The Angkara Murka
The Book of Obong - Ngalimun
Satria Piningit walked closer to the building he knew must be Priyam's house. If he had not experienced the terrible events that still left the heart beat chasing like a racehorse, surely he would have admitted that Priyam's house was very comfortable. Unlike the house of Mbah kakung and the princess he lived in, Priyam's simple house which was much smaller and even tiny is very beautiful sustainable. The sound of the wind that greeted the leaves, as well as the gurgling of water that did not know where it came from, became a beautiful melody that twisted each other.
If only he had not met the ghost of the grandmothers, of course.
Satria Piningit promised to ask Priyam for details after she met him. Not only that, he would ask all the things Priyam had seen in this village before, no matter how scared she was.
From the grounds, Satria Piningit finally approached the courtyard of the house.
"Kulonuwun" said Satria Piningit, knocking on the door several times slowly until a fifty-year-old man emerged from the doorway.
"Nuwun sewu, sir. Is this really Ngalimun's house?" satria Piningit asked the man to try as decently as possible.
"Leres son, right, myself," replied the middle-aged man in a tone of voice that was no less polite even though all he faced was a boy his age.
There is a picture that does not fit Priyam's story, thought Satria Piningit. He said his father was accused of being a shaman by villagers. However, the Ngalimun sir he saw did not show those characteristics at all. Somewhat different from the father of Wong Ayu who although also friendly, but long hair, iket and mustache beard is like showing the general characteristics of a shaman. Mr. Naglimun even looks neat like an office employee or teacher. His hair was shortened back. From the language alone, he seems to represent the actions of people who are educated and know manners. Not that Wong Ayu's father was the other way around. It's just that, for a person to be accused of being a shaman, there should be a compelling reason that makes the accusation either acceptable or reasonable.
"May I meet Priyam, sir?" ask Satria Piningit.
Mr. Ngalimun looked at Satria Piningit for a little while. His face showed a pinch of confusion. Before Satria Piningit became uncomfortable, the face of Mr. Ngalimun became bright. He seemed to understand the boy's question, "I mean the child, Priyam ... Priyambada?"
Now Satria Piningit looks confused. He realized that all he knew was a boy named Priyam. Satria Piningit never knew his full name. So, he finally agreed. Priyambada is probably his real name.
Mr. Ngalimun smiled widely. He also opened the door wider. "Let's go in for a moment, son," he asked politely.
Satria Piningit certainly followed him in. For a long time he wanted to know Priyam's home and family. This visit was even the core of his goal.
"Please sit down first, son," Mr. Ngalimun invited Satria Piningit in.
He was sitting in a long chair with a beautiful teak. It is probably old enough to be an antique.
"Mom, please make some tea. We have this guest coming" exclaimed Mr. Ngalimun.
Satria Piningit flinched, "No need, sir Ngalimun. I was troubling my father." he was really shocked.
That smile seemed meaningful. Maybe once Mr. Ngalimun could see Satria Piningit's lips pale due to the beating of his heart that was still hunting, or his muscles were squeezed. So, Satria Piningit really needs a cup of warm tea this afternoon.
Before long, a mother, obviously the wife of Mr. Ngalimun came carrying an iron tray containing two cups of hot tea and a pot or pot of clay. He smiled towards Satria Piningit who was replied with a polite nod.
"Please drink, son," said the mother as friendly as her husband. Then he went back inside the house.
Satria Piningit could not mince words anymore so immediately drank the sweet warm liquid. His entire body felt drastically calmer. Either jasmine tea is just tea, or there are special herbs that make it feel so comfortable.
As if you understand the condition, Mr. Ngalimun also drank his tea, did not want Satria Piningit to feel clumsy and unpleasant, "Please pour more tea, son," said Mr. Ngalimun. He himself poured the tea back into his glass and without hesitation immediately added it also to the glass of his little guest. Satria Piningit thanked him and went back to sipping the tea with the same satisfaction.
After his condition was quite calm, Mr. Ngalimun opened a conversation. "How long have you known Priyambada?" tanyakanya.
"Maybe this month is two months, sir," replied Satria Piningit. It's kind of weird to get this kind of question from a friend's father. Like applying for a job or a girl, thought Satria Piningit.
Mr. Ngalimun took a breath, "Ah, how is this. I don't even know your name yet. What's your name, son?"
"Satria, sir. Satria Piningit," replied Satria Piningit, still feeling strange.
"A good name, according to your personality," said Mr. Ngalimun.
Satria Piningit clandestinely looked into another room in the house, where the mother had entered. He did so to see the possibility of Priyam's existence. He hasn't seen the boy since.
Mr. Naglimun then mendehem, "Look at Satria. Can you tell me a little?"
Satria Piningit did not react. He doesn't know where this conversation is going. Priyam is not even visible from her nose. Instead of meeting him directly with Priyam, Mr. Ngalimun even invited him to chat and wanted to tell him about something. Outside, the sun slowly began to sink. Not too late in the afternoon, let alone Magrib, but there was a speck of cold seeping through the pores of Satria Piningit.
He felt that there was a level to pass before he finally met Priyam. A strange feeling in this same state of his beard. Does the father want to ask about his life, family background, or what he and Priyam have been doing all this time? Satria Piningit was then increasingly upset with the villagers, especially the children of his age who might cause Priyam really did not have many friends. So when it turns out Priyam the arrival of a friend who came from this village, maybe his father felt the need to know more about his friend.
Satria Piningit felt a chill slowly seeping into her skin pores. He did not know if it was because the temperature had begun to change, or suddenly he remembered the ghost of the grandmother who had surprised him earlier in a very terrible way.
Satria Piningit again heard the sound of the wind that greeted the leaves and the gurgling of water that did not know where it came from out there. The sounds twisted each other, twisted and beautifully sewn