The Angkara Murka
Book of Pon - Temaram
Wardhani just realized that tonight is a Wednesday Pon in Javanese calculations. The appearance of supernatural beings such as women combing by the well and the late mbah his daughter, is indeed related to this special day.
Not without reason the villagers looked at her as a beautiful girl who unfortunately disturbed her soul. This is because he claimed to often see ghosts in every corner of the hamlet. In the fields, next to the coffee shop Mak Romlah, or behind the house of Mr. Johan Teacher. He often yells or acts unnaturally in front of people from a younger age than this.
Of course, the residents are unwilling to take care of the story circulating that Wardhani can see ghosts. They already want to go forward, it is impossible to retreat by returning to believe in such a thing.
Residents attributed Wardhani's passion to his parents who were depressed because of the death of their first daughter, Kinanti, following the death of Kinanti and Wardhani's father a few years earlier. The depression also began with the collapse of the family economy because Wardhani's father was not a person who was able to manage the various businesses left by both parents.
Residents think that Wardhani's insanity is the result of the transfer of the burden of the mind of his parents. A ridiculous thought indeed. But what can be done, that's what happened.
However, for Wardhani, tonight is becoming more different. The subtle-beings that appeared to them became more and more clearly manifested, not just a greatness, a silhouette, a form coming away, or transparent, but increasingly forming whole.
Wardhani may not have realized that Pon Wednesday was the day his daughter died, as well as the day the elder brother committed suicide on her nineteenth birthday. He was impregnated by the girlfriend who refused to take responsibility for the prospective child who is his own flesh and blood. On Wednesday night at six o'clock in the afternoon where the dim sky was stuck in the convex sky, Kinanti combed her hair at the edge of the well, then dropped herself into the death hole.
At the same time, a young man named Soemantri Soekrasana stopped in front of the archway of the hamlet of Pon which was built of bricks and seemed to have been made long ago. In some parts are tied yellow and white cloth that is no less shabby, showing off the chairman.
Soemantri Soekrasana let out a long sigh. A remote hamlet that is like a child shunned his friends does look and feel thick by the mystical aroma. At night after magrib, fibers and mist tendrils suddenly came ambushing.
The young man heard, people say the name of this place is Dusun Pon, making him smile thinly. This afternoon is Pon Wednesday in the calculation of Javanese dates.
The young man walked in without hesitation until he found a place to rest. Mak Romlah coffee shop is quite crowded tonight. Several young men were busy discussing the possibility of building a new road near the hamlet as well as a tower from a telecommunications service provider company near the banyan twin football fields in a corner of the village. That means, the two banyan trees saved by the old hamlet will be cut down and the Internet will come. The excitement and spirit of welcoming the modernization that has long occurred in neighboring villages is clearly spread and tightly stick to the sidelines of their chat.
"Internet's I opo to?" Mak Romlah asked what the Internet meant to the young men who were eating cold fried bananas in front of them.
"Ah, anyway if Mak and the elders of this hamlet believe in magic, the Internet is the magic of the present. Mak can talk to the child Mak who works in Lampung not only from the sound, but also can directly see his face. Well, that's the picture of the Internet."
Mak Romlah.
Soemantri Soekrasana came at the right time. The young men refused to answer the further questions of the sixty-seven-year-old widow, especially regarding the latest technology. The age of forty years in this hamlet has lagged for hundreds of years of development that occurred out there, thought the young people, let alone Mak Romlah who is old.
"Welcome, son. What needs are there in this remote hamlet at night? Oh yeah, just call me 'Mom', Mak Romlah the villager used to call me," said the widow rather flirtatious. His smile spread, revealing a row of teeth that are still intact for people his age although not neat and red because betel.
Soemantri Soekrasana returned a clumsy smile to Mak Romlah. The grandmother had not replied to her question about the food available in this stall. His stomach was already rumbling like a saggy filled with wind.
"Well, Mak peyot forgets easy, good light. In this place there is rice. It's good to choose at the table, son," said Mak Romlah aware that he had not answered the customer's question.
Soemantri Soekrasana nodded, "Boleh Mak, nasi satu," he said as he watched the head, claw and liver of fried chicken, as well as tempe bacem and vegetable bothok.
The young men watched him. Aware of himself being the center of attention, Soemantri Soekrasana stared back at the young people by trying to be as friendly as possible. "Night mas. Actually I was just passing by. But who knows if anyone needs help, I can help. I happen to work as a traveling masseuse."
"Young as a masseuse, goldfish?" asked one of the young men who seemed interested at once felt a bit strange and suspicious.
"Even because it is still young, still strong," Soemantri Soekrasana responded with a smile. As a shaman - a paranormal term he prefers - and mastering the science of canuragan, disguising himself as a masseuse to investigate occult cases is not something that is difficult. He quite understands the intricacies of human muscles and nerves. This reason also makes sense for young villagers who nod and are reluctant to question their work again
Soon Soemantri Soekrasana took the opportunity to ask for permission to urinate. Mak Romlah let him to the bathroom as well as WC or a walled defecation place woven bamboo, gedhek, behind the house and stall.
It was just seven o'clock in the afternoon, but perfect darkness robbed this place.
Soemantri Soekrasana unzipped her sling bag. Take a bottle of mineral water, drink water but do not drink it. He sprayed water around the place. A mantra in Javanese is pronounced lyrically, " ... Sang kala ireng sang kala lumagang, the sarasa karasa sira apasang sira anut marang ingsun, ana soaking pangeranira sang nur a white virtual substance, sira metuwa."
Soemantri Soekrasana felt the fog getting thickened, rolling like sheep. Magical Eve felt more and more thick.
"It seems that Wednesday Pon is the day" the young man murmured.
Before long he saw from behind the tall growing jackfruit tree, the figure of the grandfathers with white hair as white as fog itself walking bent. His wrinkled skin was as pale as cotton. Both of his eyes were turned upside down. The white part replaces the black part.