Short Story: Memoirs of a Santri's Longing. Part One

Taliwang. You're so far away. Do you still have those fragile fences? Wildflowers by the roadside? I can't stand to look at them. I want to pick the hibiscus on the wooden fence with its red petals hanging down its stem. Ohh.. Beautiful. Athar missed the atmosphere of his village. He couldn't wait. Six years in Java. Studied at a pesantren renowned for its religious knowledge. It produced many great figures in the archipelago.

Six years too absent Going home to see family. He met fellow students from Aceh, Sumatra, Kalimantan, Batak, Java, Papua, Malaysia, Thailand, and several other students from Sumbawa Island. They shared a room, played on the same basketball team, soccer team, were part of the Scouts, and so on. The Islamic boarding school world forced him to learn to be independent, think independently, and be self-sufficient. Everyone stayed in the dormitory, and they weren't allowed to commute.

An hour later, the morning Damri bus bound for Taliwang approached the terminal. A faint smile crossed Athar's lips. His eyes sparkled. His face beamed with joy. But suddenly, the smile turned sour. Athar frowned, narrowing his eyes. He recognized the road the Damri bus had hit. A road that had never been trampled by the feet of buffalo, cows, and their dung. A road that had taught him to walk on the ground and the pebbles of life. Silent witnesses were Athar and his peers, throwing mud at each other. Chasing a red dragonfly that perched on the tip of a branch after school.

Athar, still looking wildly for a place to rest. But now there was no fragile wooden fence flanked by old bamboo at the side of the road. No red-petaled hibiscus flowers. No wooden fences standing neatly in a row, though not at the same height. No more fruit. man1 wild hanging. All disappeared who knows where.

“Athar, hurry up and pick the fruit man on the roadside fence! Mom wants to make 'urap'for breakfast” With a blank face, Athar reminisced about his childhood.
"Fruit man bitter, ma'am”
“Bitter is medicine! Just pick it!” Her mother snapped, a little forcefully.
"But Athar wants to pick guava, papaya, and plantain only."
“Fruit fruit man "First, over there on the fence! Then pick the others"
“Hooray” Athar jumped up and down happily.

The memories couldn't be erased from his mind. But everything had changed, the fence and the plants. disappeared Who knows where. Only a sturdy wall stands. The sturdy wall has defeated the rusty, fragile fence. The wall has driven out the plants. man, guava, papaya, and plantain. The wall has also driven away waxwing dragonflies and yellow-orange butterflies. And they're afraid to return.

"Sorry sir, we have arrived at the Taliwang terminal," the conductor reprimanded Athar softly.
"Oh yeah... I'll just get off at the three-way intersection near the Parang Monument"
"Didn't you say earlier that your house was near the terminal?" The conductor interjected.
"Yes sir, but I just want to get off at the Parang Monument intersection."
“Okay. It’s okay,” the conductor replied as he walked away.

Athar adjusted his sitting position. In ten minutes he would arrive at the Parang Monument intersection. His eyes didn't blink. He continued to stare in wonder along the road. There were no more sturdy, towering kapok trees. White kapok trees flower in autumn. The young fruit is delicious stir-fried. The dried fruit is harvested for its cotton for mattresses and pillows. But, again, the kapok tree... disappeared Who knows where. The tree left no stumps or seeds behind.

"Athar! Athar!" A man of the same age shouted calling him.
Athar recorded the face of the man who called him. But he still hesitated to look back.
“Athar! You’re so arrogant. It’s me, Raihan. Agus Raihan!”
“Achievement?” Athar's eyes widened.

She never imagined that Raihan was standing in front of her. Her best friend from back then. Her playmate on the wooden fence, catching wax dragonflies. They'd been apart for six years. Their emotions were overflowing. They smiled and laughed freely. Meanwhile, the other motorcycle taxi drivers watched them with a thousand questions.

“So you’re a motorcycle taxi driver now, Han?”
"Yes, Tar. My father died two years ago," Raihan answered flatly.
“Innalillahiwainna ilaihi Raaji'un.
"But never mind. I'm fine. Where are you going now? I'm ready to take you anywhere, Ustad."
“Hush, "Don't call me Ustad. I'm embarrassed in front of everyone! Now, show me around Taliwang. It's been a long time since I've seen my homeland."
"Yes, Ustaaad." Raihan replied back in a raised voice.

Continued in part two