Chapter 6: Shifting Seasons
Edisi Indonesia: Perubahan Musim
Months had passed since the vibrant chaos of the Pasola festival, and the landscape of Sumba had shifted with the changing seasons. The once golden fields, bright with the harvest and dry grasses, had transformed into deep green as the rainy season took hold. The rhythm of life in the village had slowed, offering the people of Sumba a time to tend to their homes and brace for the challenges the rainy season would bring.
For Arya, life was quieter but not without purpose. He, along with Merapu and his close friend Raja, had adapted to the steady, almost meditative pace of the season. The echoes of Pasola felt distant now, as though the dust and intensity of the festival had been washed away with the first downpour, yet something of its energy lingered within them all—especially in Arya, during the quieter moments when he found himself lost in thought.
One rainy afternoon, Arya and his loyal companion, Merapu, sought shelter in a small wooden stable. Alongside them was Raja, a striking horse with a lighter coat, owned by a fellow villager but often seen by Merapu's side. The two horses shared a quiet bond, as if they had ridden together through countless journeys. Though Raja wasn’t his, Arya felt a deep sense of connection between the animals and cherished their companionship during moments like these.
Arya placed his hand on Merapu’s slick coat, feeling the raw strength of the horse beneath his fingers. It was the same strength that had carried them through the trials of Pasola, a bond forged in the heat of the festival and now tempered by the quiet of the rainy season.
"This rain," Arya muttered, breaking the silence. "It’s like the earth itself is taking a deep breath."
Merapu snorted softly in response, his breath mingling with the cool air. Arya smiled at the horse's silent understanding. Raja, ever the calm companion, stirred slightly but remained relaxed, eyes half-closed as if in a peaceful doze.
A voice broke the quiet hum of the rain. It was Sinta, Arya’s younger sister, who appeared at the door of the stable, drenched from the storm. She held a woven basket in her hands, filled with dry straw for the horses.
“Here,” she said, her voice barely rising over the sound of the rain. “I thought they could use a bit more comfort.”
Arya chuckled as he took the basket. “Thanks, Sinta. You didn’t have to come all the way through this storm just for them.”
Sinta shrugged, smiling as she wiped her soaked face with her sleeve. “They’re part of the family too, aren’t they? Besides, I’ve always liked the rain. It feels... cleansing.”
As Arya spread the fresh straw beneath the horses, he thought about her words. Cleansing. Yes, that was exactly what the rain felt like, washing away the remnants of the festival, the dust, and the heat, leaving behind something fresh, something new. The rainy season brought with it a certain clarity, as though the world paused for a moment to reflect.
"Do you ever miss the excitement of Pasola?" Sinta asked, leaning against the stable door, her eyes thoughtful as she watched the rain.
Arya didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Merapu and Raja, then out at the misty, rain-soaked horizon. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But I think Pasola isn't just about the festival. It’s more than that—it’s the spirit we carry with us, even now, in the stillness of the rainy season.”
Sinta nodded, understanding. “It's in the way we live, right? Not just in the celebrations.”
Arya turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. “Exactly. The same courage we needed for Pasola—it's here with us now. In how we endure these storms, how we care for our land, our animals. It’s not about the spectacle, it’s about... what remains when the spectacle is over.”
The rain drummed on, a steady backdrop to their quiet reflection. Sinta smiled softly, stepping back into the rain as she said, “Well, I’ll leave you with that wisdom, big brother. I’m going to see if Mother needs help with dinner.”
As she walked back through the storm, Arya watched her go, his heart warmed by the exchange. The rainy season was a time of reflection, yes, but it was also a reminder of the deeper rhythms of life in Sumba—the rhythms that went beyond Pasola and beyond the fleeting excitement of the festival.
Inside the stable, Merapu shifted beside him, snorting softly as if reminding Arya that the real strength lay in the everyday moments, the quiet endurance that came with each season.
"You’re right, old friend," Arya murmured, patting Merapu's side. "Pasola might be over, but we’re still carrying its spirit, even now."
With that, Arya leaned against the stable door, listening to the rain and the steady breathing of his horses. Life in Sumba moved forward, as it always had, through celebration and quiet reflection alike.
Pasola Trails
Prologue: Pasola Celebration: Following Marapu's Steps
Chapter 1: The Vibrant Pasola Festival
Chapter 2: Bonds of Brotherhood
Chapter 3: The Challenges of Pasola
Chapter 5: The Aftermath of Pasola – Reflecting on Traditionils
Epilogue: The Everlasting Spirit of Pasola
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