Chapter 6: A Journey to Know Purwadaksi

After the relief that enveloped us with all debts paid, my Father, Grandfather, and I moved on to the next discussion: fulfilling our obligations. "We have set aside three percent for zakat," I said. "Generally it's two and a half percent, but we rounded it up to three percent for charity as well." I believed that giving more would bring more blessings, and this was an opportunity to start with good intentions.

This zakat and charity money, amounting to billions of rupiah, would not be disbursed indiscriminately. I had a very specific and important purpose. "We will donate this money in Majalengka," I explained. This was part of my promise to Grandfather, to return to purwadaksi (origin/roots) and not forget our heritage.

"We will use it to build schools, construct proper educational facilities," I continued, "then build roads for better community access, and of course, provide aid to orphans and others in need." This was a social investment that would bring real impact to the welfare of the community in our ancestral land.

And equally important, I also wanted to donate to the Talaga Manggung Museum. "So that the museum can continue to operate there," I said. I knew that museum was the guardian of our ancestors' history and culture. Supporting it meant preserving our family's identity and roots.

Father and Grandfather listened with emotion. Seeing me, a small child, so concerned with such big things, and with such a structured plan, made them proud. This wasn't just about material wealth, but also about the richness of heart and social responsibility that we now possessed.

Grandfather listened to my plan for distributing zakat and charity in Majalengka intently. His face beamed, full of relief and pride. "Excellent, Marlon, very good," he said. Then, he looked at my Father, Darmawan.

"Darmawan, you and Marlon must go to Majalengka yourselves," Grandfather commanded. "There, there is a kind of spiritual validation for the descendants of the Talaga Manggung Kingdom." I knew what Grandfather meant. This was a ritual or spiritual process that would strengthen our bond with our ancestors, an acknowledgment from the unseen realm. "After that, then you can deliver the donations."

Grandfather wanted both of us to personally feel the connection to our roots and symbolically return some of this abundant blessing to its origin. This was not just about giving, but also about spirituality and purwadaksi.

So, the following weekend, my Father and I prepared. We set off alone for Majalengka. The destination was clear: to first go to the Talaga Manggung Museum, the place where our ancestors' history was preserved, and where the spiritual validation might occur. This journey would mark a new beginning, not only in our financial journey but also in our spiritual journey and the search for family identity.

The journey from Bandung to Majalengka felt so long, taking up to four hours if traffic was smooth, but Father made every second valuable. The car drove through stretches of green rice fields and towering hills, occasionally passing small towns with bustling market activities. Inside the car, Father began to tell me stories, filling the time with narratives relevant to our spiritual purpose.

"Marlon," Father began, his voice slightly lowered, as if sharing a secret, "Ua Dadan, my older brother, also had a validation there once." I listened intently, although I already had a vague memory of this story from my previous life. Hearing it directly from Father felt different, more real.

"Oh really, Dad? What kind of validation?" I asked, prompting him to tell more details. Father smiled faintly, his eyes focused on the road. "Ua Dadan said that inside the museum there's a statue that can supposedly only be lifted by our lineage." Father emphasized the word 'only,' as if it were a real miracle, a mark of destiny. "According to Ua Dadan, the statue weighs dozens of kilos, but for a true descendant, it feels like lifting cotton."

I frowned, trying to imagine. "And, is there anything else, Dad?" "There's more, Son," Father continued, "there's also an old goong (gong). It's said that the goong will sound if struck by a descendant of Talaga Manggung. If it's not a descendant, no matter how hard you hit it, the sound won't be loud, perhaps it won't even make a sound at all." This sounded like a test of ancestral recognition, a melody that could only be played by the right blood. "So, we have to try hitting the goong too?" I asked curiously.

Father chuckled softly. "Of course. That's part of the process. And most importantly," Father lowered his voice again, becoming more serious, "we have to go around the lake there. Not a large lake like a big body of water, but a small, sacred lake. It is said that if you're not a true descendant, you'll collapse halfway through walking around it. You'll feel extremely weak, as if all your energy is drained."

I imagined that scene, feeling a slight shiver. "So, this is a kind of physical and spiritual test, Dad?"

"You could say that, Son," Father replied, "Ua Dadan said it feels like energy is being pulled out of your body if you're not a descendant. That's how the story goes, Marlon. But we'll prove it ourselves later." Father ended his story with a faint smile, full of anticipation.

I nodded, absorbing every detail. Although I knew this was a strong spiritual heritage and part of my promise to Grandfather, there was a part of me that wondered if all those stories were truly real, or just exaggerated myths passed down through generations. However, that curiosity mixed with a determination to go through every process. This journey was not just physical, but also spiritual, towards the validation we would soon face at the Talaga Manggung Museum.

After several hours of travel filled with stories and anticipation, we finally arrived in Majalengka. Specifically in the Talaga area, a region that felt different, quieter, and as if it held an ancient aura. Lush trees lined the road, and the sounds of nature were clearer here. It was here, in the solemn silence, that the Talaga Manggung Museum was located, a place that felt so important to our lineage.

As our car approached, a strange feeling spread through me. It was as if my inner self was speaking, a familiar yet inexplicable sensation, like a magnet pulling me. A strong intuition told me that we had arrived at the right place. And sure enough, in front of the museum gate, which was still tightly closed, made of old wood that looked sturdy and held much history, several people were already waiting. They stood calmly, dressed simply but neatly, as if they already knew we were coming, as if welcoming Marlon and his Father.

Father parked the car in the fairly spacious museum parking area. As soon as the engine died, silence enveloped us, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. The locked museum gate, with its faint ancient carvings, added to the mysterious and sacred impression of the place. As we got out of the car, some of the waiting people stepped forward to greet us. They smiled faintly, but their gazes were meaningful, as if they recognized us not just as guests, but as part of something bigger, part of a story they had long awaited. All of us—I, Father, and the people there—shook hands; their hands felt warm. They greeted us in refined Sundanese, welcoming us and asking about our journey.

"Wilujeng sumping, Bapa," said a middle-aged man with graying temples, his hand firmly shaking Father's. "We have been waiting for a long time." Father returned the greeting warmly, "Thank you, Kang. Sorry for our delay."

My eyes glanced towards the still-closed gate. A mix of curiosity and emotion coursed through me. I knew that beyond that gate, there was more than just old artifacts. There was history, there was heritage, and there was a test awaiting.

The heavy old wooden gate of the museum finally opened with a slow creak, as if welcoming us into the depths of time. My Father and I stepped in, following the elder who had greeted us earlier, while several other people from Talaga followed behind. The air inside the museum felt different, cooler, filled with the scent of decaying wood, damp earth, and the ancient smell of artifacts neatly stored behind glass display cases. Dim light filtered in from several gaps in the roof, creating a solemn and mysterious atmosphere.

We were led to an open area in the middle of the museum, adorned with simple wooden benches. We sat there, while the Talaga people who accompanied us also took their places around. The initially silent atmosphere slowly melted, replaced by warm flowing conversation. "How is the family in Bandung, Darmawan?" asked the elder, whom we knew as Aki Jaga, his eyes calmly looking at Father. "Are Ibu Karina and Putri well?"

My Father smiled broadly. "Alhamdulillah, Aki Jaga. Everyone is healthy. Mother sends her regards to Aki and all the family here." Father then asked in return, "How are things in Talaga, Ki? How was this year's harvest?" "Alhamdulillah, no major obstacles, Darmawan," Aki Jaga replied, nodding slowly. "It's just, well, you know, these days there are many challenges. But we here always try to live in harmony, helping each other." He glanced at me, then smiled. "Marlon is big now. The last time Aki saw him, he was still being carried." I smiled faintly, feeling a little awkward but warm. It was hard to believe that these people, whom I had just met, felt so familiar.

"Oh, yes, Ki," Father spoke again, his tone turning a little more serious. "We also came here to perform the validation, as Grandfather mentioned." Father glanced at me briefly, as if giving me a signal. "We would like to try, if permitted, lifting the statue, striking the goong, and also walking around the sacred lake that is said to be here."

Aki Jaga looked at Father, then turned to look deeply at me. There was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He nodded slowly, as if he had already guessed our purpose from the start. "Of course, Darmawan. That has always been part of our tradition for the descendants."

"So, the story about the statue that can only be lifted by descendants is true, Aki?" I asked impatiently, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. Aki Jaga chuckled softly. "It's true, Marlon. That is one of the markers. That statue can weigh dozens of kilos for an ordinary person, but for those with strong Talaga Manggung blood, it will feel as light as cotton. It's not physical strength, but an inner vibration in harmony with the ancestors."

"And the goong, Aki?" I asked again. "If struck, will its sound be different?" "Ah, that goong," Aki Jaga nodded, "is a caller. Its sound will only resonate beautifully and powerfully if struck by a true descendant. Otherwise, it will just sound like wood being hit. That is the resonance of the ancestral spirits that reside within."

Father interjected, "And that lake, Aki? The one Ua Dadan said could make one faint if not a descendant?"

"Exactly, Darmawan," Aki Jaga replied, his face a little more serious. "That lake, though small, has a very strong energy. For those who are not descendants or whose hearts are not pure, its energy will drain strength from the body, causing weakness, even fainting. This is a test of heart purity and inner harmony with purwadaksi."

My Father looked at me, his eyes radiating curiosity and a hint of concern. I returned his gaze with a small nod, a sign that I was ready. I knew this would be a profound experience. Aki Jaga rose from his seat. "Very well, then. Come, I will guide you. We'll start with the statue."

With a pounding heart, yet also a burning spirit, my Father and I rose from the bench. We followed Aki Jaga and several others, stepping deeper into the museum, towards the heart of the mystery and heritage of the Talaga Manggung Kingdom. The true test was about to begin.

Aki Jaga led us deeper into the Talaga Manggung Museum. Every step felt like treading on historical ground, and the spiritual aura in the room grew stronger, sending shivers down my spine. The air was cool, and the dim light from the roof gaps created a solemn atmosphere. The Talaga people who accompanied us walked calmly, their faces serious but full of respect.

First, Aki Jaga led us to a stone statue that wasn't very large, but emanated a strong ancient aura. The statue was finely carved, depicting a wise figure. "This is the statue," Aki Jaga said in a low, respectful voice. "It is said that only those with true Talaga Manggung blood can move it. It's not about physical strength, but inner harmony."

My Father stepped forward first, his face tense yet hopeful. He bent down, placed both hands at the base of the statue, and exerted all his strength. A miracle occurred. The statue felt light in his hands. A disbelieving smile spread across Father's face as he easily lifted the statue from its base and shifted it slightly. "Incredible, Aki!" Father exclaimed, his eyes shining. "It felt like lifting a block of cotton!"

Aki Jaga smiled broadly, nodding with satisfaction. "Alhamdulillah, Darmawan. The blood still flows strong. The ancestors approve."

Now it was my turn. I stepped forward, my heart pounding. I bent down, placing both hands at the base of the statue. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to feel the connection, asking for blessings from my ancestors. When I opened my eyes and exerted a little force, I felt the exact same thing as Father. The statue was truly light. I lifted it easily, shifting it slightly from its place.

"Incredible, Son!" Father exclaimed, hugging me tightly. "Our strength is the same!" The people around me, including Aki Jaga, gasped. A whisper of awe was heard. Aki Jaga smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling with emotion. "Alhamdulillah," he whispered, "the blood still flows strong. The ancestors approve."

After the statue, we moved to an old goong hanging in another corner of the museum. The goong looked ancient, with faded carvings worn by age. Its color was dark, and its surface appeared dull. Aki Jaga handed me a small mallet made of wood wrapped in cloth.

"Please, try striking it," he said. "This goong will sound according to the vibration that strikes it."

My Father tried first. With the mallet in hand, he struck the surface of the goong. Gooonggggg! The sound produced was much louder, echoing throughout the entire museum room, and even felt like it vibrated in my chest. Its resonance was long, full of unexpected depth, as if the goong was indeed alive and had just awakened from its long slumber. The vibrations reached my feet.

The people again marveled. Some were seen shedding tears of emotion. Aki Jaga nodded with satisfaction. "Alhamdulillah... it is proven. The voice of the ancestors welcomes you, Darmawan."

"Now it's your turn, Marlon," Father said, handing me the mallet. I took the mallet. Before striking, I took a deep breath, focusing my attention. I remembered all the stories of ancestral bravery, all the strength they possessed. With strong determination, I struck the goong.

Gooonggggg!

The sound produced was equally loud, perhaps even slightly stronger than mine. The goong resonated again, filling the room with a deep sound. Pride clearly radiated from Father's eyes.

After these two tests, we moved on to the final test: circling the lake. The lake was not large, more like a sacred natural pond, with clear water surrounded by lush trees. The air there felt cool and peaceful, yet also held a strong energy.

"This lake is a reflection of the inner self," Aki Jaga explained. "If the heart is not pure or the blood is not true, the lake's energy will drain strength. The path is not very far, just one full circle. But for pure descendants, it will give strength."

My Father began to walk around the lake with steady steps. He walked calmly, enjoying every step. There were no signs of fatigue or fainting. In fact, he looked even fresher and clearer as he completed one full circle.

"Remarkable, Darmawan," Aki Jaga said, nodding respectfully.

"Your turn, Marlon," Father said, his smile widening.

I took a deep breath. I began to walk around the lake. With each step, I felt an energy flowing, not pulling away, but filling me. It felt as if the energy of nature and ancestors permeated me, purifying and harmonizing. I continued walking, one full circle, without feeling weak or fainting. In fact, I felt fresher and clearer, as if positive energy filled my entire body.

When I returned to the starting point, Aki Jaga smiled broadly. His eyes radiated extraordinary pride. "Incredible, Marlon. You are truly... chosen. Two pure bloodlines!"

After successfully passing all the trials, Aki Jaga invited us back inside the museum, to a more private room that felt highly revered. There, on an antique old wooden table, lay a large book that appeared very old and was bound with dark velvet cloth. A thin layer of dust covered its surface, as if holding secrets of hundreds of years.

"This is the genealogical book of the Talaga Manggung descendants," Aki Jaga said, his hand gently stroking the book's cover. His voice was authoritative yet gentle. "Only those who successfully pass this validation, whose inner selves are in harmony with the ancestors, may have their names inscribed within it."

Aki Jaga slowly opened the book, as if each page were a gem. Its yellowed pages were filled with neat ancient handwriting and names lined up from generation to generation, recording every lineage that had ever existed. A special marker and an ink pen, looking new and gleaming, were prepared beside the book.

"Darmawan, please. Inscribe your name and your wife's name, as well as your children's names," Aki Jaga said, handing the pen to my Father. His hand trembled slightly as he received the pen. My Father, with a face full of emotion and pride, bent down and carefully wrote his name, and my sister Putri's name on the blank page. A sense of gratitude was clearly visible on his face.

After that, the pen was handed to me. I felt the vibration of history in my hand as I held the pen, as if the energy of the ancestors flowed through it. With a heart full of gratitude, burning determination, and an awareness of the great responsibility I now carried, I clearly wrote my own name beneath Father's name. It was not just about recording a name; it was a symbol of acknowledgment, a promise to uphold the family's heritage and honor, and the beginning of a new chapter in our family's history. We were part of a long and noble lineage, and now, we had been fully recognized by our ancestors and tradition. A solid spiritual foundation had been realized, complementing the financial strength we had built.