Dua Dukun | EPS 3

DUA DUKUN

Pagi itu, Dusun Karang digegerkan oleh teriakan Darman. Anak lelakinya yang berusia tujuh tahun terbaring di dipan, tubuhnya panas seperti bara. “Nini! Panggilkan Nini!” teriaknya. Tapi Nini sedang tak di rumah. Warga bilang, Nini pergi ke hutan kecil di timur desa sejak subuh. Darman hampir putus asa. Istrinya menangis di samping anak. Lalu, dari kerumunan, Mbok Ranti melangkah maju. “Biar aku coba.” Darman menatapnya curiga. “Kau?” Mbok Ranti tak menjawab. Dia langsung berlutut di samping anak itu, meraba dahi, meraba nadi. Matanya terpejam. Tangannya mulai bergerak di atas tubuh anak itu—tak menyentuh, tapi seperti menarik sesuatu. Warga yang mengerumuni tersedak napas. Udara di sekitar terasa lebih dingin. Beberapa saat kemudian, anak itu batuk keras, mengeluarkan dahak kental kehijauan, lalu napasnya mulai teratur. Panasnya turun. Darman tertegun. Istrinya jatuh berlutut, memegang kaki Mbok Ranti. “Terima kasih... terima kasih...” Mbok Ranti hanya mengangguk, matanya mencari Nini yang sedari tadi berdiri di pinggir kerumunan.

Di pinggir desa, di pondok kecil Nini yang dikelilingi pohon-pohon tua, dua dukun itu duduk berhadapan. Sebuah api kecil menyala di antara mereka, meski matahari sudah tinggi. Nini menuang air ke dua cangkir tanah liat. “Terima kasih sudah menyembuhkan anak Darman.” Mbok Ranti tersenyum getir. “Dulu kita sering lakukan itu bersama-sama. Menyelamatkan yang tak bisa diselamatkan.” Nini diam. Matanya menatap api. Tiga puluh tahun. Tiga puluh tahun lalu mereka berdua adalah dukun termuda di pasukan kerajaan. Bukan sebagai penyihir—kata itu tabu—tapi sebagai “penyembuh”. Mereka melihat hal-hal yang tak ingin diingat: pembantaian, pengkhianatan, dan satu peristiwa yang mengubah segalanya. Kejatuhan Klan Matahari. Mbok Ranti membuka suara. “Nini, aku tahu kau menyembunyikan sesuatu.” Nini tak menjawab. Mbok Ranti melanjutkan, “Di perang itu, kau dikabarkan mati. Tapi kau di sini. Hidup. Dan kau menjaga sesuatu. Atau seseorang.”

Di balik dinding bambu pondok, Aryan duduk meringkuk. Dia mengikuti Nini sejak pagi. Bukan karena disuruh, tapi karena dia merasa... dipanggil. Seperti ada suara dalam kepala yang bilang “ikuti dia”. Sekarang dia mendengar percakapan dua perempuan tua itu. Kata-katanya berat, asing, tapi ada satu yang membuatnya merinding: Klan Matahari. Aryan tak tahu apa itu. Tapi saat Mbok Ranti menyebutnya, dadanya berdesir. Seperti ada sesuatu yang bangun di dalam dirinya. Dia mendekatkan telinga ke dinding bambu, berusaha tak bersuara.

“Klan Matahari dihabisi, Ranti,” kata Nini pelan. “Raja takut pada mereka. Pada kekuatan yang mereka warisi.” Mbok Ranti mengangguk. “Aku tahu. Aku melihat sendiri. Laki-laki, perempuan, anak-anak... semuanya dibantai. Tapi ada yang selamat, Nini. Satu bayi laki-laki. Aku sendiri yang menggendongnya, memberikannya pada kurir sebelum aku menguburmu.” Nini memejamkan mata. Dadanya sesak. “Bayi itu...” Mbok Ranti menatap tajam. “Bayi itu ada di sini, kan?” Nini membuka mata. Matanya berkaca-kaca. “Ranti... jangan...” “Dia ada di sini!” desis Mbok Ranti. “Nini, bayi itu sekarang sudah berusia sekitar lima tahun. Dan di desa ini, aku melihat anak-anak usia segitu. Aku lihat yang bermain dengan Buyung. Aku lihat yang matanya—matanya seperti menyala saat terkena cahaya.” Nini bangkit. “Jangan bicara di sini! Masih ada yang bisa mendengar!”

Di balik dinding, Aryan menutup mulutnya sendiri. Matanya membelalak. Bayi... usia lima tahun... matanya menyala... Dia ingat, kadang-kadang saat bercermin di air sumur, dia melihat kilatan emas di matanya. Tapi kalau dia pejamkan dan buka lagi, kilatan itu hilang. Dia kira itu imajinasinya. Tapi sekarang... jantungnya berdegup kencang. Dia ingin lari, tapi kakinya tak bisa bergerak. Di dalam pondok, Mbok Ranti menatap Nini dengan mata sembab. “Kau tahu apa artinya ini? Keturunan Klan Matahari hidup! Mereka yang dulu memburu kita, yang membantai keluarga kita—mereka belum tentu berhenti!” Nini memegang bahu Mbok Ranti. “Aku tahu. Makanya aku sembunyikan dia. Arahkan dia ke keluarga biasa. Baran dan Laras—mereka tak tahu asal-usulnya. Mereka hanya tahu anak ini dititipkan, harus dijaga.” “Tapi darahnya akan bicara, Nini. Cepat atau lambat.” Nini menghela napas panjang. “Makanya kita harus bersiap. Kita harus ajar dia—atau lindungi dia dengan cara apa pun.”

Aryan tak tahan lagi. Dia berlari. Kakinya membawanya ke sungai kecil, tempat dia biasa bermain dengan Bayu. Dia duduk di batu, napas tersengal. Pikirannya kacau. Klan Matahari. Bayi yang selamat. Darah yang akan bicara. Apa artinya semua ini? Siapa dirinya sebenarnya? Dia ingat Laras, ibunya, yang selalu memeluknya hangat. Dia ingat Baran, ayahnya, yang selalu mengajarinya memanah meski tangannya masih kecil. Mereka bukan orang jahat. Tapi kenapa... kenapa dia merasa berbeda? Kenapa kadang-kadang dia tahu hal-hal yang tak seharusnya diketahui anak kecil?

Sore harinya, Laras mencari Aryan. Dia menemukannya di tepi sungai, duduk mematung. “Aryan? Nak, kamu kenapa?” Aryan menoleh. Matanya kosong. Laras merasakan firasat buruk. “Aku... aku tak tahu, Bu.” Laras duduk di sampingnya. “Cerita sama Ibu.” Aryan diam lama. Lalu dia bertanya, “Bu, aku lahir di mana?” Laras tertegun. Jantungnya berhenti sejenak. “Di... di sini, Nak. Di Dusun Karang.” “Tapi Ibu pernah bilang, Ibu dan Bapak belum punya anak lama sekali. Lalu aku datang. Dari mana aku datang, Bu?” Laras tak bisa menjawab. Tenggorokannya tersumbat. Dia ingat malam itu, delapan belas tahun lalu—malam Nini datang dengan bayi mungil yang terbungkus kain kusam. “Jaga dia, Laras. Ini anak titipan. Darahnya istimewa. Tapi rahasiakan, atau kalian semua mati.” Laras memeluk Aryan erat-erat. “Kamu anak Ibu. Anak Ibu dan Bapak. Itu saja yang perlu kamu tahu.” Tapi air matanya jatuh. Aryan merasakan kehangatan pelukan itu, tapi di dadanya, kegelisahan tetap bersarang.

Malam turun. Aryan tidur di rumah Buyung—mereka minta izin Laras untuk bermalam bersama. Laras setuju, berpikir mungkin Buyung bisa mengalihkan pikiran Aryan. Tapi di tengah malam, Aryan tiba-tiba menjerit. Buyung terbangun, melihat Aryan duduk dengan mata terpejam, tubuhnya berkeringat dingin. “Aryan! Aryan!” Buyung mengguncangnya. Aryan membuka mata. Matanya—di kegelapan, untuk sesaat, tampak bercahaya redup. Seperti kuningan yang terkena pantulan api. Tapi kemudian redup. “Aku... aku mimpi buruk,” gumam Aryan. “Api... teriakan... dan matahari... matahari terbakar.” Buyung memeluknya. “Udah, cuma mimpi. Tenang.” Tapi Aryan tak bisa tenang. Dalam mimpinya, dia melihat wajah-wajah. Wajah yang tak dikenal, tapi terasa familiar. Dan lambang matahari dengan tujuh sinar, terbakar di tiang besar. Dia bangkit. “Aku pulang. Aku mau Ibu.”

Di rumahnya, Laras belum tidur. Dia duduk di beranda, ditemani Baran yang baru pulang jaga. Mereka melihat Aryan berlari kecil dari kejauhan, diikuti Buyung yang cemas. “Ma, Pa...” suara Aryan bergetar. Dia naik ke beranda, duduk di antara mereka. Laras memeluknya. Baran mengusap rambutnya. “Ada apa, Le?” Aryan diam lama. Lalu dia bertanya, dengan suara lirih, “Pa, Ma... aku siapa?” Baran dan Laras saling pandang. Di luar, angin malam bertiup, membawa bisik-bisik dari masa lalu yang tak mau diam. Dan di pondok Nini, dua dukun tua masih duduk berhadapan, api kecil di antara mereka padam menjadi bara. Nini berkata, “Kita tak punya banyak waktu, Ranti. Dia mulai bertanya.” Mbok Ranti mengangguk. “Maka kita harus siap. Aku akan ajari dia. Kau jaga desa.” Di langit, awan hitam kembali menutupi bulan. Dusun Karang kembali gelap. Tapi di dalam kegelapan itu, sebuah matahari kecil mulai bersinar—meski belum tahu apakah dia akan jadi penerang atau bahan bakar untuk api yang lebih besar.

TWO SHAMANS (English Version)

That morning, Dusun Karang was startled by Darman's screams. His seven-year-old son lay on a bamboo bed, body burning with fever. "Nini! Call Nini!" he shouted. But Nini wasn't home. Villagers said she'd gone to the small forest east of the village since dawn. Darman was desperate. His wife wept beside their child. Then, from the crowd, Mbok Ranti stepped forward. "Let me try." Darman stared suspiciously. "You?" Mbok Ranti didn't answer. She knelt beside the boy, felt his forehead, checked his pulse. Her eyes closed. Her hands began moving above his body—not touching, but as if pulling something. The gathered villagers gasped. The air around grew colder. Moments later, the boy coughed violently, expelling thick greenish phlegm, then his breathing steadied. The fever broke. Darman froze. His wife fell to her knees, clutching Mbok Ranti's feet. "Thank you... thank you..." Mbok Ranti simply nodded, her eyes searching for Nini, who'd been standing at the crowd's edge.

At the village edge, in Nini's small hut surrounded by old trees, the two shamans sat facing each other. A small fire burned between them, though the sun was high. Nini poured water into two clay cups. "Thank you for healing Darman's son." Mbok Ranti smiled bitterly. "We used to do that together. Saving the unsavable." Nini was silent. Her eyes stared at the fire. Thirty years. Thirty years ago, they were the youngest shamans in the kingdom's army. Not as sorcerers—the word was taboo—but as "healers." They saw things they wished to forget: massacres, betrayals, and one event that changed everything. The fall of the Sun Clan. Mbok Ranti spoke. "Nini, I know you're hiding something." Nini didn't answer. Mbok Ranti continued, "In that war, you were reported dead. But you're here. Alive. And you're guarding something. Or someone."

Behind the hut's bamboo wall, Aryan sat curled up. He'd followed Nini since morning. Not because he was told, but because he felt... called. Like a voice in his head said "follow her." Now he heard the two old women's conversation. The words were heavy, foreign, but one made his skin tingle: Sun Clan. Aryan didn't know what that was. But when Mbok Ranti mentioned it, his chest stirred. Like something woke inside him. He pressed his ear closer to the bamboo, trying to stay silent.

"The Sun Clan was eliminated, Ranti," Nini said softly. "The King feared them. Feared the power they inherited." Mbok Ranti nodded. "I know. I saw it myself. Men, women, children... all massacred. But one survived, Nini. One baby boy. I carried him myself, gave him to a messenger before I buried you." Nini closed her eyes. Her chest tightened. "That baby..." Mbok Ranti stared sharply. "That baby is here, isn't he?" Nini opened her eyes. They were glistening. "Ranti... don't..." "He's here!" Mbok Ranti hissed. "Nini, that baby would be about five years old now. And in this village, I've seen children that age. I saw the one playing with Buyung. I saw the one whose eyes—whose eyes seem to glow when hit by light." Nini stood. "Don't speak here! Someone might hear!"

Behind the wall, Aryan covered his own mouth. His eyes widened. Baby... five years old... glowing eyes... He remembered, sometimes when looking at his reflection in the well water, he'd see a flash of gold in his eyes. But if he blinked, it vanished. He thought it was imagination. But now... his heart pounded. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't move. Inside the hut, Mbok Ranti looked at Nini with tearful eyes. "Do you know what this means? Sun Clan blood lives! Those who hunted us, who massacred our families—they might not have stopped!" Nini gripped Mbok Ranti's shoulders. "I know. That's why I hid him. Placed him with a normal family. Baran and Laras—they don't know his origins. They only know this child was entrusted to them, must be protected." "But his blood will speak, Nini. Sooner or later." Nini sighed deeply. "That's why we must prepare. We must teach him—or protect him by any means."

Aryan couldn't take it anymore. He ran. His feet carried him to the small river, where he usually played with Bayu. He sat on a rock, breathless. His mind was chaos. Sun Clan. The surviving baby. Blood that would speak. What did all this mean? Who was he really? He remembered Laras, his mother, who always hugged him warmly. He remembered Baran, his father, who always taught him archery even though his hands were still small. They weren't bad people. But why... why did he feel different? Why did he sometimes know things a child shouldn't?

That afternoon, Laras searched for Aryan. She found him by the river, sitting motionless. "Aryan? Son, what's wrong?" Aryan turned. His eyes were empty. Laras felt a bad premonition. "I... I don't know, Mom." Laras sat beside him. "Tell me." Aryan was silent for a long time. Then he asked, "Mom, where was I born?" Laras froze. Her heart stopped momentarily. "In... here, son. In Dusun Karang." "But you said you and Dad didn't have children for a long time. Then I came. Where did I come from, Mom?" Laras couldn't answer. Her throat tightened. She remembered that night, five years ago—the night Nini came with a tiny baby wrapped in worn cloth. "Guard him, Laras. This child is entrusted to you. His blood is special. But keep it secret, or you'll all die." Laras hugged Aryan tightly. "You're my son. Mine and Dad's. That's all you need to know." But tears fell. Aryan felt the warmth of that embrace, but in his chest, restlessness remained.

Night fell. Aryan slept at Buyung's place—they'd asked Laras's permission to stay over. Laras agreed, thinking Buyung might distract Aryan's thoughts. But in the middle of the night, Aryan suddenly screamed. Buyung woke, seeing Aryan sitting with eyes closed, body drenched in cold sweat. "Aryan! Aryan!" Buyung shook him. Aryan opened his eyes. His eyes—in the darkness, for a moment, seemed to glow faintly. Like brass reflecting firelight. Then they dimmed. "I... I had a nightmare," Aryan mumbled. "Fire... screams... and the sun... the sun was burning." Buyung hugged him. "It's okay, just a dream. Calm down." But Aryan couldn't calm down. In his dream, he saw faces. Strangers' faces, yet somehow familiar. And a sun symbol with seven rays, burning on a tall pole. He stood. "I'm going home. I want Mom."

At home, Laras was still awake. She sat on the porch with Baran, who'd just finished guard duty. They saw Aryan running from a distance, followed by a worried Buyung. "Mom, Dad..." Aryan's voice trembled. He climbed onto the porch, sat between them. Laras hugged him. Baran stroked his hair. "What's wrong, son?" Aryan was silent for a long time. Then he asked, his voice small, "Dad, Mom... who am I?" Baran and Laras exchanged glances. Outside, the night wind blew, carrying whispers from a past that refused to stay silent. And in Nini's hut, the two old shamans still sat facing each other, the small fire between them dying to embers. Nini said, "We don't have much time, Ranti. He's beginning to ask." Mbok Ranti nodded. "Then we must prepare. I'll teach him. You guard the village." In the sky, black clouds again covered the moon. Dusun Karang was dark once more. But within that darkness, a small sun began to glow—though it didn't yet know whether it would become light, or fuel for an even greater fire.

Terima kasih sudah mampir! Jika kamu menikmati konten ini dan ingin menunjukkan dukunganmu, bagaimana kalau mentraktirku secangkir kopi? 😊 Ini adalah gestur kecil yang sangat membantu untuk menjaga semangatku agar terus membuat konten-konten keren. Tidak ada paksaan, tapi secangkir kopi darimu pasti akan membuat hariku jadi sedikit lebih cerah. ☕️

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