Message from a Man Called President

The first message from someone called the President reached my ears while I was sleeping. At that moment, it felt like a dream; the voices sounded faint, yet they felt real. He said, "Plant chili peppers because everything begins from there. Through spiciness, sweetness, and saltiness, flavors become more pronounced. Even sweat flows, surpassing the perspiration from exercise."

I believe. The proof is, as soon as I wake up, I go straight to the kitchen to take two chili peppers, cut them to remove the seeds, and then dry them under the scorching sun. Then the next day, when the seeds are dry, I dig a small patch of land beside the house to plant them.

The second message from someone called the President reached my ears in the morning. This time, it was not like a dream; it leaned more toward reality. The voices were clear. He said, make chili sauce from the chili peppers of the tree that has already borne fruit. Do not use garlic; use the red ones. Also, no need for tomatoes, just salt will suffice. After it is ground—not necessarily smooth—pour hot oil over it, preferably leftover from frying salted fish.

I followed. And indeed, sweat flowed more than during exercise. The rice tasted sweeter, while the salty sensation of the chili struck the tongue. The President was right, I thought.

Make chili sauce from the fruiting tree. Don't use garlic, use the red kind. No need for tomatoes, just salt. After grinding—it doesn't have to be smooth—pour it with hot oil, the leftover fried salted fish is good.

My thoughts are the same as those of the villagers. The neighbors often receive the same messages from the President. Usually, these messages come through two channels: first, through the subconscious, such as dreams, and second, consciously, exactly as I experienced. But one thing is certain—the President is not a ghost; he is real. He is alive. He is human. He has a house and lives on a hill somewhat far from the residential area. Occasionally, he appears at the market, sits at a coffee stall to chat, or simply takes an evening stroll accompanied by several of his large dogs. These dogs are intriguing; despite their fierce appearance and constantly drooling mouths, they seem amusing because they wear nearly identical collars inscribed with the words: not aggressive. We, the villagers, see this as a paradox, akin to the figure of speech our school teacher described—something alive yet dead. Yes, how could such fanged animals not attack? But then again, just like his pets, the President himself is a paradox: present yet absent, existing yet nonexistent, real yet illusory.

In general, none of us know the President well, just greetings, rarely engaging in long conversations. The President is the son of a General and the grandson of a Captain. The General is a village figure from the early days of independence, while the Captain is a colonial era fighter.

The real name of the Captain is actually unknown because he was born without a certificate. However, since he led some people against the Dutch, he was then called Captain. This latter name continued to stick until even his tombstone did not have his real name written on it. When he had a child, the Captain gave him the name General. Of course, he wanted his child to be greater than him. Likewise, the General gave his child the name President for that reason.

The President is indeed in a high place, on the hill there. His messages are always present, not from his mouth, but from our memories. For example, I remember how to make cayenne pepper sauce in the morning because I once heard him say it at a coffee shop. Or, I once saw him asking for cayenne pepper seeds from a trader at the market which he said were to be planted after being dried first under the hot sun until it was carried over to my dream. And, there are many other examples, felt by other villagers. And, that's why we feel strange and familiar with that figure. Paradoxical, like his dog.

We all had to move up the hill where he lived. The village will sink, some time in the future there will be a huge flood.

However, recently the President made a different message. He didn't just deliver it directly, gathering residents in an open field, the content was also strange. He said, we all have to move to the hill where he lives. The village will be submerged, in the near future there will be a massive flood. And, the strangest thing is, we are all allowed to build houses on his land, no need to pay but must plant food for him. Livestock is also allowed, he is even ready to provide cow or goat seeds. However, each livestock gives birth to two calves, then one is his right. So, if it gives birth to four, two are his. Gives birth to six, three are his. And so on, according to the existing multiples. And, the ones who take care of it are us.

Of course, we ignored the President's direct message. Who cares, he's not the village head. Also, our village is far from rivers and seas, so it is difficult to imagine that there will be a flood.

The problem was, not long after the message flew with the wind, the President's dogs began to come down the hill. At first they were in a pack, barking loudly. Then they began to scatter, targeting people's houses, barking loudly without caring whether it was day or night. After that, the dogs grew in number, not only the ones with collars. In fact, there were dogs that began to chase our children. There were also residents who became victims, their calves were bitten and tested positive for rabies.

The President came back down the hill, providing assistance for medical expenses for residents who were bitten by their dogs at the city hospital. Instantly no one blamed him. The President is a hero, willing to take responsibility even though it was the work of his dogs. It's not about the amount of money disbursed, but this is about the President's character who is full of concern. The assistance has eliminated previous complaints from residents about disturbing dogs, terrors, and diseases. Residents seem to have forgotten, lulled into complacency.

The President took the stage. The President then voiced his message again, he said, we do have to move to his place. This is not about dogs, but the flood is coming.

Those of us who had previously been indifferent began to waver. Some residents were already thinking of moving to the hills. They saw the President's offer as a way out of a problem they themselves did not know what it was. While others, who still had self-awareness, wanted to move villages, at least until the dogs stopped bothering them.

Me? I just asked myself, wasn't the initial message a flood? Why did I have to move, when rain rarely comes. I became busy trying to figure out what really happened; where it was headed. Profit and loss, those calculations, filled my head. It should have been something easy, but why did it become difficult.

Then, why did the dogs increase in number? As if there was a permit even though the President ordered it or the dogs without collars were just following suit? I don't think I know and indeed I don't know. What is clear is that after that the number of dogs increased without a single flood coming. One or two villagers began to fall due to rabies. Children began to feel uncomfortable going to school or just playing outside the house.

On the hill, several houses began to be built, the President built them with his own money and residents who wanted to move there were required to pay without removing the clause on having to plant food. Also, the livestock issue still applies.

Above him there is only God.

And a few days ago, a message from a man named President came back to my ears while I was sleeping. Like a dream, the voices sounded faint, but it felt true. He said, above him there is only God.

This morning, a message from a person named President also came again. This time it was not like a dream, more like reality. The voices were heard clearly. He said, that is if God exists.

Ah, I don't think I've ever heard of that before; it can be found in coffee shops, markets, or even open fields.

Muhammad Ramadhan Batubara, a writer of Batak and Bengkulu blood. Born in Limapuluh, Batu Bara, grew up in Langsa, Aceh, grew up in Yogyakarta, now lives in Deliserdang and has a Medan ID card.

Putu Fajar Arcana was born in Bali. During the Covid-19 period, he studied the dutch pour painting technique using unusual tools. He then developed this technique with a painting concept involving the five elements of nature, such as: solid, liquid, fire, wind, and gas. He first exhibited in the exhibition Lukisan Bukan Pelukis (1999) in Bali Mangsi Denpasar, Mencuri Waktu (2000) in Kompas Denpasar, the Lindu fine arts exhibition (2006) in Bentara Budaya Yogyakarta, and the Grateful Dead exhibition (2013) in Bentara Budaya Jakarta.