Punggung Naga (Dragon's Back) is never truly quiet. The wind swirls gently over the rocky ridge, and people arrive one by one, carrying cameras, tripods, and a sense of wonder.
They stepped on the ground as if every step was a ceremony, a sacred moment that had to be captured in a picture.
"If I can't come back to this place again, I swear I'll be so pissed off," I muttered to myself as I adjusted the camera's focus.
From 3,142 meters above sea level, Bali resembles a giant altar. Valleys, cliffs, and jagged rocks stand like an ancient mantra, readable only by those willing to stand still and wait.
Filmmakers and photographers call it a sacred place not because there are ceremonies, but because there are secrets that only nature itself is willing to tell.
From the direction of Pasar Agung, several climbers emerged from the mist. They climbed slowly, pulling on ropes and supporting each other to prevent slipping.
"I didn't photograph them to show off," I whispered as I pressed the shutter. "But because they're beautiful. Because they're priceless, eternal memories."
Behind me I heard footsteps and a chuckle. Stealthy, but sure.
"Sir, if we're talking about good and evil in that ancient story, which one actually came first?" asked Mangnik with a childlike face and a cartoonish voice.
Restu quickly added, "Or maybe they both appeared together? Like a two-sided coin?"
A skinny Angga hid his shabby sleeves from the cold wind. Arka stood tall, clutching his carrier bag as if supporting the weight of the world. Trisna, shy as usual, simply nodded while listening intently.
I laughed, waving at their GoPro cameras before standing on Shadow Peak, adjusting my beanie hat that had been tilted by the wind, almost flying off.
"Sharing stories and meaning with you, that's how I understand my duties as a lecturer," I said while wiping the condensation on the camera lens.
"If you are ready, I will start from the beginning of civilization."
They huddled around me. The mountains, clouds, and sky seemed to huddle together and listen.
"In the past," I said, "people didn't know how to farm. They walked, climbed mountains, crossed rivers, and moved from one season to another."
"So, if we want to talk about hate and love, we have to start from when everything was very different."
They focused. Even the wind seemed to stop for a moment.
"The world at that time was divided by two great forces," I continued. "Faith and reason."
Angga raised an eyebrow. "Like religion and science, huh?"
"Similar," I replied, looking into his eyes. "One built a sacred temple, prostrated himself, and burned incense. The other built a school and a library."
"So, are they at peace?" Trisna asked quietly.
I smiled bitterly. "Not always. The world back then had no color. It was still black and white. Sometimes we got along, sometimes we were quiet, but most of the time we fought."
Joy and sadness come alternately. Faith lives from trust and simplicity, burning like a small flame in the dark night. Meanwhile, reason has no limits. It thirsts for knowledge, but sometimes gets lost, either on the right path or the wrong one.
Restu crossed his arms. "So, the shift from believing to thinking wasn't because humans stopped believing?"
"That's right. But because humans want to know more," I imitated the voices of the elders, as if reading an ancient scripture. "There are things that need not be questioned. Just accept them. Because before you existed, I existed."
"Given," I said. "But reason won't stop asking. Who? Why? How? And those questions are what ultimately build the world and make it stronger."
The afternoon breeze gently brushed the hillside as we paused. Restu, who had been walking thoughtfully, finally spoke up.
"How was it all built?" he asked again, staring at me as if hoping the answer would come out of thin air.
I sighed, then stared at the climbing path that stretched out like a line of destiny. "By working," I replied quietly. "But not chaotic or competitive work. Work that is peaceful through a division of labor, that has harmony, but still allows competition to live as its hallmark."
Restu frowned, trying to catch my meaning.
"That's where everything comes from," I continued. "The division of labor was created so that people could work without stepping on each other. So that competition wouldn't turn into war."
He bent down, picked up a pebble, and tossed it into a bush flanked by two rocks. "So, that's why specialization exists? Because the world needs a way to keep things peaceful?"
I nodded. "Yes. Job specialization stems from a shared desire to keep things running smoothly, to prevent people from killing each other just to complete different tasks."
Restu smiled slightly. "That's funny. It turns out peace can be built from something as simple as dividing up the work."
"It's that simple," I said, "and yet it's that complicated."
The wind blew again, bringing a brief silence between us, like the small pause that always appeared before the next chapter of the world began.
"Then, this work specialization is divided into four professions," I continued.
"This way!"
Soon, a gentle breeze brushed against our faces as I began to tell my story.
"In the distance, at No Man's Land Lake, the water's surface shimmered like the scales of a sleeping dragon. Four clans lived on the lake's shores: the priests, the warriors, the merchants, and the workers."
Arka nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Like a caste system, sir?"
I chuckled. "No. More like a function."
I looked at each of their faces. "The four clans live there not because of the gods' orders, but because the land is fertile and the water is abundant."
Trisna moved forward a little, like a child impatient to guess a riddle. "Is this the beginning of the subak, sir?"
My smile widened uncontrollably. "That's right. Subak isn't just about water. Subak is a way of life: working together, respecting each other, maintaining balance."
A moment of silence enveloped us. Angga paused as he tidied his backpack straps, while Restu and Arka gazed off into the distance toward the hills, as if imagining a peaceful and honest society.
I took a deep breath. But my voice trailed off, cutting through the silence. "Turns out, balance never lasts."
The wind suddenly turned cold, as if listening to the continuation of the story which might not be as beautiful as the beginning.
Three minutes later, I continued the story. "The fame of No Man's Lake spread throughout the land. Its myth permeated the desire to embrace it."
"Across the lake, there was a greedy king. He saw the land and the water, and wanted it."
Arka clenched his fists. "So classic."
"The king says his ambitions are noble," I continued, "but in reality he only wants fame and respect."
Angga sighed. "And war broke out."
"Right," I said.
People fought, blamed each other, hurt each other, and the four clans lost. Because they weren't good at politics. They only knew how to live simply.
The fog was getting lower, as if nature was remembering the incident.
"The king won," I said softly. "He rewrote history. In the places where blood was spilled, he built temples, erected statues, and offered cockfights, so that people would forget the pain of the past."
Trisna whispered, "The four clans are gone?"
"Not lost," I replied. "Just silenced. They lost their voice. And the once-ownerless Lake is now ruled by a king. The old story is buried by the new."
No one spoke. Only the wind buffeted the shores of Dragon's Back, bringing with it a chill and a bitter realization.
Then Mangnik turned to me. His eyes were sharp, even though they were wet with dew. "Sir, this story is about the past, right?"
Pause. "Or about now?"
I took a deep breath. "Think about it yourselves."
No one answered, but everyone understood.
On Dragon's Back, the camera's eyes lit up again. But this time, it wasn't just for beauty. It was for memory.