok covered her face with both hands and wept, trying to make sense of what the panitren’s announcement meant for her niece.

Thirteen-year-old Citrik huddled near the hawu. The kitchen’s clay stove warmed her. The pepes — roasted mushrooms wrapped in banana leaves — she had eaten at dinner weren’t settling well in her stomach. Now, hearing the panitren’s words, she shivered, picturing the middle-aged man she’d always addressed as uncle becoming her husband.

Dayat and his wife, Bi Nenden, were childless. The couple were complete opposites. Dayat was talkative; Bi Nenden was quiet. The women in the village gossiped about Dayat’s affair with a woman who lived outside of Cihanjuang, a small village near Sukabumi in West Java. Some of them blamed Bi Nenden’s infertility for Dayat’s infidelity.

Why do I have to be the one who gives him children? Disgusted, Citrik nestled her slender body into her sarong and buried her face in her arms. She thought about the incident with Dayat that had happened a few days ago. Remembering the old man’s breath on her arm, Citrik shuddered.

***

That day, she and Uwa Enok had been walking home after doing laundry and bathing in the river. Citrik’s sarong was wrapped tightly around her body; her wet black hair fell loosely over her damp shoulders.

Unexpectedly Dayat had emerged from behind the treeline and blocked their passage. Leaning into Citrik, he teased, “My, my, don’t you smell nice!”

Startled, Citrik ducked behind Uwa Enok.

“What do you want, Dayat?” Uwa Enok had snapped.

“I want to marry your niece.” Mang Dayat chuckled. The cloying smell of his pomade completely smothered Citrik’s and Uwa Enok’s clean fragrance. The old man stroked his mustache and peered into Citrik’s pale face. His greedy gaze slid down her slender neck, landing briefly on her white shoulders, and — eyes widening — settled on the curves of Citrik’s hips swaddled in the wet sarong.

“Don’t be vulgar!” Uwa Enok screamed, furiously.

Mang Dayat ignored Uwa Enok and continued leering at Citrik. “I’ll build the most beautiful house in Cihanjuang for you, Citrik. I can give you everything you want with the money I make in my cattle business.”

Citrik remained silent behind her aunt, pressing her full basket of freshly-washed clothes against her trembling body.

Uwa Enok raised her chin and glared at Dayat. “Citrik will inherit my house,” she hissed through pressed lips.

Dayat laughed. “An old house from an old maid is not suitable for a girl as beautiful as Citrik.”

Fury flushed a dangerous red in Uwa Enok’s face. “Watch your mouth!” she snarled. “I’ll report you to the elders!”

Dayat burst into boisterous laughter. “With my sirep, mantra, I can hypnotize the elders, and, under the spell of my magic, I can make them do anything I say!”

Uwa Enok gasped.

Taking full delight in springing his secret on Uwa Enok, Dayat put his hands on his hips, and snickered, exposing his fat shaking belly, “I’m the law in Cihanjuang! I don’t listen to old maids like you.” Pointing at Citrik, he declared, “She’s mine!”

Citrik’s throat tightened, trying to swallow the terror of being treated as an object that could be owned by another.

Uwa Enok stood rigid until Dayat walked away. Then she turned around and hugged Citrik. In tears, they held one another on the side of the path until they calmed down. Uwa Enok wiped Citrik’s tears. “Let’s go home. People are looking at us,” she said and soothed,

“We’ll find a way out of this problem.”

***

The morning after the village elders’ decision, as the sun crept between the bamboo slats of the kitchen wall, Citrik, still upset, tried to distract herself by preparing breakfast. This kitchen, with the floor’s earthy aroma and the four strong hanjuang tree trunks anchoring each corner, felt as safe as a mother’s womb.

Uwa Enok had told her about the hanjuang tree. Its trunk, widely praised for its strength, was used as building pillars. Its red and green leaves symbolized harmony between mankind and nature. Uwa Enok had also told her that hanjuang trees were like the Cihanjuang women, who had to be strong to maintain unity in their families. Cihanjuang women reigned in the kitchen, where they turned nature’s gifts into sustenance for their families. “This kitchen, and everything in it, will be yours, Citrik.” Uwa Enok had promised her.

Citrik unhooked the wooden latch and pushed the window open. The cold morning breeze brought some color to her pale cheeks. Her thick eyebrows and curled eyelashes added to Citrik’s natural beauty. For a moment, she stared at the sky.

***

Citrick and her father first moved to Cihanjuang from the Bandung Regency in August 1949. Cihanjuang, a small village in the mountains surrounding Sukabumi, West Java, was her father’s home village, where Uwa Enok, his only sister, lived. Her father had wept on Uwa Enok’s lap as he told her about the Islamic Armed Forces of Indonesia setting fire to their village.

Citrik was five years old. It had happened so fast. She remembered waking up in her father’s arms, her vision blurred by the thick smoke. She gasped as the hot air filled her lungs.

Clutching her to his chest, her father raced out of the burning house, with the fire raging around them. Outside was a chaos of panicked people running, screaming, and crying.

Citrik’s mother didn’t make it out of their house.

“That night, a mob from the Islamic Armed Forces in Tasikmalaya attacked the Indonesian Army’s headquarter there,” Citrik’s father told his sister bitterly. “No one expected the mob to attack our village. That mob leader, Sekarmadji Maridjan Kartosoewirjo, wants West Java to become the Islamic State of Indonesia. According to him, the current government is allowing the Dutch to maintain control and therefore he is planning an insurgence.”

When the Indonesian Army came too close, the Islamic Armed Forces mob retreated to the forest. Because the mob needed a large supply of food to survive while hiding in the forest, they demanded that each village household leave rice and other food items on the porch before they abandoned their villages. They destroyed the houses of those who did not comply.

After having lived for so many years in the Bandung Regency with Citrik and her mother, Citrik’s father’s days back in his home village were filled with grieving his wife’s death.

Soon, he began talking to himself, and neighbors started whispering about “the crazy man.” Then, one morning, Uwa Enok found her brother, after living less than two years in Cihanjuang, lying cold on his bed. He had died in his sleep.

Grief made Citrik grow into a quiet, lonely girl.

***

Citrik’s slender fingers placed three sticks of firewood, one by one, into the hawu hole. She pressed her thin lips against a short piece of bamboo and gently blew air onto the coals until they flamed. Citrik wondered where Uwa Enok was that morning. Even though Uwa Enok rarely spoke, Citrik felt safer when her aunt was around.

Citrik lifted the langseng and placed it on the hawu. The large copper pot was used to boil water, but it was also used as a water pan for steaming. The golden yellow pot looked like an upside-down magician’s hat. Cooking, Citrik thought was just like performing a magic show.

It was Uwa Enok who had introduced Citrik to the adventure of cooking. In Cihanjuang, Uwa Enok was known as a skilled cook. The village elders always praised her culinary talent. Uwa Enok said that cooking was an important skill for Cihanjuang women to possess, not only because well-prepared food brought joy to their family, but also because it was an expression of gratitude for nature’s gifts.

Uwa Enok taught Citrik many things. While living in Bandung, Citrik had assumed she would go to school like the other children. But that notion disappeared when she and her father arrived in Cihanjuang, which had no schools.

“Nature is our best teacher,” Uwa Enok had advised Citrik, while showing her ngahuma, farming rice by intercropping. Rice was planted next to corn and bananas to fertilize the soil, resulting in a more abundant harvest. The ngahuma was an important tradition that reminded humans of their humble origins and to respect nature as the source of life. Thus, children in Cihanjuang learned the meaning of patience and courage through farming.

A loud knock on the kitchen door startled Citrik from her daydream. She whirled around as the door flung open with a loud bang.

Bi Nenden rushed in, her placid face contorted with outrage. “You think you can steal my husband because you’re younger?” shouted Mang Dayat’s wife.

Stunned, Citrik began to tremble.

“Shameless bitch!” Bi Nenden grabbed Citrik’s arm and shoved her hard.

“Nenden!” Shouted a voice from outside. Uwa Enok walked through the door. “Saur kudu dibubut!” she said, standing protectively in front of Citrik. “This is my house. You must be respectful!” Uwa Enok’s lips moved, as if chanting silently, and the air in the kitchen turned damp. “I don’t want Citrik to be your husband’s wife, either,” she said.

The fury in Bi Nenden’s eyes dissolved into a blank stare. She started to cry. “Hampura, forgive me,” Bi Nenden moaned as she slumped into a squat on the earthen floor. “If only you knew how tired I am of dealing with a husband who’s blinded by lust.”

“Where did your husband learn hypnotism?” Uwa Enok asked, looking intently at Bi Nenden.

“He learned it from someone in the southern part of Java,” Bi Nenden answered softly between tears. “That knowledge destroyed my husband.”

Uwa Enok took a glass from the bamboo rack and filled it with water from a clay jug. She blew her support on the glass before handing it to Bi Nenden, who emptied it immediately.

Uwa Enok squatted on the floor next to Bi Nenden. “Let’s go to the waterfall to ask Nyi Mas Hanjuang for advice,” she whispered encouragingly. The Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall was a sacred place on the other side of a sacred forest on the mountain ridge. Uwa Enok often went there to pray. The old woman looked into Bi Nenden’s eyes, nodded, and tilted her head toward the door. The two women rose and slowly walked out of the kitchen.

Watching the two women’s backs as they walked away, Citrik’s heartbeat quickened.

***

It was already dark, but Uwa Enok and Bi Nenden had not returned home from their visit to the Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall. Even though Citrik knew that Uwa Enok was accustomed to visiting the waterfall, she still worried.

Looking at the ulukutek leunca she had cooked earlier that morning, Citrik wondered if Uwa Enok had eaten yet. The traditional Sundanese salad was her aunt’s favorite dish. It was made from oncom, fermented tempeh, and fruit and leaves of leunca, black nightshade, a flowering plant that grew in West Java.

Citrik decided to lie down while waiting for her aunt’s return. Unable to stay awake, the girl finally fell asleep.

***

Midnight came, and Citrik was still fast asleep on her bed. The light of the oil lamp cast a shadow of her curved hip against the wall. A gecko’s deep, throaty call woke Citrik. The girl looked for Uwa Enok next to her, but she was alone on the bed. Why is Uwa Enok not home yet? Citrik grew more worried. It was quite a long walk to the Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall.

Citrik thought about another midnight, one year ago, when she had prayed for her first time at the Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall. Citrik had just completed her first menstrual cycle, and now that she had become a woman, Uwa Enok told her it was time to learn the special prayers.

To get to the Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall, they had to travel through  an enchanted forest on a mountain ridge protected by traditional law. The area could not be used for farming, and no trees could be cut without permission from the village elders. “We must walk barefooted, and we are not allowed to speak,” Uwa Enok had explained to Citrik before they entered.

That night, accompanied by the lively chirping of crickets, Uwa Enok and Citrik walked barefoot through the sacred forest. Citrik walked behind Uwa Enok, who carried a torch.

Citrik still remembered how cold her feet were as she stepped across the damp ground. Her warm clothes and heavy kebaya, long-sleeved blouse, had not been enough to protect her from the cold mountain wind that pierced her to the core. But although she was tired and cold, Citrik knew better than to complain. She knew her aunt’s character well. Unlike herself, who was always compliant, Uwa Enok became angry when she didn’t get her way.

It was almost midnight when they arrived at the Nyi Mas Hanjuang waterfall. The water broke out of a steep cliff. The light from Uwa Enok’s torch illuminated the large steep rocks around it. Citrik could hear the roar of cascading water, which told her that the feeder stream was heavy, and the waterfall was high.

Uwa Enok bowed and sat down on a flat rock. Citrik silently unfastened the sarong sling that held their offerings. She took the small bowl filled with a roasted whole chicken, a young coconut, and a handful of cananga flowers, and arranged everything neatly on the rock.

Uwa Enok lit incense. Then, seated cross-legged, they began to pray. The only sound came from the rushing water. Citrik sank deeper into her meditation as the falling water misted her face and body. The scent of the incense filled Citrik’s nostrils. Her thoughts drifted as her mind followed the cadence of the mantra she recited.

“I accept your offering.” A soft female voice interrupted Citrik’s silent chanting. The voice was clear and its tone unassuming.

“I have done everything you asked for.” Citrik heard Uwa Enok’s voice.

“It’s in your hands,” answered the soft female voice.

Uwa Enok clasped her hands above her head. She held them there for a moment before bringing them down to her lap with one swift movement. When she opened her hands, she held a thin piece of metal the length of her palm. Uwa Enok bowed and expressed her gratitude.

“This kris is entrusted to you,” said the soft female voice. “Use it to maintain harmony between humans and their natural environment.”

Uwa Enok again thanked the spirit. She touched Citrik’s arm, motioning that they were leaving. The journey back home was not as laborious as their trip to the waterfall. They arrived at the village as dawn crawled up the back of Mount Cimentang.

Citrik’s mind wandered as she remembered that first visit. Soon, she fell asleep again.

***

The early morning mist still veiled Cihanjuang when Uwa Enok opened the kitchen door. The old woman entered slowly. Perspiration dampened her forehead. Though exhausted, she smiled looking at her niece, fast asleep on the bamboo cot. Uwa Enok pulled up the blanket that had rolled down to Citrik’s feet and covered the girl. She gently stroked Citrik’s head before lying down beside her.

Thursday nights were sacred nights in the Cihanjuang village, and Citrik prepared the offerings in the kitchen as usual. Four boiled eggs, a cup of black coffee, five rose buds, a handful of cananga flowers, a young green coconut, and a hand of lady-finger bananas.

She placed the offerings in the corner of the room next to the hawu.

Uwa Enok lit the incense. She reached inside her camisole and took out the Nyi Mas Hanjuang kris, wrapped in white cloth. She slowly unwrapped the kris and placed it carefully among the other offerings. The scent of incense spiraled up to the kitchen ceiling, its smoke mingling with that of the kitchen fire.

Citrik sat cross-legged next to Uwa Enok. Placing their palms on their thighs, they bowed toward the offerings.

Uwa Enok began to whisper a chant in Sundanese.

Hanjuang beureum héjo,

Hanjuang is red and green,

Hanjuang nu ngaleupaskeun,

Hanjuang frees those in bondage,

Ti kiwa tengen luhung mancur,

Hanjuang brings knowledge,

Poek mongkleng sateuacan isuk,

During the dark hours before the break of dawn.

“Uwa, is the mantra different from the one we usually chant on Thursday nights?” Citrik asked.

“It is the way Nyi Mas Hanjuang ordered it,” Uwa Enok answered, without looking at Citrik.

Sensing that now was not a good time to question her aunt any further, Citrik closed her eyes and began to follow Uwa Enok’s chanting. A few moments later, the temperature in the kitchen rose — it became very hot. As she recited the mantra, Citrik fell under its spell. The night was growing older and a cold fog shrouded Cihanjuang. Throughout the night, the cananga fragrance lingered in the kitchen.

***

The rising sun peeked out from behind Mount Cimentang. Citrik looked beautiful, dressed in a white kebaya and green sarong. She waited for Uwa Enok to get ready.

The room’s door curtain parted, and the fragrance of cananga filled Citrik’s nostrils again. Uwa Enok wore her usual white kebaya, but she looked different — she looked elegant. Her hair was tied in a bun on top of her head, and her wrinkled skin was radiant. Uwa Enok smiled and asked Citrik to follow her.

Carrying a bowl of apem, steamed cakes made of palm sugar and rice flour, Citrik walked behind Uwa Enok. Worried that she would drop the bowl, Citrik held it tightly against her chest. Every so often, Citrik moved next to Uwa Enok to glance at the older woman’s face.

At the Bale Saresehan, many people had already arrived to pray. All eyes were on Uwa Enok as she entered the hall with her chin raised. Her high bun accentuated her cheekbones.

At the end of the hall, a batik cloth patterned with green and red leaves covered a body lying on a pandan mat. Earlier that morning, a village elder had beaten the bamboo drum and announced Mang Dayat’s death to the villagers. Mang Dayat had died in his sleep. His body was already stiff when the first light of dawn broke through the horizon.

Bi Nenden sat next to the body, staring at the floor.

Citrik placed the bowl of cakes with the other offerings near the shrouded body, then sat down next to Uwa Enok. The pandan’s fragrance mixed with the cananga scent from Uwa Enok’s skin. The karinding music tapered off. Soon, the funeral prayer would begin. Citrik glanced at Uwa Enok.

Uwa Enok was looking at Bi Nenden.

Bi Nenden raised her head slowly, and the two women looked at each other.

Uwa Enok nodded briefly.

Stunned, Citrik saw the two women exchange faint smiles.

The foliage of the hanjuang trees around the Bale Saresehan swayed in the wind.

Death usually invites grief and mourning — but not this time.

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

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