The morning air felt strange to Ardhan. Dew still clung to the grass stretching as far as the eye could see, and a thin mist hung between the dense trees. The wind carried the smell of damp earth mixed with wood smoke. It was very different from the 21st-century Yogyakarta he knew. There were no sounds of vehicles, no towering buildings, only the silence of the village broken by the crowing of roosters.
Ardhan stood stiffly, still wearing his black hoodie and jeans, which now looked increasingly out of place. Strange feelings churned within him: confusion, fear, and awe. He tried to convince himself that this was all just a long dream, but the cold sensation of dew on his fingers felt very real.
In the distance, he saw a farmer pushing a cart full of rice. The man wore a batik headband and a simple sarong. When their eyes met, the farmer stopped and looked at Ardhan with a furrowed brow.
"Where are you from, sir? Why are you dressed like that?" his voice was soft, full of curiosity, but also suspicion.
Ardhan was silent for a moment. He was not used to communicating in refined Javanese, even though he understood the meaning. Stammering, he replied, "I... eh... I'm from... the city."
The farmer stared at him in surprise. "Which city? You really are a foreigner. Shoes and clothes like that are not commonly seen here."
Ardhan's heartbeat quickened. He realized that his modern clothes could be a problem. However, before he could think of an excuse, the sound of children running along the path near the rice fields caught his attention. They pointed at him and whispered. In an instant, several other adults arrived.
A burly man, probably the village leader, stepped forward. He was carrying a short weapon. "Who are you, kid? Why are you here dressed like a ghost or a spirit?"
Ardhan raised his hands, trying to calm the situation. "Please... I'm not a ghost, I'm just a normal human being. My name is Ardhan."
The villagers exchanged glances. Some women began to whisper, covering their mouths with their scarves. An old man shook his head slowly, as if trying to understand the strange events unfolding before him.
Ardhan realized that this situation could escalate into a problem at any moment. The instincts he had developed through practicing martial arts since childhood tried to find a way out, not through violence, but by maintaining calm. He bowed his head in respect, trying to follow the Javanese etiquette taught to him by his late grandfather.
"I'm lost," Ardhan said softly. "I don't know how I got here. Please... don't think of me as an enemy."
The village leader snorted, his eyes still full of suspicion. But before he could take further action, a middle-aged man with a calm gaze stepped forward. He was wearing a brown striped shirt and carrying a rattan bag on his back.
"Sir," he said in a soothing voice, "perhaps this young man is just confused. His strange clothes may be a sign that he is an outsider, not an enemy."
The man then looked at Ardhan. "Your name is Ardhan, right? Come with me to the village. Let's get to the bottom of this."
Ardhan nodded with relief, although his heart was still wary. He followed the man and a group of villagers to the village not far from the rice fields.
Village Atmosphere
This small village was surrounded by bamboo fences and tall coconut trees. The joglo-style houses stood simply, their walls made of woven bamboo and their roofs made of thatch. In the yard, several women were pounding rice with traditional tools, while children were busy playing congklak on the terrace. Thin smoke from the kitchen rose into the air, giving off the aroma of warm rice and boiled cassava.
Ardhan observed his surroundings with mixed feelings. It all felt like a living history book. He had read about village life in Mataram Kingdom in the 16th century, but now he was experiencing it for himself. Every aspect felt so real: the distant sound of gamelan music, the smell of wet earth, even the suspicious glances from the locals.
The man who had helped him earlier introduced himself. "My name is Ki Sabda. I am the village shaman and also a teacher at the mosque. I see your eyes, young man, they are very uncertain, not because of evil intentions."
Ardhan bowed in respect. "Thank you, Ki. Without you, I might have been expelled."
Ki Sabda gave a faint smile. "Don't worry. But remember, people here are easily suspicious of unusual things. Your clothes may be considered a bad omen. So before you can explain, it's better to watch your behavior."
Ardhan simply nodded in understanding.
Conversation in the Hall
A short time later, Ardhan was taken to the village hall, where important meetings were usually held. The village chief sat cross-legged at the front, surrounded by several elders. Ardhan was asked to sit in the center.
The village head looked at him sharply. "Young man, explain clearly. Who are you, where are you from, and why did you come here dressed like a foreign creature?"
Ardhan took a deep breath. He realized that he couldn't explain that he was from the year 2025, because it would sound crazy. So he chose his words carefully.
"I... am from a distant city. I was in the library, reading ancient manuscripts. Suddenly, a light flashed and pulled me in. When I came to, I was on the grassland near this village."
The atmosphere in the hall became silent. Several people whispered, mentioning the terms "study a unknown science" and "occult accusations."
Ki Sabda stroked his beard. "Perhaps this is destiny, Chief. It could be that this young man was sent by the ancestors for a purpose."
However, the village head remained skeptical. "Whether it is destiny or not, I cannot believe words without evidence. If he truly has no bad intentions, this young man must prove his actions."
Ardhan fell silent, understanding that he needed to show that he was not a threat.
The First Test
Shortly after that, shouts were heard from outside the village fence. "Thief! Cattle thief!" Several villagers ran towards the rice fields carrying hoes and sharpened bamboo sticks.
The village chief stood up anxiously. "This is your chance to prove yourself. If you are not an enemy, please help the villagers catch the thief."
Ardhan swallowed hard. He was no hero, but he knew this was the only way to gain trust. Quickly, he followed the villagers out of the village.
At the edge of the rice fields, a burly man was seen pulling a cow. The villagers surrounded him, but the thief brandished a large machete, causing some to retreat in fear.
Ardhan felt his blood boil. He couldn't hold back. He moved forward slowly, staring intently at the thief.
"Let go of the cow," he said firmly.
The thief laughed cynically. "Who are you, weird kid? Want to die too?"
Ardhan stood firm. He felt his grandfather's teachings flowing through his body. With steady breathing, he prepared to use a move he hadn't used in a long time: Tapak Naga Menggulung Awan (Dragon Foot Rolling Clouds).
When the thief attacked, Ardhan immediately dodged and launched a palm strike at his enemy's chest. The wave of energy that emerged hit hard. The thief was thrown several meters, falling and getting stuck in the mud, unable to get up again.
The villagers were shocked. They whispered to each other, calling Ardhan a young man with extraordinary powers. The village head looked at Ardhan with respect, although he was still curious.
Ki Sabda smiled slightly. "Now it is clear that Mas Ardhan is no ordinary person. Perhaps his presence was indeed predestined."
End of Chapter
That night, Ardhan stayed at Ki Sabda's house for a while. He sat on the porch, watching the sky filled with stars that shone brighter than he was used to. His heart was filled with anxiety: how could he return to his own time? Or did he have to accept the fact that he was now stuck in this strange world?
The village was still buzzing with talk about him. Some considered him a blessing, while others saw him as a danger. Ardhan realized that his adventure had only just begun, and the great mystery that had brought him to this place had yet to be revealed.
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the faint melody of gamelan music in the distance. In his heart, he whispered, "Grandfather... is this what you always talked about regarding the legacy of our ancestors?"
To be continued....