The Reef

In a place where the sea meets the sky lived an old man named Arka. His home was the islands of Indonesia, where the ocean song was his melody, its waves his rhythm. With the sun he rose, donned his trusted goggles, took spear in hand. He waded into the sea’s embrace – a hunter of the deep, last of the free divers who still followed the old ways.

The sun began his day, painting the sky gold and orange. Arka scanned the blue, looking for shadows that danced beneath the waves. With a breath he plunged beneath, entering a silent, tranquil world alive with fish.

In this underwater kingdom Arka was a respected hunter. His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s, spotting the fish’s vibrant colors. His hand was steady as a turtle’s path, spear launching with grace. Each fish caught was a blessing, a gift from the sea, fuel for his humble life.

But life held more than sunrise catches. Like the highest tide it brought hardship. Arka’s tale held strength, love and loss. He lived simply, the sea whispering its wisdom. He knew its beauty and dangers yet still smiled at each new sun, breathed the salty air and jumped into the waiting sea. For this was his world, its song his melody, its waves his rhythm.

*

Arka’s morning was a symphony of moments. With the first sunrise hints he rose from woven straw. His house perched on stilts, bamboo walls echoing the distant sea rhythm. The new day filled the space with soft light.

Barefoot, he stepped outside, cool sand a welcome touch. Eyes closed, he stretched skyward, feeling the first rays warm his weathered skin. His pulse matched the lapping waves, palm leaves humming a morning lullaby.

Arka retrieved his spear, ironwood aged as many seasons as his lost son, bound to slender bamboo. A faithful friend, scarred and polished by countless battles beneath the sea.

Next, his old goggles—handmade teakwood hollowed to fit his eyes, clear glass and water buffalo hide strap. Putting them on was welcoming the familiar, the reliable.

Breakfast was ripe mango or breadfruit, sweet start to his salty day. He savored slowly, feeling energy flow through his veins, fuel for the long day ahead.

At water’s edge he’d stand, toes touching soft retreating foam. He scanned the horizon—each dawn the sky and sea reborn through new eyes, a dance beckoning him below. With a series of breaths he stepped into the sea’s embrace.

*

As the sea embraced him, he’d feel alive, ready. Another day, another dive, another dance.

Colours unfurled before Arka’s eyes as he dove, vibrant corals and fish animating the underwater rainbow. The ocean transformed into an enchanted kingdom, stretching farther than he could see.

In the shallows, bright turquoise waters waved. Playful clownfish danced among anemones, jesters of the sea bearing unique orange and white stripes. “Hello Surya,” Arka’s mind whispered. He recognized this feisty fish, greeting an old friend. As he descended, his pulse slowed, waves calming his rhythms. “Still the same mischief-maker I see,” he mused, Surya’s darting antics ever amusing.

Ramu the turtle glided by sage-like, worn shell kaleidoscopic with time and tides. “Good morning Ramu,” Arka thought. Those wise eyes acknowledged him slowly. Ramu moved with grace, shimmering in beams from the surface. “The sun touches even the depths today,” Arka observed.

“Do you remember, Ramu, when Ananda swam here?” Arka’s thoughts grew soft, heart full in the hush of deep waters. “You were the wise one during his adventures.”

Further down, the turquoise deepened to mesmerizing cobalt, a coral forest where parrotfish danced. “Enjoy your breakfast, Mawar,” he thought, watching a pink one nibble the colorful reef. Her shimmering scales crunched faintly with each coral bite. “Remember not to eat too much,” he added with a hidden smile.

At the cobalt edge emerged mysterious indigo shadows – the dwelling of larger hunters. Here Pangeran the grouper ruled, his speckled might clear in the diffused light. Arka approached reverently through the blue, hunter to hunter bonded by the chase beneath the waves. “We meet again Pangeran,” his thoughts paid homage. “May your reign last long.”

*

Deepest violaceous waters cloaked the ocean floor where the sunlight struggled to breach. There Arka met Ksatria, the noble trevally, patrolling this twilight realm. His silver body reflected what scarce light persistently pierced the dark depths.

“Ever the brave,” Arka’s voice whispered wordless in Ksatria’s wake. His strong heart swelled, anchored by the ancient currents’ pull. “Guide me through unknown stretches old friend; our silent pact remains.”

Each encounter here was a conversation without sound, bonds woven through storms and gentle tides. In Ksatria’s midnight eyes Arka found his purpose, a reassuring warmth in the cold abyss. This was more than mere hunt, more than chase – a timeless communion sanctified in ritual older than memory.

Arka reached his mark, body enveloped in the sea’s cool silent caress. He hovered motionless, becoming one with the aquatic canvas that surrounded him. Senses heightened, he adjusted to unrelenting pressure as easily as the tide’s steady cadence. No longer mere man but shapeshifter, rare transmutation into a creature of the teeming kingdom.

Eyes closed, he listened for the comforting rhythm of his slowing heart—a private lullaby amongst the stillness. Visualizing the languid beats, each one brought deeper calm. “Slow, steady,” his own voice echoed now foreign in his head. His thoughts sank through indigo depths with each pulse.

Lungs deflated in deliberate exhale, releasing carbon dioxide in a sigh of minute bubbles fleeing toward sun drenched waters above. Inhaling tranquility, tension escaped on his breath as he pictured life flowing in and out of body and soul. “Release, relax,” he repeated within, mantra from ages past when ancient mariners still ruled the waves.

His being attained perfect rhythm with the living ocean – heartbeat, breath attuned to her infinite song. Transformations transcended the physical; at last, novice from mere mortal cloth to high priest robed in rolling glory. All around him the susurrations of his new kingdom lifted worry from his mind. In this rapturous harmony Arka found purpose once again. The true dance was about to begin.

*

The dance began with a shift in his body, a subtle change in direction guided by his strong, tanned arms. It was like the initial beat of a drum, the opening note of his underwater ballet. Arka moved with the currents, not against them, embracing their guidance, their flow.

His first step was a gentle kick, his legs extending, toes pointing, propelling him forward. He moved with the grace of a manta ray, the rhythm of his movement a tribute to the sea’s native dancers. His body glided through the water, every motion deliberate, every gesture a part of his silent song.

Arka swirled around the coral towers, an intricate waltz amongst the vibrant colours and textures. Each twirl brought him closer to the fish, his dance partners in this underwater performance. He’d approach them gently, respectfully, their acceptance a testament to the bond they shared.

Then came the highlight, the spear’s dance. His grip would tighten around the familiar tool, his arm moving in a smooth arc. The spear would cut through the water, swift and precise, connecting with a fish. But it wasn’t a violent action; it was a part of the dance, a circle of life choreographed by nature.

As Arka’s spear found its mark, he’d watch as the silver scales of the fish shimmered one last time before the movement stilled. Today, it was a trevally, its sleek body now under the command of Arka’s experienced hand.

Approaching the speared fish, his heart felt a pang of sorrow mixed with gratitude. “Thank you, friend,” his mind whispered, a quiet acknowledgment of the sacrifice the fish had made. He’d gently remove the spear, his fingers brushing against the cold, smooth scales. The fish was heavy, a good catch, a promise of food for another day.

Holding the lifeless fish, Arka would imagine its life before this moment. Had it been a swift swimmer, darting through the currents with ease? Had it enjoyed the coral’s shelter, the camaraderie of its school, the freedom of the open waters? His heart filled with respect for this creature, this crucial link in the chain of life that allowed him to sustain his own.

“You swam well, brave one,” he thought, a silent salute to the life that had been. “You danced through these waters, brought joy to the sea. And now, you will continue your journey, not in the water, but through us. You’re not just a fish; you’re a part of the story, a part of the dance.”

He felt the weight of the fish in his hand, the reality of his survival. It was a harsh yet beautiful truth, a circle of life that connected them all. The sea, the fish, the man – they were one, intertwined in a dance as old as time itself.

With one last look at the fish, Arka began his ascent. His inner monologue was a tribute, a prayer, a pledge. He respected the sea and its inhabitants, and he cherished every gift, every sacrifice they made. Because in the end, it was all a part of the dance, the dance of life under the sea.

*

Back on the shore, with the sun high in the sky, Arka sat down with the catch of the day. The silver scales of the trevally sparkled under the bright light, its lifeless eyes mirroring the vast ocean it once called home. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead.

“Alright, friend,” Arka spoke out loud, his voice breaking the rhythmic sound of the waves. “Let’s make this quick.” He reached for his knife, a tool as worn and dependable as his old goggles. As he made the first cut, he let his thoughts flow, a comforting dialogue in the silence of his task.

“It’s a strange thing, isn’t it?” He asked the fish, his hands skilfully working. “You were swimming freely just a few hours ago. And now… here we are.” He removed the guts, his movements gentle, respectful.

“You know,” he continued, “I can’t help but wonder about the roles we play. Today, I’m the hunter, and you’re the prey. But in the grand scheme of things, we’re both just trying to survive, aren’t we?” He gave a small chuckle, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and acceptance.

He worked in silence for a few moments, lost in his thoughts. The fish was clean now, its body empty, ready to be cooked. “You gave a good fight, friend,” he finally broke the silence. “I’ll make sure your sacrifice won’t be in vain.”

With a final look at the cleaned fish, Arka stood up, his heart filled with a sense of gratitude and reverence. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible against the sound of the sea. “For being a part of my life, a part of my story.”

With that, he walked towards his humble home, the fish in his hands, and the wisdom of the sea in his heart. Every day was a lesson, a tale, a dance. And each day, Arka learned a little bit more about life, about survival, and about himself.

*

As Arka approached his small, open-air kitchen, he began to hum a tune. It was a melody as old as he was, passed down through generations, a song of the sea and its gifts. His voice was not refined, but it held a raw honesty that filled the air with a warm, soothing rhythm.

“Cruising through the blue waves, the hero of the sea,” he sang, his voice blending with the sizzling sound as the fish hit the hot pan. “With scales that shine like silver, free as free could be.”

The aroma of the cooking fish wafted through the air, mixing with the salty sea breeze. He continued to sing, his voice carrying the melancholy and joy of a life lived at the mercy of the sea.

“Caught in a dance with destiny, in the hunter’s grasp you fell,” he continued, his hands deftly turning the fish over. The golden-brown crust crackled, a testament to his culinary skill honed by necessity and time.

“Thank you, oh silver swimmer, for in our hearts you dwell,” he finished, his voice softening. The last notes of his song hung in the air, an ode to the sea and its bountiful gifts.

Arka took a moment, his gaze on the cooked fish, its aroma now filling the surroundings. His heart echoed with the song, with gratitude, with an overwhelming sense of peace. It was just another day in his life, a day marked by the rhythm of the sea, the dance of life, and the simple joy of a well-cooked meal.

He finally took the fish off the fire, setting it down to cool. His song had ended, but the melody lingered, a constant rhythm in the symphony of his life. As he prepared to eat, he knew he carried a piece of the sea within him, a song of the waves, a dance of the depths. And that was all he needed. It was his life, his story, his song.

With the last bites of his meal savoured and his hunger sated, Arka leaned back against the wall of his humble home. His body felt tired but content, the exertion of the day’s dive slowly catching up with him.

*

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow around him, the gentle lullaby of the waves kissing the shore echoed in his ears. He closed his eyes, letting the serene symphony of nature wash over him. He didn’t need a grand bed or a lavish room. Here, under the vast sky, with the scent of the sea filling his lungs, he felt more comfortable than a king in his castle.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind began to wander, traveling back into the depths of the ocean, revisiting his underwater friends. Surya the clownfish, Mawar the parrotfish, Pangeran the grouper, and Ksatria the trevally, they all appeared in his dreams, dancing and darting through the vibrant coral reef.

His steady breathing synchronized with the rhythm of the sea, creating a harmonious duet that echoed the balance of his life. The fisherman and the sea, the hunter and the hunted, the dreamer and the dream, they all converged in Arka, the old man under the sea.

And so, lulled by the music of the ocean, Arka slept. His body resting under the protective watch of the sun, his spirit free and wandering beneath the azure waves, keeping a silent vigil over his watery kingdom until the call of the sea would awaken him again.

*

As Arka stirred, a dream still clung to his waking mind – he’d been diving not alone but with Ananda, his movements mirrored in the boy’s. A faint smile touched the father, bittersweet melody echoing in his heart.

“But that was long ago,” he whispered. He could still see it plainly: Ananda no longer a boy but twenty-one, caught by pearl diving’s allure. Adventure called with siren song and shining promise of riches.

“Best among them,” Arka murmured, eyes distant in painful memory. Swift and graceful, exceptional – each triumphant find brought admiration, wealth’s first heady tastes, dreams brighter than any pearl.

“Yet the sea is cruel,” his voice fell quiet.

Its fickle balance between beauty and brutality defied understanding. Ananda learned this hardest truth possible, reckless in youth’s blush. It wasn’t Arka there when the lad with stars in his eyes, ocean in his heart, stepped into the antiquated suit and the abyss below. Only two friends manned the pump that tethered life from death.

In dawn’s splintered light the sea feigned tranquility as Ananda vanished into lover’s embrace. Then that rhythmic heartbeat faltered with gasp and grumble, severed his breath, muted the chug of hope to hollow echo in their ears. Hands grappled the rusted still machine but could not spark back its extinguished purpose.

Alone below, promises of pearl bed turned ill-fated tomb, the suit become a weighted shroud. Frantic rescue lost in vast blue expanse and indifferent tides. Merciless dusk emerged, departing light a melancholic tribute to the boy-diver now claimed.

On cruel wind traveled word to Arka that buckled his world. Shared laughter, woven dreams, precious father-son bond—suddenly consumed by silence unyielding.

His son had gambled life for the pearl’s shiny lure and lost, ensnared by callous sea forever embracing. In the debris of futures polished bright, the father now faced a ghost: audacious diver daring follow beauty’s veil into the deep unknown.

The sea had giveth sweet bounty then taketh boy-child away. Both joy and sorrow swirled in Arka’s heart, though still the morning waves called his return. In currents he felt Ananda yet swimming close, death but a crossing into eternity where true pearls shine.

*

Arka recalled the tremors of distant explosions from his childhood – echoes not of war but battle against the sea itself. “I remember too well,” he’d murmur. “The ground shook, the fish floated up lifeless.”

Those were days when blast fishing thrived in Raja Ampat’s crystal waters. Lured by easy profits, fishermen turned to explosives, ignoring the destruction left behind.

By the time Arka was a man, nearly a fifth of all reef fish caught were victims of this cruel, illegal method. Once-teeming waters had grown silent, vibrant coral shattered lifeless into graveyards of greed.

Now this old man helped patrol as a volunteer, protecting their precious sea. He kept vigilant watch alongside others who took up the conservation mantle. An armada against ocean invaders.

With each day’s dive, he carried the weight of responsibility—his heart echoing those long-ago blasts. His spears became commitments in a pact with the sea to respect the life cradled within.

For Arka the sea was not just provider, but home. He would fight to preserve it for his son’s memory, for sea turtles like old Ramu, for future generations inheriting this aqueous gem. No longer mere fisherman, but guardian of the blue depths.

As the sun set, Arka stood at water’s edge surveying the meeting of sea and sky. Hands calloused by a life dependent on the ocean’s mercies. His mind danced through the day’s memories and past sorrows. He felt a gratitude for all he’d gained and lost under the watchful sea’s gaze.

A tiny turtle’s determined crawl towards its first swim caught his eye. He thought of dreams once shining in his Ananda’s gaze now mirrored here. With a helping hand Arka helped the small one disappear into the waves’ embrace.

In closing his small hut door at day’s end, he sat on his wooden floor and took in the sea—a blanket of stillness, waves gently kissing the shore. He dreamt of waters clear, reefs vibrant with life anew. As guardian of this haven, in his dreams lay hopeful future.