The courtyard of the Village Hall was bathed in the warm glow of oil lanterns, creating a cozy aura between rows of chairs and the simple wooden stage. Tonight, that very stage would witness the official birth of the Durian Guardians, a grassroots alliance united to protect the durian orchards and the village's future.
I, Agung Rokhman, stood behind the stage, straightening the collar of my dark-green handwoven jacket—made specially for this event. On my left chest was a round badge depicting a durian, with the words "Durian Guardian" encircling it. My heart pounded as this was our first official initiation ceremony after countless meetings, orchard tours, and layered discussions. Tonight, the entire team—farmers, teachers, students, mothers, and traditional leaders—would swear together to become guardians of our ancestors' legacy.
The stage lights ignited, illuminating a large banner adorned with an illustration of a sturdy durian tree. A gentle gamelan tune played, performed by a group of village mothers, creating a magical atmosphere. The soft clang of the gong and the tinkling saron welcomed the first Durian Guardian members as they approached the stage.
In the front row, our Main Chair, Pak Mulyono, and Vice-Chair, Chandra, sat upright. Beside them, Secretary Bu Siti took notes on the proceedings, while Treasurer Pak Ahmad prepared a small box of ceremonial items: green woven hats, tiny fabric durian mascots, and batik sashes that would be draped over each new member.
I inhaled deeply and turned to Chandra, who gave me an encouraging nod. Under the bright spotlights, I stepped forward.
"Assalamualaikum, good evening, people of Durian Village!" My voice rang out into the hushed night. A gentle round of applause followed. "Tonight, we gather for a historic moment: the official inauguration of the Durian Guardians, a grassroots alliance formed over the past ten days."
The lights swept across the square, revealing dozens of villagers standing in neat rows—farmers in camouflage shirts, teachers in sarongs, middle school students in white-and-blue uniforms, and elementary children clutching small ribbons. Their eyes shone with hope and excitement.
"What is our purpose here tonight?" I asked, raising the spirits in the air. A unified reply rose from their lips: "To protect the durian orchards!"
I nodded in satisfaction. "Exactly! We are not enemies of anyone, but champions of villagers' rights to our ancestral land and cultural heritage. Starting tonight, every soul present will swear to become a Durian Guardian: protector of agroforestry, beacon of hope for farmers, and symbol of resistance against destructive monocultures."
The gamelan paused for a dramatic beat. Then Chandra stepped forward, holding a microphone.
"All prospective members, please come forward by division—Documentation, Advocacy, Community Outreach, Digital Communications, Logistics, and Education—to receive your initiation items."
One by one, division representatives advanced. First, the Documentation Division, led by Pak Warjo, strode forward with dignity. Bu Siti placed a woven hat upon his head. Next, Treasurer Pak Ahmad accepted a tiny fabric durian mascot hung around his neck, symbolizing "nurturing the fragile, sweet core."
The spotlight shifted. The Community Outreach Division, represented by the PKK mothers, walked up carrying brochures and banners. They were draped in batik sashes patterned with durian leaves—signifying their readiness to spread the message door-to-door and ignite villagers' spirits.
The Digital Communications Division, led by Riyu and Lia, stepped forward hand in hand. They carried light sticks and smartphones, symbols of social media's power to broadcast the #DurianHeart narrative.
I watched each face as they advanced—eyes as clear as morning dew and lips set with fierce determination. A wave of emotion swept the field, accompanied by a simple kolintang melody played by middle school children.
Once all divisions had received their items, Chandra raised his hand, calling for silence. He reached into a small box on the podium and withdrew an aged scroll, neatly folded.
I moved forward, standing beside him. The front lights cast dramatic silhouettes. With a firm voice, I read aloud the oath:
"For the sake of this birthplace, for the legacy of our ancestors' durians, we swear:
To guard the durian trees as if they were our own family.
To protect the orchards from any threats of monoculture and corruption.
To unite the villagers—regardless of age, status, or belief—in solidarity.
To wield data, advocacy, and local wisdom as our weapons.
To uphold integrity, transparency, and sustainability.
Hereby, we unite as Durian Guardians!"
Each word reverberated in every villager's ears. When the final phrase was spoken, dozens of raised hands joined in a single voice:
"We swear!"
Their collective cry shook the square. I fought back tears of emotion as Chandra patted my shoulder in shared pride.
After the oath, we continued with a symbolic First Harvest ritual. In the center of the courtyard stood a large bamboo basket overflowing with golden-ripe durians. Five representatives—myself, Chandra, Pak Mulyono, Bu Siti, and Pak Ahmad—lined up before the basket.
Pak Mulyono took a durian and sliced through its stem with a machete. "With this harvest, we gather the fruits of our labor—more than just a fruit, but a testament to solidarity and responsibility." He handed the first durian to Chandra.
Chandra carefully cracked it open and handed a portion to the elementary children watching. Their delighted laughter echoed as they tasted the fruit's creamy sweetness, marking the first of many upcoming durian festivities.
I, too, took a durian, sharing pieces with the Digital Communications Division. Riyu and Lia snapped photos, immortalizing the moment on the village's Instagram Live. The hashtag #DurianHeart blazed across thousands of live-stream viewers, eliciting cheers from afar.
Next, we unveiled the official Durian Guardian logo: a durian with its spiky outline forming a heart, flanked by two crossed bamboo poles. The logo appeared on a large screen as the PKK mothers distributed matching stickers to every member.
Then, we performed the "Durian Guardians' Anthem," a simple melody composed by the local music teacher. Its lyrics rang out:
"My durian, my heritage,
Village's heart standing strong,
Together we stand,
Guarding this sacred land,
Durian Guardians are united,
Singing hope anew,
For our village, for our future,
Prosperous, sustainable."
Hundreds of voices joined, singing in unison. The sense of unity was palpable—even the rising moon seemed to pause and listen to our vow and melody.
After the gamelan and the anthem concluded, I returned to the podium. "Thank you to everyone—traditional leaders, village officials, teachers, students, farmers, mothers, and all villagers—who made this dream a reality. The Durian Guardians are not just a name, but a collective promise. Tonight is only the beginning, not the end."
Chandra added, "Tomorrow morning, the Documentation Division will send teams into the orchards to record details—this will be our foundational data. The Advocacy Division will draft administrative complaints if needed, while the Digital Division produces daily educational content. We will act in an integrated manner."
I surveyed the crowd and concluded my speech: "Let us close this evening with a joint prayer, asking for strength on our long journey. May our steps be blessed, and may Durian Village's heritage endure, firm-rooted for generations to come."
The village imam led us in prayer, lifting a plea for protection from corruption, monocultures, and division.
The nighttime ceremony ended with a simple reception. The PKK mothers served fried bananas, durian kolak (sweet soup), and warm ginger tea. Children danced in front of the small stage to traditional music, while farmers savored kolak and shared lighthearted stories. Students flew small drones overhead, capturing aerial footage of the orchards, the sea of lantern lights, and the dancing spotlights.
In a corner, Chandra and I watched the villagers' joyful interactions. "I'm proud of you, Gung," Chandra whispered. "We truly moved the hearts of the entire village."
I turned to the soft flicker of lanterns. "It's because we listened to villagers' aspirations, rather than imposing our will. May tonight's spirit continue to burn brightly."
Chandra nodded. "Tomorrow, we begin a new day—drone patrols, bamboo traps in the orchards, and Durian-Friendly livestock practices to protect natural habitats. But tonight, let's celebrate the Inauguration of the Durian Guardians—a moment when we vowed to protect the roots, trunk, and fruit that are our village's pride."
I patted my friend's shoulder and took a piece of durian kolak. As the tender palm fruit and the durian's sweet flesh melted on my tongue, I closed my eyes to savor the warmth of the night. A gentle smile played on my lips—the smile of a young man who returned home, found new purpose, and with his people, penned the most colorful chapter of his life.