EPISODE 5: RAHASIA KECIL

EPISODE 5: RAHASIA KECIL

Malam itu, Arka tidak bisa tidur.

Bukan karena lapar—untuk pertama kalinya dalam berminggu-minggu, perutnya kenyang. Umbi besar yang ia temukan tadi malam, setelah ibunya merebusnya hingga lunak, cukup untuk mengisi perut mereka bertiga. Bahkan ayahnya yang biasanya diam, sempat tersenyum tipis saat makan.

Tapi Arka tetap tidak bisa tidur.

Ia menatap punggung orang tuanya yang tidur pulas. Ayahnya mendengkur pelan, kelelahan setelah seharian berburu tanpa hasil. Ibunya tidur meringkuk, tangannya masih memegang daun lontar berisi catatan tanaman liar. Mereka tidak bertanya. Mereka tidak bertanya dari mana umbi itu berasal.

Tapi Arka tahu, mereka pasti penasaran.

Saat ia membawa umbi itu masuk ke gubuk tadi malam, ibunya hanya memeluknya erat dan menangis. Tidak ada pertanyaan. Tidak ada "dapat dari mana?" atau "bagaimana caranya?". Hanya pelukan dan air mata. Seolah ibunya tahu, bahwa bertanya akan membuka sesuatu yang lebih besar dari sekadar umbi.

Tapi Arka juga tahu, rahasia ini tidak bisa ia simpan selamanya.

"Dari darah yang sama."

Kata-kata dalam mimpi itu terus berputar di kepalanya. Darah apa? Darah siapa? Dan mengapa cangkul itu bisa berubah di tangannya?

Tapi di balik ketakutannya, ada rasa lain. Rasa penasaran. Rasa ingin tahu. Rasa... senang.

Ya, senang. Karena untuk pertama kalinya, ia bisa melakukan sesuatu. Bukan hanya duduk memilah umbi atau menunggu ayahnya pulang. Ia bisa menggali. Ia bisa mencari makanan sendiri. Ia bisa membantu.

Perasaan itu menggelitik dadanya, membuatnya tersenyum kecil di kegelapan.

***

Pagi datang, dan Raka segera pergi berburu seperti biasa. Sebelum pergi, ia menatap Arka lama. Ingin bicara sesuatu, tapi akhirnya hanya mengusap rambut anaknya dan pergi.

Wulan sibuk merebus daun-daunan untuk sarapan—sarapan yang hari ini terasa berbeda karena ada sisa umbi dari tadi malam. Arka makan diam-diam, tapi matanya sesekali melirik ke luar, ke arah semak kering di belakang gubuk. Di sana, di balik ranting-ranting kering, ada lubang yang ia gali. Lubang yang menyimpan lebih banyak umbi. Dan mungkin... sesuatu yang lain.

"Kamu mau ke belakang?" Wulan bertanya pelan.

Arka tersentak. "Eh... iya, Bu. Mau... main sebentar."

Wulan menatapnya. Bukan tatapan curiga, tapi tatapan... tahu. Seperti ia tahu anaknya menyembunyikan sesuatu, tapi memilih untuk tidak mengejarnya.

"Jangan terlalu jauh," katanya akhirnya. "Kalau capek, balik."

Arka mengangguk cepat, lalu berlari keluar.

***

Di balik semak kering, Arka duduk bersila di tepi lubang rahasianya. Lubang itu dalam—hampir dua meter—dan di dasarnya, masih ada puluhan umbi yang ia temukan tadi malam. Tapi hari ini, ia tidak datang untuk umbi.

Ia mengeluarkan sebatang kayu dari balik bajunya. Kayu biasa, dari tumpukan kayu bakar. Lalu ia letakkan di depannya.

"Aku ingin coba lagi," bisiknya pada diri sendiri.

Ia memegang kayu itu dengan kedua tangan, memejamkan mata. Ia mencoba mengingat perasaan saat cangkul itu berubah. Perasaan hangat yang mengalir dari dadanya ke tangannya. Perasaan "ingin" yang begitu kuat—ingin menggali lebih dalam, ingin menemukan air, ingin membantu keluarganya.

Tapi kali ini, ia tidak ingin cangkul. Ia ingin sesuatu yang lebih kecil. Sesuatu yang bisa ia gunakan sendiri tanpa menarik perhatian.

"Aku ingin kamu jadi sekop," bisiknya. "Sekop kecil. Pas di tanganku."

Ia membayangkan sekop itu dalam benaknya. Bentuknya, ukurannya, bagaimana ia akan memegangnya. Dan perlahan, ia merasakan sesuatu. Hangat. Mengalir. Seperti air yang merembes dari dalam tanah.

Matanya terbuka.

Kayu di tangannya... berubah.

Bukan perubahan drastis seperti pertama kali. Tidak ada kilau aneh atau getaran hebat. Tapi serat-serat kayu itu mengencang, memadat, membentuk diri mengikuti bayangan dalam pikiran Arka. Dalam hitungan detik, kayu itu bukan lagi kayu biasa. Ia menjadi sekop—kecil, pas di tangan Arka, dengan permukaan yang halus dan keras.

Arka menatapnya dengan mata berbinar. Ia mencoba menusukkan sekop itu ke tanah di samping lubang. Tanah itu membelah seperti tahu. Mudah. Terlalu mudah.

"Aku bisa," bisiknya, suaranya bergetar oleh kegembiraan. "Aku benar-benar bisa mengendalikannya."

Untuk pertama kalinya, ia tidak takut. Untuk pertama kalinya, ia merasa kekuatan ini bukan kutukan. Ini hadiah. Ini kemampuannya. Ini miliknya.

***

Seharian itu, Arka menggali.

Bukan untuk mencari umbi—ia sudah punya cukup. Tapi untuk memperdalam lubangnya. Untuk membuat tempat persembunyian yang lebih baik. Tangannya melepuh. Punggungnya pegal. Keringat membasahi seluruh tubuhnya. Tapi ia tidak berhenti.

Dengan sekop barunya, ia menggali lebih dalam, lebih lebar. Ia membuat dinding-dinding lubang itu rata, membuat atap dari ranting dan daun kering. Ketika senja tiba, lubang itu sudah berubah menjadi gua kecil di bawah tanah—tersembunyi, aman, hanya ia yang tahu.

Di dasar lubang itu, ia mengumpulkan umbi-umbi yang ia temukan. Menatanya rapi di sudut. Ini bukan hanya lubang. Ini gudang rahasia. Ini harapan.

"Kalau lain kali ada musim paceklik lagi," bisiknya, "kita punya cadangan."

Ia tersenyum bangga pada dirinya sendiri. Untuk pertama kalinya, ia merasa berguna. Bukan sebagai beban, tapi sebagai bagian dari keluarga yang berkontribusi.

***

Menjelang sore, Arka memutuskan sudah waktunya pulang. Ia mengambil beberapa umbi besar dari tumpukannya—cukup untuk makan malam—dan menyembunyikannya di balik baju. Lalu ia menutup lubang itu rapat-rapat, memastikan tidak ada yang bisa melihatnya.

Ia berjalan cepat melewati semak-semak, ingin segera sampai di gubuk dan memberikan umbi ini pada ibunya. Mungkin kali ini ia akan bertanya. Mungkin kali ini ia akan bercerita.

Tapi di tengah jalan, di tikungan dekat pohon besar, suara itu datang.

"Kamu ngapain?"

Arka membeku.

Ia menoleh perlahan. Di balik pohon, seorang anak laki-laki sebaya berdiri dengan tangan berkacak pinggang. Rambutnya acak-acakan, bajunya kumal, matanya tajam menatap Arka dari atas ke bawah. Berhenti di perutnya yang buncit.

Ragil. Anak yatim piatu yang tinggal di gubuk sebelah bersama neneknya. Anak nakal yang sering berkeliaran sendirian, mencari makanan di tempat-tempat yang tidak biasa dikunjungi orang lain.

"Lo... sembunyiin apa di baju?" Ragil mendekat, matanya menyipit curiga.

Arka mundur selangkah. "Enggak... enggak apa-apa."

"Masa enggak apa-apa, perut lo buncit." Ragil kini tepat di depannya, menatap perut Arka yang memang terlihat aneh dengan umbi-umbi di balik baju. "Itu makanan, ya? Lo sembunyiin makanan?"

Arka tidak menjawab. Ia hanya memegang erat umbi-umbi di balik bajunya, matanya mencari jalan untuk lari.

Tapi Ragil tidak menyerang. Ia malah menunduk, suaranya berubah. "Aku... aku juga kelaparan. Nenekku udah tiga hari cuma minum air panas."

Arka menatapnya. Di mata Ragil, ia melihat sesuatu yang ia kenal betul. Lapar. Putus asa. Harapan yang hampir padam. Ia melihat dirinya sendiri, sebelum malam itu, sebelum cangkul itu, sebelum kekuatan ini.

"Lo janji diam?" bisik Arka.

Ragil mengangguk cepat.

Arka membuka bajunya sedikit, memperlihatkan satu umbi kecil. "Ini buat lo. Tapi lo harus janji. Janji enggak bakal bilang siapa-siapa. Soal ini, dan soal... apa pun yang lo lihat nanti."

Ragil menatap umbi itu dengan mata membelalak. Mulutnya terbuka, tapi tidak ada suara keluar. Ia mengangkat tangan, menerima umbi itu dengan gemetar. Seperti menerima harta karun.

"Lo... lo dapet dari mana?" bisiknya.

Arka diam sejenak. Lalu, entah kenapa, ia merasa ini benar. Berbagi rahasia. Berbagi beban.

"Besok pagi," katanya. "Lo temuin aku di sini. Aku akan tunjukin."

Ragil mengangguk lagi, matanya berbinar.

Di atas mereka, matahari mulai terbenam. Senja jingga menerangi dua anak kecil yang berdiri di bawah pohon besar. Satu memegang umbi dengan gemetar, satu lagi memegang rahasia yang sebentar lagi tidak akan sendiri.

Arka menatap Ragil, lalu ke umbi di tangannya, lalu ke langit senja. Ia tidak tahu apa yang akan terjadi. Tapi untuk pertama kalinya, ia merasa ini benar.

Kekuatan ini tidak untuk disembunyikan selamanya. Kekuatan ini untuk dibagikan. Untuk membantu. Untuk menyelamatkan.

Ia tersenyum kecil, lalu berbalik dan berjalan pulang. Di belakangnya, Ragil masih berdiri, memegang umbi itu seperti memegang kehidupan itu sendiri.

Bersambung...

Karakter: Arka (5 tahun), Ragil (teman sebaya, yatim piatu), Wulan (ibu), Raka (ayah)

🎬 CINEMATIC MOMENT

Dua anak kecil berdiri di bawah pohon besar saat senja, satu memegang umbi di tangannya, satu lagi menatap dengan senyum tipis, latar belakang oranye keemasan, bayangan panjang, suasana haru dan penuh rahasia.

EPISODE 5: A SMALL SECRET

That night, Arka couldn't sleep.

Not because of hunger—for the first time in weeks, his stomach was full. The large tuber he had found last night, after his mother boiled it until soft, was enough to fill all three of them. Even his father, usually silent, had smiled faintly while eating.

But Arka still couldn't sleep.

He stared at his parents' sleeping backs. His father snored softly, exhausted after a day of hunting with no results. His mother slept curled up, her hand still holding the lontar leaf with wild plant records. They didn't ask. They didn't ask where the tuber came from.

But Arka knew, they must be curious.

When he brought that tuber into the hut last night, his mother only hugged him tightly and cried. No questions. No "where did you get it?" or "how?". Just a hug and tears. As if his mother knew, that asking would open something bigger than just a tuber.

But Arka also knew, this secret couldn't stay hidden forever.

"From the same blood."

The dream words kept spinning in his head. What blood? Whose blood? And why did that hoe change in his hands?

But beneath his fear, there was another feeling. Curiosity. The desire to know. The feeling of... happiness.

Yes, happiness. Because for the first time, he could do something. Not just sit sorting tubers or waiting for his father to come home. He could dig. He could find food himself. He could help.

That feeling tickled his chest, making him smile slightly in the darkness.

***

Morning came, and Raka immediately went hunting as usual. Before leaving, he stared at Arka for a long time. He wanted to say something, but finally just ruffled his son's hair and left.

Wulan was busy boiling leaves for breakfast—breakfast that today felt different because there were leftover tubers from last night. Arka ate silently, but his eyes occasionally glanced outside, toward the dry bushes behind the hut. There, behind the dry twigs, was the hole he had dug. A hole that held more tubers. And maybe... something else.

"Are you going to the back?" Wulan asked softly.

Arka jolted. "Uh... yes, Mother. Want to... play a bit."

Wulan looked at him. Not a suspicious look, but a look of... knowing. As if she knew her son was hiding something, but chose not to chase it.

"Don't go too far," she finally said. "If you're tired, come back."

Arka nodded quickly, then ran outside.

***

Behind the dry bushes, Arka sat cross-legged at the edge of his secret hole. The hole was deep—almost two meters—and at its bottom, there were still dozens of tubers he had found last night. But today, he didn't come for tubers.

He pulled out a piece of wood from under his shirt. Ordinary wood, from the firewood pile. Then he placed it before him.

"I want to try again," he whispered to himself.

He held the wood with both hands, closing his eyes. He tried to remember the feeling when that hoe changed. The warm feeling flowing from his chest to his hands. The feeling of "wanting" so strongly—wanting to dig deeper, wanting to find water, wanting to help his family.

But this time, he didn't want a hoe. He wanted something smaller. Something he could use himself without attracting attention.

"I want you to become a shovel," he whispered. "A small shovel. Fitting in my hand."

He imagined the shovel in his mind. Its shape, its size, how he would hold it. And slowly, he felt something. Warm. Flowing. Like water seeping from within the earth.

His eyes opened.

The wood in his hands... changed.

Not a drastic change like the first time. No strange glow or great vibration. But the wood fibers tightened, solidified, shaping themselves following the image in Arka's mind. In seconds, the wood was no longer ordinary wood. It became a shovel—small, fitting perfectly in Arka's hand, with a smooth and hard surface.

Arka stared at it with shining eyes. He tried thrusting the shovel into the ground beside the hole. The earth split like tofu. Easy. Too easy.

"I can do it," he whispered, his voice trembling with joy. "I really can control it."

For the first time, he wasn't afraid. For the first time, he felt this power wasn't a curse. It was a gift. It was his ability. It was his.

***

All day, Arka dug.

Not to find more tubers—he already had enough. But to deepen his hole. To make a better hiding place. His hands blistered. His back ached. Sweat soaked his entire body. But he didn't stop.

With his new shovel, he dug deeper, wider. He smoothed the walls, made a roof from twigs and dry leaves. By the time dusk arrived, the hole had become a small underground cave—hidden, safe, known only to him.

At the bottom of that hole, he gathered the tubers he'd found. Arranged them neatly in the corner. This wasn't just a hole. This was a secret storehouse. This was hope.

"If there's another famine," he whispered, "we'll have reserves."

He smiled proudly at himself. For the first time, he felt useful. Not as a burden, but as part of the family, contributing.

***

As evening approached, Arka decided it was time to go home. He took some large tubers from his pile—enough for dinner—and hid them under his shirt. Then he sealed the hole tightly, making sure no one could see it.

He walked quickly through the bushes, wanting to reach the hut and give these tubers to his mother. Maybe this time he would ask. Maybe this time he would tell.

But halfway there, at the bend near the big tree, the voice came.

"What are you doing?"

Arka froze.

He turned slowly. Behind the tree, a boy his age stood with hands on his hips. His hair was messy, his clothes shabby, his eyes sharp as they looked Arka up and down. Stopping at his bloated stomach.

Ragil. An orphan who lived in the next hut with his grandmother. A naughty kid who often wandered alone, looking for food in places others didn't visit.

"What are you hiding in your shirt?" Ragil approached, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Arka stepped back. "Nothing... nothing."

"Nothing, my eye—your stomach's all bloated." Ragil was now right in front of him, staring at Arka's stomach that did look strange with tubers under his shirt. "That's food, isn't it? You're hiding food?"

Arka didn't answer. He just clutched the tubers under his shirt tightly, his eyes searching for an escape route.

But Ragil didn't attack. Instead, he looked down, his voice changing. "I... I'm hungry too. My grandmother's only had hot water for three days."

Arka looked at him. In Ragil's eyes, he saw something he recognized well. Hunger. Desperation. Hope almost extinguished. He saw himself, before that night, before that hoe, before this power.

"You promise to be quiet?" Arka whispered.

Ragil nodded quickly.

Arka opened his shirt slightly, revealing one small tuber. "This is for you. But you have to promise. Promise you won't tell anyone. About this, and about... whatever you see later."

Ragil stared at the tuber with wide eyes. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He raised his hand, receiving the tuber tremblingly. As if receiving a treasure.

"Where... where did you get this?" he whispered.

Arka was silent for a moment. Then, somehow, he felt this was right. Sharing the secret. Sharing the burden.

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "Meet me here. I'll show you."

Ragil nodded again, his eyes shining.

Above them, the sun was beginning to set. Orange dusk illuminated two small children standing under the big tree. One held a tuber tremblingly, one held a secret that would soon no longer be alone.

Arka looked at Ragil, then at the tuber in his hands, then at the dusk sky. He didn't know what would happen. But for the first time, he felt this was right.

This power wasn't meant to be hidden forever. This power was meant to be shared. To help. To save.

He smiled slightly, then turned and walked home. Behind him, Ragil still stood, holding that tuber as if holding life itself.

To be continued...

Characters: Arka (5 years old), Ragil (same age friend, orphan), Wulan (mother), Raka (father)

🎬 CINEMATIC MOMENT

Two small children standing under a large tree at dusk, one holding a tuber in his hands, the other watching with a faint smile, golden orange background, long shadows, emotional and secretive atmosphere.