The Angkara Murka
Book of Pon - Wardhani
At six o'clock Wardhani picked up his shabby towel and went to the back. He hung the body dryer on a hook attached to the brick wall of his bathroom to draw water from the mossy well in front of him. The well and bathroom are still part of the house left by his grandfather's grandmother who, although large, looks quite old-fashioned and lacks funds for treatment.
The water that Wardhani brought to use a plastic bucket tied by a rope made of rubber pieces of tire was put into a kind of funnel from the stone to then enter the water reservoir in the room baths. The dressing is wet in some parts.
This eighteen-year-old girl bribed and evaporated the youth that was starting to mature from her body. His face was effective and firm with fierce barking eyes adorned with pliable eyelashes as if taped to the universe by force.
The flowing water swept away the curves of his body and his pair of roasted chests that were still possible to grow more filled. The shoots of both breasts were bright red as the blood of virginity - not brown or jambon. But red! - in contrast to its skin that is as dark as dry leaves, yet with a very surprising moisture and smoothness: the tub is cared for inside the palace, the, either Wardhani took good care of him secretly or indeed once again the universe that gave him free.
His wavy long hair was curled just like that to avoid the sparkling water in his beautiful skin due to the reflection of the yellow light of the bathroom bulb. But, the affairs of his hair or shabby clothes that are now hanging beside the towel, unable to cover the beauty of Wardhani who seemed to push out of his earthly skin. Some young men in his village clearly agreed that the girl seemed to be some kind of angel who descended to earth but could not return to heaven because the shawl to fly was left somewhere.
However, she is not perfect because unfortunately, the villagers say that this girl has a poor life. His mind is a little disturbed. Little crazy. In fact, some of the young men were also not so objected if you could date Wardhani who supposedly said a little crazy. Maybe the way an angel thinks is a little different from a human.
How can people think Wardhani is crazy, it will be left to be told later in this story.
Wardhani's father worked as a labourer in a former paper mill or company, while his mother was also a laborer, a farm worker, in a rice field that used to belong to her family.
Ironic indeed. But that is how the world works.
Grandparents and grandmothers and great-grandfathers before them were among the most famous and wealthy people in this village. Sardhana's family, the Grandpa Buyut Wardhani, is known as a tobacco entrepreneur who has a large land including rice fields in poor villages and far from the center of civilization in Java at that time.
But life overturns them. Wardhani's parents are now left with only a sprawling, ancient home that they were unable to care for, right after their first daughter died at the age of nineteen.
The plague that ravaged the villages and neighboring villages when Wardhani was still orok was destroying crops and destroying the health of everyone.
"Ah, shit, the water is running out" Wardhani murmured. He was cleaning the beautiful hollows of his armpits and the beautiful protrusions of his breast when the green plastic dipper that had been cracked here and there hit the bottom of the tub that had run out of water. Soap water slid down from the curve of his hips.
He picked up the moustached towel and wrapped it around his body. One or two holes in the cover of his body that clearly shows dark smooth skin in various parts. The bathroom door creaked as Wardhani opened it to head to the well.
There was a female figure sitting on the edge of the well. His clothes were white, but shining brightly in Wardhani's eyes. He sat sideways. His face was covered in reddish black long hair that was no less musty and tangled. Perhaps that was why the female figure combed her with a serit comb.
Wardhani.
His body felt stiff and frozen. There was a rush of blood vying for the race throughout the pulse to his stomach.
Wardhani forced his body to turn away.
Before the figure's face was seen, Wardhani managed to bring his body half ran into the house.
Inside the house, he saw the princess, the grandmother, sitting on a rattan chair. His wrinkled body was covered in kebaya with material that was actually quite luxurious with a dark green color, as old as his age. Her hair was completely white, a simple bun. Several falling strands covered the side of his face.
Wardhani saw the grandmother sitting there looking at him.
Wardhani darted into his bedroom through the tiled floor made in the Dutch era.
Wardhani took a deep breath. Cold sweat mixed with water as well as the remaining soap on his body.
Both of his parents may be on their way home from work. This is how hard it is to live alone in this great heritage house, maybe Wardhani thought.
By himself?
It could have been Wardhani living with the princess who had met was sitting in a rattan chair when his parents were working, if his daughter was still alive. But he died a long time ago, even before Wardhani's older brother died.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
This small village has lost many of its elders. The new generation is actually demanding great changes such as hamlets and neighboring villages. Large roads were built, shopping centers developed, new industries sprung up. This hamlet apparently still holds a mystery that should no longer be glorified. How not, there are four special areas that are considered sacred and sacred, should not be touched, let alone to be evicted and damaged.
First, a pair of banyan trees in a corner of the field, hundreds of years old. Both trees were wrapped in white and dull yellow cloth inedible age. Second, a stone monument built decades ago right at the intersection of the main road hamlet. There is a Javanese script that is completely faded and unreadable, in addition to the word meaning 'locking'. This adult-chested stone monument was also circled with a yellow white cloth. Third, a wooden embankment on the bank of a small river. A yellow white cloth was tied around the wooden embankment as big as two human thighs. The fourth and last is the main archway of the hamlet which is built from red bricks. Again a yellow white cloth was tied in some parts of the gate.
Every Wednesday night Pon, Mbah Darmo, the only surviving elder, performs a special ritual at the four shrines.
Mbah Darmo is over a hundred years old. That said, he and dozens of people his contemporaries, always alternating every Wednesday night Pon took turns guarding the four places.
Now, there were no successors who cared about such superstitious activities. This generation of Internet feels that the biggest obstacle to the development of their hamlets is because of the four places that should be destroyed for the construction of signal towers, large smooth roads, shops and so on. Villagers in fact still too respect Mbah Darmo as the last living hamlet elder. As if embarrassed to admit that they deliberately waited for the elder to die to be able to make a big change. Unfortunately, even now, this Wednesday night Pon, Mbah Darmo still performs rituals in the four places even though he stooped and limped in the dark of the thick night.