Sacred Land and the Wound in Ebak’s Chest
Adam Yudhistira
Translated into English by Julia Winterflood
Illustration by Cindy Saja.
“Come home, child. Ebak needs your help. It doesn’t feel right talking about something as important as this when we’re not face to face. I’m waiting for you to come home. Soon.”
These are the words I heard on the phone earlier today. These are the words that continue to ring in my head, implying something of utmost importance—perhaps even grave. All through my work hours, my thoughts run wild. I wonder what important thing Ebak was referring to. It’s family related, no doubt.
A week later, after receiving permission from the company to take leave, I go home to grant Ebak’s request. It takes a day and a night to reach my homeland, deep in South Sumatra. Towards evening, my bus finally arrives. When I see Ebak, Umak, and my younger brother, Hambali, standing at the bottom of the stairs of our limas, all the fatigue vanishes from my body. Although it’s only been a few months since I returned home for Eid al-Fitr, my longing for them makes it feel like many years.
I hug them one by one to release my homesickness. Ebak reaches for the bag I’m carrying, then clasps my shoulder. We climb the stairs of the limas. Our wooden house on stilts has a straight staircase, its edges carved with a motif of sunflowers. A pair of three-pronged iron spears is affixed on each side. A sense of pride is evident in Ebak’s eyes as he puts his arm around my shoulder as if to say, This is my son, the source of my pride, who has just returned home from seeking his fortune on the island of Java.
Exhausted, I climb the stairs slowly. I glimpse the shadow of something in his eye, and it saddens me deeply. Ebak sits in a rattan chair and motions for me to sit beside him. Hambali brings my bag inside, and is followed by Umak, who says she’s just about to boil water to make tea. Once they’ve left, Ebak enquires about my trip. Before I have the chance to reply, Umak returns with a tray of hot tea and a jar of kemplang.
“Let’s talk later. Let your poor bachelor kid rest first.”
Ebak nods. “Drink, at least. Then you won’t look so pale,” he says with a smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. Just a little headache.”
Beside me, Ebak and Hambali seem restless. Something flickers in their faces, and the curiosity dwelling in my heart since last week becomes unbearable. After making small talk, I muster the courage to say, “I’m curious, why did Ebak ask me to come home?”
Ebak studies my face, as though wanting to ensure I’m completely fine before commencing his story.
“Our village is under threat. There are people who want to convert this village into a mine.”
“A coal mine?” I ask wearily.
Ebak nods.
I’d actually been hearing these rumors for a long time. But the community’s land, and Ebak’s land and duku plantation, are three kilometers from the mine site. This is why I’d never felt anxious.
But imagining this entire village being razed and eventually becoming a mine was distressing.
“I hope their intention doesn’t become a reality,” Hambali says heavily. “I feel like it would be difficult to fight back. Many of our village officials have already become accomplices of the mining-company people.”
“What do you mean? They’re siding with the mining company?”
Hambali nods.
Ebak crushes a clove cigarette into the porcelain ashtray on the table. Even though he’s only drawn on the cigarette a few times, he continues to crush it with all his might, as though getting all the anger off his chest.
“They’ve started to offer high prices for people’s land and plantations. Including our land and the duku plantation at Suban Jeriji Forest.”
“Well, in that case, don’t sell the land and plantation, Ebak. If others sell theirs, just let them.”
I know how much Ebak loves that land and that plantation. What’s more, we’ve received countless benefits and returns from them. I was able to go to school up through university and get a bachelor’s degree, all because of what we were able to cultivate. I don’t agree with the land being sold to the mining company, no matter what the price. But after hearing my response, Ebak shakes his head weakly.
“All of that depends on you, Badar,” Umak says slowly.
“Me?”
Umak nods. Ebak and Hambali lower their heads, their eyes glowing faintly. I want to ask why, but the chanting of the evening call to prayer resounds from the village mosque. Ebak and Umak stand, followed by Hambali.
“That’s enough for this evening. We’ll continue tomorrow,” says Ebak, ending the conversation. “The evening prayer begins soon, so it’s best you shower first. Then you’ll pray with us.”
I’m forced to swallow my curiosity with a nod. That final question, severed, clouds my mind with even more questions. If it was only about making a decision, Ebak wouldn't have needed to ask me to come home. It was already clear that I’d agree with him. But Ebak is keeping something. What it is I don’t yet know. Ah, once again I must be patient. Ebak has always been good at keeping secrets.
I awake this morning feeling fresh. The air in this village is yet to be tainted. As I open the window, my lungs expand and immediately feel cool. The morning breeze rustles the leaves of the kapok, mango, rosewood, and star fruit trees in the yard, harmonizing with the sounds of poultry and birdsong.
I never experience ambience like this in the city where I work. I can’t imagine all of this being snatched away from us. The heat boring into our skin. Pollution particles becoming the bitter ulam that must be swallowed day after day. Then, over time, this village becoming a village of the dead. I believe this might happen if the coal mine really does go ahead.
I walk to the kekijing limas feeling giddy. There I see Ebak deep in thought. Lines of worry crease his face, as though a clump of grey clouds hovers above him. Hambali isn’t home. This early in the morning, my brother is usually out tapping rubber sap and only comes home before the noonday prayer.
Ebak doesn’t even touch the cup of coffee and plate of fried bananas that Umak has prepared. When I ask Umak why he’s like this, she says she thinks it’s because of the guests who visited the week before. She explains that Tuk Abidin, along with three neatly dressed men, came to see Ebak. From what she describes, I suspect they were from the coal mining company.
Hambali has also told me that the villagers are busy measuring their land and plantations to sell to the coal mining company. The village head and his officials are also goading the residents into selling their land. And they aren’t the only ones. Among the villagers, there are also those who are so insistent that they go to one house after another asking the owners if they want to sell. One of them is Tuk Abidin—a kind of broker who conducts negotiations in partnership with the coal mining company.
Azwar, my workmate, who is originally from Kalimantan, once told me about something similar that happened in his village. He said the brokers took a commission from the sales. The coal mining company appointed village officials to negotiate the land transactions with the residents—and the officials made a nice profit from the dirty work. There were also brokers who hunted out those under financial pressure. They offered them the lowest price for their land so they could sell it to the mining company for the highest profit.
“Tuk Abidin and those men have already come a few times. They tried to coax Ebak into selling the land and duku plantation. But Ebak insisted he didn’t want to violate our customs. Your Ebak is afraid of being cursed. The plantation is our legacy, and the land is sacred land.”
“I understand, Umak,” I say, glancing towards the kekijing, where Ebak is still lost in thought. His eyes are blank. “But if Ebak insisted he isn’t going to sell, there’s no way the company will force him to. Ebak holds all the documents and certificates for the land. So what’s actually making him so gloomy?”
Without answering my question, Umak starts telling me about a different incident. It startles me. “Who knows what Tuk Abidin said to make your Ebak vomit then practically pull his knife on him. If I didn’t stop your Ebak, someone might have died in our home that day.”
The scene of Ebak almost fighting with Tuk Abidin flashes before my eyes. So, it turns out Tuk Abidin, the former moneylender, is behind all this. Recalling that rotund man with the cunning mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to fool Ebak with his tricks.
“‘I won’t give up the land. If you force me to, I’m prepared to bargain for it with my life!’ That’s what your Ebak said. Since then, Tuk Abidin hasn’t returned. But there’s a new problem in its place. A problem which was unresolved until he asked you to come home.”
“What problem?”
Umak takes a deep breath. She glances at my face a few times, as though gauging my readiness to receive the news she’s about to deliver.
“The marriage of Hambali and Rosidah. The perasanan have already been agreed to. But your Ebak doesn’t have enough money to pay the dowry required by the prospective in-laws. What’s more, Hambali only has enough savings for a reception party. If you have savings, help your Ebak, child. This is the problem which made him ask you to come home.”
Umak’s words pierce my guts. They make my tongue taste bitter and my body slump. My younger brother is getting married. I will be bypassed. Yet it’s not the fact that Hambali is going to beat me to it that upsets me, but Ebak’s anxiety, which I can now understand.
Umak tells me that, a month ago, Ebak and a group of family members visited the home of Pacik Awang, Rosidah’s father, to deliver the marriage proposal. They brought the usual ceremonial snacks—juadah, dodol, and wajik, and all the fixings for chewing betel nut to symbolize the purity of their intent. But the dowry declared by Pacik Awang forced Ebak to reconsider the decision he’d made a thousand times over.
Pacik Awang was firm in laying down the terms of Rosidah’s dowry. If you’re unable to provide solid gold jewelry and lengths of traditional silks, then don’t hold out any hope for marrying his daughter—this was what he said. These terms were extremely difficult for Ebak, who is only a duku farmer. But this is his nature; he doesn’t want to give in and disappoint his youngest child. He’s already agreed to the conditions.
“Isn’t there another way of fulfilling the prospective in-laws’ requests?” I ask while reaching for the freshly poured coffee. I deliberately haven’t responded to the earlier question about my savings. I’m ashamed. For all the time I’ve been in Java, I have nothing to show for it. I’m not prepared to see their disappointed faces if I were to answer honestly. The truth would only hurt them.
“The villagers are being tempted by high prices. All this time, your Ebak’s determination has been the only thing enabling them to resist the offers, but I feel even this will not last much longer. They are sure to sell their land if your Ebak sells his.”
I can sense the anxiety in Umak’s voice. There is truth in her suspicion. Until now, Ebak has been the role model for the duku farmers of this village, the elder whose words are most respected. They have pledged their loyalty to him as the leader of the duku farmers.
I glance at Ebak, still lost in thought on the kekijing. His gaze is set on Barisan Hill. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but his face is clouded with concern—at losing the land, most likely. The mining company and Hambali’s wedding are, of course, matters difficult to grapple with and solve.
“If the forest becomes a mine, I can’t even imagine how it would anger Tuan Depati Kuncung.” Ebak speaks suddenly but keeps a steady gaze.
“Ebak, you still believe in that tale?” I ask, half laughing. I never thought he’d mention that name again. That revered, sacred name. The name of the guardian of Suban Jeriji Forest. The land and trees of which will become a sea of desolation, like the hundreds of thousands of hectares of forest belonging to the surrounding villages.
“Why, Badar? Do you no longer believe in the existence of Tuan Depati Kincung? Is it because you’ve lived in the city so long that you’ve forgotten the tale?”
Ebak glares at me. I lower my head. I was wrong, I shouldn’t have acted like that. Especially since I know that between Ebak and that mysterious figure there is a bond of fate that’s difficult to break.
“I’m sorry, Ebak. That’s not what I mean, I was only…”
I’m unable to continue, even though I want to dispute this archaic belief. I want to say that it’s only nonsense. A myth maintained over the years to frighten the villagers so they don’t thoughtlessly destroy the forest. But Ebak clings to this belief with his entire being. The figure of Tuan Depati Kincung is a hero in his life. A demigod with extraordinary powers.
According to Ebak, the name became a legend during the Dutch era. Tuan Depati Kincung drove away the Dutch who came to our home to extract its bountiful natural resources. With his supernatural powers, Tuan Depati Kincung planted steel plates in the ground, which were ordered specially from the Sultanate of Palembang. The steel plates dulled the points of the Dutch drills, rendering their efforts useless.
When I was a child, I believed that Tuan Depati Kincung was real, like Ebak did. But adults have the misfortune of struggling to believe in childhood stories. Now I know Ebak’s faith is futile. There is no powerful old man who guards the Suban Jeriji Forest and our village. He just doesn’t exist. In the face of human greed, the tale is useless. Inside the human heart is a gaping black hole. The hole is capable of swallowing anything and will never be sated, even if the whole world is crammed into it.
“You know, don’t you, Badar? Back when I was a young bachelor, I met Tuan Depati Kincung.”
Ebak recounts the story. Perhaps for the hundredth time. Who knows? I remain silent, a little bored. Every time Ebak mentions the name, I feel cheated. A grandfather figure, well built, with white eyebrows and a white beard reaching to his chest, his eyes mournful, and walking through the thick growth of the Suban Jeriji Forest. One who watches over all flora and fauna that live within it. That's what Ebak always told me. Over and over. Until I knew every word he said by heart.
Umak, who probably shares my boredom, remains silent while glancing at me, as if saying, Be quiet, son. Just listen. Don't hurt his feelings, or later you’ll regret what you’ve done.
“That evening, I led Si Tekung to graze near the Suban Jeriji Forest,” says Ebak, beginning his story. “While waiting for the buffalo to eat its fill, I lay down under a shady tree. Just when I was on the verge of drifting off, I heard something roar twice not far from where I lay. I was startled and afraid. Near the bushes stood a striped tiger with ravenous eyes.
“I resolved to drive it away. There was no way I’d let Si Tekung become its meal. So I decided I would fight as hard as I could. I pulled Si Tekung away and faced the tiger head on. But, before the hungry tiger could pounce on me, Tuan Depati Kincung emerged from the forest.
“The old man stroked the tiger’s neck so many times it became tame. He smiled at me, then left me alone. And you know, Badar, if Tuan Depati Kincung hadn’t been there that day, you wouldn’t be here today either.”
It’s been a week since I’ve come home, and I still haven’t been able to answer Umak’s question about using my savings to help with Hambali's wedding. But there isn’t much time left now, today. I only have two weeks leave. Ebak, Umak and Hambali must know everything. I’ve tried to arrange the easiest words to explain everything, words without thorns that might hurt them.
“Forgive me for never being upfront about my job so far,” I say, almost in tears. “In Java I’m just a factory worker. My salary isn’t enough to pay the dowry for Hambali and Rosidah’s wedding.”
Ebak and Umak fall silent. Hambali takes my arm and says, “It's okay, brother. The marriage can be canceled. Really, Ebak, Umak. It's okay.” He says this with trembling lips. I know my brother is lying. In his eyes, I see streaks of disappointment.
Silence engulfs us all. I’m relieved after saying it, of course, but there’s still pain hidden in my chest. Something I’d been covering up, the work I’d kept secret for years, has finally come to light. But what can I do? Ebak, Umak and Hambali must know. It's not that I don't want to help, but I can't. I just can’t. I’m resigned. If their pride in me fades, it’s ok.
“It's all right,” replies Ebak, smiling wisely. “I didn’t ask you to come home to burden you, Badar. I just wanted to ask your opinion on the plantation. After hearing your story, now my heart is steady. You don’t need to worry, the marriage of Hambali and Rosidah will continue as planned.”
“But—” Hambali attempts to interrupt, but Ebak puts his finger to his lips.
“It’s okay,” he says to Hambali with a smile. “You are already bonded. Do not cancel anything. In our culture, shame is just as bad as death, my son. Betraying a bonded relationship is akin to allowing family honor to be trampled on. I will not allow that to happen.”
I look at him smile and I feel completely shattered. I'm guilty. I’m useless as a child and as an older brother to Hambali. I can’t help my family and I can’t make my parents proud. My heart is sorrowful beyond compare. I want to be angry at the situation, but I’m helpless. My terrible fate has dealt me the heaviest of blows.
“Later this evening, you two go to measure the land. It seems the land must be sold. But that’s okay, I’ve come to terms with it.” Ebak walks to the window. His eyes wander into the sky, as if he’s holding back tears. “Family is the most precious treasure. I'm old too, so there's nothing else to worry about. You can save the remaining money from the sale of the land, Badar. If one day you intend to marry, you can use the money as efficiently as possible. May Tuan Depati Kincung forgive my decision.”
Ebak’s voice trembles as he says that name. He stares into the distance, toward Barisan Hill. The corners of his eyes glisten—a clearness that betrays helplessness and defeat. The tale of Tuan Depati Kincung, which he has guarded all his life, has only served to moisten his lips, and is quickly dried up by the wind. I don't know why Ebak has never understood that people are no longer even afraid of hadiths and holy books, let alone that tale.
Umak draws close to Ebak. His sturdy arms hold her as she cries. Hambali and I can do nothing but remain silent. There are no more words to say. Ebak has done everything. He is willing to give up the only treasure he’d ever tried to defend for the love and dignity of his family.
One month after Ebak’s land and duku plantation were sold to the coal mining company, Hambali and Rosidah were married. I asked for a week off to attend their wedding. It was a festive feast, rolled out to hide the gushing wounds in our chests. But during the celebration, not once did I see any sorrow on Ebak's face. He laughed heartily at the sight of Hambali and Rosidah’s joyous smiles. That aging man has always been good at keeping secrets. Silently, behind the wedding stage, Umak and I cried.
Time flies. One year after Hambali and Rosidah’s wedding, I heard from Umak that after Ebak sold his land and plantation, one by one, the residents of our village also surrendered their land and plantations to the coal mining company.
Rubber, resin, duku, durian, and hundreds of other plants have been replaced by gaping pits, and in them dozens of pieces of heavy machinery that work day and night. The sacred forest of Suban Jeriji, our village's beloved forest, is now but a memory. Just like the land and duku plantations that belonged to Ebak and the villagers. Everything has become a mine.
I know how hard it was for Ebak to let go of the thousand memories that cling to every inch of the land and plantation. But Ebak had no choice. His persistence was in vain. The strong convictions that he maintained for so long dissolved when it came to his child and the dignity of his family.
Still to this day, I occasionally think about a strange event that I experienced while measuring the area of our land and duku plantation.
That evening, while on my way home, among the dense clumps of shrubs and trees, I met an old man with a white moustache and beard, and a wooden walking stick. The old man stared sadly at me—as if he had something he really wanted to say. But when I turned around to approach him, the old man had disappeared.
When I told the story to Ebak—the day before I returned to Java and the day after Hambali and Rosidah's wedding—he was silent. It was a silence that held deep sadness.
Even though one year has passed, I still wonder, who was that old man? Could it have been Tuan Depati Kincung? I have no idea. Only Ebak and God know.
Notes:
Ebak—father.
Umak—mother.
Limas—a typical house in Muara Enim district, South Sumatra.
Kekijing—the name for the veranda of the limas.
Kemplang—a type of cracker made from flour and fish, a typical South Sumatran food.
Perasanan—the second agreement between the two prospective in-laws.
Naikkah rasan—the agreement before determining the wedding day.
Rasan—a promise.
© Adam Yudhistira
English translation © Julia Winterflood
TANAH KERAMAT DAN LUKA DI DADA EBAK
Adam Yudhistira
Ilustrasi oleh Cindy Saja.
“Pulanglah, Nak. Ebak butuh bantuanmu. Tak enak rasanya membicarakan hal sepenting ini tanpa bertatap muka. Ebak tunggu kepulanganmu. Segera.”
Demikian kalimat yang kudengar di telepon siang tadi. Kalimat itu terus terngiang di kepalaku, menyiratkan sesuatu yang teramat penting—mungkin pula genting. Selama jam kerja, pikiranku kalut berkecamuk. Aku penasaran, hal penting apa yang dimaksudkan Ebak. Kuduga pasti terkait urusan keluarga.
Seminggu kemudian, setelah mengantongi surat cuti dari perusahaan, aku pulang memenuhi permintaan Ebak. Waktu satu hari satu malam kuhabiskan untuk sampai ke tanah kelahiran, di pedalaman Sumatera Selatan. Rembang petang bus yang kutumpangi tiba juga. Saat melihat Ebak, Umak, dan adikku Hambali berdiri di pangkal tangga limas, seluruh remuk redam di badanku sirna. Meski baru beberapa bulan yang lalu aku mudik lebaran, kerinduanku pada mereka bagai sudah bertahun-tahun lamanya.
Aku memeluk mereka satu per satu untuk melepas rindu. Ebak meraih tas yang kubawa, lalu memeluk pundakku. Kami melangkah menaiki tangga limas. Rumah panggung yang berdinding papan itu memiliki tangga lurus yang pinggirannya berukir motif bunga matahari. Sepasang besi berbentuk tombak bermata tiga, terpancang di kiri-kanannya. Rasa bangga yang tersirat di mata Ebak saat merangkul pundakku seolah berkata, Inilah anak lelakiku, anak kebanggaanku, baru pulang merantau dari Pulau Jawa.
Aku menaiki tangga dengan lesu. Bayangan yang kutangkap di mata itu membuatku pilu. Ebak duduk di kursi rotan dan memberi isyarat agar aku turut duduk di sampingnya. Hambali membawa tas milikku ke dalam, disusul Umak yang berkata hendak menjerang air untuk membuat teh. Sepeninggal mereka, Ebak bertanya perihal perjalananku. Belum pula aku sempat menjawab, Umak keluar lagi sambil membawa senampan teh panas dan setoples kemplang.
“Nanti saja berbincang-bincangnya. Biarkan anak bujangmu ini beristirahat dulu.”
Ebak mengangguk, “Minumlah dulu, biar pucat di wajahmu itu hilang,” katanya tersenyum.
“Badar tak apa-apa, cuma sedikit pusing saja.”
Di sampingku, Ebak dan Hambali terlihat gelisah. Sesuatu berarak di wajah mereka, membuat rasa ingin tahu yang berdiam di hatiku sejak minggu lalu membandang tak tertahan. Setelah berbincang ringan, aku memberanikan diri untuk bertanya, “Badar penasaran, perihal apa yang membuat Ebak meminta Badar pulang?”
Ebak mengamati wajahku, seolah ingin memastikan bahwa aku akan baik-baik saja jika beliau memulai ceritanya.
“Kampung kita sedang terancam. Ada orang-orang yang ingin mengubah kampung ini menjadi tambang.”
“Tambang batubara?” tanyaku jemu.
Ebak mengangguk.
Sebenarnya, sudah lama aku mendengar desas-desus itu. Tapi, tanah masyarakat dan tanah serta kebun duku milik Ebak, berjarak tiga kilometer dari pusat tambang. Maka, selama ini aku tidak merasa cemas.
Tapi, membayangkan seluruh kampung ini disamaratakan dengan tanah dan berakhir menjadi tambang, membuatku bimbang.
“Aku berharap niat mereka tak jadi kenyataan,” kata Hambali pelan. “Rasanya sulit untuk melawan. Perangkat kampung ini juga sudah banyak yang menjadi kaki-tangan orang-orang perusahaan tambang.”
“Maksudmu? Mereka lebih memihak ke perusahaan tambang?”
Hambali mengangguk.
Ebak menancapkan kretek ke asbak porselen di atas meja. Meski kretek itu baru diisapnya beberapa kali, Ebak tetap melumatnya sekuat tenaga, seolah-olah sedang melampiaskan amarah di dadanya.
“Mereka mulai menawar tanah dan kebun milik orang-orang dengan harga tinggi. Termasuk tanah dan kebun duku kita di Hutan Suban Jeriji.”
“Kalau memang begitu, jangan dijual tanah dan kebun itu, Bak. Biarkan saja jika orang lain mau menjual tanah mereka.”
Aku tahu, betapa Ebak mencintai tanah dan kebun itu. Lagipula, sudah tak terhitung manfaat dan jasa yang kami peroleh dari sana. Aku mampu sekolah sampai kuliah dan mendapat gelar sarjana, semua itu lantaran hasil mengolahnya. Aku tak setuju apabila tanah itu dijual kepada perusahaan tambang, berapa pun nilainya. Tapi mendengar jawabanku, Ebak menggeleng lemah.
“Semua itu bergantung kepadamu, Badar,” kata Umak perlahan.
“Aku?”
Umak mengangguk. Ebak dan Hambali menunduk. Mata mereka bersinar redup. Aku ingin bertanya, tetapi terdengar lamat-lamat lantunan azan Magrib berkumandang dari surau kampung. Ebak dan Umak berdiri, diikuti Hambali.
“Sudahlah, besok saja dilanjutkan,” tukas Ebak memungkasi perbincangan. “Sebentar lagi Magrib, sebaiknya kau mandi dulu. Lalu salatlah bersama kami.”
Terpaksa kutelan rasa penasaran di dadaku dengan anggukkan. Kalimat terakhir yang telanjur terpotong tadi membuat benakku keruh oleh beragam pertanyaan. Bila hanya untuk mengambil keputusan, semestinya Ebak tak perlu bersusah payah memintaku pulang. Sudah pasti, aku tak akan bersetuju. Namun, ada sesuatu yang masih disimpan Ebak. Apa itu, aku belum tahu. Ah, lagi-lagi aku harus bersabar. Ebak selalu pandai menyimpan rahasia.
Aku bangun pagi ini dengan perasaan segar. Udara di kampung ini belum tercemar. Saat membuka jendela, paru-paruku mengembang dan serta merta terasa sejuk. Angin pagi membuat dedaunan randu, mangga, angsana, dan belimbing gemerisik di halaman, harmonis dengan suara unggas dan kicau burung di pepohonan.
Suasana seperti ini tak pernah kurasakan di kota tempatku bekerja. Tak terbayangkan bila semua ini terenggut dari kami. Suhu panas mencucuk jangat. Debu-polusi menjadi ulam pahit yang mesti ditelan saban hari. Lalu, lama-kelamaan kampung ini akan menjadi kampungnya orang-orang mati. Kupikir, hal itu bisa saja terjadi andai tambang batubara itu betul-betul berdiri.
Aku berjalan ke kekijing limas dengan perasaan gamang. Di sana kulihat Ebak sedang melamun. Wajahnya kusut, seolah ada arakan awan kelabu yang menaunginya. Hambali sedang tak ada di rumah. Pagi-pagi begini, adikku itu biasa menyadap getah karet dan baru pulang sebelum azan dzuhur.
Secangkir kopi dan sepiring pisang goreng bikinan Umak tak sepotong pun disentuh Ebak. Ketika hal itu kutanyakan pada Umak, menurutnya itu gara-gara ulah tamu yang datang seminggu yang lalu. Umak bercerita, Tuk Abidin bersama tiga orang laki-laki berpakaian rapi datang menemui Ebak. Dari ciri-ciri yang diceritakannya tentang tiga orang laki-laki itu, aku menduga mereka adalah orang-orang perusahaan tambang batubara.
Hambali juga bercerita bahwa warga kampung ini sedang sibuk mengukur tanah dan kebun mereka untuk dijual ke perusahaan tambang batubara. Kepala kampung dan perangkatnya pun ikut-ikutan membujuk warga menjualkan tanah mereka. Bahkan tidak cuma mereka. Di antara warga kampung ini, ada pula yang begitu gencar mendatangi satu persatu rumah untuk menanyai kalau-kalau ada yang mau menjual tanah mereka. Salah satunya adalah Tuk Abidin. Ia semacam makelar yang melakukan negosiasi-negosiasi atas nama kongsi dengan perusahaan tambang batubara.
Azwar, teman kerjaku yang berasal dari Kalimantan, pernah bercerita tentang hal serupa terjadi di kampungnya. Katanya, para makelar ini mengambil komisi dari hasil penjualan. Perusahaan tambang batubara menunjuk pejabat desa menjadi makelar tanah warga-warganya—dan mereka memperoleh keuntungan besar dari kerja-kerja kotor seperti itu. Ada juga para makelar yang mencari orang-orang yang sedang terbelit masalah ekonomi. Mereka menawar tanah kebun mereka serendah-rendahnya untuk dijual lagi ke pihak perusahaan tambang dengan harga setinggi-tingginya.
“Tuk Abidin dan orang-orang itu sudah berkali-kali datang. Mereka membujuk Ebak menjual tanah dan kebun dukunya. Tapi Ebak bersikeras tak mau melanggar petuah adat. Ebak-mu takut kualat. Itu kebun warisan, tanahnya pun tanah keramat.”
“Aku paham, Mak,” ucapku seraya melirik ke kekijing. Di sana Ebak masih melamun. Matanya kosong menerawang. “Tapi kalau Ebak bersikeras tak mau menjualnya, perusahaan itu tak mungkin bisa memaksa. Ebak memiliki surat-surat dan sertifikat lengkap atas tanahnya. Lalu apa sesungguhnya masalah yang membuat Ebak murung seperti itu?”
Umak belum menjawab pertanyaanku, malah menceritakan kejadian lain yang membuatku terkejut. “Entah apa yang diucapkan Tuk Abidin pada Ebak-mu hingga beliau muntah dan nyaris mencabut pisaunya. Kalau aku tak mencegahnya, mungkin hari itu ada yang mati di rumah kita.”
Adegan Ebak hampir berkelahi dengan Tuk Abidin terbayang-bayang di mataku. Tuk Abidin, bekas rentenir itu ternyata biang musababnya. Mengingat lelaki tambun berakal licik itu, aku tak heran jika dia mencoba menipu Ebak dengan muslihatnya.
“’Tanah itu tak akan kulepas. Kalau kalian memaksa, aku bersedia menukarnya dengan nyawa!’ Begitu kata Ebak-mu. Sejak itu, Tuk Abidin tak pernah datang lagi. Tapi masalah lain berganti. Masalah yang tak bisa diselesaikan hingga beliau memintamu pulang.”
“Masalah apa itu?”
Umak menghela napas panjang. Ia memandangi wajahku beberapa lama, seolah menakar seberapa siap aku menerima kabar yang sebentar lagi ia sampaikan.
“Pernikahan Hambali dengan Rosidah. Perasanan telanjur disepakati. Tetapi Ebak-mu tak memiliki cukup uang untuk memenuhi mahar calon besan. Sementara itu, uang simpanan Hambali hanya cukup untuk menggelar pesta hajatan. Sekiranya kau ada simpanan uang, bantulah Ebak-mu, Nak. Persoalan itulah yang membuatnya memintamu pulang seminggu yang lalu.”
Perkataan Umak menusuk ulu hatiku. Membuat lidahku terasa pahit dan tubuhku tersandar lesu. Adikku akan menikah. Aku akan dilangkahi. Namun, bukan perkara dilangkahi Hambali yang membuatku gundah, melainkan kegelisahan yang dirasakan Ebak yang kini bisa kumengerti.
Umak bercerita, satu bulan yang lalu, Ebak dan serombongan keluarga bertandang ke rumah Pacik Awang, orangtua Rosidah. Mereka bermaksud mengajukan pinangan Naikkah Rasan. Sekebat juadah, dodol, wajik, sekapur-sirih, gambir, pinang menjadi perlambang niat putih yang dibawa. Namun, mahar yang dicanangkan Pacik Awang membuat Ebak harus menimbang niat beribu kali.
Pacik Awang tak tanggung-tanggung meletakkan mahar untuk Rosidah. Bila tak sanggup menyediakan perhiasan emas puluhan karat serta sutra pengikat berlarat-larat, jangan harap bisa menikahi putrinya. Syarat itu sangat sulit bagi Ebak yang hanya seorang petani duku. Namun, sudah menjadi tabiatnya, beliau tak mau mengalah dan lebih-lebih membuat anak bungsunya kecewa. Syarat itu telanjur disanggupinya.
“Lalu, apakah tak ada cara lain untuk memenuhi permintaan calon besan itu?” tanyaku sembari meraih kopi yang baru saja dituang. Sengaja belum kujawab pertanyaan perihal uang simpananku tadi. Aku malu. Sekian lama merantau di Pulau Jawa, tak ada hasil apa-apa. Apabila kujawab sejujurnya, aku belum sanggup melihat raut kecewa di wajah mereka. Jawabanku hanya akan membuat luka.
“Warga diiming-imingi harga yang tinggi. Selama ini, satu-satunya yang membuat mereka bertahan adalah keteguhan hati Ebak-mu, tapi kurasa itu pun tak akan lama lagi. Mereka pasti akan menjual tanah mereka, jika Ebak-mu menjual tanah miliknya.”
Aku bisa merasakan kegundahan dalam nada suara Umak. Dugaan itu ada benarnya. Selama ini, Ebak adalah sosok panutan bagi para petani duku di kampung ini, tetua yang paling disegani kata-katanya. Bahkan para petani itu membaiat Ebak sebagai ketua kelompok petani duku, sebagai bentuk penghormatan atas dirinya.
Kulirik Ebak yang masih melamun di kekijing. Pandangan matanya lurus ke Bukit Barisan. Aku tak tahu apa yang ada di benaknya, tapi di wajahnya yang keruh itu terbesit kecemasan. Kecemasan yang mungkin berasal dari rasa takut kehilangan. Perusahaan tambang dan pernikahan Hambali, tentu bukan sesuatu yang mudah untuk dilawan dan dicarikan jalan penyelesaian.
“Bila hutan itu menjadi tambang, aku tak bisa membayangkan betapa marahnya Tuan Depati Kincung.” Tiba-tiba, Ebak angkat bicara, tanpa mengubah titik pandangnya.
“Ebak masih percaya hikayat itu?” tanyaku setengah tertawa. Aku tak menyangka beliau akan menyebut nama itu lagi. Nama keramat yang disegani. Nama Penjaga Hutan Suban Jeriji. Tanah dan hutan yang akan menjadi lautan gersang, seperti yang sudah mereka lakukan pada ratusan ribu hektar hutan lain di kampung-kampung tetangga kami.
“Mengapa, Badar? Apakah kau tak percaya lagi dengan keberadaan Tuan Depati Kincung? Apakah lantaran terlalu lama hidup di kota, hingga kau lupa hikayat itu?”
Ebak menatapku tajam. Aku menunduk. Aku salah, tak seharusnya aku bersikap seperti itu, terlebih aku tahu antara Ebak dan sosok misterius itu ada pertautan takdir yang sulit dipisahkan.
“Maaf, Bak. Bukan begitu maksudku, aku cuma...”
Aku tak sanggup melanjutkan kata-kata, meskipun sebenarnya ingin aku mendebat kepercayaan purbanya itu. Ingin kukatakan bahwa keyakinan itu hanya bualan semata. Mitos yang dipelihara bertahun-tahun untuk menakuti warga agar tak merusak hutan semena-mena. Tapi Ebak memelihara kepercayaan itu dengan segenap jiwanya. Sosok Tuan Depati Kincung adalah pahlawan dalam hidupnya. Manusia setengah dewa yang memiliki kesaktian luar biasa.
Kata Ebak, nama itu telah menjadi legenda sejak zaman Belanda. Tuan Depati Kincung pernah mengusir orang-orang Belanda yang datang ke kampung kami dengan maksud mengeruk kekayaan sumber daya alamnya. Dengan kesaktiannya, Tuan Depati Kincung menanam lempengan-lempengan baja di dalam tanah. Lempengan-lempengan baja itu dipesan khusus dari Kesultanan Palembang untuk menumpulkan mata bor milik orang-orang Belanda dan membuat usaha mereka berakhir sia-sia.
Saat masih kanak-kanak, aku percaya seperti Ebak, bahwa Tuan Depati Kincung betul-betul nyata. Namun, kesialan orang yang telah dewasa, ia menjadi sulit percaya pada kisah-kisah kanak-kanak. Sekarang aku tahu, keyakinan Ebak sia-sia. Tak ada sosok lelaki tua sakti mandraguna yang menjaga Hutan Suban Jeriji dan kampung kami. Sungguh tak ada. Di hadapan keserakahan manusia, hikayat itu tak berguna. Di dalam hati manusia terdapat lubang hitam yang menganga. Lubang itu mampu menelan apa saja dan tak akan pernah penuh meskipun seisi dunia dijejalkan ke dalamnya.
“Kau tahu, Badar? Dulu sewaktu aku bujang muda, aku pernah bertemu Tuan Depati Kincung.”
Ebak mengurai kembali kisah itu. Entah sudah keberapa ratus kalinya. Aku diam, sedikit merasa bosan. Setiap kali Ebak menyebut nama itu, aku merasa dibodohi. Sosok kakek bertubuh tegap, dengan alis dan janggut putih menjela sampai dada, pandangan mata sendu dan berjalan di kerapatan Hutan Suban Jeriji. Sosok yang mengawasi setiap helai dedaunan dan margasatwa yang hidup di dalamnya. Itu yang selalu Ebak ceritakan padaku. Berulang-ulang. Sampai aku khatam setiap kata yang diucapkannya.
Umak yang mungkin juga merasa bosan sepertiku ikut diam sambil melirikku, seolah berkata, Diamlah, Nak. Dengarkan saja. Jangan nian engkau lukai perasaannya, berdosa engkau nanti.
“Petang itu, aku menggiring Si Tekung merumput ke dekat Hutan Suban Jeriji,” Ebak memulai ceritanya. “Sembari menunggu kerbau itu kenyang, aku berbaring di bawah pohon yang rindang. Ketika rasa kantuk hampir membuatku tertidur, terdengar bunyi auman dua kali. Tidak jauh dari tempatku berbaring. Aku terkejut dan kecut hati. Di dekat gerumbul semak berdiri seekor harimau loreng dengan mata menatap lapar.”
“Aku berniat menghalaunya. Tak mungkin aku rela melepas Si Tekung jadi santapannya. Jadi kuputuskan, aku akan melawan sejadi-jadinya. Aku menarik Si Tekung dan berhadapan dengan harimau itu secara langsung. Tapi, sebelum harimau lapar itu menerkamku, Tuan Depati Kincung datang dari balik kerapatan hutan.”
“Lelaki tua itu mengusap tengkuk harimau itu berkali-kali hingga membuatnya jinak. Ia tersenyum kepadaku, lalu berlalu meninggalkanku seorang diri. Dan kau tahu, Badar, kalau tak ada Tuan Depati Kincung hari itu, tak akan ada dirimu hari ini.”
Seminggu sejak kepulanganku, aku belum juga mampu menjawab pertanyaan Umak perihal simpanan uang untuk membantu pernikahan Hambali. Namun, pagi ini, tak banyak waktu yang tersisa, jatah cutiku hanya dua minggu. Oleh karenanya, Ebak, Umak dan Hambali mesti tahu segalanya. Aku berusaha memilah kata paling mudah untuk menjelaskan semuanya, kata-kata tak bertaji yang bisa membuat mereka terluka.
“Maafkan aku karena tak pernah berterus terang tentang pekerjaanku selama ini,” ucapku hampir-hampir ingin menangis. “Aku... aku ini hanya buruh pabrik di Pulau Jawa. Gajiku tak cukup membiayai mahar pernikahan Hambali dan Rosidah.”
Ebak dan Umak termenung. Hambali memegang lenganku. “Tak mengapa, Bang. Pernikahan itu bisa dibatalkan. Sungguh, Bak, Mak. Tak mengapa,” ucapnya dengan bibir gemetar. Aku tahu adikku sedang berdusta. Di matanya, aku bisa melihat gurat kecewa.
Keheningan melanda kami anak-beranak. Aku memang lega usai mengucapkan kalimat itu, namun ada kesakitan yang kusembunyikan di balik dada. Sesuatu yang selama ini kututupi, pekerjaan yang bertahun-tahun ini kurahasiakan, akhirnya terkuak juga. Tapi apa boleh buat, Ebak, Umak dan Hambali memang harus tahu. Bukan aku tak mau membantu, tapi aku tak mampu. Yah, sungguh tak mampu. Aku sudah pasrah jika kebanggaan mereka terhadapku memudar.
“Tak apa-apa,” jawab Ebak, tersenyum bijaksana. “Aku memintamu pulang bukan ingin membebanimu, Badar. Aku hanya ingin meminta pendapatmu soal tanah kebun itu. Setelah mendengar ceritamu, sekarang hatiku mantap. Tak perlu kalian risau, pernikahan Hambali dan Rosidah tetap akan kita langsungkan.”
“Tapi?” Hambali mencoba memotong kalimat itu, tapi Ebak memalang telunjuk di depan dagu.
“Tak mengapa,” ujarnya sembari tersenyum. “Kau sudah terikat rasan. Jangan dibatalkan. Dalam adat kita, malu timbangnya mati, Anakku. Berkhianat pada rasan yang sudah diikat sama saja membiarkan kehormatan keluarga diinjak-injak. Tak akan kubiarkan itu terjadi.”
Aku memandang senyum itu dengan perasaan hancur. Aku bersalah. Aku tak berguna sebagai anak dan sebagai abang untuk Hambali. Aku tak bisa membantu keluarga dan tak bisa membanggakan orangtua. Hatiku pilu bukan main. Aku ingin marah pada keadaan, tapi tak berdaya. Nasib tak mujur telah mengempaskanku sekuat-kuatnya.
“Petang nanti, kalian berdua pergilah mengukur tanah itu. Tanah itu rupanya memang harus terjual, tapi tak mengapa, aku sudah rela.” Ebak melangkah ke dekat jendela. Matanya menerawang ke angkasa, seolah sedang menahan laju airmata. “Keluarga adalah harta paling berharga. Aku juga sudah tua, tak ada lagi yang kurisaukan. Nanti, uang sisa penjualan tanah itu kautabungkan saja, Badar. Jika kelak kau berniat berumah tangga, uang itu bisa kaugunakan sebaik-baiknya. Semoga Tuan Depati Kincung memaafkan keputusanku ini.”
Suara Ebak bergetar saat menyebut nama itu. Matanya terus lurus ke Bukit Barisan. Ada bening tergenang di pelupuknya. Bening yang melukiskan ketidakberdayaan dan juga kekalahan. Hikayat Tuan Depati Kincung yang seumur hidup dijaganya, hanya menjadi pembasah bibir yang lekas mengering ditiup angin. Entah mengapa Ebak tak juga kunjung mengerti bahwa kini jangankan hanya pada hikayat, bahkan pada hadits dan kitab suci, orang-orang tak takut lagi.
Umak berdiri menghampiri Ebak. Digenggamnya lengan kokoh itu sambil menangis. Aku dan Hambali hanya bisa terdiam. Tak ada lagi kata yang sanggup kami ucapkan. Ebak telah melakukan segalanya. Ia rela melepas satu-satunya harta yang pernah ia bela dengan nyawa demi cinta dan martabat keluarganya.
Satu bulan selepas tanah dan kebun duku milik Ebak terjual pada perusahaan tambang batubara, Hambali dan Rosidah menikah. Aku meminta cuti satu minggu untuk menghadiri pernikahan mereka. Pesta meriah yang tergelar di atas luka yang menyemburat di dada kami semua. Namun, sepanjang perhelatan, tak sekalipun kulihat duka di wajah Ebak. Beliau tertawa bahagia melihat senyum gembira di wajah Hambali dan Rosidah. Laki-laki yang mulai renta itu memang selalu pandai menyimpan rahasia. Diam-diam, di belakang panggung pelaminan, aku dan Umak menangis.
Waktu terasa cepat beranjak. Satu tahun selepas pernikahan Hambali dan Rosidah, aku mendengar kabar dari Umak bahwa sejak Ebak menjual tanah dan kebunnya, satu per satu warga kampung kami juga turut melepas tanah dan kebun mereka kepada perusahaan tambang batubara.
Karet, damar, duku, durian, dan beratus jenis tumbuhan lain telah dibabati dan berganti kubangan raksasa yang berisi puluhan alat berat yang tak henti bekerja siang dan malam. Hutan keramat Suban Jeriji, hutan kesayangan kampung kami, kini tinggal nama dalam ingatan. Begitu pun dengan tanah dan kebun duku milik Ebak dan warga kampung kami. Semuanya melekang menjadi tambang.
Aku tahu betapa berat hati Ebak melepas seribu kenangan yang melekat pada tiap jengkal tanah dan kebun itu. Namun, Ebak tak punya pilihan. Kegigihannya sia-sia. Keyakinan kuat yang dipeliharanya, luruh demi kepentingan anak dan martabat keluarga.
Hingga saat ini, sesekali aku masih terbayang kejadian aneh yang kutemui saat sedang mengukur luas tanah dan kebun duku kami dulu.
Petang itu, saat dalam perjalanan pulang ke rumah, di kerapatan belukar dan pepohonan, aku bersitatap dengan laki-laki tua berkumis, berjanggut putih, dan bertongkat kayu. Laki-laki tua itu menatap sendu—seolah-olah ada sesuatu yang ingin benar ia sampaikan kepadaku. Namun, saat aku berbalik untuk menghampirinya, laki-laki tua itu telah lenyap entah ke mana.
Saat cerita itu kusampaikan kepada Ebak—sehari sebelum aku kembali ke Pulau Jawa dan sehari selepas pernikahan Hambali dan Rosidah—beliau hanya diam. Diam yang menyimpan kesedihan yang amat dalam.
Sampai kini, setelah satu tahun berlalu, aku masih kerap bertanya-tanya, siapa gerangan laki-laki tua itu? Mungkinkah ia Tuan Depati Kincung? Entahlah. Hanya Ebak dan Tuhan saja yang tahu rahasia itu.
Catatan:
Ebak: ayah.
Umak: ibu.
Limas: rumah khas kabupaten Muara Enim, Sumatera Selatan.
Kekijing: sebutan untuk beranda pada rumah limas.
Kemplang: sejenis kerupuk yang terbuat dari terigu dan ikan. Makananan khas Sumatera Selatan.
Perasanan: perjanjian kedua belah pihak calon besan.
Naikkah rasan: kesepakatan sebelum menentukan hari pernikahan.
Rasan: janji.
© Adam Yudhistira
ADAM YUDHISTIRA currently lives in Muara Enim, South Sumatra. He has written many short stories, children's stories, essays, poems, and book reviews which have been published in various print and online media. Apart from engaging in literary activities, he also manages a Community Reading Park for children in his neighborhood. He also works in the literary community of Pondok Cerita. His latest short story collection is Ocehan Semut Merah dan Bangkai Seekor Tawon (2017).
JULIA WINTERFLOOD is a freelance writer, editor, and translator. Hailing from the small desert town of Alice Springs in Central Australia, she has called Indonesia home since 2014. Her writing has been published in Nikkei Asia, The Diplomat, Mekong Review, Travel Weekly Asia, Coconuts Jakarta, Coconuts Bali, and by Asialink Arts. Previously, she spent three years as International Media Consultant for Ubud Writers & Readers Festival. Read her published works on jwinterflood.com and follow her on Twitter @jwinterflood.
CINDY SAJA is an illustrator who started her career in 2010. She completed her Fine Arts education at IKJ in 2011 and Master of Design education at ITB in 2014. Cindy's illustration style tends towards cartoons which use bright and minimalist colors. Her collaborative work doesn’t focus on one particular character, but rather the content that will be accompanied by the illustration itself. This is why the audience will find differences in the materials used, such as pencil shading, monochrome watercolors with particular accents of color, or digital cartoons. Cindy has collaborated with several authors and artists including Gouri Mirpuri, Butet Manurung, Rani Pramesti, Rene Suhardono, Erikar Lebang, and many more.