Jungle Kids
by Damhuri Muhammad
First published in ActiveMuse in November 2022, with minor edits for Pandan Weekly. Click the arrow (>) to learn more about this piece
That valley is the most secret place. It always gives asylum when they are convicted in the congregation by their parents, for stealing sugarcane belonging to Katib Leman. Until their parents’ anger subsided, they would disappear, penetrating the layers of thickets. From there, they would blow small stones from the handles of wooden ketapel onto a group of murai batu hunters, who come with various traps. Before the hunters could get to the trapping point, a bullet from a wooden ketapel would land on the base of their ears. The closer the hunters could get to the path to the Cempaya jungle entrance, the more their foreheads and chins were stained with blood. It is not certain where the stones come from because when they look around the valley below, all they see is a tangled thicket. The longer they track down the source of the flying stones, the better their chances of going home with flaky scalps. “Perhaps this is the stone that fell from the claws of the Ababil bird’s feet. Only the prophets can see the form of the bird sent by God,” said the head of the murai batu hunters. “The murai batu here is guarded by stone-throwing ghosts. Before they rain stones, we better find a friendly jungle!” replied one of the men. “Agreed! Better to go back without the murai batu than to block the flying stones sent by the ghosts!” This form of suffering is also borne by gangs of illegal logging thugs who mistake the Cempaya jungle as a no man’s land. Unlike the way to thwart the hunt for murai batu, specifically for thugs financed by the wealthy bosses in the provincial city, the wooden ketapel wrapped around Injang, Injing, and Injun’s necks do not work. Logging gangs are allowed to enter the heart of the Cempaya jungle, and they are even given time to finish building a rest hut, which is also a place to store tools. But the moment they let their guards down, the chainsaw would disappear. Fuel in jerry cans would be spilled all around the hut. One cigarette butt is enough to light a fire, and then the hut would turn to ashes in one breath. Like the murai batu hunters, none of the members of the illegal logging group could identify the perpetrators of the ruthless theft of chainsaws and burning of huts. The more they try tracking down the culprit, a wild boar trap between the trees would throw their bodies away. Even if it doesn’t hit a big tree, one’s body would hang from the rope, legs up and the head down. So, before being battered like wild boars torn apart by a herd of hungry dogs, they leave the Cempaya jungle as soon as possible. “You say the Cempaya jungle is safe, but we are facing a special force,” complained a member of the illegal loggers. “Calm down, Bos. Who knows, this could be a test to measure our resilience,” replied another. “Resilience? When the tools are gone, we’re paralyzed, Monkey!” Once upon a time, Injang, Injing, and Injun met a tough opponent. It’s not just a gang of murai batu hunters or thugs in illegal logging. In an area that was quite difficult to reach from the secret valley, a helicopter flew low and circled the same point. People in uniform were busy working in the helicopter. They were lowering a hooked rope to lift up sacks. About 7 to 10 people prepared the sacks on the ground. The sacks were taken to the hull of the helicopter. Beyond the Cempaya jungle, people knew that there were researchers hired by a mining company. It is said that the Cempaya jungle contains uranium. Residents around the Cempaya jungle have heard many rumours that uranium could be brought to the surface. However, what Injang, Injing, and Injun saw was not survey work at all, but the transport of dried marijuana. All done by people in uniform. “A small stone bullet from a wooden ketapel can’t possibly puncture a helicopter’s fuel tank,” Injing muttered. “You know where the helicopter’s tank is, Njing?” Injun teased. “They can’t completely hide the marijuana. Strike with your ketapel, aim at those uniformed men!” said Injang, excited. Not long after, one or two small stones hit the back of the heads of the uniformed men, and the three boys ran wildly into the secret valley. The sound of gunshots aimed at the sky made them tremble and pale, as if the bullet had pierced their chests. Some of those men tried to chase after the children’s tracks. Luckily, the thick thickets made them lazy to continue their pursuit. “It’s the first time I’ve heard the sound of a gun,” Injun whispered. “That’s just a warning shot. What if the bullet adds to your ass hole? Aha...” Injing said, trying to cover up his hesitation. “The way to get acquainted with firearms is to become a policeman or soldier,” whispered Injang. That’s how the secret valley saved them from parental nagging for small offenses. In turn, with hands wielding wooden slings, they aided in the survival of all inhabitants of the Cempaya jungle. No one knows their hiding place, and it will forever be kept secret by Injang, Injing, and Injun. “If anyone betrays our secrets, they will be expelled from the alliance!” Injang said. “The heaviest punishment will be given!” replied Injing, looking at Injang with sharp eyes. “If you break the secret yourself, this valley will become your hell!” continued Injun. *** After his teenage years, to satisfy his curiosity about the hot bullet that leaves the muzzle of a rifle, Injang studied to become an officer. From the land of Java, news came that the son of a late bee honey seeker in the Cempaya jungle was the top graduate of the police academy. In a different city, Injun, who, since setting foot in the capital, has spent his student years as a pro-democracy activist. He has been mingling with the elites of a major political party. “It’s useless to be a reliable politician if you can’t develop your birthplace,” said his senior once. After occupying a legislative seat once or twice, Injun will return to his hometown, resolved to make the people in his native land prosper. Injing was left in the secret valley. “We’d better go, Njing. To seek knowledge and gather strength. In the future, our enemies in the Cempaya jungle will be more cunning,” Injun said before he left for the capital. “If we continue to live as stupid people, it will be easy for them to deceive us,” added Injang. “No, my friend! I will survive in the Cempaya jungle until I die!” replied Injing. “If we all go, there’s no one to guard the secret valley. I’ll take the job. Go! I’ll be fine here.” Even though he insists on surviving as a child of the jungle, don’t think that Injing will fall as a fool. Throughout the developing world, this will be the first time the small hamlet in the Cempaya jungle will prosper. This gift and luck cannot be separated from the cold hands of a benefactor, the owner of a marijuana field in the Cempaya jungle. There are no more uniformed people who loaded sacks of dried marijuana on helicopters. All marijuana fields in the vast Cempaya jungle have fallen under the control of Injing, the only remaining member of the secret valley alliance. With the proceeds from the sale of marijuana, Injing built a hamlet called Payahtumbuh. “No one should drop out of school! Make sure their scholarships reach magister and doctoral degrees! If someone is really strong-willed, send them to Europe!” Injing said to his confidant. Forty percent of Injing’s illegal business profits are used to build the Payahtumbuh hamlet. Both in physical and especially human resource development. “If you’ll build a mosque or small prayer room, don’t beg on the roadside with infaq boxes! Ask the committee for a budget and use that to pay for everything! Understand?” The road from and to the hamlet of Payahtumbuh is shiny. The mosque stands majestically in every corner. Farmers receive fertilizer subsidies, cultivators receive low-interest capital loans, and their children receive full scholarships. If nothing goes wrong, in the next one or two years, the hamlet of Payahtumbuh will have three candidates completing their dissertations in well-known European universities. Perhaps, in the next ten years, one of the seats in the government’s cabinet will be filled by a son born in the hamlet of Payahtumbuh. It all, once again, would never have happened without the intervention of a mysterious man named Injing. No one can find him, except for those who want the Cempaya jungle as their tomb. If anyone dares to arrest the big merchant and tries to sneak to the path leading to the depths of the Cempaya jungle, they will certainly not return. Both as a human and as a spirit. It takes special talent to catch that important target. Junaidi Syarkawi, the Regent who has full authority over the area, has received a letter from the top leadership of the Narcotics and Addictive Substances Agency. He was asked to contribute measurably to launch an arrest operation, under a high-ranking police officer, Januar Fadil, an envoy from the capital. “We will take over this operation. The local authorities will not be able to. The top-notch marijuana mafia has three company barracks with automatic weapons!” That was the conversation the head of the Narcotics and Addictive Substances Agency had with the local police chief. But unexpectedly, without deploying many members, without even releasing a single bullet, high-ranking police officer Januar Fadil led the target named Injing from the mouth of the Cempaya jungle; he was handcuffed. “You went all the way to the other side, just to learn how to be polite in betraying a comrade!” whispered Injing to the high-ranking police officer he called by the name Injang. “Where’s the Regent? You may be high-ranking, but your demeanour is deplorable. You are worse than the snares of murai batu hunters and illegal loggers in the Cempaya jungle,” Injing grumbled, which to Injang felt like a stab to the heart. The Regent received the report. The marijuana fields were then burnt to the ground. Including the multi-layered thickets and the entrance to the secret valley. The Regent, whose nickname was Injun, felt that his childhood home had been destroyed in the fire. On the way back to the capital, officer Injang was engulfed in immeasurable thirst. Throughout the flight, he kept swallowing his saliva....
Damhuri Muhammad is a graduate of the master of philosophy program at Gadjah Mada University. He writes fiction, literary criticism, and opinion columns. His recent work has appeared in The Daily Star, The Unconventional Courier, ActiveMuse, The Pine Cone Review, Eksentrika, The MuslimMirror, and elsewhere. Now he serves as a lecturer of philosophy at Darma Persada University, Jakarta (Indonesia). He can be found on Twitter @damhurimuhammad.
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