Firefields
The Village of Home

This story infiltrated through an unpleasant morning. Precisely twenty years ago, when clove trees were still widely seen along the edge of the road to the beach Takisung.

However, if you read this story in a different year, then you should count down and quit in 1993.

It all started from Sangyang Village, a small village that borrowed the name as well as hiding under the foot of Sangyang Hill.

From the big road to Takisung Beach - look to the right - the hill has a huge chunk of rock; like an agitated little girl with a mole on her cheek. That enormous chunk of rock had already jutted out long ago.

In the past, the chunks of stone were sheltered by many large trees. Slowly, part of the tree trunk begins to weathered and eventually dies along with the decaying dry leaves. Not a few tree trunks that are still growing are cut down by people to be used as firewood.

Actually Sangyang Hill is too fertile just to question some of the trees that are cut down.

However, still an 18-year-old named Patra always did not let her father think like that. Their house is just under the foot of Sangyang Hill. The big chunk of rock up there is like a scary shadow at night.

“How about a landslide? If the rock above there rolls down, then the first time that will be oppressed is our home,” Patra protested once.

As a boy who later grew up, Patra looked different to children her age. I don't know what has possessed his mind all this time, but it often makes Wijan, his father felt astonished, exactly bored.

Many boys helped their parents to cut down trees on Sangyang Hill, while Patra refused to even ask that his father forbid people to cut down trees.

“Definitely because he likes to play on Sangyang Hill, the demons there have possessed his mind,” Wijan was upset to tell his wife because Patra hindered to cut wood on Sangyang Hill.

Wijan hopes his wife will help him to give understanding to Patra. Firewood supplies have been dwindling because in addition to its own use it is also sold to the market to meet the needs of daily life.

“Hussh…! Don't talk carelessly,” replied his wife continued work in the kitchen.

“So you defended that boy? So what if our firewood supply runs out?”

“Our son's words have a point. We still have a lot of coconut trees. Some are dry, you better cut one of them,” replied his wife and asked no longer to question Patra's opinion.

From behind the walls of the room, Patra listened to their conversation. There was a feeling of pleasure when he got his mother's defense.

For Patra, his mother was much smarter and wiser than his father. He was very curious what used to make his mother want to marry a careless man and always act rashly.

"No way because of my moustache!" bathin Patra's.

After making sure his father went to take an axe to cut down coconut trees, as usual, every morning Patra took the time to climb the top of Sangyang Hill.

He would run as hard as he could to have time to rest on top of the hill. After that he will go home to prepare himself to go to school.

Many times he was a sweat that bleached on the face to the neck. The more uphill, his legs felt heavier to step.

He continued to move towards the large rock above. Patra will finish everything tired, including the restless who always infiltrated his head by sitting on the stone.

In the distance there, the landscape of the Meratus Mountains looks elongated with a flicker of moss green color. That said, the mountains hide many stories about gold and coal.

Looking at the Meratus Mountains while fantasizing about being rich can make Patra smile. He did not have to bother going to the Sunday Market to meet Uncle Ujang, so the way most people add the word uncle to call the male traders.

Uncle Ujang is a disabled legged shoe tailor. Before people knew him as a shoe tailor, he was known as a football player from Pelaihari City with the achievement of top scorer.

“Since that day I couldn't play football anymore,” said Uncle Ujang. “You must be careful. People could have been bad because of football.”

Ujang's uncle showed Patra the broken bone. There's a lump in the shin. That's where the piece of wood hit hard at his feet.

He noticed Patra's face and laughed. “T needn't be afraid. Precisely you have to train your legs to be stronger and faster when running,” the deck as if not holding the slightest grudge.

Patra didn't think it was a joke and she didn't know why she had to laugh. As at this moment when recalling the incident, there was a sort of inexplicable cuteness, Patra could still smile many times.

While breathing in, Patra leaned back against the side of the grayish-black stone. On some sides of the stone are visible remnants of defeat against raindrops.

With her legs crossed, Patra gulped the last water in a plastic bottle she had brought from home. He stood up, climbing the top of the stone. Tired a minute ago, gone.

Patra then looked at Pelaihari City from a distance. From the top of Sangyang Hill, the city looks like it is snoring shrouded in a thin fog.

I don't know what Uncle Ujang is doing this early. Perhaps he was already in one of the markets as told to himself that every day comes to all markets in turns.

Patra then turned his body, he looked at Takisung Beach far south there. Takisung Beach looks like a kiss on the lips of the sky. However, it is not the reason for the beauty that Patra then pensive.

Waves of his mind soared that it passed far across the edge of the ocean. He imagined an island that became his father's hometown. The geography lessons he learned at school were not able to explain all his curiosity during this time.

I don't know what reason his parents decided to join the transmigration program and had to leave their hometown. In fact, every time he asked about the origin of his father's hamlet, Patra always got a story that was always proud.

“They are hard workers. Although the skin of the fingers peeling due to rocks, they still do as long as they can plant corn seedlings,” recalled his father excited.

For Patra, that kind of pride makes things blur. Every time there is a chance, Patra then hunts his father with many questions.

“Why should you go?” Dozens of times Patra asked him and he only got stories about people who are always hard working. That's not the answer he wants to know.

Aren't every resident of the house down there, they're also hardworking? They don't care about the heat of the sun when it's baking skin.

They also do not care when their toes are hit by water fleas or bitten by snakes. In fact, they keep returning to the fields, working every inch of land that the government gives them.

Patra believes that not only for the sake of survival, but if they, including his father, want to redeem all the past about the hometown they have left behind.

So, how bitter is it to live in their own hometown? Does being a transmigrant make life better?

While propping her chin up on both knees, Patra tried to remember some family names that were not clear where they went. Wouldn't everyone end up staying in this place?

Not a few transmigrants actually sell their homes and land for good. No one knows what they're like now.

Of all the stories that have been exhausted, there is still a fragment of the story for those who remain. Caring for their hopes as a transmigrant.

Patra still remembers how her parents worked with life. One and a half acres of land and clove trees have been sold to one of the new arrivals to finance his sister's operation at the hospital.

The new arrival was named Yudha. The man whose arrival gave a lot of hope to the clove farmers. Quietly, Patra confirmed the admiration her father had once expressed towards Yudha.

“Being rich is easy if you become a smart person. Instead, because of stupid your wealth can run out. Look, Yudha. He was not a person who had a lot of money, but his intelligence could make money come to him. That's why I want you to go to high school to change the fate of our family.”