A breeze blew, carrying the scent of damp leaves and a faint earthy fragrance. The sound of crickets began to emerge from the distance, echoing the hiss of my motorcycle tires as I slowly navigated the narrow, rocky road.
I, Agung Rokhman, was finally returning to Durian Village after five years away in the city.
"Five years… Huh." I murmured, staring at the durian trees now growing lush along the roadside. So much had changed. But the village's smell… had never changed.
The coconut palm still towered at the bend near Mak Uun's stall. The bamboo bridge I used to cross as a child had been replaced with a concrete one. But further down, the stilt houses still stood proudly. Some of them even looked newly painted. People waved as they saw me. Some faces were familiar; others were strangers.
"Hey, isn't that Agung?"
"Agung, Mr. Rokhman's son who works in the city?"
"Oh, he's finally back!"
I forced a stiff smile and returned their waves. Too many years in the city had made me awkward with the warm familiarity of my hometown.
After a few minutes of riding down the lane, I finally arrived at the old house my parents left behind. The wooden door was half-open. I could hear the sound of a broom sweeping the floor.
"Brother Agung?!"
A joyful voice greeted me. A young girl, maybe in her early teens, ran out from the direction of the kitchen. Her hair was tied into two pigtails, and her face was as bright as the late afternoon sun.
"Nina?" I squinted.
"Yes, Nina! Bu Marni's daughter, next-door neighbor. You used to fly kites with me a lot." She grinned broadly. "Now I help clean this house every afternoon, you know."
I chuckled softly. "Wow, you've grown up, haven't you?"
Nina nodded proudly. "The house is still the same, Brother. But it's very dusty."
I stepped inside. The smell of old wood and slightly damp air immediately greeted my nostrils. But there was a warmth here that I had never found in my rented apartment in the city.
I took a moment to rest, looking up at the ceiling as I lay on the old wooden platform. The walls that used to be covered in chalk scribbles from my childhood were now adorned with paintings of leaves against the weathered plaster. Then, a voice from outside drew my attention again.
"They say Agung is back!"
I sat up instantly. That voice… was familiar.
The house door swung open quickly, and someone entered without permission, just as always.
"Hey, you haven't changed at all!" called out a man wearing glasses and a slightly crumpled teacher's uniform. His face was round, with a wide smile like a ripe watermelon.
"Chandra?" I gawked. "You've gotten fat."
"And you're still annoying." He laughed heartily. "But I'm glad to see you back, Gung. I almost didn't believe it when Bu Marni told me you were moving back here."
I sat down and patted the platform. "Yeah, after five years as a corporate slave, I feel like my life needed saving."
Chandra sat down beside me. "Welcome back to the jungle, my friend."
We both laughed. It felt as if those five years had never passed.
"I heard some news from people… our village is about to change, Gung."
I turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"Pak Suyono, the new village head, has a big plan. He says he's working with outside investors to turn the durian orchards into palm oil plantations. He claims it's for development."
I frowned. "Palm oil plantations? But weren't those durian farms the villagers' main source of livelihood?"
Chandra nodded, his expression cloudy. "True. But Suyono brought data, proposals, and promises. And you know how easily people believe they'll have a 'better life' if you make it sound good."
I fell silent. Five years ago, before I left, the durian orchards in Durian Village were in the midst of a bountiful harvest. It felt strange to imagine it all vanishing because of one reckless plan from the village head.
"Your parents fought to keep that land from being taken by the highway developer, right?" Chandra asked quietly.
I nodded. "They risked everything—even until their last days…"
We fell silent. The evening breeze stirred dry leaves from the mango tree in the yard.
"Gung," Chandra said in a low voice. "I know you just got back and might want to rest. But if you have time, there's a village meeting next week at the village hall. It's about this issue. I hope you can come."
I closed my eyes. I never imagined returning would mean diving straight into conflict.
"Certainly. I'll be there."
That night, I sat on the veranda. A cup of black coffee in hand, and the moon hung brightly in the sky.
"Should I get involved?" I murmured.
I used to think leaving the village was the best way to escape a narrow future. But now, I was back. And I wasn't just facing my future, I was facing my past too.
My phone vibrated. A message from Chandra appeared.
> [Chandra]: Gung, I just saw some outsiders surveying in a dark-colored car. They're scouting locations for clearing the land. Looks serious.
I typed quickly.
> [Agung]: We need to gather data and the villagers' support. If possible, form an action group.
> [Chandra]: Are you still good at making strategies?
> [Agung]: Five years behind a desk wasn't wasted, Chan. Prepare a whiteboard and marker.
Chandra replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
I put my phone away and stared out toward the orchards in the distance. There stood those durian trees, tall, sturdy, and irreplaceable. Like memories of my childhood. Like my parents' legacy. Like the identity of this village.
I clenched my fist. If they wanted to take it, they'd have to get through us first.