ADJOINING REALM
WULAN TEMPLE

CRIK CRIK CRIK

The sound of a kerosene-fueled aluminum match, is trying to ignite Si Mbah Turahmin through his fingers.

"Dar, get me the flashing light next to you here. This must be the oil" said Mbah Turahmin as he continued to try to light matches in his hands.

I hurriedly thrust the kerosene-fueled lamp next to me - the only illumination of this room, into the hands of Mbah Turahmin.

"Niki, Mbah?!" (This is Mbah) I said while removing the flashing lights and then moving into the grip of Mbah Turahmin.

After how many seconds, a puff of smoke was seen accompanied by a fairly pungent smell of frankincense coming out of Mbah Turahmin's lips.

Smoke from handmade cigarettes. Cigarettes are made from tobacco, shot, frankincense and also cloves wrapped in cigarette paper, then rolled manually using hands.

Occasionally Mbah Turahmin closed his eyes enjoying the dancing smoke in the respiratory tract, before quickly disposing of the smoke by blowing it.

"Dar, have you heard yet, about Mr Sapto?" mbah Turahmin asked with smoke continuing to billow from his mouth.

"Lho, what's up, Mbah? I haven't heard anything." Suddenly I turned towards Mbah Turahmin, when both my hands were concocting spices and tobacco to be used as cigarettes.

"That's you know, Dar .. until now the same wagon meatballs have not been taken from the grave of Wulan Temple," Mbah Turahmin said with a serious face.

"Lho, how can you? Who lifted Pak Sapto's cart up? It's not the only way to the grave it has to be through the stairs, huh, Mbah?" manya curious.

"Well that's weird, Dar. Last afternoon I had time to go to the house of Mr. Sapto to visit, because I got word after the incident he immediately fell ill. When I asked Mr. Sapto, he just said that the moment of the incident he was sleepy, but the meatballs have not been sold at all, aka still intact," Mbah Turahmin's story stopped, because the cigarette he was holding died. Now he is re-lighting the cigarette in his hand using a flashing light near us. Naturally, because our cigarettes wear incense. So it is common if just a moment to be silenced directly to death.

"Continue, Mbah?" manya curious.

"Well, passing by near the cemetery of the wulan temple, he said there was a crowd, Dar. Hoping for his meatballs to do, he pushed his wagon towards the crowd. Well, the fitting has arrived in the crowd, many nyamperin, Dar. The buyer reached nganri. Mr. Sapto was completely overwhelmed, as the bowl he was carrying was just a destination, so it could only serve seven people. Even so, others are still willing to turn the bowl," said Si Mbah a little laugh.

"What's so funny, Mbah? How's the next one going?" my question is getting curious.

"Well, because it was so crowded, Mr. Sapto so out of focus. All he noticed was the rest of the meatballs in the cauldron. He said that just like ready for the 14th meatball, everyone is suddenly missing, Dar. He's right, left, but lonely. All he can see is a tombstone that is neatly rowed," said Si Mbah again while laughing, thinking the thing he threw seemed funny.

"Continue, Mbah?!" My face was more astonished to see the Mbah laughing. Because I don't think it's funny at all.

"Keep Mr. Sapto puter back, Dar. In a hurry he pushed his wagon. Just to the lips of the stairs down, he was confused, because the road he had passed was no longer there. Finally he ran to the house. A wagon the same way he lives on a grave!" The Mbah is still broken.

"What a strange thing is, Dar .. everyone who buys simultaneously pays five hundred silver orangutans. They did not ask for change, but right up to home, thirteen pieces of money so all jackfruit leaves. Ahaha!" continued Si Mbah, getting louder.

"Basak is it, Mbah? No lie, right?" I feel a little in disbelief.

"Yes, it doesn't make sense, if you think about it. Yes, satan ngantri bakso? Ahaha!" replied the Mbah who managed to make me come along.

"Tomorrow at noon he said Mr. Sapto's neighbor wanted to help get down the wagon. You coming, Dar?"

"Jih, Mbah. Ready it!" my answer was short while assuring that the story was real, because believe in disbelief, Pak Sapto's wagon was really on top of the grave.

***

My name is Darto, a fifteen-year-old man who doesn't go to school. I live in a wooden hut only with the mbah Turahmin, as my grandfather-father from my father.

She's the only family I have in this village. Si Mbah said, My mother died right after giving birth to me. And also he said that I was born with a breech-out-leg position first.

Before taking care of myself, Si Mbah also lived alone in his house, his wife had gone home after giving birth to my father, while my father and mother settled in another house they built themselves.

It is my gratitude because of the Mbah Turahmin who raised me. The figure of a real-personal old man full of warmth, tenderness, affection, as well as his humorous nature that always makes me pull lips wide, forming laughter with echoing sounds. Enjoy happiness in a simple way.

With a little help from my energy, we both get a supply of food and money by farming every day. We spend most of our time growing cassava, yam, taro and occasionally growing long beans in the fairly large fields behind our homes.

The inhabitants of our area are also the same, almost evenly distributed as farmers. But there are some who go pitting fate in the region, with numbers that can only be counted on the fingers.

***

"Bah, let's help get Mr. Sapto's wagon down" I asked as I opened the door to get out of the house.

"Come, Dar!" sahut Si Mbah who already seemed ready behind me.

It did not take long to get there, because the cemetery of Wulan Temple is not far away. It is located on the outskirts of a small village we stop by.

Arriving there, two old men and two young men who I knew very well were climbing the stairs, they continued to approach towards the cart Mr. Sapto who had been seen from under the stairs.

"Dar, tomorrow help harvest beans have a father Dar. Same Satya too," said Anto my peers asked for help.

"Ready, Scouts! The wages are worth it!" chirping my change quickly, accepting his request.

"Yes already, tomorrow straight to my rice field, yes. Don't get mishap!" anto reminded.

"Ready, Scouts!" I answered and then stepped back.

We continue to climb the steps of the Wulan Temple grave that has been plastered in front of the eyes. About a hundred steps that we have to climb to reach the top. It made me think harder, how Mr. Sapto felt nothing when he climbed these stairs. Though he pushed the wagon which was still full of meatballs. I don't know! Indeed, reason will never work, if it is concerned about things that smell magical.

Arriving at the top, it appears that Pak Sapto's wagon was slightly covered in dried leaves, which came from a large banyan tree beside him.

Together we lowered the wagon down the stairs slowly. Two youngsters below, two parents behind and two guarding from the side if at any time rolling. And thank goodness our efforts succeeded.

When you get to the bottom of the stairs, turn your gaze back to the top end of the stairs. For a moment I imagined one person pushing the cart alone up. I immediately concluded; it belongs to the category of impossible.

After resting under the stairs, I looked back at the end of the stairs above before rushing to leave the cemetery.

"Already, Dar! Do not look on," said Si Mbah suddenly, while continuing to pay attention to me.

"Jeh, Mbah!" I answered briefly while standing up, and then made a step towards home with the group.

"You saw, didn't you, Dar?" ask Si Mbah while walking.

"Yes, Mbah. I see," I replied-know exactly where the question of the Mbah.

"Already! Don't keep remembering!" hardik Si Mbah's.

At that moment, I saw a group of people in white clothes at the end of the stairs. They were just silent, staring in the same direction with a lowly gaze. Their faces were smashed, rotting, as well as incomplete. What a sight far from pleasant to look at.

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