PERNIKAHAN DAN PERSATUAN

Pagi itu, Dusun Karang bangun dengan suasana berbeda. Di rumah Wati, tangis bayi memecah keheningan. Bayi itu lahir semalam, tepat sehari sebelum pernikahan ibunya. Wati menggendong bayinya dengan mata sembab—lelah tapi bahagia. Di sampingnya, Jarwo duduk dengan canggung, tak tahu harus memegang apa. "Ini... ini anakku juga?" tanyanya ragu. Wati tersenyum, menangis. "Dia anak kita. Kau ayahnya sekarang." Jarwo memegang jari kecil bayi itu, dan untuk pertama kalinya dalam hidupnya, pemburu tangguh itu menangis. "Aku akan jaga kalian," bisiknya. "Aku janji."

Kabar kelahiran itu menyebar cepat. Ibu-ibu berdatangan membawa bingkisan—singkong, telur, kain lampin bekas yang masih bagus. Laras datang dengan gendongan anyaman. "Ini buat bayinya. Biar ibu bisa kerja sambil menggendong." Wati menerima dengan haru. "Bu Laras... aku tak tahu harus bilang apa." Laras memeluknya. "Kamu keluarga sekarang. Tak perlu sungkan."

Di balai desa, para lelaki sibuk memperluas pendopo. Pak Teguh memimpin langsung, meski tubuhnya belum pulih total. "Kita perlu tempat cukup untuk semua," katanya. "Ini pesta besar pertama sejak pengungsi datang. Harus meriah." Kusno mengangguk setuju. "Saya bantu bagian hidangan. Warga pengungsi akan masak masakan khas desa kami." Darman yang lewat mendengus, "Masakan pengungsi? Enak?" Kusno tersenyum. "Nanti kau cicipi sendiri, Pak Darman." Darman tak menjawab, tapi langkahnya melambat, penasaran.

Sore menjelang pernikahan, suasana balai desa berubah. Lampu-lampu minyak dipasang di setiap tiang. Hiasan daun kelapa muda melingkar di mana-mana. Aroma masakan memenuhi udara—gulai kambing, urap, rempeyek kacang. Anak-anak berlarian dengan pakaian terbaik mereka. Aryan dan Buyung duduk di pojok, mengamati keramaian. "Aryan, kamu pernah lihat pesta pernikahan?" tanya Buyung. Aryan menggeleng. "Belum. Kata Ibu, dulu pas orang tua nikah cuma sederhana." Buyung mengangguk. "Di desaku dulu, kalau nikah, pesta seminggu." Matanya menerawang, terkenang masa lalu. Aryan memegang tangannya. "Kita buat kenangan baru di sini." Buyung tersenyum.

Malam pernikahan tiba. Jarwo berdiri di pelaminan dengan pakaian adat—beskap hitam, blangkon, keris di pinggang. Wati melangkah pelan dari rumah menuju balai, digendong oleh Kusno dan Slamet (karena adat, pengantin wanita tak boleh menginjak tanah). Gaunnya sederhana—kain batik dan kebaya putih pinjaman dari Laras—tapi di matanya, ada kebahagiaan yang tak ternilai. Bayi mereka digendong oleh Marni, berjalan di belakang. Saat Jarwo dan Wati bertemu di pelaminan, suasana haru menyelimuti. Pak Teguh yang memimpin prosesi, suaranya bergetar. "Jarwo, anak muda Dusun Karang. Wati, ibu tangguh yang memilih bertahan di sini. Hari ini kalian bersatu. Dan hari ini, kita semua bersatu."

Pak Teguh kemudian naik ke panggung kecil, meminta perhatian semua. "Warga Dusun Karang... asli maupun pengungsi... mulai malam ini, aku minta kalian lupakan sebutan itu." Dia menunjuk Jarwo dan Wati. "Lihat mereka. Yang satu asli, satu pengungsi. Tapi mereka bersama. Mereka saling mencintai. Mereka keluarga. Dan kita semua—kita juga keluarga." Dia menghela napas. "Mulai hari ini, tak ada lagi warga asli atau warga pengungsi. Kita semua warga Dusun Karang. Satu desa. Satu keluarga." Suasana hening sejenak. Lalu Kusno berteriak, "HIDUP DUSUN KARANG!" Yang lain menyusul. Sorak-sorai memecah malam. Bahkan Darman, yang sedari tadi diam di pojok, ikut bertepuk tangan pelan.

Di tengah sorak-sorai, Bayu mendekati Baran. Matanya mengarah ke kerumunan. "Pak Baran..." Baran menunduk. "Ada apa, Nak?" Bayu berbisik, "Lihat Kirun. Dia tersenyum, tapi senyumnya beda." Baran mengalihkan pandangan, mencari. Di antara tamu yang berdiri, Kirun tersenyum lebar, ikut bertepuk tangan. Tapi matanya—matanya tak ikut tersenyum. Matanya bergerak, mengamati, menghitung. Baran merasakan hawa dingin di punggung. "Kau benar, Bayu. Dia memang beda."

Sepanjang malam, Baran diam-diam mengamati Kirun. Dia melihat bagaimana Kirun mendekati kelompok-kelompok kecil, ikut mengobrol, tertawa, tapi selalu bertanya tentang hal-hal yang tak biasa—"Ladang baru berapa luas?" "Berapa banyak alat sihir yang diproduksi?" "Anak-anak siapa yang sering main dekat bengkel?" Pertanyaan-pertanyaan yang diselipkan di antara obrolan ringan, seperti biasa saja. Tapi Baran tahu, ini tidak biasa. Dia memberi kode pada Jarwo—yang baru saja selesai prosesi—untuk ikut mengawasi. Jarwo mengangguk tipis, paham.

Menjelang tengah malam, pesta mulai usai. Tamu-tamu pulang satu per satu. Kirun berjalan sendirian ke rumahnya yang sederhana di pinggir desa. Di depan pintu, dia berhenti, menoleh ke belakang, memastikan tak ada yang mengikuti. Lalu dia masuk, menutup pintu rapat. Tapi dia tak tahu—di balik pohon randu, Baran dan Jarwo mengamati. Jarwo berbisik, "Dia memang mencurigakan, Pak. Tadi dia tanya soal produksi alat." Baran mengangguk. "Kita harus tangkap dia. Tapi tunggu waktu yang tepat." Mereka mundur perlahan, menghilang di kegelapan.

Di dalam rumahnya, Kirun duduk di lantai bambu. Dia mengeluarkan buku kecil dari tempat persembunyiannya, menulis dengan cepat: "Pernikahan berlangsung. Desa semakin padu. Produksi alat meningkat. Anak bercahaya hadir dengan teman sebaya. Nama: Aryan, anak Baran. Kemungkinan target utama." Dia menyimpan buku itu, lalu merebahkan diri. Napasnya berat. Misi hampir selesai. Tapi dia tak tahu, malam ini dia juga terdeteksi.

Di rumah Baran, Laras belum tidur. Dia menunggu suaminya pulang. Saat Baran masuk, wajahnya tegang. "Ada apa?" tanya Laras cemas. Baran duduk di kursi bambu, menghela napas panjang. "Kirun. Dia mata-mata." Laras memucat. "Kau yakin?" Baran mengangguk. "Bayu lihat dia ketemu utusan di hutan. Dan malam ini, di pesta, dia bertanya tentang produksi alat, tentang Aryan." Laras menggenggam tangannya. "Kita harus lindungi Aryan." Baran menatap istrinya. "Aku tahu. Tapi kita juga harus tangkap Kirun. Sebelum dia kirim laporan lagi."

Di kamar belakang, Aryan tidur dengan Buyung di sampingnya. Dalam tidur, Aryan bergerak gelisah. Dia bermimpi—api, teriakan, dan seorang lelaki dengan luka bakar di leher tertawa kejam. "Aku datang untukmu, anak matahari." Aryan terbangun dengan keringat dingin. Buyung ikut terbangun. "Aryan? Mimpi buruk lagi?" Aryan mengangguk, napasnya tersengal. "Dia... dia datang, Buyung." Buyung memeluknya. "Siapa pun dia, kita hadapi bareng-bareng." Di luar, bulan purnama bersinar terang, tak peduli pada kegelisahan di dalam. Tapi di bawah cahaya bulan itu, dua anak kecil berjanji untuk saling menjaga. Dan di balik kegelapan, badai semakin mendekat.

THE WEDDING AND UNITY (English Version)

That morning, Dusun Karang woke with a different atmosphere. In Wati's house, a baby's cry broke the silence. The baby was born last night, exactly one day before his mother's wedding. Wati held her baby with swollen eyes—tired but happy. Beside her, Jarwo sat awkwardly, not knowing what to hold. "This... is this my child too?" he asked hesitantly. Wati smiled, crying. "He's our child. You're his father now." Jarwo held the baby's tiny finger, and for the first time in his life, the tough hunter cried. "I'll protect you both," he whispered. "I promise."

News of the birth spread quickly. Women came bringing gifts—cassava, eggs, used but still good swaddling cloths. Laras arrived with a woven sling. "This is for the baby. So you can work while carrying him." Wati received it tearfully. "Mrs. Laras... I don't know what to say." Laras hugged her. "You're family now. No need to be shy."

At the village hall, the men were busy expanding the pavilion. Pak Teguh led directly, though his body wasn't fully recovered. "We need enough space for everyone," he said. "This is the first big celebration since the refugees arrived. It must be festive." Kusno nodded in agreement. "I'll help with the food. The refugees will cook dishes from our village." Darman, passing by, snorted, "Refugee food? Is it good?" Kusno smiled. "You'll taste it yourself, Mr. Darman." Darman didn't answer, but his steps slowed, curious.

The evening before the wedding, the village hall transformed. Oil lamps were hung on every post. Decorations of young coconut leaves adorned every corner. The aroma of cooking filled the air—goat curry, urap, peanut crackers. Children ran around in their best clothes. Aryan and Buyung sat in a corner, observing the crowd. "Aryan, have you ever seen a wedding party?" Buyung asked. Aryan shook his head. "No. Mom said when my parents married, it was just simple." Buyung nodded. "In my old village, weddings lasted a week." His eyes grew distant, remembering the past. Aryan held his hand. "We'll make new memories here." Buyung smiled.

Wedding night arrived. Jarwo stood at the altar in traditional attire—black beskap, blangkon hat, a keris at his waist. Wati walked slowly from her house to the hall, carried by Kusno and Slamet (by tradition, brides couldn't step on the ground). Her dress was simple—batik cloth and a white kebaya borrowed from Laras—but in her eyes, there was immeasurable happiness. Their baby was carried by Marni, walking behind. When Jarwo and Wati met at the altar, emotion filled the air. Pak Teguh led the ceremony, his voice trembling. "Jarwo, a young man of Dusun Karang. Wati, a resilient mother who chose to stay here. Today you unite. And today, we all unite."

Pak Teguh then stepped onto a small platform, asking for everyone's attention. "People of Dusun Karang... natives and refugees... starting tonight, I ask you to forget those labels." He pointed to Jarwo and Wati. "Look at them. One native, one refugee. But they're together. They love each other. They're family. And all of us—we're also family." He paused. "From today, there are no more natives or refugees. We are all citizens of Dusun Karang. One village. One family." Silence hung for a moment. Then Kusno shouted, "LONG LIVE DUSUN KARANG!" Others followed. Cheers filled the night. Even Darman, who'd been silent in the corner, clapped softly.

Amid the cheering, Bayu approached Baran. His eyes pointed toward the crowd. "Mr. Baran..." Baran bent down. "What is it, son?" Bayu whispered, "Look at Kirun. He's smiling, but his smile is different." Baran shifted his gaze, searching. Among the standing guests, Kirun smiled broadly, clapping along. But his eyes—his eyes weren't smiling. They moved, observing, calculating. Baran felt a chill down his spine. "You're right, Bayu. He is different."

Throughout the night, Baran secretly watched Kirun. He saw how Kirun approached small groups, joined conversations, laughed, but always asked unusual questions—"How wide are the new fields?" "How many magic tools are produced?" "Whose children often play near the workshop?" Questions slipped into light conversation, as if ordinary. But Baran knew, this wasn't ordinary. He signaled Jarwo—who'd just finished the ceremony—to also watch. Jarwo nodded slightly, understanding.

Near midnight, the party began to end. Guests left one by one. Kirun walked alone to his simple house at the village edge. At his door, he stopped, looked back, ensuring no one followed. Then he entered, closing the door tightly. But he didn't know—behind the kapok tree, Baran and Jarwo watched. Jarwo whispered, "He is suspicious, sir. He asked about tool production." Baran nodded. "We need to capture him. But wait for the right moment." They retreated slowly, disappearing into the darkness.

Inside his house, Kirun sat on the bamboo floor. He took out his small book from its hiding place, writing quickly: "Wedding took place. Village increasingly united. Tool production increasing. Glowing child attended with peer friend. Name: Aryan, Baran's son. Likely primary target." He hid the book, then lay down. His breathing was heavy. The mission was almost complete. But he didn't know, tonight he'd also been detected.

In Baran's house, Laras was still awake. She waited for her husband to return. When Baran entered, his face was tense. "What's wrong?" Laras asked anxiously. Baran sat on a bamboo chair, sighing deeply. "Kirun. He's a spy." Laras paled. "Are you sure?" Baran nodded. "Bayu saw him meeting a messenger in the forest. And tonight, at the party, he asked about tool production, about Aryan." Laras gripped his hand. "We must protect Aryan." Baran looked at his wife. "I know. But we also need to capture Kirun. Before he sends another report."

In the back room, Aryan slept with Buyung beside him. In his sleep, Aryan moved restlessly. He dreamed—fire, screams, and a man with a burn scar on his neck laughing cruelly. "I'm coming for you, sun child." Aryan woke with cold sweat. Buyung woke too. "Aryan? Nightmare again?" Aryan nodded, breathing heavily. "He... he's coming, Buyung." Buyung hugged him. "Whoever he is, we'll face him together." Outside, the full moon shone brightly, indifferent to the anxiety within. But under that moonlight, two children promised to protect each other. And behind the darkness, the storm was drawing closer.

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