Roots Water

Oleh Benny Arnas

The sky was rumbling, and rumbling, as if a giant was vomiting because his breakfast never arrived. Apparently, the giant was hungry, so it was not enough for him to merely thundered. His intestines were intertwined, his stomach was in abysmal pain. He finally cried, cried uncontrollably. The translucent needles scrambled to kiss the top of rubber buds as if they had known how withered the old trees had been because the drought had consumed so many full moons. The dry leaves that covered the expanse of land under the rubber canopy umbrella were now shady, wet, damp, it invited worms, scorpions, and leeches to wriggle, looking for food here and there. Before long, the giant was finally worn-out. The face of the sky turned to a clear navy blue. In one of the valleys, near the Lubukumbuk River, the rainbow drew a seven colors arc. Indeed, as in other villages, the inhabitants of Kampung Nulang, who mostly tapped rubber trees, also believed that some angels frequently stopped at their village in a cool valley with bamboo bushes, shrubs, and large nameless trees. However, they never knew that God had sent an angel in their midst.

Bunga Raya, the twenty-six-year-old teacher, was named by her parents, who had gone to heaven when her age still could be counted by fingers on one hand. However, not many people knew about the beautiful name. The people of Kampung Nulang called her Mother Teacher–it can be inferred that her students gave her such title, the students who felt calm, peaceful, and happy if she taught them.

It was another case with the people of Kampung Nulang. Bunga Raya was still indeed called Mother Teacher, but unlike the teachers where she taught, instead of a teacher for those who were sick. Yes, for them, Mother Teacher was an excellent mantri. Mantri? Could a teacher become a mantri? How come?

***

It was a year ago, Bunga Raya set her foot in a Primary school in a village that was more than twenty kilometers away from Lubuklinggau. When she introduced herself in front of the fifth-grade students, one of the students suddenly groaned in pain and held his stomach. The class went into chaos. Bunga Raya asked some robust male students to carry the sick student into the teacher’s office. He was laid on two tables that were pressed together. Bunga Raya asked what the student had eaten that morning. There were no words coming out from his mouth except for a groan of pain. Fortunately, one of his friends said that the student was not allowed to school by his parents because he went back and forth to the Lubukumbuk River to defecate every one hour since the night before. That time, Bunga Raya curled both ends of her lips up. She could guess what was wrong with her students. She asked one of the students whose house was near to prepare a glass of ORS and brought it to school.

“ORS?”

Ah, Bunga Raya remembered how her students’ expressions when they said the words interrogatively. Even her student, who was suffering from stomachache, stopped his groan immediately to confirm what he had just heard. In the afternoon, both Nalin’s parents, so the name of the student who had diarrhea, came to Bunga Raya’s house behind the school. Bunga Raya felt a chill once on her spines when she found about their arrival. She perfectly knew the people’s hot-blooded temperament in Kampung Nulang; short-tempered and easy to play with hand. Oh no, what happened to Nalin? Beads of sweat fell from Bunga Raya’s forehead. But all of her worries vanish into thin air as she knew what their arrival was about. It turned out that Nalin had recovered. They thanked while bowing. Ah, how nervous Bunga Raya was that time. A few days later, Bunga Raya was given rice, vegetables, river fish, even tempoyak, a peculiar type of fermented durian from Sumatera. On the other day (maybe Nalin’s father though that Bunga Raya also would tap rubber tree like any other women in Kampung Nulang generally), she was sent a bottle of sulfuric acid, a kind of acid, dark in color, that often used to coagulate rubber before it was ready to be sold. Bunga Raya still accepted it (she planned to give it to rubber tappers around her house who needed it).

Then Bunga Raya understood who she was dealing with. Nalin’s parents were respectable figures. His father was a rubber tycoon who was also a high-ranking village leader. His mother was a traditional physician (Ah, thank God she was unlike any other traditional physician who usually was arrogant. She admitted that she was nothing compared to Bunga Raya, who had cured his son’s stomachache). It was true what the people said; the mouth was the longest rope to pass news in a circle. Yes, since then, there would always be people who came to Bunga Raya’s house for medication. She had run out of saliva, her mouth had tired weaving words, for denying the people’s belief about the gift they said was endowed to her, but the people of the village were so smart in making her unable to refuse to continue her new role. There would always be their denial and insistence. This was how the villagers were; when faith was nested, there was no point in avoiding demand!

Bunga Raya, she was so dead!

As the unrelenting sun went on out on the horizon, Bunga Raya had to accept the truth that came out of nowhere. By riding her motorcycle, which was still on installment, she diligently went to the town after school hour ended to buy some medicine in the pharmacy.

But… it was not easy to convince the villagers to consume modern medicine. They still thought ORS given to Nalin that day was a magical potion. Even though Bunga Raya had already told that it was easy to make ORS, but they still refused it as long as it was not from Bunga Raya herself. Therefore, after repeatedly came and went to the town, after repeated consultation with several doctors, herbalists, and her friends who cared, Bunga Raya finally made Roots Water. Thus, the essence of the tubers and roots were given a name. Roots Water was believed to be able to cure all kinds of diseases and illnesses. The dark-brown colored potion was usually put into a bottle and could be used for months. The taste, however, was unbearably bitter. But it was not the taste that often disputed by the townsfolks. It was about its appearance which had to be close to nature dan humble village. For all of the above, Bunga Raya had to willing her salary used for it. Yes, Bunga Raya was well aware; it was not enough by basmallah to take care of people’s lives!

God indeed was the Just One. Every deed that was done would come a day to harvest the fruits. And that fruits were plucked by Bunga Raya and enjoyed by the villagers who ordained her as a versatile teacher. A number of commonly suffered complaints, such as headache, cold, and prolonged lethargy, could be overcome by Roots Water. O, Bunga Raya, it was not about the efficacy of roots and tubers. This was also about the gift of God, the One who would not silence His servants who had intervened to seek goodness…

Bung Raya was well aware. The government, whatsoever, assigned her to Kampung Nulang to serve as a teacher, not as a mantri. Thus, to carry out her obligations without neglecting those who came for treatment, she asked Mrs. Mindu, a widow who sold spices in the market every Tuesday, to help her in her at home. Ah, who was the one who has the power to refuse Mother Teacher’s demand who was famous for her name, knowledge, intelligence, and kindness. And as if they were destined, it didn’t take long. Mrs. Mindu was already capable of serving minor complaints from villagers who came when Bunga Raya was teaching in the primary school. In short, Mrs. Windu was beneficial to Bunga Raya. Yes, Bunga Raya could play her two roles with a proud heart.

However, it was not life after all if goodness could sail without being disturbed by the waves. Some teachers called her a fake mantri, one who made use of the villagers’ stupidity to make money. They seemed to scapegoat supplies of rice, vegetables, meals, or even lasem cloth that Bunga Raya had as the basis for rumors. Finally, Bunga Raya found them gossiping about her dedication to her students.

“Too busy making money by selling potions, the new civil servant might abandon the children at school.”

Initially, Bunga Raya was burned by the insinuation, but after careful thought, it was no use to deal with people who could not prove their words, no use to respond to people whose dedications were doubted. Yes, it was funny if teachers who were often late instead were busy gossiping about diligent teachers. After all, what does it had to do with her status as a new civil servant? What is the use of a long work period if you do not ever understand the duties and obligations? Yes, the first two lessons in the primary school were almost always handled by Bunga Raya. Sometimes she asked Mrs. Mindu and Wak Samin, the senile school guards, to make sure that her students didn’t make any noise in other classes. Really, if it was taken into account, how annoyed she was to the principal and the teacher council, who often arrived late and neglected to teach.

“Don’t compare them with you who live in this village, Mother Teachers,” said the principal when Bunga Raya complained about the discipline that was no longer upright in SD Nulang. “Especially now that it’s the end of the year, be advised if they are unable to come because of heavy rain.”

Bunga Raya was silent, digesting the words of the principal.

“And … your colleagues cannot live in Nulang like you because they have a home and family in Lubuklinggau …”

Bunga Raya bowed her head down.

Her eyes were warm.

‘O, father, mother, where are you?’

“It’s not my intention to offend your feeling …”

Since then, Bunga Raya had learned to self-knowledge. Yes, among ten teachers (including the school principal), only she chose to stay in Kampung Nulang after the decree on employees’ appointment was accepted. She also understood how the distance from Nulang to Lubuklinggau, in reality, was not connected by a straight road. In fact, no more than a quarter of it was paved. The rest were coral roads, bumpy clay, curved bends, and inclines and descent on one side of a gaping chasm hiding behind lush ferns and starch. Not to mention, some of the bridges that must be traversed were old, fragile, wet, and perforated merbau boards in several parts. And at the end of the year, as it was today, surely the rain would be a beautiful perfection for all those pathetic conditions. Bunga Raya shook her thoughts out. She twinkled her face. She broadened her chests. That was it. That was what she often did when sadness afflicted her, increasingly disturbing.

***

ON SUNDAY, Bunga Raya invited Mrs. Mindu to Lubuklinggau. Before starting the motorcycle, she left the key house with Wak Samin. She also advised; if someone came for treatment, please return after Ashar’s prayer.

Besides buying food and other household goods, Bunga Raya went to the city to meet some people who had been teaching her to make Roots Water. She had indeed asked Mrs. Mindu to bring the potion in which the contents remained a quarter of the bottle. In the last four days, Bunga Raya was not comfortable with the smell that evaporated from the potion. It was true, all competent people she met said that it was time to replace the Roots Water.

After performing the zuhr prayer at the mosque near the market intersection and ensuring that all goods had been purchased and the needs had been fulfilled, they arranged the items on the motorbike, so they didn’t fall during the trip. Only halfway through, the sky slowly darkened. Translucent needles scramble to stab at Bunga Raya and Mrs. Mindu’s clothes. They took shelter under a longan tree on the side of the road. They rushed to wear coats that had been prepared in the motorcycle baggage. However, the giant’s cry was so great that the rain blocked the view of Bunga Raya even though the floodlight had been turned on. Several times they pulled over to pray Ashar or just took shelter under a canopy of lush trees. Only when their eardrums caught the evening prayer, they arrived at the hibiscus-fenced house.

The door of the house seemed to open. The lights have been turned on. Ah, Wak Samin sure was nifty, thought Bunga Raya. Bunga Raya said assalammualaikum. Wak Samin’s voice answered the greeting from the kitchen. Bunga Raya entered, sat on a chair a few moments after taking off her coat. Mrs. Mindu went straight to the back of the house to take wudhu water. Before long, Wak Samin emerged from the practice room.

“Mother Teacher, there was a seven-year-old child from a neighboring village who wanted to seek treatment.”

“Oh, yes? I apologize, Wak. We came late …. “

“Yes, I told them to wait, but because their parents had urgent work, the child was left here to be treated.

Soon they will come to pick him up. “

“Where’s the child, Wak?”

“I have treated him.”

“What do you mean, Wak?”

“Earlier, Mother Teacher didn’t come home for a long time. I saw the child was already short of breath. I took the Roots Water in the kitchen. I poured it into the glass. I told him to drink it.”

“Roots Water?” Bunga Raya checked her bag. A bottle of Roots Water was there. She felt something terrible. She hurriedly got up and headed to the kitchen. “Which Root Water, Wak?” Her tone began to worry.

“The child indeed groaned in pain when downing it. But I remember Mother Teacher’s words if you take medicine, it surely does not taste good.” Wak Samin followed Bunga Raya while blurting out full of confidence as if he was genuinely credited with helping the Mother Teacher conduct treatment.

“Mother Teacher!” Mrs. Mindu’s shout from the practice room surprised Bunga Raya and Wak Samin.

Bunga Raya said istighfar out of reflex. On the patient bed, she saw a small child with a stiff blue body lying and burning lips

Mrs. Windu cried. Bunga Raya looked away at Wak Samin. Her heart was beating in a hurry. Wak Samin hurried back. He took a syrup bottle filled with dark brown liquid.

“I often see Mother Teacher giving this Roots Water to people who are sick,” Wak Samin said while showing the bottle in his hand. “Looks like this is a cure for all diseases. Moreover, the child only groaned for a while. After that, he immediately calmed down, even went straight to sleep.”

Bunga Raya snatched the bottle from Wak Samin’s hand. Mrs. Mindu was stunned. Her throat choked. Bunga Raya’s lips were shivering. Her shoulders fluctuated up and down contained her anger. Her head seemed to be whirling. Bunga Raya and Mrs. Mindu exchanged looks. There were anger and fear inflamed in their eyes. Her hand was trembling. The bottle in her hand fell down. It was broken. Its shards were scattered. The liquid inside sprayed onto Wak Samin’s right leg. The old man groaned in pain; the toes of his feet burned instantly. Wak Samin rolled over on the ground holding the pain, the burning pain from his burned skin, enduring the pain in his burning toes, burned by the sulfuric acid.(*)

Diterjemahkan oleh Ikbal Fitrawan dari cerpen “Air Akar” karya Benny Arnas