Siddha Malilang's Blog, page 3

Far Future in A Formal Hall

It was almost dark when I rapped on your chamber door. And there you opened the door, revealing yourself in the formal attire. Black tie dress code, and you interpreted that by dressing all in black. For a second, I thought that my heart would stop beating in amazement.
“Are you ready?” said I.
You nodded and smiled. The rose that I held was then moving to your hand, enlarging the smile carved on your lips.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful!”
You grabbed my hand and hurriedly locked the door, as if we need to spend each and every precious second of that night together. But don’t you know that your touch sent the romantic tingles all around my nerves? Instead of giggling, I transposed that tingle unto a very big smile. And this is how you manage to make me smile all the time. All the time.
We walked hand-in-hand down the Castle Hill, along the lights from small old English pubs. The gown covering my black tuxedo kept me warm, yet your coat was apparently too thin for the winter breeze. The usual British winter, cold and dry without any trace of snowflakes. Did you remember how you were shaken by the cold? It was that moment when I held your shoulders in my hug; at least, some parts of you were covered by the gown.
Eddies’ gate felt so inviting as we entered through the front door. Mary -the night receptionist- smiled at us. That was your first visit to the college, wasn’t it? It was not a big nor famous college, unlike John or Trinity. But your eyes were glistening with joy and excitement. It was not until we walked down the hall –passing the pigeon holes- into Combination Room that you got more and more excited. We came just in time for the sherry reception, when you saw band of people wearing their gowns and formal dresses.
I had to admit, Eddies’ sherry is not as good as the Peterhouse’s one. But it was enough to warm your small stature within the embrace of bleak winter night. As if you forget that we were out of Indonesia, your face blushed in reddish shade as I pecked your cheek. Nobody thought it was a sin, dear. Across the room, you can also see people hugged their partners tightly.
“Is that okay?” you asked slowly, startled.
Just a small nod in response. And I could feel your hand gripped mine strongly. I could still recall you being timid and shy in one second and another startle came upon your face when the gong was hit. “What was that?”
“It’s the sign for us to march to the dining hall!” I whispered. Determined to show your worth, you walked confidently next to me going to the Hall. Not an exquisite one, for Eddies is not famous for being a rich college. You couldn’t see any beautiful paintings other than the chronological portraits of our Masters. I swear there was nervousness all over your face when we were looking for our seat. The bleak night outside further enhanced the warm light emitted by the candles in between us. The warm yellowish light touched upon your dark attire and my gown.
We were standing as the gong sounding, waiting for the short grace in Latin read by the Dean. The religious side in you seemed to get into climax upon hearing that Latin grace. It was five-courses meal with cheese in the end. But you strived upon gulping the red and white wine. Our hands were touching in the middle of the meal, and the neighbouring lady gave us an approving nod. You might forget her, but she was my hallmate.
The port wine finally came. I joked to you, “This is what runs Cambridge! The main motivation for us to come here, the infamous port!” Mixed chatters could be heard from all directions and the couple sitting next to us asked, “So, how did you two meet?”
“Over a simple text message, to sum up!” you giggled. “Thanks to a friend who match made us!” I knew from your giggly response, three glasses of wine and the initial sherry had got into your nerves. But, I just smiled at you. Small wink.
The dinner had finally done with the closing grace. “You wanted to stop by at the bar?” I asked among the marching students walking out of the hall.
“I don’t think I can have another glass of alcohol. Can we just go back to the house?”
“And why is that?”
“Because I just want to be together with you!”
At that moment, I hugged you tight, blocking the remaining students from going out. But I don’t care.
Because you were there.
And you are here......

PS : This is what I imagine, to be with my loved one in my beloved city.....

Bahagiakah saya?

Menanti sebuah penerbangan kembali ke Yogyakarta di Bandara Cengkareng tiba-tiba membawa kembali memori akan sebuah kejadian empat tahun yang lalu. Sudah lama sekali aku tidak memasuki terminal 1 di bandara itu, terima kasih pada sponsor yang membuat saya selalu bisa mendarat di terminal 2. Akan tetapi, hari ini saya kembali masuk ke terminal 1 dan menunggu disana.

Ketika melihat deretan bangku-bangku yang diisi oleh para calon penumpang, benak ini memutar kembali kala terakhirku duduk di sana. Empat tahun yang lalu, pada masa-masa hijauku, aku merasa cukup tertegun melihat seorang Bhikku yang berjalan keliling ruang tunggu tersebut. Tiba-tiba saja muncul sebuah dorongan untuk menyumpalkan ear piece dan memutar sebuah lagu dari ponsel.

Entah karena terinspirasi oleh sang bhikku atau memang sebuah bisikan ilahi, tangan ini memilih lantunan 'Heart Sutra'. Entah mengapa lantunan mantra tersebut selalu memiliki efek yang sangat menenangkan bahkan hingga hari ini.

Sekitar sepuluh menit setelah lagu itu selesai, sang bhikku yang melewati kursiku berhenti sejenak. Ia memandang ke arahku dan tersenyum. Kata-katanya sangat singkat tetapi misterius, "Wah, anda bahagia ya? Enak bukan menjadi bahagia?" Seselesainya berkata seperti itu, beliau pergi.

Ia meninggalkanku tertegun. Baru beberapa bulan sebelumnya aku membahas konsep kebahagiaan yang sejati, konsep kebahagiaan yang dihayati oleh para Buddhist. Bahagia di situ berarti tidak lagi terikat pada apapun, tidak menginginkan apapun, tidak merasa apapun. Dan konsep itu kembali masuk ke dalam benak ini, membangun sebuah pertanyaan besar. "Sudah bahagiakah saya?" Bagaimana mungkin sang Bhikku itu hanya berhenti di hadapan saya untuk mengatakan kalimat misterius itu? Bagaimana dia mengetahui bahwa saya tengah berbahagia? Raut mukaku pada saat itu pun sebenarnya adalah raut muka yang sangat lelah. Bau bantal, istilahnya. Lalu, apa yang sebenarnya membuat beliau mengatakannya kepadaku?

Empat tahun sudah berlalu. Tapi kembali masuk ke dalam terminal tersebut kembali menggali ingatan dan misteri itu. Hari ini, tidak ada lagi sosok sang bhikku. Tapi pertanyaan yang sama masih belum terjawab, "Bahagiakah saya?"

Soekarno-Hatta, 5 Desember 2012

Justin Jedlica: A Step Towards Establishing Gay Gaze

Several days ago, the article on Justin Jedlica took an instant interest in me. For those who do not know, Justin Jedlica is one of the big name in the plastic surgery world. He has notoriously known for undertaking 90-ish cosmetic surgeries in the last 10 years. The mass media even label him as the new Ken. Just like Valeria -the Russian model who changed herself to resemble Barbie, Justin underwent cosmetic surgeries in his whole body -not only facial surgeries. To be abruptly honest, my radar rang when I read the article. Driven by my curiosity, I consulted the Almighty Google for further information on Justin. Finally finding his twitter account, my suspicion was proven true. Justin Jedlica is an openly gay man. This revelation on his sexuality then led me into revisiting the concept and construction of gay gaze. It's no secret that women are doing cosmetic surgeries to transform themselves into beautiful princess. But then, when they appeared more beautiful, these women actually subjected themselves into the trap of male gaze. They surrendered into a state of being objectified. After all, their body alteration was mostly based on man's concept of beauty. If they are being honest, their body alteration was aimed to attract more men (or women in some cases) -despite the claim that they're doing it for themselves. There is no denial that the concept of physical beauty was derived from men's standard and satisfaction. An interesting thing is that in the heterocentric world full of masculine hegemony, straight men always refused to be objectified. When they are objectified, their position at the peak of power dynamic would be toppled down. That's the reason why there are only male gaze and not female gaze. Yet, the term gay gaze that has been around in the intellectual limbo for almost two decades actually gives another perspective on men's position in the power dynamics. Due to the nature of same sex attraction, a gay male is willing to be 'objectified' by another man. This does not mean they fall from grace in the power dynamics. At the same time when they were objectified by another man, they are also objectifying another man. The key of this gay gaze is mutual objectification without the occurrence of power stripping. There is a willingness to be objectified, mainly to attract the other party. Without this willingness and temporary power loss, the seduction cannot happen. Furthermore, the loss of power actually does not happen due to the nature of queer power dynamics which operates outside the heteronormative structure Coming back to Justin Jedlica, he is actually a further proof of this mutual objectification and man's willingness to be objectified. By transforming his face into Ken-like as well as placing implants in his biceps, triceps, chest, and abs, Justin is actually trying to transform himself into a perfect person sending out invitation to be objectified by other gay men. The logic is, if he does not have the willingness to be objectified, he will not bother transforming himself into a guy with perfect body. Interesting enough, almost all of his body alteration were actually conforming to the stereotype of ideal gay man. Six pack chiseled abs, well rounded chest, slightly bulging biceps and triceps, while still maintaining the lean figure. This is not to generalise that all gay men will be attracted to such figure, as there are many spectrums within. On the other hand, his constant scoring of himself -and his confession that he will continue altering his body in search for the perfect figure- also shows his objectifying himself. After all, the mutual objectification is a first step of going forward. Disclaimer : I don't want to sound homophobic or stereotypical, but I just want to explore more of Laura Mulvey's idea on the 'male gaze' towards the construction and establishment of 'gay gaze'.

Kepada seorang wanita

Halo wanita,


Apa kabarmu saat ini? Semoga kau senantiasa diliputi kebahagiaan tanpa peduli betapa beratnya cobaan yang mungkin menanti di depan. Satu hal yang aku yakini, seiring dengan bertambahnya waktu, kau telah bertumbuh menjadi semakin kuat dalam menapaki hari-harimu.
Mungkin ini semua terasa aneh bagimu, sepucuk surat dariku yang sudah lebih dari tiga tahun tidak mengghubungimu secara intens. Ah, mungkin malah bisa dikatakan bahwa kita hampir saja kehilangan kontak. Yah, harus kuakui bahwa beberapa minggu belakangan ini namamu secara tiba-tiba hadir kembali di dalam keseharianku. Banyak topik pembicaraan yang entah mengapa selalu menjurus ke keberadaanmu dalam masa laluku. 
Semua pembicaraan itu perkahan tersusun menjadi sebuah kaca benggala nan luas yang melingkupi seluruh tubuhku. Aku melihat kembali semua hal yang sudah kulakukan dan kukatakan kepadamu. Refleksi dari kaca benggala tersebut membawaku kembali ke masa lalu dan memberiku perspektif baru dalam melihat apa yang sudah kulakukan padamu. 
Kegagalan dalam upaya terakhirku dalam menjalin hubungan mengingatkanku akan hal-hal yang dulu kubenci dari hubungan singkat kita. Ya, kau bukanlah seorang yang terburuk di dalam perjalanan hatiku. Harus kuakui bahwa aku menjalani sesuatu yang pernah kubenci dari cara kita berinteraksi dahulu. Lebih buruk malah mungkin kau akan berkata. Tapi yang mengejutkanku adalah bahwa aku ternyata bisa menjalani sesuatu yang lebih buruk itu. Hal-hal tersebut yang menyadarkanku atas dosa-dosa masa lalu tersebut. 
Aku menilik kembali dan mulai tercerahkan bahwa apa yang kau lakukan dulu itu memang dilandasi oleh perasaan sayang yang sangat besar. Hanya mungkin aku masih terlalu muda untuk melihat semuanya, masih terlalu hijau untuk menyadari apa yang sebenarnya aku maui, dan masih terlalu naif untuk menyadari bahwa tidak ada sesuatu hal yang sempurna di dunia ini. Ya, saya terlampau gegabah di masa lalu. Mungkin saja masih sama gegabahnya saat ini, tapi setidaknya benak dan pikiran ini terbuka sudah. 
Tapi apa yang kulakukan padamu pada waktu itu? Aku memperlakukanmu seperti seonggok sampah yang tidak berharga. Aku meludahkan kembali segala bentuk perhatian yang kuanggap berlebihan itu. Seandainya aku lebih dewasa pada waktu itu, mungkin kita akan duduk bersama dan membicarakan semua hal yang mengganggu tersebut. Duduk berhadapan dan bersama-sama mencari jalan tengah yang tidak menyakiti kedua belah pihak. Sayang, aku tidak melakukannya. 
Ketika aku mengingat kembali apa yang kukatakan padamu malam itu, aku merasa menjadi seorang lelaki yang tidak memiliki hati. Tidak ada sama sekali kata penyesalan atau sepatah permohonan maaf, bahkan setelah kau hampir menyakiti dirimu sendiri. 
Tapi nasi sudah menjadi bubur. Luka sudah tertoreh dan bekasnya di hatimu tidak akan bisa dihilangkan. Maka, perkenankanlah aku dengan rendah hati memohon maaf kepadamu. Aku bertelut di hadapan lututmu yang mungil, mencoba untuk menghapus luka batinmu dengan simbahan air mata yang menetes satu demi satu ini. Karena kebodohanku, aku baru menyadari semua kesalahanku padamu. Maukah kau memaafkanku dan menyambut peluk persahabatan ini?

Gamping, 1 September 2012

After years of reading stories about someone attending a ...

After years of reading stories about someone attending a wedding of ex-lover, that same thing finally happened to me last weekend. The holy matrimony of my very first love, the girl who occupies a special place in my heart.

You think it would hurt? Don't ask me. I felt so damn numb at that moment. She was my first girl capturing my heart, but at the same time she is also one of my best friends. As if that does not complicate thing, we've known each other since we were five. Going back further into the past, her uncle happened to have a crush on my mother. Yes, even from childhood, my love life has been that complicated.

Coming back to the wedding ceremony, I didn't have any choice rather than attending the church blessing. Yet, the pressure from the air inside the church brought me rehearsing the "Final Lair" act from the Phantom of the Opera. In that scene, I was Erik the Phantom and she was my Christine. After trying so hard to seduce her, she finally entrusted my heart to me. Yet, due to the circumstance, my Christine had to leave me despite her feeling only to marry Raoul.

Yes, I was imagining that despite her being in front of the altar, she was still in love with me. And I repeatedly rewinding the scene of me trying to woe her with my "Music of the Night".

But it never happened.

I'm just a phantom without my Christine........

Merindu Sastra

Ini adalah sebuah pemikiran yang hinggap ketika saya berjalan-jalan ke Gramedia untuk menghilangkan suasana hati yang sedang memburuk. Di sana saya melihat beberapa buku yang mendapat pujian dari mantan. Kebetulan ada satu buku tersebut yang sudah terbuka dari plastiknya, buku kumpulan cerpen dari beberapa penulis yang mendapatkan ketenarannya dari dunia maya.

Terdorong oleh rasa ingin tahu, saya mengambil buku tersebut dan membacanya di tempat. Betapa terkejutnya saya ketika membaca bahwa kebanyakan tokoh dalam cerita itu memiliki nama yang sangat kebarat-baratan. Mungkin bukan sesuatu yang salah, tapi dalam benakku praktek seperti itu biasanya akan mengarah ke suatu cerita yang sangat dangkal. Mungkin ini hanyalah sebuah prejudice pribadi, mungkin.

Tapi membaca beberapa cerpen yang ada di sana sekilas, ada sesuatu yang terasa kurang dari tulisan-tulisan itu. Semua cerpen yang ada di dalam buku itu serasa seperti cerpen-cerpen yang pernah dimuat di beberapa majalah remaja. Cerpen yang bisa dibaca dan dipshami maknanya dalam waktu kurang dari 5 menit. Cerpen yang tidak akan meninggalkan jejak dan kesan yang mendalam di dalam ingatan.

Cerita-cerita yang tersaji di dalam kumpulan itu terjebak di dalam batasan satu dimensi, dimana cerita tersebut akan selalu diinterpretasikan dan dipahami secara seragam oleh orang yang berbeda di waktu yang berbeda. Tidak ada multi interpretasi yang biasanya dimiliki leh karya-karya sastra klasik. Pengarang-pengarang cerita itu seolah ingin menegaskan posisi mereka sebagai pemegang otoritas tertinggi, sebagai satu-satunya sumber kebenaran. Hal ini menyebabkan tertutupnya ruangan dan tempat bagi para pembaca untuk memasukkan diri, ide, pikiran, gagasan, dan interpretasi mereka sendiri ke dalam karya tersebut.

Sebuah gagasan lain segera menyusul menembus pikiranku, apakah ini pengaruh dari kebudayaan dunia maya yang mulai menyebar di kehidupan masa kini? Dunia maya yang menyuguhkan kecepatan mengakses data dalam waktu singkat. Sebuah kemudahan instan dan cepat yang tidak menuntut pemakainya untuk berpikir dan menggunakan logika secara menyeluruh. Hanya cukup mengetikkan sesuatu, informasi yang dicari akan langsung didapat. Tidak perlu susah-susah mengetahui prosesnya, yang penting adalah jawaban akhirnya. Lalu, apakah paradigma itu sudah juga masuk ke dunia tulis-menulis dan sastra kita? Dengan hadirnya karya-karya yang tidak membutuhkan tafsir dan multi interpretasi? Dengan ditutupnya ruangan tempat para pembaca bisa memasukkan pengalaman mereka sendiri ke dalam cerita?

Dan pertanyaan yang paling signifikan, sadarkah para penulis itu bahwa begitu sebuah karya telah dipublikasikan, pengarang akan telah mati?

Terus terang, walaupun saya pernah sangat membenci Atheis-nya Achdiyat Kartamihardja, tapi saya merindukan karya semacam itu. Karya kontroversial tetapi tidak dangkal. Karya semacam Olenka-nya Budi Dharma yang walaupun membuat saya mengernyitkan kening berjam-jam, tetapi membuat saya bisa tercekat dalam proses membacanya. Karya seperti Pengakuan Pariyem yang membawa saya ke dalam orgasme sastra lebih tinggi dari orgasme biologis melalui kata-kata sederhana. Atau bahkan Burung-Burung Manyar yang membuat saya berpikir kembali tentang kebenaran dan kehidupan. Bukan hanya gimmick yang ternyata hanya sebatas footnote berpanjang-panjang yang tidak ada kaitannya dengan perkembangan cerita (I'm looking at you, Supernova!).

Saya rindu membaca karya baru dengan level itu!

Simple Things

I enjoy every simple things that we did, Grabbing your hand and holding it in the cabFeeling your head leaning on my shoulder Sharing the earpieces from my iPod and watching you sleeping in peace.
Because those simple thingsAre what make our togetherness meaningful. 

Digital Natives and the Critical Thinking

Standing in front of the class this year has led me to a bitter assumption of our
education system –that we should look at the newest generation in a completely
different perspective. Yes, in a glance, this might seem like a light of tolerance
and understanding to younger inhabitants in our society. However, daunting
feeling and frowns coming along with the assumption imply a slur in disguise
towards the problem.

The emergence of the first digital-natives wave turned out to stir previously-non-
existent problem in their dependency to cyber sources. As a first generation to be
familiarized with the rise of Web 2.0 (which gave birth to the new interactivity
level in the internet), recent students demonstrated their so-called cyber
addiction. What was then known as cozy library filled with musky smells of
old antiquarian books is now considered as a relic of beautiful past. When
students are seen flocking the library, what they are mostly doing is finding air-
conditioned room with free internet access.

This kind of attitude went further in the trivialization of library’s function itself.
With the over-worshipping of cyberworld and nostalgic view against physical
library, attitude to potential of sources in library started to change as well.
Students started to feel demotivated in going and carefully looking for books
as part of their references. They would prefer to go online and consult Google
Almighty –and its twin brother, Saint Wikipedia- for essential information in
their research. Consequently, library research is now toppled down by Google
research. No longer students carefully scrutinize piles of books next to the
notebook and pen, as they can easily type the keyword and get the appropriate
quotations.

Indeed the easier information finding process facilitated by the internet, more
times can be saved. Therefore, information chaining browsing is completely
feasible. Some experienced scholars might even be able to find the key terms
they need to dig and explore deeper by this faster processing. Yet, these
experienced scholars already posses the basic of critical analysis forged by their
times working together with heaps of papers. Their constant scrutiny of key
terms in the index and scanning ability for the whole book –instead of reading
cover by cover- proved to be a training ground to look for more references. By
comparing these various references, these scholars also developed skepticism
against the validity of the information. This skepticism, in turn, triggers them to
constantly find some contested views against the subject matter and gave birth
to fresh critiques and even breakthrough.

The birth of Web 2.0 –to be more specific, Saint Wikipedia- has since gave space
to document the journey of various subject matters. Yet, due to the easy access,
most of the information is compressed and squeezed, leaving only the surviving
core problems and theories. Contested views are rarely elaborated in the same
manner with main subjects, thus rendering them only as some flaw concepts in
the development. Seldom are these concepts explained as some contributions

in the revision of main concept. Thus, the digital natives take only the surviving
main concepts as granted.

Acceptance of something as granted leads the digital natives to lose touch with
their critical thinking. Well, I might be exaggerating as not all of this generation is
losing their critical analysis ability, but speaking from my classroom experience,
a great deal of them suffer from this lack. When they are asked to write a paper
or invoke the analysis on the subject matter, they tend only to quote the main
theories without any carefully crafted logic behind. The concept is only seen as
the “only” product, not as “final” product. Thus, no flaws of the theories are found
in the philosophical basis. Concepts and theories become merely black and white,
only correct and incorrect.

This rendition of concepts and theories as merely two sides of the coin –
leaving no space between- is very much detrimental in education and academic
world. Polarized truth like this may lead to the shallow prejudice of the views,
regardless of the logic behind their conception and development. Being spoilt
by type-search-find process, the habit of scrutinizing whole texts is also slowly
disintegrating from the current generation. Without the scrutinizing ability, the
shallow prejudice will chain into shallow attack when these students disagree
to the concepts, attacking only the surface level of their understanding on the
concepts –leaving behind the philosophical basis. The virtually non-existent
space between polarized truths has left no room for neither compromising nor
development opportunity.

So, from what perspective should we see this current generation? I try to exempt
myself from aligning with the negative force by not saying that they are beyond
repair. However, I found a great difficulty in motivating them to raise critical
thinking in all their papers. Being spoilt by the blessing of Google Almighty
and Saint Wikipedia has changed their perspectives of scrutiny and deeper
investigation. These cyber patrons have freed them from academic skepticism
and bestowed upon them the salvation from constant questioning and long
debates of subject matter.

Then, what needs to be done? I will sound like an old man here, but the
preservation of remnants from pre Web 2.0 should be done. There needs to be a
historian and note keeper for the ancient critical tradition and attitudes towards
knowledge and scholarship. We, the surviving members of pre digital native era,
should shoulder the responsibility of guiding these newer generation, ensuring
that the old tradition should blend seamlessly to the new digital culture. Thus, it
will give birth to a better coming generation of scholarship.

An Evening Retreat

The firm bookshelves stood still in the corner against the claws of shadow surrounding them. Brownish wood constructing those shelves emitted some kind of warmth covering the whole library. Trying to break the nocturnal stillness, a standing lamp in the corner buzzed its way alongside the warm yellowish light.

You entered the room and brought me a cup of coffee. Black, hot, smoky, and strong. Just the way I always liked it. Your eyes rolled and scanned the whole room, trying to check that there was no possible distraction lurking in the corner of our small library. I glimpsed at you, ensured you the calmness of the night, the soft embrace of mother moon, and the protection from stellar soldiers.

On my lap, Kafka laid down enveloped by brown leather cover. Did you remember how precious is this book? How we ventured the dodgy marketplace only to smirk gaily after laying our hands on this rare masterpiece?

You slowly tiptoed your way towards me with that cup of coffee. Call me crazy, but nothing beat coffee next to my books. You, on the other hand, were and still are quite fussy about the possibility of spilling the cup onto the papers. If only you knew at the moment, that your presence posed stronger caffeine than the coffee.

Shrugging your way next to me, I slowly moved my hand from the book and embraced your existence. Still, nervous, quirky. That was how you reacted at first. But then, I caught a glimpse of comfort in the corner of your lips. That bashful look, the cheeky smile, and finally the tilting of your head to my shoulder. All those gestures encouraged me to further divorce Kafka’s mesmerizing words.

My palm moved to your head, stroking your black hair. With no hesitation, you placed your head on my laps; your eyes stared directly to my eyes. As I moved my head closer to yours, your fair hand reached to the back of my head. I could hear the soft voice penetrating every layer and fiber in my ears. “Read it for me….”

That was what you wanted, us reaching brain orgasms together in the threesome with Franz Kafka. Your other hand reached the leather bound book and gave it to me. I opened the first hand and started reading it next to you. “As Gregor Samsa woke one morning from uneasy dream…..”

You shut your eyes and got ready to embrace the aural pleasure. Sometimes you sighed, sometimes you just murmured, but I know that you wanted me to continue.

And I continued……

And the lamp was still buzzing while the night was still.

Rintihan Satyawati

Wanita itu mengernyitkan keningnya setiap kali sebilah pedang terhunus dan menebas sebuah kepala atau tangan atau kaki atau anggota badan yang lain. Setiap kematian yang terjadi dalam kesunyian menggerakkan bibir sang wanita. Matanya senantiasa memicing seolah menahan perih pedih dari ribuan onak duri yang mengikat tubuhnya.

“Wahai Sanghyang Widhi, kasihanilah hambamu ini!” rintihnya lirih. Desahan-desahan yang mencermikan kepedihannya tidak lagi terhitung jumlahnya. Lima hari sudah ia terpaksa didera oleh ribuan onak duri. Setiap kematian yang terjadi di padang Kurusetra menambah jumlah duri yang menusuk tubuhnya.

Nama wanita itu, Satyawati. Demikianlah ia mendapatkan gelar keratuannya itu oleh karena kasih setianya kepada suami pertamanya. Durgandini, nama lahirnya sebagai seorang putri kerajaan yang dibuang. Dan Rara Amis, julukan yang disandangnya oleh karena bau amis yang merebak dari tubuhnya semasa muda. Bau amis yang menghantarnya keluar dari keraton Wirata.

Tak henti-hentinya dia menangis melihat darah dagingnya saling membunuh. Koyakan batin yang dialaminya jauh lebih menyakitkan ketika melihat keponakannya dibunuh oleh salah satu dari ratusan cucunya. Bahkan saudara kembarnya, Prabu Matsyapati, sang raja diraja kerajaan Wirata mati terbunuh oleh salah satu anak buah cucunya.

Rintihan sang saudara tercinta terasa bagai cambuk yang melecut sekujur tubuhnya, bagaikan api yang membara menghanguskan seluruh jiwanya. Hubungan batin diantara keduanya telah membuat Satyawati merasakan derita dari ujung kaki hingga ujung rambutnya. Rasanya bagaikan seseorang mencabut jiwanya secara paksa. Jantungnya yang selalu berdetak kencang seolah berhenti selamanya pada saat itu.

Di antara derai air matanya, Satyawati berbisik perlahan, “Salahku…..”

Benaknya melayang-layang kembali ke masa lalu, ke masa dimana dia sengaja menggoda Santanu, sang maharaja kerajaan Hastinapura, di atas perahunya. Ia mengetahui sorot ketertarikan sang maharaja kepadanya, sorot yang bercampur dengan binar kesepian dan kesedihan atas kehilangan sang istri. Hanya dengan sekerlingan, kekuasaan dan kekayaan akan kembali atasnya, kesempatannya untuk meraih kembali kedigdayaan dan darah biru yang sempat tercerabut darinya.

Dengan menggunakan topeng wanita yang tak berdaya, Satyawati menggunakan kelemahannya untuk menjaga kelangsungan kekuasaan darah dan dagingnya. Masih segar dalam ingatannya bagaimana ia membuat anak tirinya, Bhisma Dewabrata, mengucapkan sumpah untuk tidak memiliki keturunan demi menjaga kestabilan politik kerajaan Hastinapura. Tapi yang tidak ia perhatikan adalah berlangsungnya keturunan dinasti Kuru yang sama sekali tidak berhubungan darah dengan Santanu. Dan darah dagingnya itu, yang diturunkan dari anaknya –Resi Abiyasa, yang merusak kedamaian Mayapada dengan perang saudara mereka, perang saudara yang membawa serta manusia, raksasa, gandarwa, bahkan para dewa.

Semua kembali ke ketamakannya. “Dhuh Sanghyang Widhi, ampuni hamba. Ambisi hambalah yang menyebabkan semua ini. Tariklah jiwa dan kehormatan atas nama Satyawati. Cabutlah tambahan dini dari nama hamba, karena kehancuran ini terjadi atas nama Durga!”

Tapi langit kelam hanya diam tak berkata, meninggalkan Satyawati sendirian berkutat dengan cabikan duri di kulit, batin, dan jiwanya. Tetes-tetes darah tak henti membentuk noda merah di tanah. Setiap jerit sunyi kematian para prajurit mengalir keras melalui bibir sang permaisuri kuna.