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The Tops
Purwanti Kusumaningtyas adalah pengajar di Jurusan S1 Sastra Inggris, Fakultas Bahasa dan Seni, Universitas Kristen Satya Wacana, Salatiga, Jawa Tengah. Dia memperoleh gelar master dan doktor dari Jurusan Pengkajian Amerika, Fakultas Ilmu Budaya, Universitas Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta.
Dia tertarik pada banyak hal, termasuk naik gunung dan menjelajah, penulisan puisi dan cerita pendek. Dia telah menerbitkan puisi dan cerita pendek, antara lain dalam buku kumpulan puisi “Furtive Notions” (DeePublish 2022) dan kumpulan cerita pendek “They Are Here” (DeePublish 2023). Beberapa puisinya telah dibuat musik dan ditampilkan dalam berbagai acara nirlaba dan kemanusiaan, termasuk dalam acara LETSS Talk, lembaga pejuang kesetaraan perempuan yang terpercaya di Indonesia serta Festival Musik Rumah (FMR).
Dia sudah bekerja dengan Dalang Publishing sejak 2013, yaitu sejak dia mengenal penerbit yang memiliki semangat yang sama untuk melestarikan dan memperkenalkan keragaman Indonesia pada dunia.
Purwanti dapat dihubungi melalui: purwanti.kusumaningtyas@uksw.edu
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The Tops
Amidst the presence of modern, fast, light-weight tops, the bamboo top still prevailed in Kaligondang village. That morning, the village was quiet, but people were beginning to wake. Smoke rose from the kitchens of several bamboo houses and blended with the dew still clinging to the leaves. Bamboo tops lay neatly on the damp ground.
The top was more than a toy; it was a traditional symbol inherited from the ancestors. People believed that every spin carried a prayer, and every buzzing sound carried a message about the balance of life, a value they preserved in Lembah Manah, a valley on the slopes of the Menoreh Hills near the Bogowonto River in Central Java, Indonesia.
Ever since the representatives of the Majapahit Kingdom passed through the old route in southern Java, the top had held a special place in the lives of the people of Kaligondang. When they finished their harvest and their work in the fields, they would gather in the open field to watch top spinning competitions. These events were not held for gambling or personal gain, but to celebrate togetherness. Children learned perseverance as they watched older players compete, while younger players defended the village’s dignity with every spin of their tops. Watching their tops spin, they were shaped into brave, honest, and broad-minded individuals, while the elders passed down ancestral stories amid the humming of the spinning tops. That was why, for the people of Kaligondang, tops were not merely a material inheritance; they represented inherited values of kinship passed down through generations.
However, that was decades ago. As time passed, such togetherness gradually faded and turned into rivalry. Eventually, people changed the top spinning traditional gatherings into competitions that determined champions and losers.
Arya grew up with the hum of spinning tops. His father was the best bamboo top maker in the village. Arya often sat near him and watched every step of the top-making process.
His father chose black bamboo for his tops. He tapped it softly until he found the solid part, then shaped the bamboo node with tools such as a hand-saw, carving knife, and small chisel to create a balanced body. He placed a sharp peg into the bottom as the spinning center. Arya paid attention to every part that was polished and adjusted so the top could spin for a long time in an upright position. After being smoothed with sandpaper, smoked, and polished with coconut oil, the black bamboo top became shiny. Arya learned that a good top was made carefully from the right material and with the right tools.
The pouch full of humming-tops bounced on Arya’s back. The teenager was as thin as a bamboo twig. He moved quickly across the green paddy fields, holding Garuda Terbang. Arya had named his favorite dark-black bamboo top the Flying Eagle. Running across the cracked, damp ground, his breath became short. At the side of the field, he stopped for a moment to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled when he saw five children standing in a circle. They had placed their tops on the ground, and stood waiting for him to start practicing. As Arya moved closer, he recalled his father’s advice: “A top is not just a toy. It carries our ancestors’ souls. There is a prayer in every spin. There is a story in its humming sound.” Arya understood the message. He always cleaned Garuda Terbang carefully after using it.
Ilham, a friend from his religious studies class, approached him. “Arya, teach me how to throw this top correctly. It never won.”
“Alright,” Arya said. He stood straight in front of Ilham to show him how to hold the top. Just as his father had taught him, he took a stance and bent his knees slightly. He confidently held the approximately ten-centimeter-wide bamboo top. Starting at the bottom, he wound the one-meter-long rope tightly around the top’s peg, up to the part just below its body. The length of the rope determined the top’s spinning power as well as its balance. With one movement, Arya threw the top to the ground while quickly pulling the end of the rope. As soon as the top touched the ground, it spun straight and balanced, producing a beautiful humming sound. Without blinking, Ilham watched Arya’s every move. It all seemed easy, but it had taken Arya years of practice. Almost every afternoon, Arya shared the skills he had learned from his father with his friends.
***
One afternoon, a boy from Karangmojo village ran into the Kaligondang grass field. He was sweaty and out of breath. The people gathered there turned toward him. The boy stopped in the middle of the field and after he shouted, “Kaligondang! Karangmojo is challenging you!” he delivered the message from Karangmojo’s top-player group.
The news shook everyone on the Kaligondang field. The children stopped their game to gather around the representative from Karangmojo.
“We’ll hold a big top spinning competition next week, in the middle field,” the representative announced.
A boy whispered to Arya. “Karangmojo is strong. Their players are experienced, and they have the latest model of tops.”
Arya pressed his lips together. He knew the competition was not just a game; it was also about the village’s dignity. Not long after, Lurah Mangun Martono entered the field. Even though his hair had turned gray, the village head was still well-built. He wore a traditional Javanese woven lurik striped long-sleeved shirt and a black headband. The children moved aside to make way for him. Lurah Mangun Martono stopped in front of the Karangmojo representative. Calmly, he looked at the gathered children and then at the Karangmojo’s representative. “We accept the challenge,” he said and stepped closer. “Kaligondang never runs away from any challenge,” he continued confidently.
Lurah Mangun Martono’s authoroty was based on his fairness and the fact he was brave enough to face the consequences of every choice he made. He was not a leader who liked to speak at length. When he accepted Karangmojo’s challenge, he knew that it was not just a top spinning competition, but also a statement that Kaligondang would never back down.
The children turned to him. His voice eased their restlessness. “You don’t need to worry,” Lurah Mangun Martono said. “We’ll face the challenge together.” The tense atmosphere slowly relaxed. The children looked at their village head with renewed confidence.
Karangmojo’s representative smiled slightly. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll be waiting for Kaligondang at the competition arena. We hope you’ll come with your best player.”
The Kaligondang children’s faces flushed. They felt deeply challenged. That very evening, there was a meeting of the villagers. The people gathered in the village hall, and Lurah Mangun Martono stood at the front.
“Kaligondang cannot be defeated. We must defend our village’s dignity,” Lurah Mangun Martono said seriously. He moved toward Arya, placed his right hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, and asked softly, “Arya, do you know why we preserve tops here in Kaligondang?”
Arya shook his head uncertainly.
Lurah Mangun Martono smiled slightly before continuing, “Our village ancestors were taught by an old traveler about cakra urip — the wheel of life. It means that a human being is like a spinning top. We must remain upright even when the world spins very fast around us.” He paused for a moment. “Since then, the top has no longer been merely a toy. Its hum represents dignity.”
Arya silently bowed his head.
“If a top falls because it loses its balance, this village can also fall if our youngsters lose their courage,” Lurah Mangun Martono continued. “That is why you will play not only to win, but also to honor our ancestors’ names.”
The room became quiet. Everyone stared at Arya. He sat in the corner of the room, trembling — not because he was afraid, but because he suddenly felt a great responsibility rest on his shoulders. Still, he did not lose his courage. All his life, Arya had only spun tops in the grass field with his friends. That night, for the first time, he felt that he was responsible for holding up the dignity of the whole village.
“Arya is our best player. He must represent Kaligondang,” Lurah Mangun Martono continued firmly.
Arya took a deep breath. It was a huge responsibility. for him. His head felt heavy. He knew the following days would be tense. He practiced hard. Every morning, he threw Garuda Terbang again and again. The skin of his palm peeled because he kept pulling the rope without rest. His shoulders muscles hardened, and his back felt as stiff as if it had been nailed in place. However, every time he made his top spin steadily on the ground, he gritted his teeth and prepared himself again, refusing to stop. In the corners of the village, people began to whisper. They talked about Karangmojo’s modern tops and doubted Kaligondang’s old-fashioned bamboo ones.
“Karangmojo’s plastic tops are lighter. Many people are curious what they’d be like when spinning on the stage,” a woman in the market said.
An old farmer chimed in, “I once saw Karangmojo people spinning tops during the harvest festival in their village. They spun them skillfully.” The farmer slowly shook his head.
Eventually, Arya heard their conversations. He stopped walking and looked at the top in his hand. His shoulders began to droop as he rubbed the dulling surface of the bamboo top. He began to doubt whether Garuda Terbang would spin the way he believed it could.
One afternoon, Arya practiced alone in the field. He threw Garuda Terbang in many different ways. Even though the top spun very well, he felt it still did not meet his expectations.
“Why can’t I do better?” he mumbled, staring at the top in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Tightening his grip around Garuda Terbang, his mind filled with images of the approaching competition. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the field.
The tension increased when the Karangmojo children came to practice at the village border and deliberately showed off their shiny, plastic tops.
“Look at our tops! The newest! We bought them in the city! You still play with those old bamboo ones?” Bayu, the best Karangmojo player, mocked them.
“Your bamboo tops are outdated! Those are heavy! Slow!” His friend added, laughing.
Hurt, Arya walked slowly home. He stared at the top in his hand. His grip loosened, and he hung his head all the way home.
That night, Arya sat in his room and looked at Garuda Terbang on his desk. He felt confused. The thought of failure haunted him.
There was a knock on his door and his father entered the room. “What is troubling you, Son?” he asked softly and sat down beside Arya.
“Their tops are sophisticated! Ours are made of bamboo. They’re outdated!” Arya replied, sounding hoarse.
His father smiled softly. He took Garuda Terbang from the desk and gently rubbed its smooth bamboo surface.
“This top has a soul, Arya. The plastic ones only have a shape. Bamboo has history. Bamboo has a story. Remember this: tops dance to the rhythm of the wind. They spin according to your will. They stop as fate dictates.”
“But what if I lose, Father? What if I disappoint the people of Kaligondang?” Arya’s voice trembled.
His father looked at him lovingly. “True victory is not about defeating an opponent. True victory is when you continue to hold on to righteous values, whatever the consequences may be.”
Arya looked at Garuda Terbang. He wanted to believe his father’s words, yet doubt still filled him.
***
The night before the competition, Arya went to bed early. His shoulders were sore after practicing all day, and thoughts of the competition filled his mind. He fell asleep holding his top in his hand.
He dreamed that he was in an empty field. Garuda Terbang spun next to Bayu’s shiny, light one. There was no collision. The two tops spun side by side, each emitting a soothing, harmonious hum.
“We’re sorry, Arya to invade your dream,” Garuda Terbang said softly.
Dumbfounded, Arya tried to figure out if this was reality or only a dream.
“Arya, this is my friend, Petir Selatan. Southern Lightning belongs to Bayu from Karangmojo.”
The plastic top said, “Greetings, Arya. We’ve come to deliver an important message.”
“What message?” Arya asked curiously.
“We agreed that tomorrow there won’t be neither winner or loser. We won’t hit one another to cause one of us to fall,” Garuda Terbang explained.
“But this is an important competition. Our village has to win,” Arya shouted and continued, trembling. “Everyone in Kaligondang hopes we can preserve our dignity. Our ancestors are different from Karangmojo’s ancestors. For a very long time, these two villages have competed in various traditional competitions. If they think we have given up, they will believe our ancestors have lost their dignity.”
Petir Selatan spun slowly. “We know, Arya. But we have a better purpose. We will sing about beauty. We will dance to celebrate peace.”
“We’ll show that rivalry is not everything. Peace is priceless. Togetherness is more beautiful,” Garuda Terbang added warmly.
Arya was touched. His doubts and fears began to melt.
“Look, I’m made from old bamboo. He is manufactured out of modern plastic. We are different, but we can still be good friends. We do not need to fight to prove our greatness,” Garuda Terbang spun softly around Petir Selatan.
Arya started to understand and nodded slowly. “You’re right. Driven to win, I forgot the real meaning of this competition.”
The tops hummed beautifully, producing a harmonious sound. Arya felt peaceful. Unlike his other dreams, which he usually had forgotten by the time he woke up, this time he remembered everything.
***
A week passed. It was time for the annual traditional event. The bright Sunday morning seemed to reflect the people’s excitement as they waited for the occasion. The top spinning competition was always held after the rice harvest and had become the most anticipated event of the year. Usually, the people of Kaligondang, Karangmojo, and other nearby villages gathered in the center field to watch the competition. People from the two villages crowded the field. They stood on their own sides, facing the other villages. The atmosphere was tense. Each village’s raised flag waved in the wind. The people of Kaligondang wore green shawls, while the people of Karangmojo wore red ones, making the distinction clear. From the spectators’ area, the children filled the field with noisy, deafening cheers. Arya stood calmly, gripping his top. He remembered the message he had received in his dream. In front of him, Bayu stood gripping Petir Selatan. The two boys stared at each other.
“Ready to be a loser, Arya?” Bayu grinned, confidently.
Arya calmly smiled. Remembering Garuda Terbang’s message of last night, he said, “Let’s see.”
Lurah Mangun Martono stood in the middle of the field. He raised the hand that held the young coconut-leaf whistle. Everyone held their breath. He blew the whistle, and its sound cut through the air. The competition began.
Arya powerfully threw Garuda Terbang. The rope unwound perfectly, and the bamboo top whooshed into the arena, humming melodiously. Bayu threw Petir Selatan just as perfectly. The plastic top spun fast.
Across the arena, Lurah Wiro Dipo, the Karangmojo village head, arrived with several attendants. He stood smiling on the side of Karangmojo’s field with his arms crossed.
The two tops spun in place. The spectators held their breath, in anticipation for the tops to collide and decide the winner. However, there was no collision. Garuda Terbang and Petir Selatan spun side by side, producing a harmonious, melodious hum. Arya tried to direct his top to hit the other, but Garuda Terbang did not obey. It spun away from Petir Selatan.
Bayu seemed confused. He tried to direct Petir Selatan, but the top avoided Garuda Terbang.
“What’s going on?” someone whispered.
“Why don’t the tops hit one another?” Another person asked, puzzled.
The two tops seemed to be dancing. They spun in a perfect circle. Their hums blended, creating a harmonious melody that no one had ever heard before. The spectators fell silent. They gazed at the tops, and no one made a sound.
Garuda Terbang spun elegantly to the left, like a tayuban traditional dancer moving to the rhythm of the Javanese gamelan brass music orchestra. Petir Selatan followed from the right with the same movement. They moved rhythmically like a pair of tayub dancers swaying their shawls and looking at one another with respect. Their hums rose and fell like a song. At times, the sound was soft like the wind. At other times, it was loud like cheering voices. Sometimes it sounded melodious like a bamboo flute, and sometimes it resembled a round of applause.
Standing along the edges of the arena, the people of the two villages began to relax and started to smile. They realized that kinship was more important than victory.
A woman from Kaligondang took off her green shawl and waved it at the people of Karangmojo. An old man from Karangmojo responded in the same way. The spectators smiled, tears filling their eyes. The competition had turned into an art performance. Arya and Bayu, the final players in the competition, showed that friendship was more valuable than victory. After the competition ended, several players spun their tops. The tops spun together without hitting one another, as if they were dancing in harmony.
Arya and Bayu looked at one another. They nodded, showing respect, awe, and gratitude. Lurah Mangun Martono rose. He lifted his hand high and said happily, “No one loses in this competition. All of us win. We competed for unity and now enjoy togetherness,” he shouted, deeply moved.
The competition ended with a round of applause. The people of the two villages mingled. The border between the green of Garuda Terbang and the red of Petir Selatan disappeared. The two village heads hugged each other. They laughed, and the spectators cheered. The tops stopped spinning one after the other, but their songs continued to echo in everyone’s heart. It was a song of peace and unity.
Every top has a soul, Arya thought, recalling his father’s words. “It dances to the rhythm of the wind. It spins according to its will. It stops naturally. But to stop does not mean to die. It will be born again as a soul’s song. At last, Arya understood that true power did not belong to those who spun the fastest, but to those who continued to carry life’s values in their spins. Anything born from life would always have meaning, while chasing after victory alone often ended in a hollow emptiness.
*****