Bukit Arjuna | Arjuna's Hills |

ayijufridar (74)in #fiction • 6 years ago

SIAPA pun akan kecewa jika berharap akan menemukan gundukan tanah yang menjulang tinggi di Bukit Arjuna. Tempat itu menipu banyak orang dengan namanya. Terletak di pinggiran jalan yang dipenuhi dengan pohon karet tua yang ditanami dengan jarak seimbang. Pohon karet di sisi kanan dan kiri jalan berbaris dengan rapi di atas permukaan tanah yang rata. Mereka terlihat seperti serdadu tua yang kalah perang; kulit-kulit keriput yang tak lagi menghasilkan getah. Ditebang sayang karena sudah berjasa dan tak ada biaya meremajakan pohonnya setelah perusahaan milik negara mengeksploitasi selama puluhan tahun. Akhirnya dibiarkan telantar sampai kemudian dimanfaatkan warga sekitar yang menyadap getah dari batang-batang yang lelah.

Entah siapa memulai, di tanah datar itu mulai dibangun sejumlah warung. Awalnya hanya warung sederhana dari tepas bambu. Atapnya dari daun rumbia. Tak ada lantai semen, apalagi keramik. Jualannya hanya rokok dan minuman ringan, beberapa pekan kemudian mulai ada gorengan pisang, tahu, tempe, dan bakwan. Kemudian muncul beberapa kedai minuman. Mulanya hanya minuman kopi dan teh yang diseduh dengan air dari termos. Seiring kian ramainya tempat tersebut, muncul satu dua warung yang menjual minuman ringan dari kaleng. Mula-mula minuman kaleng biasa, akhirnya ada juga yang menjual minuman berakohol. Kini semua warung di kebun karet itu menjajakan minuman keras murahan.

Ketika matahari mulai tenggelam sampai muncul kembali keesokan pagi, tempat itu ramai oleh pengunjung. Mereka adalah para supir truk yang hilir-mudik di jalan antarprovinsi untuk mengangkut berbagai hasil bumi. Malam hari, terutama malam Sabtu dan Minggu, terlihat truk berjejer di pinggir jalan. Supir memarkirkan truknya dengan rapi seolah mereka tidak ingin mengganggu kelancaran arus lalu lintas. Terkadang ada mobil-mobil pribadi berhenti dan parkir di bawah pohon karet. Mungkin pemiliknya tidak ingin terlihat singgah di tempat itu. Dengan lampu dari warung yang berjejer di kebun karet, dengan lampu kendaraan yang berkelap-kelip saat supir truk datang dan pergi, Bukit Arjuna terlihat seperti kunang-kunang yang menari sepanjang malam.

Aku sering melintasi tempat itu dalam perjalanan darat menuju Medan. Selama ini, Bukit Arjuna tidak pernah mengundang perhatianku. Kalau jalan di siang hari, Bukit Arjuna sedang mati. Malam hari aku lebih banyak tidur di dalam bus yang nyaman. Jadi, aku tidak pernah melihat Bukit Arjuna menari seperti kunang-kunang. Bahkan mendengar namanya saja tidak pernah seandainya tidak ada juru kamera sebuah stasiun TV yang diculik sekelompok gerilyawan.

Bersama puluhan wartawan lainnya, aku meliput pembebasan juru kamera tersebut yang kabarnya disandera jauh dari Bukit Arjuna. Lima wartawan yang dipercayai gerilyawan, ikut bersama mediator ke hutan belantara yang menjadi lokasi penyanderaan. Mereka ingin wartawan ikut untuk melihat langsung bahwa sandera diperlakukan secara baik-baik. Gerilyawan terpaksa menyandera juru kamera tersebut karena dalam mobilnya ditemukan seorang perempuan yang ternyata istri tentara. Gerilyawan curiga juru kamera itu intel yang menyaru sehingga ditahan beberapa hari untuk diperiksa.

Namun, operasi militer besar-besaran membuat para gerilyawan pindah dari satu hutan ke hutan lainnya sehingga juru kamera itu pun terpaksa dibawa. “Kami sudah berniat melepaskan Arjuna. Tapi operasi militer membuat posisi kami sulit,” begitu kata panglima gerilyawan wilayah timur kepada wartawan melalui telepon satelit.

Nama juru kamera itu memang Arjuna. Aku hendak mengatakannya sebagai sebuah kebetulan. Tapi ustaz pernah mengingatkanku bahwa tidak ada yang kebetulan di dunia ini. Tidak ada sebutir pasir pun yang bergeser dari tempatnya tanpa kehendak Allah. Aku percaya itu.

Sambil menunggu kabar berikutnya, kami memutuskan untuk minum-minum di Bukit Arjuna. Tak peduli munculnya kecurigaan orang maksud keberadaan kami di sana. Wartawan selalu ada dalih; untuk investasi. Dan alasan itu tak sepenuhnya salah,ketika kami melihat kenyataan ternyata Bukit Arjuna menjadi tempat pekerja seksual bertransaksi dengan supir truk. Seorang lelaki tua pemilik warung, bercerita asal muasal nama Bukit Arjuna.

“Dulu, ada wartawan bernama Arjuna disandera dan kemudian ditembak mati. Kabarnya, mayatnya dikuburkan di sini. Tapi tidak diketahui pasti.”

Senyum nakal kami saat melirik seorang perempuan muda berpakain minim seketika cair mendengar kalimat itu. Seorang rekan sampai bertanya kembali untuk menegaskan pendengarannya. Tak ada di antara kami yang pernah mendengar kisah penyanderaan sebelumnya, sehingga setiap kata yang ke luar dari mulut lelaki itu membuat keterkejutan kami kian menjadi.

Juru kamera disandera, dan tewas dalam kontak senjata. Gerilyawan terjepit operasi militer besar-besaran, dan kemudian jenazah Arjuna terpaksa dikuburkan seadanya di tempat ini yang tidak diketahui pasti. Mungkin di dalam bilik yang dari dalamnya kami mendengar desahan perempuan, atau jangan-jangan di bawah kaki kami.

Aku memandangi wajah rekan-rekan. Mereka terdiam dengan muka tegang seolah kejadian itu akan terulang lagi terhadap Arjuna. Tak ada di antara kami yang bergerak. Kami masih menunggu, mungkin sampai pagi. Menunggu kabar baik di tempat seburuk ini.[]

Bukit Arjuna, awal Januari 2011

Arjuna's Hills

Short story by @ayijufridar

Anyone would be disappointed if hoped to find a towering mound of land on the Arjuna Hills. The place is deceiving many people by its name. Located on the outskirts of the road lined with old rubber trees planted at a balanced distance. Rubber trees on the right and left sides of the road are lined up neatly on a flat surface. They look like old war-lost soldiers; wrinkled skin that no longer produces sap. Cut down for being meritorious and no cost of rejuvenating the trees after the state-owned companies have been exploiting for decades. Finally allowed to be abandoned until later utilized by local residents who tapped the sap from the tired stems.

Whoever started, in the flat land began to be built a number of stalls. Initially only a simple shop from bamboo edge. The roof is from the sago palm leaves. No cement floors, let alone ceramics. Selling only cigarettes and soft drinks, a few weeks later start there fried bananas, tofu, tempeh, and bakwan. Then came a few taverns. At first only coffee and tea drinks are brewed with water from a thermos. As the crowd grew increasingly crowded, appeared one of two stalls selling soft drinks from cans. At first the usual canned drinks, finally there are also selling alcoholic beverages. Now all the stalls in the rubber garden are selling cheap liquor.

When the sun began to sink until it reappeared the next morning, the place was crowded by visitors. They are truck drivers who are pacing the interprovincial roads to transport various crops. Evenings, especially Saturday and Sunday nights, look like trucks lined the side of the road. The driver parked his truck neatly as if they did not want to disturb the smooth flow of traffic. Sometimes there are private cars stopping and parking under rubber trees. Perhaps the owner did not want to be seen stopping in that place. With lights from a warung lined up in a rubber garden, with twinkling lights as truckers come and go, the Arjuna Hill looks like fireflies dancing through the night.

I often crossed the place on the way to Medan. So far, Arjuna Hills never invited my attention. If the road during the day, Arjuna Hills is dead. At night I sleep more on the comfortable bus. So, I never saw the Arjuna Hills dancing like fireflies. Even hearing his name never if there were not a cameraman on a TV station kidnapped by a group of guerrillas.

Together with dozens of other journalists, I covered the release of the cameraman who was reportedly held hostage away from the Arjuna Hills. Five journalists believed to be guerrillas, joined the mediator into the wilderness that was the site of hostage taking. They want journalists to come to see firsthand that the hostages are being treated well. Guerrillas were forced to take the cameraman hostage because in his car was found a woman who turned out to be the wife of the army. The guerrillas suspect the cameraman was an intelligent disguise who was detained for several days for questioning.

However, massive military operations left the guerrillas moving from one forest to another so the cameraman was forced to take them. "We are intent on releasing Arjuna. But military operations make our position difficult," the East Guerrilla commander told reporters by satellite phone.

The cameraman's name was indeed Arjuna. I was about to say it as a coincidence. But ustad once reminded me that there is no coincidence in this world. No grain of sand is shifted from its place without God's will. I believe it.

While waiting for the next news, we decided to have a drink at Arjuna Hills. No matter the appearance of suspicion of the people we mean there. Journalists always have excuses; for investment. And the reason was not entirely wrong, when we saw the reality turned out to be the place where Arjuna Hills sexual workers transact with truck drivers. An old man stall owner, telling the origin of the name of Arjuna Hills.

"In the past, a journalist named Arjuna was taken hostage and then shot dead. Reportedly, the corpse was buried here. But not known for sure."

Our mischievous smile as we glance at a young woman wearing a skimpy little liquid instantly hears the sentence. A colleague until asked again to confirm his hearing. Neither of us had ever heard the story of the previous hostage, so every word that came out of his mouth made our shock even more so.

The cameraman was taken hostage, and was killed in an armed contact. The guerrillas were squeezed into a massive military operation, and then Arjuna's body was forced to be buried unknowingly in this place. Perhaps in a chamber from which we heard the sigh of a woman, or maybe under our feet.

I looked at the faces of colleagues. They fell silent with tension as if it would happen again to Arjuna. None of us moved. We're still waiting, maybe till morning. Waiting for good news in such a bad place.[]

Arjuna Hills, January 2011

The short story above was published in Serambi Indonesia, January 9, 2011.