Munada
Mardian Sagian
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Ilustrasi oleh Sukutangan.
Tak ada yang membuat Sang Imam cemas dan gusar selain kenyataan bahwa selama lebih dari satu dekade ini tak ada seorang bayi laki-laki pun lahir di Pulau. Sepanjang sepuluh tahun, tangis bayi perempuan mengisi pondok demi pondok, sampai ke telinga Sang Imam, meninggalkan gema tak berkesudahan di dalam kepalanya, membuatnya dilanda insomnia dan tidurnya pun selalu dihinggapi mimpi buruk: tsunami, Pulau tenggelam, peradaban tamat, kiamat. Sementara, penduduk Pulau, khususnya para suami, tidak bisa berbuat banyak, selain menunduk menunjukkan rasa bersalah, tak berguna, dan diam-diam berjanji pada diri sendiri bahwa bayi lelaki akan keluar dari kemaluan istri mereka pada persalinan berikutnya. Tapi lagi-lagi, tangis bayi perempuan yang terdengar, membuat para suami menutup wajah, bersujud mohon ampun di hadapan Sang Imam.
Sang Imam hanya butuh bayi lelaki untuk memastikan Mahatunggal tidak sedang mengutuk Pulau—sebab kelak yang mewarisi Pulau dan menjadi penerusnya tentunya seorang lelaki.
Dan untuk tidak menambah jumlah perempuan—yang bersaing dengan jumlah tikus di musim hujan—Sang Imam memutuskan untuk membunuh bayi-bayi yang lahir perempuan.
“Adalah akhir zaman bila para perempuan menguasai dunia.” katanya kepada penduduk yang berkumpul di balai musyawarah.
Membunuh bayi perempuan mencerminkan rasa marah sekaligus putus asa Sang Imam. Untuk menghindari pertanyaan dan perdebatan, keputusan untuk membunuh bayi perempuan tersebut ia sampaikan sebagai wahyu dari Sang Mahatunggal. Kurban untuk menguji umat manusia. Padahal, ia ingin menghukum jemaatnya, yang menurutnya adalah pembangkang dan bodoh—tidak menuruti aturan Cara Membuat Anak Laki-laki, baik secara teknis maupun spritual, yang sudah dibakukan dan disosialisasikan.
Lagi-lagi ia menyuluhi penduduk di balai musyawarah tentang Cara Membuat Anak Laki-laki. Melihat balita dan bocah perempuan yang berkeliaran di sepanjang Pulau—yang sulit ia bedakan dengan kambing atau keledai yang membaur bersama mereka—membuatnya sakit kepala dan muak terhadap putri-putri dari enam istrinya. Ia pun meminta para suami untuk memandu istrinya agar bersanggama dengan posisi dan gaya anjing. Sang Dukun mendemonstrasikan dengan alat peraga bahwa gaya anjing memungkinkan penetrasi lebih dalam hingga ke leher rahim. Ia menjelaskan panjang lebar perihal bagian dalam kemaluan perempuan, bagaimana proses penetrasi itu terjadi, dan bagaimana ejakulasi itu cekatan menemukan telur seperti lidah kodok menangkap serangga. Penjelasan Sang Dukun membuat para suami dan istri malu-malu, wajah mereka memerah, dan mereka enggan memandang satu sama lain, sibuk mengurai perasaan masing-masing. Istilah-istilah Sang Dukun membuat mereka bingung. Untuk para istri, Sang Dukun menganjurkan agar memperbanyak makan pisang, jamur, dan daging yang diasinkan. Sebagai perantara Mahatunggal, Sang Imam menyampaikan wahyu yang diterimanya berkaitan kapan waktu yang baik dan tepat untuk bersanggama dan pantangan apa yang harus dihindari setiap pasangan selama mencoba untuk hamil.
Belakangan ini, balai musyawarah selalu disibukkan dengan topik-topik persanggamaan, dan Sang Imam, yang pada mulanya merasa pembicaraan ini tabu dan memalukan, kini menganggapnya sama penting dengan pembicaraan siasat perang. Ini masa depan sekte, ujarnya menggebu-gebu. Sepulangnya dari sana, di bilik pondok yang berdinding anyam daun dan hanya berpenerang biru purnama yang mencelat dari lubang angin, para suami merapal doa yang diingatnya setengah mati, lalu memulai persanggamaan dengan canggung, mengajarkan istrinya untuk begini-begitu, dan sesekali mereka saling memastikan apakah yang dilakukan sudah benar atau tidak—seolah-olah Sang Imam memantau dari keremangan bilik.
Beberapa minggu hingga bulan berikutnya, tiap kali seorang istri berkabar bahwa ia sedang hamil, suaminya melapor kepada Sang Imam. Dibantu oleh Sang Katib dan Sang Dukun, Sang Imam berkeliling pondok untuk memastikan para istri tidak melanggar pantangan. Sang Katib, sekretaris Sang Imam, mendata nama tiap-tiap perempuan yang hamil itu. Sementara, Sang Dukun ditugaskan mengecek dan menerawang isi perut-perut itu. Sang Dukun mempelajari perubahan wajah dan tubuh para istri, bertanya kebiasaan-kebiasaan mereka saat hamil, dan meski dengan sedikit keraguan, ia sampaikan hasil pengamatannya itu dengan berbisik kepada Sang Imam yang menunggu dengan air muka menegang di luar pondok. Jika janin dinilai perempuan, ia meminta Sang Katib untuk menyampaikan kepada keluarga itu supaya segera menggugurkan kandungannya.
“Cobalah perhatikan bagaimana perempuan itu mendandani wajahnya hingga mengalahkan kesemarakan sirkus. Jika bayi itu laki-laki, jangankan berdandan—ia akan malas melakukan apa-apa, bahkan mandi sekalipun,” kata Sang Katib.
Sang Dukun disibukkan dengan perasaannya sendiri. “Sebagai dukun beranak yang penuh keterbatasan, hamba tidak punya kesaktian dan pencerahan layaknya Sang Imam,” kata Sang Dukun kepada Sang Imam setelah perempuan pesolek itu tersedu-sedu karena jabang bayi dalam perutnya harus digugurkan. Sang Dukun merasa bersalah sebab ada saatnya kelamin-kelamin bayi itu menyembunyikan diri seperti jarum dalam sekam, sulit ia raba, dan mengatakan “perempuan” sebagaimana yang ia lakukan di beberapa pondok sebelumnya adalah kesalahan besar. Sebelum ia menggugurkan terlalu banyak janin, ia mengakui ketakmampuannya tersebut. “Kita biarkan saja. Bukankah wahyu yang Sang Imam terima adalah membunuh setelah bayi-bayi itu lahir?”
Sang Imam tidak menjawab. Tanpa peduli pengikut di belakangnya, yang hanya bisa memandangi jubah putihnya menyapu tanah, ia bersuara dengan lantang, “Sang Katib, pastikan saja mereka, istri-istri yang hamil itu, tidak melanggar pamali. Aku akan datang pada hari kelahiran bayi-bayi itu.”
Sang Dukun merasa lega.
Ketika hari kelahiran tiba di salah satu pondok, Sang Imam dan dua pendamping setianya menuju ke pondok itu. Ia bersama Sang Katib menunggu di depan pondok, membunuh cemas dan waktu dengan berbincang dengan si suami. Para tetangga berkumpul di antara mereka dengan melantunkan syair dan doa sarat puja-puji kepada Mahatunggal. Alat musik petik dan gendang mengiring lantunan-lantunan tadi, meredam lenguh dan jeritan dari dalam pondok, walau sebetulnya telinga masing-masing orang begitu terjaga dan menunggu.
Suara tangis terbit. Musik dan lantunan memelan. Semua menunggu. Sang Dukun melongokkan kepalanya dari pintu pondok.
“Perempuan.”
Sang Imam langsung mengeratkan rahangnya, matanya mengecil, kupingnya memerah. Ia pulang ke padepokan, menyisakan hening panjang bagi kerumunan yang saat itu merasakan hal yang sama: bersalah—sementara suara bayi kembali mencelat, menggema, membubung hingga ke langit.
Hal yang sama terjadi esoknya, lusanya, dan seterusnya. Bayi-bayi yang lahir itu terus saja perempuan. Jika si istri atau si suami tak tega membunuh bayi mereka, dengan terpaksa Sang Imam mengutus Sang Pengaman untuk menyelesaikan masalah tersebut.
“Pulau ini sedang dikutuk,” umumnya penuh nestapa melalui corong menara. “Oh, Sang Mahatunggal, berikan kami putra laki-laki sebagai penerus imam.”
Penduduk Pulau diperintahkannya melakukan Ritual Penyucian Dosa saat itu juga. Para suami berkumpul di alun-alun, mengenakan jubah putih, simbol sekte. Dari pondok masing-masing, sebagian dari mereka dengan berat hati menyiapkan apa yang mesti mereka bawa sebagai tumbal dan kurban dalam ritual penyucian dosa. Biasanya mereka membawa ternak untuk dilemparkan ke dalam unggun, tapi kali ini, atas perintah Sang Imam yang mengaku mendapat firman dari Mahatunggal, tumbal yang harus mereka berikan adalah satu anak perempuan dari satu keluarga—mulai kanak-kanak hingga gadis-gadis muda. Beberapa keluarga sempat menolak dan memberontak. Mereka tak sanggup membayangkan putri-putri mereka dilahap bara api. Sang Imam lantas mengutus gerombolan Sang Pengaman untuk memastikan kelancaran ritual tersebut, dan mereka pun menyeret putri-putri keluarga-keluarga itu ke alun-alun.
Malam mencekam. Setelah tangis bayi-bayi memenuhi hari terang, tangis anak-anak perempuan dan gadis-gadis remaja mengisi gelap malam. Saat menjelang fajar, seisi Pulau jatuh hening.
Sang Katib berpatroli keliling Pulau lalu melaporkan kepada Sang Imam bahwa sudah berkurang makhluk-makhluk tak berguna itu berkeliaran di Pulau. Dari para perempuan yang tersisa, Sang Imam berharap datangnya keajaiban.
Malam setelah Ritual Penyucian Dosa dilaksanakan, Sang Imam bermimpi seorang anak lelaki mengapung di sungai, dalam sebuah peti. Bayi itu masih merah, berbungkus kain blacu, menangis kencang—suara itu mengusiknya saat berjalan lesu sepulang dari mendakwah. Ia turun ke sungai, menjangkau peti, lalu mengangkat bayi itu. Hal pertama yang dilihatnya tentu saja kelaminnya. Ia histeris, tertawa lepas dan nyaring seperti orang gila, lalu bersujud. Di samping sujudnya, sang bayi tertawa.
Ketika ia beranjak menuju menara untuk mengumumkan kepada penduduk soal keajaiban dan kabar gembira ini, sang bayi berkata lirih kepadanya, “Munada... Munada... Ia menyimpan semua benih anak laki-laki dalam rahimnya.”
Sang Imam terbangun dengan keringat membanjiri kening dan punggungnya, hingga kasurnya basah. Ia mengamati tangannya, tak percaya bahwa tak lama sebelumnya ia menggendong bayi laki-laki. Gelombang semangat membangkitkan tubuhnya yang sebelumnya ngilu karena rematik. Ia segera mengenakan jubah, membangunkan Sang Katib dan semua perangkat sekte yang saat itu masih tertidur sedap, dan menuju balai musyawarah. Ia memerintahkan penjaga padepokan untuk membangunkan Sang Dukun yang pondoknya tak jauh dari situ. Ayam masih belum berkokok. Setelah Sang Dukun tiba, mereka berkumpul dan berdiskusi hingga sampai pada sebuah keputusan.
“Sekarang juga, lepaskan belenggu dan keluarkan Munada dari gua. Kawinkan ia dengan lelaki mana pun yang ia inginkan.”
Munada sudah sepuluh tahun lebih tidak melihat cahaya matahari. Selama itu, dengan kaki dirantai dan hanya berteman dengan kelelawar, ular, pula seorang penjaga yang tak pernah sekali pun bicara kepadanya selain melempar apa saja yang bisa mengisi perut perempuan itu agar tidak mati, ia dikurung dalam gua di tengah hutan. Ia didakwa merancang pembunuhan satu-satunya putra Sang Imam.
Munada mengerjap. Cahaya pagi pertama itu serasa menyobek matanya. Sang Imam dan rombongan mengamati perempuan itu dari jarak beberapa langkah, mempelajari sosoknya seperti meneliti siluman. Tubuhnya tinggal tulang dibalut kulit pucat yang penuh daki, kusam, dan menguarkan bau busuk. Rambutnya kusut masai, berbelit, panjang sampai ke lutut. Satu-satunya yang masih sama dengan Munada yang dulu adalah sirat matanya. Sirat yang kini mengunci ke arah Sang Imam—tajam dan dalam.
Mengapa harus siluman ini, pikir Sang Imam, yang saat itu teringat putranya dan mendidihlah darahnya. Tapi ia redam sakit hatinya mengingat hanya siluman inilah yang bisa mengangkat kutukan Pulau dan menyelamatkan kehidupan sektenya.
Sang Imam memerintahkan supaya Munada dibawa ke padepokan. Dan sesuai perundingan dini hari itu, Sang Dukun akan mengurusnya, membenahinya, dan menemukan lelaki yang sanggup dan bersedia mengawininya.
Di kediaman Sang Dukun, perempuan itu diperlakukan dengan terhormat. Dengan gosokan batu apung dan olesan pasta minyak kelapa dicampur kunyit, daki-daki bandel itu rontok dari seluruh kulitnya, menjadikannya bersih dan berseri. Rambutnya dipotong sepinggang dan dibersihkan dari kutu-kutu dengan bantuan cuka, lalu rutin diminyaki urang-uring. Atas saran juru rias pengantin, Sang Dukun melenyapkan kantung mata Munada dengan irisan mentimun. Dengan penuh ketelatenan ia merapikan alis Munada yang tebal dan menyerupai ulat bulu dengan pisau cukur, dan rajin memoles bibirnya dengan madu agar merona. Untuk mengisi tubuhnya dengan daging, Sang Dukun menghidangkan makanan yang biasanya hanya disajikan untuk keluarga Sang Imam dan perangkat sekte. Lima bulan setelahnya, sebagaimana yang Sang Dukun jaminkan kepada Sang Imam, Munada kembali seperti yang dulu penduduk kenal: gadis paling cantik sepulau. Tapi selama lima bulan itu, tak satu pun suara keluar dari mulutnya.
“Kita mengembalikan tubuhnya, tapi tidak jiwanya,” lanjut Sang Dukun, sedikit murung.
Penduduk Pulau tahu kebangkitan Munada. Ya, kebangkitan. Orang-orang menyebutnya demikian sebab sejak seluruh keluarganya dibunuh karena dituduh merencanakan pembunuhan terhadap putra Sang Imam, orang-orang menganggap ia ikut mati bersama mereka. Satu keluarga nelayan itu sudah tiada, hanya menyisakan pondoknya yang menggigil di tepi pantai.
Orang-orang Pulau menceritakan peristiwa itu dari mulut ke mulut, kisah itu pun menjadi beragam versi—tetapi, semua versi punya alur dasar yang sama.
Risjad. Satu-satunya putra Sang Imam itu menyukai Munada, dan perasaannya bersambut. Larangan pacaran yang difatwakan Sang Imam, ditambahkan anjuran langsung menikah menyebabkan rasa suka kedua remaja itu dibangun secara diam-diam dan sembunyi-sembunyi. Mereka sepasang kekasih yang sedang belajar mencintai, asmara mereka adalah api yang membakar tubuh dan jiwa mereka.
Suatu hari, Pulau digegarkan oleh berita Munada hamil. Ayah Munada, nelayan miskin yang punya harga diri tinggi itu, tahu hanya dengan Risjad seorang saja Munada keluar pondok pada malam hari.
Sebelum kabar kehamilan ini mencoreng keluarganya terlalu jauh, dengan langkah mantap si nelayan menuju padepokan. Ia menghadap Sang Imam, menyampaikan perihal kehamilan putrinya dan siapa laki-laki yang menanam benih dalam kehamilan itu. Reaksi Sang Imam tak seperti yang nelayan itu harapkan: dingin, tak acuh.
Selanjutnya, si nelayan hanya bisa menunggu tindak lanjut berkenaan nasib putrinya. Sang Imam, kepala sekte yang ia hormati, tak kunjung mendatangi pondoknya—ia sangsi, apakah Risjad tidak mengatakan kebenaran kepada ayahnya yang suci itu. Nelayan itu menunggu. Namun, tak ada apa-apa selain umpatan dan risak kejam penduduk yang singgah di pondoknya, membuat ia, istri, dan putrinya dirundung sedih dan luka. Keluarga ini mulai dikucilkan seperti pesakitan.
Alih-alih membawa kabar melegakan, rombongan Sang Imam datang ke pondok di tepi pantai itu dengan beringas. Sang Imam tidak mau mendengar kata-kata si nelayan dan istrinya, malah memerintahkan Sang Pengaman untuk menyeret Munada menuju alun-alun. Cambuk yang dibuat dari pilinan kulit kayu sudah siap di atas meja, di panggung. Sang Imam berkata, “Tak ada tempat bagi pezina di Pulau. Tak ada yang bisa mencemari tempat yang telah kita bangun dan sucikan dengan doa-doa kita kepada Mahatunggal. Doa-doa yang seirama dengan keluarnya napas-napas kita. Juga perbuatan kita yang selalu berhati-hati dan sesuai firman-Nya. Tak ada ampun bagi pendosa!”
Munada berdiri sendiri di atas panggung. Di hadapannya, penduduk menyorakinya, mengutukinya.
Sang Imam meraih cambuk dan naik ke atas panggung.
Cambukan pertama. “Terimalah!”
Cambukan kedua. “Terimalah!” Suaranya semakin meninggi.
Terimalah! Terimalah! Terimalah! Hanya pekikan itu yang mengisi kepala Munada, tumpang tindih, membuat kepalanya hendak pecah. Ia tidak menjerit, walau ia merasakan pedih yang teramat, pedas, ngilu karena pecutan cambuk. Matanya terpejam hingga berair.
Terimalah... terimalah... terimalah... Suara itu memelan, mengabur. Munada limbung.
Orangtua Munada berlari terseok-seok menuju panggung. Di depan Sang Imam, sambil mengatur napas dan menombakkan tatapan yang sengit, ayah Munada mengatakan dengan lantang bahwa dengan putra Sang Imam-lah Munada berzina. Risjad-lah pendosa yang lain itu. Sementara itu, ibu Munada menghambur ke tubuh anaknya yang teronggok tak berdaya, meraba bagian kulitnya yang sobek, mendekapnya erat sementara mulutnya tak henti melolong. Lolongan itu semakin menjadi ketika ia melihat darah mengalir dari sela kaki gadis kesayangannya.
“Tak cukup berzina, keluarga ini juga ahli memfitnah! Berapa cambukan untuk tukang fitnah?” Sang Imam memekik.
Penduduk kompak menjawab, “Dua puluh!”
Para penduduk Pulau seperti mendapat hiburan. Hukum cambuk selalu digelar di muka umum. Sebuah kesempatan lain bagi Sang Imam untuk mempraktikkan ide-ide yang katanya bersumber dari firman. Sebuah kesempatan pula untuk menguatkan loyalitas pengikutnya dan kedudukannya sebagai pemimpin. Panggung cambuk atau jagal adalah tempatnya menyusupkan doktrin dan ketakutan di kepala pengikut-pengikutnya.
Tetapi cerita belum selesai untuk keluarga nelayan itu. Cambuk tak hanya menyakiti tubuh, tapi juga hati mereka. Mereka berencana pindah dari Pulau, kembali ke Seberang yang begitu jauh—Dunia Sesat, begitu kata Sang Imam ketika pertama kali sampai di Pulau tak berpenghuni itu bersama rombongan pengikutnya.
Namun, nelayan itu punya rencana lain sebelum meninggalkan Pulau.
Ia akan membunuh Sang Imam.
Ia menyelinap ke kediaman Sang Imam dengan berbekal pisau yang selalu ia bawa saat melaut. Ketika menuju bilik Sang Imam, ia tertangkap basah oleh Risjad. Karena Risjad hendak berteriak, ditambah amarahnya yang menggelegak melihat pemuda tengil itu, si nelayan pun mengangkat pisau dan menikam dada pemuda itu.
Istri ketiga Sang Imam melihat peristiwa itu, sontak menjerit dan membangunkan para istri yang lain di bilik-bilik mereka. Si nelayan malang itu tak bisa melarikan diri, malah berserah, merasa puas dan menang melihat Sang Imam yang muncul dan memegang dadanya sendiri, mundur tak berdaya. Para istri menahannya agar tidak roboh.
Malam itu juga si nelayan dipancung di alun-alun.
Sementara di pondok si nelayan, dari jendela, Munada dan ibunya melihat keramaian rombongan Sang Imam mendekat. Munada melihat kepala ayahnya berayun-ayun di tangan Sang Imam. Si ibu menyuruh Munada untuk melarikan diri melalui pintu belakang pondok. Munada, yang belum dapat leluasa bergerak, berlari tertatih-tatih, sesekali menoleh ke pondok. Ia sempat melihat ibunya meraih tombak yang disandarkan ayahnya di dapur. Apalah artinya sebuah tombak, ibuku yang lemah, batin Munada menangis. Ia lantas mendengar suara lantang ibunya yang melawan, ditimpali suara-suara lain: jeritan, ketakberdayaan, kematian. Munada tak sanggup lagi berlari. Ia bersandar pada salah satu dahan kelapa, meraung sejadi-jadinya, hingga beberapa tangan merenggut tubuhnya dan menyeretnya.
Saat tersadar, ia telah berada di dalam sebuah gua gelap, lembap, penuh ular dan kelelawar.
Semua laki-laki Pulau dikumpulkan di alun-alun. Dengan berat hati istri-istri mereka melepaskan ketika tahu seorang dari mereka akan terpilih menjadi suami Munada. Di mulut, mereka bersedia dimadu. Dalam hati, sekecil apa pun bagian itu, selalu ada pertentangan.
Sang Imam beserta keenam istrinya dan perangkat sekte duduk di atas panggung. Sebentar lagi mereka akan menyaksikan siapa calon ayah dari anak laki-laki pewaris sekte dan imam selanjutnya.
Munada dibimbing oleh Sang Dukun turun dari becak. Para suami yang tadinya tak begitu berminat kini menunjukkan antusiasme. Ternyata benar cerita yang singgah di telinga mereka: dari siluman gua, Munada menjelma bidadari yang tak bercela. Tubuh ramping semampai itu berjalan luwes, dengan pinggul lebar yang membuat kepala lelaki bergoyang. Masing-masing suami berdoa agar ialah yang beruntung dan terpilih. Munada duduk di singgasana yang sudah disediakan, di atas undakan di bawah panggung, membelakangi Sang Imam, seperti ratu di hadapan pengawal-pengawalnya. Sang Dukun dengan setengah berbisik mengulang apa yang mesti ia lakukan—memilih, cukup memilih saja—Munada tak sedikit pun menunjukkan minat.
Hening. Semua orang menunggu.
Munada berdiri. Ia membalik badan, mengangkat satu tangannya, dan mengarahkan telunjuknya kepada Sang Imam.
Dari jendela biliknya, Munada mengasihani wajah-wajah penduduk Pulau yang bergembira menyambut kabar kehamilannya yang menyebar seperti api melahap rumput kering. Ia menyindir dalam hati melihat Sang Imam yang berlagak seolah kembali muda dan susah berkonsentrasi saat memberi dakwah, terbuai oleh khayalan terang akan masa depan sekte dan Pulau. Hati Munada meringis dan meradang melihat wajah-wajah gusar para perempuan Pulau yang kehilangan putri-putri mereka. Airmatanya jatuh mengingat janinnya sendiri yang gugur akibat penyiksaan yang dialaminya, mengingat ayahnya dipancung di alun-alun, dan ibunya ditombak di rumahnya sendiri. Ada alasan mengapa aku masih diberi hidup setelah bertahun-tahun disekap di dalam gua, pikirnya sengit dan geram. Ia menatap langit biru dari jendela biliknya, yakin harapan masih ada, dan bertekad dalam diam, Aku akan mematahkan kutukan Pulau dengan caraku sendiri.
Ia menahankan kehamilan yang menyiksanya secara fisik dan batin. Mencium aroma makanan membuatnya mual, muntah, dan tak jarang ia merasa pengar. Punggungnya begitu nyeri, di kepalanya berputar pita film yang tak kunjung selesai: senyum dan tawa orangtuanya, masa kecilnya di tepi laut biru, begitu riang dan diberkahi cinta, Risjad yang tampan tapi pecundang, dicambuk di atas panggung... Dan ketika sosok Sang Imam muncul di benaknya, bergantilah segala rasa sakitnya menjadi amarah dan kesumat. Ia mendekap mulutnya sementara tangisnya menjadi-jadi, sambil berusaha menguatkan dirinya.
Saat Sang Imam mengungkapkan kecemasannya tentang kebisuan Munada yang dapat memengaruhi pertumbuhan janin, Munada merasa sedikit menang dan bungah. Sang Dukun, yang rutin memeriksa kandungannya, selalu membujuknya berbicara, tapi Munada kukuh menolak dan membuang wajah. Akhirnya Sang Dukun hanya bisa menganjurkannya begini dan melarangnya begitu. “Jauhi nanas muda. Itu bisa membunuh calon putramu. Juga merica!”
Ketika kandungannya memasuki bulan keenam, Munada diboyong ke kediaman baru yang lebih mewah. Munada tahu tindakan itu adalah upaya Sang Imam untuk mengatasi masalah kebisuan dan kemurungannya. Ia justru senang, karena kediaman yang baru itu memiliki jendela yang menghadap ke laut biru yang kerap dihiasi burung-burung camar. Dari situ Munada dapat melihat pondok tempat tinggal keluarganya dulu. Tiap hari Munada berdiri di depan jendela itu—mengenang ayahnya yang menebar jala atau ibunya yang menyelam memetik rumput laut—sambil mempelajari jadwal, penempatan, serta kebiasaan para Pengaman yang menjaga kediamannya.
Suatu sore setelah hujan, datanglah kesempatan yang dicari-carinya. Ia menenggak berbotol-botol larutan merica bercampur jahe dan cuka yang telah dipersiapkannya, ia menyelinap lewat jalan belakang yang sarat pohon-pohon nipah, tertatih-tatih dan tersengal-sengal, menuju ke laut. Angin berembus liar, bau tanah menguar segar. Matahari sudah di ujung laut ketika Munada menemukan pondok itu, yang kini reyot dirayapi benalu. Bulir-bulir keringat melapisi keningnya, berkali-kali ia seka dengan lengannya. Blus katunnya basah oleh peluh di bagian punggung. Ia menahan perutnya dengan kedua tangan seperti menahan desakan sampah yang hendak tumpah dari karung. Ia mengerang sambil memasuki pondok.
Ia duduk di dipan kamarnya dulu. Ia buka jendelanya lebar-lebar dan memejamkan mata. Ia membayangkan kecupan Risjad di bahunya yang telanjang, makan malam dengan tuna bakar yang dibawa ayahnya sepulang melaut, tembang dan gumam ibunya sebelum ia tidur, bayinya bersama Risjad yang semestinya beranjak remaja saat ini... Bayangannya bercabang pada Sang Imam yang saat ini tentu sudah pulang mendakwah dan menyadari Munada telah hilang; ia tentu sedang menuju menara untuk menyerukan kepada penduduk agar mencari Munada dan menjatuhkan hukuman pancung bagi Pengaman yang lalai menjaga istrinya.
Petang turun. Lentera-lentera menyala di seisi pulau, diringi suara derap-derap langkah, serupa bintang-bintang di langit kelam.
“Munada dan bayinya adalah harapan terakhir sekte dan Pulau. Saya bertaruh nyawa untuk keselamatan bayi itu,” Munada ingat ucapan Sang Imam suatu hari di balai musyawarah.
Munada menunggu. Ia merasa perutnya memanas. Jabang bayi yang tak pernah diinginkannya mengamuk—memeras organ-organ perutnya, meremukkan tulang-tulangnya. Munada menjerit, mengerang, menggelepar.
Ia bangkit ketika mendengar derap-derap langkah, tergesa, terdesak, mendekati pondok. Rombongan itu tiba dan berhenti di muka pondok. Sang Imam memerintahkan Munada membuka pintu.
Pintu berderit, terbuka. Di hadapan Sang Imam, Munada mengulurkan kedua tangannya, menyerahkan seonggok daging bersimbah darah.
“Terimalah.”
Adalah kata pertama yang keluar dari bibirnya setelah lebih dari sepuluh tahun.
Munada
Mardian Sagian
Translated by Liswindio Apendicaesar
Nothing could make The Imam worried or upset, other than the fact that in more than a decade no boys had been born on the Island. For ten years, the cry of baby girls had filled shack after shack, reaching The Imam’s ears, leaving an endless echo in his head that caused insomnia and haunted him in nightmares: a tsunami, the Island sinking, the end of civilization, doomsday. Meanwhile, the Islanders, especially the husbands, couldn’t do very much—other than cast their eyes downward in guilt. Feeling useless, quietly they promised themselves that a baby boy would come out of their wives’ wombs next time. But again and again, only another cry of a female newborn would be heard. The husbands could only cover their faces with shame, and then prostrate before The Imam, asking for mercy.
All The Imam needed was a male newborn to make sure The Almighty One was not cursing the Island. Obviously the one who would inherit the Island and its leadership was going to be a man. There would be no future without a man. In order to stop the increasing number of girls—which had been competing with the number of rats—The Imam decided to kill every female newborn.
“If women took over, it would be the end of the world,” he said to the inhabitants of the Island attending the meeting in the deliberation hall.
Deciding on the murder of every female newborn reflected The Imam’s anger and despair. To avoid questions and arguments, he claimed his decision was a divine revelation from The Almighty One. A sacrifice that would test the sect followers’ faith. The truth was, he wanted to punish his followers, whom he believed were dissident and foolish—who didn’t obey either the technical or spiritual rules of How to Make A Boy which had been standardized and circulated throughout the Island.
Indeed he had enlightened people in the deliberation hall about how to make a boy. Looking at the female infants and toddlers roaming around the Island—whom he found difficult to distinguish from the goats and donkeys milling around—gave him a headache and made him fed up with his own girls from his six wives. He told the husbands to guide their wives in intercourse doggy style. Using props, The Shaman demonstrated that doggy style allowed for deeper penetration into the cervix. She elaborated at length on everything about the insides of female genitalia and the process of penetration, how ejaculation—a myriad of sperm competing to find an egg—happened as rapidly as a toad’s tongue hunting for prey. The Shaman’s explanation embarrassed the husbands and their wives. Their faces turned red and they were hesitant to look at each other, each busy untangling their feelings. The Shaman used terms that were too difficult for them to follow. To the wives, The Shaman suggested eating a lot of bananas, mushrooms, and salted meats. Then, as the intermediary between The Almighty One and the people, The Imam delivered the divine revelation he had received relating to the best times for sexual intercourse and all the things the couples had to abstain from while attempting to get pregnant.
These days, the community meetings were consumed by discussions of sex, and The Imam, who initially had deemed such topics taboo and disgraceful, now believed such discussions to be as important as strategizing for war. This is the future of our sect, he exclaimed. As he returned home, he could hear the voices of the husbands slinking through the woven walls of the bamboo shacks under the blue moonlight. They chanted the prayers that they had worked so hard to memorize before starting to have sexual intercourse awkwardly, teaching their wives about this and that. Sometimes the husband and wife would tell each other if they were doing it right—as if The Imam himself were peeking furtively into the dim shack.
In the weeks and months that followed, each time a wife got pregnant, the husband would immediately report to The Imam. Assisted by The Scribe and The Shaman, The Imam went around the Island, from shack to shack, ascertaining the wives didn’t violate the rules. The Scribe, The Imam’s secretary, made a long list of all the pregnant women. Meanwhile, The Shaman was ordered to observe any change in the faces and bodies of the wives, as well as inquire about their habits. Although she was a bit reluctant and frightened, she would report her observations in a whisper to The Imam, who would wait outside with a tense expression on his face. If she thought the fetus was female, The Imam asked The Scribe to tell the family to terminate the pregnancy.
“Just look at how the woman puts makeup on her face. She looks gaudier than a circus. If the baby were a boy, she wouldn’t do anything. She wouldn’t even bathe, let alone put on makeup,” said The Scribe cynically.
The Shaman was preoccupied with her own feelings. “As a humble Shaman who just helps with labor and has many flaws, I don’t possess special wisdom and enlightenment like you, Oh Imam,” said The Shaman to The Imam after the woman with thick makeup began crying because the fetus in her belly had to be terminated. The Shaman felt guilty, for there were times the sex of a fetus hid itself like a needle in a haystack, indiscernible, and to say “female” as she had been saying in the previous shacks could result in a terrible mistake. Before she terminated too many fetuses, she thought she should admit her inability to be always correct. “Perhaps just let them be. The divine revelation you received said we are to kill the babies after they are born, didn’t it?”
The Imam didn’t reply. Without so much as a glance at his followers behind him who could only see his white robe sweeping the ground, he spoke loudly: “Scribe, make sure the pregnant wives don’t violate the prohibition. I will come back when the babies are born.”
The Shaman was relieved.
Whenever a baby was born in one of the shacks, The Imam and two of his loyal companions would head there. The first time, he waited outside of the shack with The Scribe, trying to kill anxiety and time by making conversation with the husband. The neighbors were present among them as well, chanting prayers to The Almighty One. Stringed music instruments and drums accompanied all the chants, muffling the groans and screams coming from the shacks.
A cry rose. The music and prayer-chanting slowed. Everyone waited for The Shaman’s head to peer out from the shack’s doorway.
“It’s a girl.”
The Imam clenched his jaw, squinted, and his ears turned red. He went home to his hermitage, leaving a long silence among the crowd who all felt the same: guilt. Meanwhile, the voice of the newborn girl broke the silence, echoing up to the sky.
The same thing happened again the next day, the day after, and so on and so forth. The babies delivered were always girls. If the wives or the husbands didn’t have the heart to kill their own babies, it became necessary for The Imam to send The Peacekeeper to finish the job.
“This Island is under a curse,” he announced sorrowfully through the loudspeaker in the tower. “Oh, Almighty One, please give us a boy to inherit my legacy.”
Everyone on the Island was commanded to perform the Purification Ritual right at that moment. The husbands gathered in the public square wearing white robes of the sect. They had prepared what was required as the sacrificial offering in the ritual—some with a heavy heart. Though they usually brought livestock to be thrown into the bonfire, this time The Imam claimed to have received a divine revelation that the sacrificial offering had to be a girl from each family—either a child or an adolescent. Some families had refused and rebelled against The Imam. They couldn’t bear to see their daughters swallowed up by the fire’s blaze. The Imam had then sent a gang of Peacekeepers to make sure the ritual would run smoothly, and they had dragged the daughters from those families to the public square.
The darkness closed in. The cries of female children had filled the bright day, now the wails of adolescent girls filled the dark night. As dawn was breaking, the whole Island fell into the deepest of silences.
The Scribe patrolled the Island and reported to The Imam that the number of the useless creatures roaming the Island had decreased tremendously. From the remaining girls, The Imam hoped for a miracle.
The night after the purification ritual, The Imam had a dream about a baby boy floating on the river, in a wooden box. The baby was still red, swaddled in calico fabric, crying very loudly—a sound that startled The Imam when he was walking by lethargically after delivering his daily sermon. He went down to the river, reached for the wooden box, and lifted the boy from inside. The very first thing he did was obviously to check the baby’s genitals. He was surprised and became hysterical, laughed maniacally, and then prostrated himself before The Almighty. Next to him, the baby laughed.
When he rushed to the tower to announce this miracle and good news to the whole Island, the baby spoke softly to him. “Munada… Munada… She keeps all the seeds for baby boys in her womb.”
The Imam woke up, his body and his mattress drenched in sweat. He stared at his hands, and didn’t believe that not long ago he had just been holding a baby boy. His aching body sprang up, flooded by a wave of excitement. He immediately put on his white robe, woke up The Scribe and all of the elite members of the sect, who were sleeping so soundly, and then they all headed to the deliberation hall. He ordered the guards of the hermitage to wake The Shaman, who lived nearby. Chickens were crowing when The Shaman arrived. They all assembled and had a serious discussion until a decision was made.
“Release Munada right now from the cave. Take off her shackles and let her marry whichever man she wants.”
Munada had not seen daylight for ten years. Her feet had been chained and her only friends had been bats and snakes. And a guard that never once spoke to her, but threw her whatever she might be able to eat so she wouldn’t die. She was locked in a cave in the middle of the Island’s forest. She had been charged for planning the murder of The Imam’s only son.
Munada blinked and rubbed her eyes. The first glimpse of daylight after such a long time tore at her vision. The Imam and a crowd of his followers observed her from only a few steps away, studying her demon-like figure. Her body, just bone covered in pale filthy skin, gave off a foul odor. Her hair was disheveled, tangled, and fell down to her knees. The only familiar thing about her was her gaze. The gaze that now locked onto The Imam—sharp and searching.
Why does it have to be this demon, The Imam thought to himself, reminded of his long dead son. His blood was boiling, but he suppressed it and kept it to himself because he knew only this demon could lift the curse and save his sect.
The Imam ordered for Munada to be taken to the hermitage. As they had decided before the sun had risen, The Shaman would take care of her, clean her up and find the man that could and would marry her.
In The Shaman’s dwelling, Munada was treated very gently and respectfully. She was cleaned using pumice stone, and a mixture of coconut oil and turmeric was rubbed on her body. It made her skin not only clean, but also bright and soft. Her hair was cut to waist-length and deloused using vinegar, then routinely treated using false-daisy oil. At the advice of a bridal makeup expert, The Shaman soothed Munada’s eyebags with slices of cucumber, trimmed her thick caterpillar-like eyebrows using a razor, and regularly moisturized her lips using honey. In order to get her to gain some weight, The Shaman provided food usually only served to the family of The Imam and elite members of the sect. Five months later, as The Shaman had promised The Imam, Munada returned to her previous state—the most beautiful woman on the Island. However, for the whole five months, not one sound was ever heard from Munada’s lips.
“We have returned her body to her, but not her soul,” said The Shaman, looking a bit gloomy.
All the residents of the Island knew of Munada’s resurrection. Yes, resurrection. People called it that because since her whole family had been executed for murdering the son of The Imam, everyone had assumed her dead as well. The entire family of fishermen was gone, leaving behind only their shack by the seashore.
The islanders had spread the story as if it were folklore, from one mouth to another, and it had given birth to various versions. But every version shared the same basic plot.
Risjad, the only son of The Imam fell in love with Munada, and his feelings were reciprocated. The Imam, however, had issued a fatwa that dating was forbidden, and additionally it was expected for men and women to be married immediately. But Risjad and Munada were still very young, this meant their affection for each other had to be developed in secret, hidden from their respective parents. They were a pair of lovers that were learning to love. Their romance was a burning flame in their bodies and souls.
One day, the whole Island was shocked by the news of Munada’s pregnancy. Munada’s father, a poor fisherman with a strong sense of pride, knew that Munada only went out at night with Risjad.
Before the news could hurt his dignity even further, he visited The Imam in the hermitage. He was confident The Imam would hear him out. Face to face with The Imam, he told him about his daughter’s situation and which boy was responsible for the seed in her womb. The Imam’s reaction was not what he expected: cold and indifferent.
Since his visit, there was nothing he could do about his daughter’s fate. The Imam, the head of the sect he revered so much never showed up—he suspected Risjad didn’t tell his own father, the venerable one, the truth. The fisherman waited. But there was nothing apart from mockery and vicious bullying from every resident of the Island who dropped by his shack, drowning him, his wife, and his daughter in sorrow and suffering. Their family was treated like lepers, alienated from the rest of the community.
Instead of good news or relief, The Imam’s entourage stormed the fisherman’s seaside shack. The Imam didn’t want to listen to a word from the fisherman or his wife. He ordered The Peacekeeper to drag Munada to the public square. A lace-bark whip was already waiting on a table on the stage. The Imam said, “There is no room for fornication on this Island. Nobody can defile the place we’ve built and sanctified with our prayers to The Almighty One. Prayers that beat along with our hearts and in tune with our breaths. Not to mention our deeds, which we always take care to do in accordance with His divine word. There is no mercy for sinners!”
Munada stood alone on the stage. Before her, the islanders screamed curses at her.
The Imam took the whip and climbed onstage.
The first lash, “Accept it!”
The second lash, “Accept it!” The Imam’s voice became more high-pitched.
Accept it! Accept it! Accept it! Those were the only words that filled Munada’s head, one after another, almost shattering her head. She didn’t scream. She felt an excruciating pain, but she merely closed her eyes, all the while shedding tears in silence until everything was over.
Accept it… accept it… accept it… The voice started to slow and fade away. Munada was losing consciousness.
Munada’s parents immediately ran to take her off the stage. To The Imam’s face, with a heaving chest and resentful gaze, Munada’s father declared that The Imam’s son was the man Munada had committed fornication with. Risjad was the other sinner. Meanwhile, Munada’s mother held her daughter’s body tightly in her grief. Munada was so helpless, here and there her skin was torn, and her mother’s voice, mourning over her fate, could be heard clearly. The cry turned into a heartbreaking howl when her mother saw blood was flowing from between Munada’s thighs.
“Fornication wasn’t enough for this family. They’re also good at slandering! How many lashes for a slanderer?”
All of the islanders answered simultaneously, “Twenty lashes!”
Cane law was always executed in public so that everyone could see. For the islanders, it was like entertainment, yet another opportunity for The Imam to put into practice the rules that he claimed to be sourced from divine word. It was also a chance to strengthen the loyalty of his followers and his position as leader. The caning stage was the place to instill doctrines and fears in his followers’ heads.
The story of the fisherman’s family had yet to end. The whip had not only wounded their bodies, but also their souls. They planned to move from the Island, return to the faraway land across the sea—The Misguided World, that’s what The Imam called it the first time he along with his followers had arrived on that uninhabited Island.
Before leaving the Island, however, the fisherman had another plan.
He would kill The Imam.
He sneaked out to The Imam’s house carrying a dagger that he always took fishing. As he headed to the Imam’s personal chamber, he was caught red-handed by Risjad. Seeing Risjad was about to scream, and enraged by the sight of the brat, the fisherman took his dagger and stabbed the young man in the chest.
Hearing the commotion, The Imam’s third wife immediately showed up and saw what had befallen Risjad. She shrieked and woke the other wives in their respective chambers. The poor fisherman couldn’t escape. Instead he turned himself in, feeling satisfied and triumphant after seeing The Imam show up, gripping his own chest, staggering backward. His wives kept him from falling.
That night the fisherman was beheaded in the public square.
Meanwhile, in the fisherman’s shack, Munada and her mother watched The Imam’s entourage coming closer. Munada saw her father’s head swinging in The Imam’s hand. Her mother told her to quickly run away through the backdoor. Munada couldn’t move freely yet because she was still in pain. She ran very slowly, and sometimes paused to look back at her house. She could see her mother taking a spear that was leaning against the kitchen wall. But what can a spear do in this situation, oh my weak mother, Munada thought in tears. She then heard the voice of her mother fighting back, and other voices chiming in. A scream. Helplessness. Death. Munada couldn’t run anymore. She leaned against a coconut tree, roaring in anguish, until some hands took hold of her body and dragged her away.
When she regained consciousness she was in a dark, damp cave, full of snakes and bats.
Every man on the Island was assembled in the public square. Their wives had been unwilling to let them go, knowing one of the men would marry Munada. Their mouths claimed they were ready for polygamy, but their hearts protested—only a little bit, but still.
The Imam along with his six wives and the other elites of the sect sat on the stage. Soon they would find out who was the father-to-be of the sect’s male heir as well as the next imam.
Munada alighted from a pedicab, led by The Shaman. All men of the Island who were initially hesitant to attend were now extremely excited upon seeing her beauty. The rumor was true: from a cave demon, Munada had been transformed into a flawless angelic woman. Her shapely slender body walked elegantly, the movement of her wide hips enchanted every man who saw them. Their heads were now filled with thousands of fantasies as each of them prayed to be Munada’s lucky chosen one. Munada ascended some steps and sat on a throne specially prepared for her at the foot of the stage, her back facing The Imam. She looked like a queen before her troops. When The Shaman whispered loudly, telling her what she should do—choose, just choose—Munada didn’t show any interest.
Silence. Everybody was waiting.
Munada stood up. She turned around, lifted one of her hands, and pointed to The Imam.
From the window of her chamber, Munada felt pity as she watched the ecstatic faces of the Island’s residents when the news of her pregnancy spread like wildfire devouring dry grass. She sneered silently seeing The Imam act as if he were young again and the difficulty he had concentrating when he preached a sermon, daydreaming about the bright future of the sect and the Island. Munada’s heart trembled in anger seeing the upset faces of the women who had lost their daughters. Her tears fell as she remembered her own loss due to the torture she had endured; the death of her father, beheaded in the Public Square; and her mother speared in their own home. There must be a reason why I am still alive after years of being locked up in the cave, she thought resentfully. She looked at the blue sky from the window of her room, certain that there was still hope, and firmly, she held on to her determination. I will break this Island’s curse in my own way.
She withstood the pregnancy, which tormented her body and soul. Smelling food nauseated her and caused her to throw up. Often she felt dizzy. Her back was in pain, and in her head there was a movie that never stopped playing: the smile and laughter of her parents; her happy and love-filled childhood by the seashore; Risjad with his charming looks who had turned out a coward; the caning stage… And the figure of The Imam appeared in her head, causing her a turmoil of emotion, of painful anger and resentment. She covered her mouth with her hands as her sobs broke, trying to pull herself together.
When The Imam expressed his worry that Munada’s silence might affect the growth of the fetus, Munada felt a little victory in her hands. The Shaman who routinely checked up on her pregnancy always tried persuading her to talk, but Munada held firm and she only looked away. Eventually The Shaman could only suggest her this and prohibit her that. “Avoid unripe pineapple. It could kill your soon-to-be-born son. Also pepper!”
In the sixth month of her pregnancy, Munada was taken to a more luxurious new place for her to live. She knew it was a trick by The Imam to dispel her silence and gloom. She, on the other hand, was glad because the new place had a window facing the blue sea, which was often adorned by seagulls. From that spot she could also see the shack where she used to live with her family. Everyday Munada stood by the window—recalling the figure of her father casting his net or her mother diving in to pick seaweed—all the while observing the schedule, placement, and habits of The Peacekeepers guarding her place.
One afternoon, after it had rained, the opportunity for her to flee finally came. She guzzled pre-prepared bottles of dissolved pepper mixed with ginger and vinegar, then sneaked out through the back alley surrounded by nipa palm trees. Teetering and panting, she headed for the sea. The wind blew wildly, the fresh smell of soil wafted sweetly. The sun was about to set when Munada arrived at the old rusty shack, where only parasitic vines and some termites lived now. Beads of sweat flooded her forehead, she had to keep wiping them away using her arms. Her cotton blouse was wet. She held her stomach with both her hands as if she were keeping several tons of trash from falling out out of a sack. She groaned as she entered the shack.
She sat on the rattan bed in her old bedroom. She opened the window wide and closed her eyes. She recalled the way Risjad had kissed her naked shoulders, the dinner of grilled tuna that her father brought home after fishing, the lullabies murmured by her mother, her and Risjad’s baby who should have been a teenager by now. Her thoughts turned to The Imam who surely had arrived home by now after preaching his sermon and realized that she was gone. He had certainly gone up to the tower to announce the disappearance of Munada, telling everyone to search for her. He would sentence The Peacekeepers to be beheaded for failing to protect The Imam’s wife.
Dusk descended. Lanterns lit up throughout the Island, looking like stars in the dark sky, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.
“Munada and her baby are the last hope of the sect and the Island. I would give my life for the safety of the baby”—Munada remembered what The Imam had said one day in the deliberation hall.
Munada waited. She felt her belly start to heat up. The baby that she never wanted went on rampage—squeezing and pressing her abdominal organs, breaking her bones. Munada screamed, groaned, and spread her legs.
Slowly, she rose when she heard the footsteps of The Imam’s entourage coming closer, hurry-scurry. The entourage arrived and stopped at the entrance of the shack. The Imam ordered Munada to open the door.
The door opened. Before The Imam stood Munada with a lump of bloody flesh in her hands. Then she gave it to The Imam.
“Accept it.”
Was the first thing that came from her lips after more than ten years.
MARDIAN SAGIAN was selected as one of the Emerging Writers at Makassar International Writers Festival 2015. He has works included in the anthologies Hujan, Penebang Pohon, Pandurata (Literer Khatulistiwa), Cerita Horor Kota (Plotpoint Kreatif), and Dari Timur 2 (Gramedia Pustaka Utama). Currently he lives in Pontianak and spending his time as a bibliophile.
LISWINDIO APENDICAESAR was born in Bogor in 1992. Once he was a reviewer and editor for the Journal of Asian Medical Students’ Association (J-AMSA), but the medical field has never really been for him. Currently he lives and learns to be a good English teacher in Surakarta (Solo). He writes prose, poetry, and op-ed articles. His works can be found in media outlets such as The Jakarta Post, Magdalene, Tempo, and Pijar Psikologi. He has authored a collection of short stories titled Malam untuk Ashkii Dighin (Night for Ashkii Dighin). He is an active member of Komunitas Sastra Pawon and Komunitas Supernova, also a member of the editorial board for Buletin Sastra Pawon. Becoming a professional translator is one of his dreams because it sounds cool. He also loves Cardcaptor Sakura and Grey’s Anatomy very much.
SUKUTANGAN is a collective that consists of the couple Genta Shimaoka and Sekar Wulandari Yogaster, who works a lot with books. They make illustrations, design covers, do layouts, and perform editorial tasks, such as writing, editing, and translating. Sukutangan has been working for almost four years, producing 5-10 cover designs every month. Sukutangan has designed covers for books published by major and independent publishers, from literary works to translated popular novels.
THIS SHORT STORY IS PUBLISHED AS PART OF INTERSASTRA’S UNREPRESSED SERIES.