ABHIMANYU WORLD

Chapter I: Mystery of Abhimanyu's Name

My name is actually short. Prasetyo. But since the father is a fan of shadow puppets, he added the name ‘Abimanyu’ in front of him. So my name became Abhimanyu Prasetyo. Not just my name. My sister's name is also unique. Goddess Mustokoweni. I never know why you gave our names with the names of the puppet characters he idolized. Fortunately, my name is neither Sengkuni nor Duryudana.

When I was eight years old, I tried to ask my father this question.

“Why should Abhimanyu, Sir? Why not Arjuna or Bima?" I asked in a sad afternoon.

Father was sipping his coffee while enjoying the flow of gending and the golden sound of Waldjinah. Smoke billowed from his mouth. He was enjoying the kretek cigarette he sucked deeply through the ivory pipe gold color.

“Abimanyu was a great figure of puppetry, the son of Arjuna and Dewi Sumbadra. He was brave and fearless. He is also known to be loyal to his family. In the Battle of Bharatayuda he defeated many great figures. I hope you will have a strong character like Abhimanyu later, ” he said.

I'm mangosteen.

But unfortunately I did not feel any impact from the name Abhimanyu attached to my name. It was as if his philosophical meaning had evaporated just like that. Instead, I grew up to be a shy person.

I always hesitate to start a conversation with someone else. I often invite to the rice fields, introduce with fellow farmers friends. But I was silent, looking at those who were chatting coolly under the Ficus benjamina tree. If so, I also busied myself looking for golden beetles in the leaves.

At school, I didn't have many friends either. Maybe only Pardi who faithfully invites to play. Pardi used to invite to look for cere fish in the river near the rice field. She was good at swimming, but I wasn't. I was just waiting for his clothes on the river bank. Sometimes he worries that he dives too long.

“You so continue your school in Kediri, Bi?” ask Pardi.

We had just returned home from the river that afternoon, down a small path surrounded by thorn trees. The sun roasts our skin. Pardi's thin body looks dull sparkling with sunlight.

“Bapak anyway said that...” replied me.

Yes, I plan to transfer my school to Kediri and leave it to Pakdhe Warsidi, my father's brother. Although the father of the village, he wanted his children to get the best education.

“You don't miss?”

“Ya kangen's. Same father, same mother, same Weni....

“My name?”

“Ya same you too, Di”

Pardi remained silent. He kicked an empty can of milk. That afternoon was probably the last day to meet Pardi. The next day, Pardi reportedly died from drowning in a river near a rice field. I drove him to the funeral myself. His departure was like a dream in broad daylight. Accompanied by the sobs of his family, his car was carried by the villagers. And complete is my suffering. I really don't have any friends talking. For days just shutting yourself in the room. Mother tried to strengthen, but it felt no spirit to continue life.

“Heh! Fuck!” doni's voice surprised me.

I jerked. Apparently I've been dragged into a gray childhood memory.

“You don't sandwich?” bargained for. He brought a plate of bread filled with cheese and vegetables.

“Who makes it?” my many.

“I'm. Usual. Early months. Just got a delivery from my mom.”

I smiled, grabbed a piece of sandwich and put it whole in my mouth. Doni is a contract partner. Her body is a bit puffed up, because one of her hobbies is eating. He was the son of a cowboy in Pasuruan. Now we both study at the same campus, but different majors. We both studied at a famous college in Surabaya.

“Later nocturnal no event?” ask Doni.

“Why emang?”

“Yuk road! I haven't washed my eyes in a long time. Look around. Who knows there is a sale in Plaza Tunjungan.”

“Douh! Cannot. I have to finish my drawing job. If not, I'll get another D later. I don't want to go home next semester. Take Farhan or Andre! ”

“Ooh .. so want to stay on campus again later tonight?”

“Ngak. I'll just work here. ”

“Who? The monika? Your new gig?”

“A sniffing Industrial Engineering kid in the back. Who often buy vegetables without rice. We often meet at Warung Bu Marni.”

“Ooh .. whose hair braids it?”

“Not! It was mah Yuni. It's similar. But it's not that. If Monika was whiter. That's you ... Monica which is usually called Monik.”

“Which one is?”

“Ntar I'll know if I meet!”

“No need either. Not curious as well.”

“Eh how are you doing Lusi? Still in frequent contact with him?”

I'm speechless. Yes, Susi Handayani. The wide-eyed girl caught my attention in her first year of college. He always helped me solve the task of Mechanical Engineering which makes the brain feel almost broken. The presence of Lusi is like a Helper God in crucial moments. Now Lusi moved to college in Malang, because his mother was often sickly. While he is an only child. I don't want to have to look at my mother often.

“Laah! Dreaming again!” Doni patted my shoulder.

“I rarely communicate with Lusi. There has been no contact in recent months. Maybe the number is replace.”

“Don't get married.., ” guess Doni.

“Masa anyway? It's still young, "me.

There is a bit of unwillingness if Lusi gets married at a young age.

“Eh .. make no mistake! Many are still in college married. You know Anton's the Mechanical Engineering boy? He already has a son. Being responsible is okay. ”

“Keep you also want to marry young, so?”

“My father said anyway, I can marry if I already have a house. My father's land is much. When I was told to do my own business buying a house?”

“Yes you're good, Don. Your family's land is many. Lha me? Farmer boy. You can go to college, thank God. You should be thankful a lot.”

Doni. Maybe he's trying to digest my words. I don't know. I don't really like to talk, unless I'm invited to talk. I prefer to stay in my room. Listen to Javanese gending or classical music of Beethoven. Perhaps the only thing I inherited from my father was my penchant for listening to this Javanese music.

We rented four of these, because there were four rooms that we could use. The front room was Doni's, then my room and the rest were occupied by Farhan and Andre. There are actually five rooms, only one room is empty because the occupant, Mas Dicky, was graduated three months ago. Dicky has returned to his hometown of Jakarta.

Among my four friends, I was the most quiet. Everyone knows that I'm not talking much. Thank God they were all good to me. No one is bullying me. Even Andre said that I was the type of guy who is cool and liked by many girls. He must be joking around talking like that.

In fact, until now, no girl has approached me. I don't know. I haven't thought about that anyway. I focused more on the mounting college tasks.

The difference with Andre. He is the most beautiful among us. The skin is well-groomed, because it is diligent facials in the salon. He is not inferior to models displayed in magazines or soap opera stars on television. From his appearance he was very fashionable. Many clothes are branded. Bed with my clothes I bought when I got a lot of discounts. His model is a metrosexual type that is targeted by many girls. Andre has a lot of girlfriends. Farhan who always nagged that Andre brought his female friend to the contract. If so, they fight and do not reprimand each other.

Well, Farhan is well known religiously. He studied at a boarding school in Jombang. Before he went to sleep, he must have heard his voice reciting the holy verse of the Quran. It was calm to hear it. But nothing is perfect in this world. No ivory that doesn't crack. He is also an ordinary man. Sometimes he acts silly too. He is the most intelligent among us.

If there are not many tasks, sometimes we go to the Mall, watch a movie on Twenty One, or try a new restaurant that is happy among students. But unfortunately I can't do that often. I feel sorry for my father and mother in the village who slammed their bones to pay for college. It feels really guilty to eat delicious, while my family in the village only eat rice with tempe.

Sometimes when friends take me to eat at American fast food restaurants, I feel like crying. The face of Weni, my sister. He would be very happy to eat in a place like this.

Well, that's a piece of my original story. I know, this contract is the beginning of the struggle. With prayers and tears from my family. Bismillah. I started to step.

****