A highly anticipated moment for the youths of Karees finally arrived: the anniversary celebration of Tarka RW 04. For this special milestone, the peak event was designed to be as grand as possible. The main performance was a live band coordinated by the Pareras—a well-known local musical family who happened to be Christian.
By that time, I had crossed paths with a girl named Ike Purnama Sari. She was the reigning West Java Pop Singer champion, hailing from the Jambu Stall area in Kiaracondong. We had been introduced by my close friend, Kang Ibom—whose full Batak-Sundanese name was Bambie Terawan Suhendi Situmorang, a notorious street figure from the Gumuruh and Gatot Subroto quarters.
For this event, I served as Chairman II, with Kang Djodjoh as Chairman I, under the general leadership of Pak Rachman. Pak Rachman was the mentor and guiding light for both of us; everyone affectionately called him Mr. Guru because he worked as a local elementary school teacher.
I reached out to Ike, asking her to perform at the peak of the celebration, which she graciously accepted. However, I was secretly navigating a personal dilemma: I also intended to invite Aryati to the event, wanting to proudly introduce her to my friends as my beautiful girlfriend.
On the afternoon before the big night, during our dress rehearsal to ensure a flawless, harmonious performance, troubling news shattered the air. A female singer, who was under the protection of a specific man, had been brutally assaulted by members of Elzus (Elembas Sukarisi)—a large street gang operating under the notorious Perlon syndicate. The singer had refused to comply with their demands, and in retaliation, they struck her down with a heavy rickshaw chain until she collapsed unconscious.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the evening call to prayer (Ba'da Maghrib) echoed through Bandung, my blood boiled. I went inside and retrieved a klewang—a traditional curved sword left behind from the older era of gang warfare. I called this particular blade "Number One," because its twin had already been swapped as a souvenir with Dedi Ileung from Perlon Gang 2 during a standoff somewhere between Ciroyom (or Bandung Station) and Jayagiri, Lembang.
I set out alone, driven by a raw code of street honor. But in our neighborhood, word traveled like wildfire. Before long, former members of the Anker (Anak Karees) gang caught wind of my march. They mobilized instantly, joined by a younger generation of boys who were eager to prove their mettle.
Midway to our destination, our small army crossed paths with Pak Aan, the fierce head of neighborhood street safety. A retired Cavalry officer, Pak Aan was widely feared for his uncompromising sternness. Yet, as he looked at us—fully armed with our respective weapons—he stood frozen. He did not utter a single word or attempt to stop us.
As we pressed further into Elzus territory, a tall, heavily-built, dark-skinned man appeared in the distance. It was Frans, the cross-wearing leader of Elzus. Seeing an armed convoy invading his domain, a tense silence fell over him. He stood paralyzed, offering no reaction. Ignoring his gaze, we swarmed past him to continue our hunt. The streets were dead quiet.
Eventually, an informant whispered that the Elzus boys were hiding inside a nearby house, deeply engrossed in a gambling ring. Without warning, we kicked the doors open and drove them out, beating them in a frenzy of steel and shouting. Terrified, they scattered into the shadows, reportedly fleeing toward the narrow rickshaw alleys of Kosambi.
Watching them run, a strange clarity washed over me. I pictured them trapped, cornered like wild animals. I knew the law of the streets: if you push a cornered tiger too far, it will eventually turn back to tear you apart. There was no need to bloodied our hands any further.
"Gather the weapons," I ordered my men, my voice cutting through the adrenaline. "Everyone, go home."
The array of blades and clubs were piled together and held tightly in the arms of Yakob, a boy who was still in elementary school, who quietly smuggled them back to our quarters.
But our retreat was cut short. Suddenly, a swarm of helmeted, armed men ambushed us. It was the riot police squad—alerted by a frantic phone call from Pak Aan. Both Kang Djodjoh and I were immediately pinned down and placed under arrest.
"Shut up! You've caught my father," one officer barked at me, confusing the situation.
Trying to keep my composure, I replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I am just a student. I was merely on my way to Kosambi." "Where is your proof?"
I pulled out my student identification card, and Kang Djodjoh quickly did the same. At that exact moment, other officers returned from scouring the alleys, reporting that the area was entirely clear.
"Unbelievable!" the lead officer muttered in Sundanese, scratching his head. "At least there should be a victim or an assailant here. Maybe we raided the wrong spot, or the ones attacked have already fled to hell. This case is getting out of hand." Without further evidence, they let us go.
The street dynamics shifted constantly. Sometime later, when the Perlon gang sought to expand their iron grip over new territory, their eyes fell upon the Balatax gang's domain. At that particular moment, I was tied down by a business venture that I absolutely could not abandon. Taking advantage of my absence, Benny Burs, the fierce leader of the Perlon Gang, launched a surprise assault on the leader of our Karees Gang.
The moment my business wrapped up, a cold dread settled in my stomach. Fearing that my boys were walks straight into a slaughter, I ran to catch up with them. I reached the perimeter of the Balatax territory just in time to hear the rowdy, confident chatter of the Perlon kids Echoing from a garden.
An erratic idea struck me. Darting to the side of the road, I scooped up a heavy stone, roughly the size of an adult's fist. Concealed by a dense bamboo fence bordering the garden, I wound back my arm and threw the stone with every ounce of strength I possessed.
CRASH! The heavy thud shattered the night. To my absolute bewilderment, the loud noise sent the entire Perlon faction scattering in pure panic. This was the infamous Perlon Gang that everyone in Bandung trembled to mention? I felt a wave of profound disappointment and bitter amusement. Truly, no lesson carved out for beginners ever goes to waste. They fled blindly down Gumuruh Street, charting a desperate course toward Binong Jati.
Determined to see this through, I walked out onto Gatot Subroto Street, trailing the fleeing remnants of the Perlon line at a slow, deliberate pace. Once I closed the distance, I found another stone and hurled it again.
BANG!
The rock slammed onto the asphalt right in front of their feet. They jolted, spinning around and screaming curses, demanding to know who dared challenge them.
I calmly stepped out from the shadows, exposing myself to the streetlight.
"That's him! That's the guy!" Benny Burs shrieked, his finger trembling as he pointed at me.
He wasn't alone; he had brought along a notorious jeger (enforcer) from Binong Jati for protection. Unfazed, I stepped across Gatot Subroto Street, closing the gap until I stood directly face-to-face with the entire Perlon assembly. I crossed the final stretch of road to meet their gaze.
"H-hey... Kang Ujang!" Benny Burs stammered, his tough exterior instantly evaporating into shock.
I didn't say a single word. I stared at them in utter silence, turned on my heel, and walked away. We all retreated back to our respective homes without a single exchange of words. A sacred verse resonated within my conscience: "We must never act under the toxic influence of pure emotion."
The following morning at exactly 09:00 AM, the bitter taste of disappointment still lingered in my mouth. I gathered the Karees boys and lined them up, measuring a strict distance of one elbow's length apart.
One by one, they tasted my fury. I handed out hard, ringing slaps to the left and right of their faces. Even the strongest among them received a stinging blow. I was incredibly frustrated by their cowardice the night before, but discipline had to be maintained. The lesson had to be driven home.
Following that harsh awakening, the Karees Gang went wild, driven to the edge—especially Lili Dhowah. On a Sunday night, engulfed in reckless rage, Lili drew a knife and brutally assaulted a man who was out on a date, beating him to a bloody pulp.
Inevitably, Lili was hunted down and detained by the security forces of the local teak vinegar district—who happened to be active, hard-nosed Cavalry military personnel. In those days, military security was something everyone feared above all else; they possessed no mercy for street thugs.
Anxiety gripped me. I knew Lili's stubborn character all too well; he was a boy who refused to be broken or humiliated by outsiders. He would rather die than be tamed. Yet, no one else was willing to step in. Practicing the same philosophy of restraint, I decided to intervene.
When I arrived at the security post, the tension was suffocating. The soldiers had ordered Lili to perform ten grueling push-ups on the asphalt in front of a mocking crowd of onlookers as a form of public humiliation. Lili's jaw was set, his muscles straining, ready to snap and turn it into a fatal altercation.
Slowly, I walked up and gently patted Lili on his tense back. Without a word, I dropped my own hands to the dusty edge of the road right beside him. Looking straight ahead, I executed ten perfect push-ups.
Stunned by my gesture, Lili's defiance melted away. He silently dropped down beside me and followed my lead, completing his ten push-ups pace for pace. The crisis evaporated, the military officers stepped back, and the problem was solved.
In that quiet moment of resolution, another profound verse settled into my soul: "Sometimes, we must accept a temporary defeat to secure the ultimate victory."
Yet, the turbulence of that year was far from over. My thoughts drifted back to Atit, the beautiful Puteri Solo. On the day I had set out to deliver my carefully crafted love poem to her, she hadn't yet returned from school. Unable to wait, I had left the letter with her younger sister, Ita.
Unable to contain my anxiety, I returned to her house the very next day, timing it precisely with her arrival from school. I was desperate to see her reaction, my heart suspended between wild hope and paralyzing dread. But when we stood face to face, there was no smile, no blush—nothing but an icy silence.
As I stood there waiting for a sign, Ita peeked out from behind the door. "Kang Ujang," the little girl chirped, breaking the quiet. "Mbak Atit tore your letter into pieces."
"ITA!" Atit snapped, her voice sharp.
But the damage was already done. It was more than enough for me. It was a poem that she had ripped to shreds, but what I felt tearing apart inside my chest was my own heart. It felt utterly crushed, reduced to ash. I quickly excused myself and walked away. The fragile, newly blossoming roots of our romance were completely dead.
Even so, a young man's spirit is not easily broken. I refused to give up on love; I resolved that I would simply have to find another girl to occupy my heart. (This bitter exit played out in my mind to the dramatic chords of Dewa's Arjuna—a anthem of a lonely warrior endlessly hunting for a love that remains forever out of reach).
When the day of the Tarka anniversary finally arrived, it was ultimately carried out in a very modest fashion, under the humbled banner of "From Tarka, For Tarka." The grand plans had been scaled back; the main entertainment was reduced to a simple karaoke session featuring local singers from our neighborhood.
Wanting to look my absolute best, I dressed in my finest attire: a pair of clean grey trousers and a crisp white shirt. In truth, it was my school uniform—the only high-quality clothes I owned.
Almost all the Tarka members had gathered at the venue when the Puteri Solo finally made her entrance, accompanied by her close friend, Iyam. The moment her eyes landed on me, she paused. Nudging Iyam, she scoffed aloud, "Look, there's a schoolboy here."
Iyam offered a knowing, mocking smile.
Confused and feeling a sudden prickle of heat on my neck, I turned to my friend Udin. "What is she talking about, Din? Who is she mocking?"
"Well, you, Kang Ujang," Udin whispered dryly. "You're the only one here wearing a school uniform to a night party."
A wave of intense embarrassment crashed over me. It only just registered in my mind that a school uniform had absolutely no place at a formal social gathering outside of school grounds. I felt exposed, small, and deeply ashamed. I watched silently as Atit and Iyam walked past me to join the other girls at the front.
Despite its simplicity, the event carried on, providing comfort to the local crowd. At one point, a girl named Melis took the stage. She sang a song so beautifully, with such raw emotion, that I found myself entirely swept away by the lyrics. Long after the music faded, I remained frozen in place, staring blankly into space, deeply lost in my own melancholy thoughts.
Having decided to leave early, Atit and Iyam walked back toward the exit. As Atit passed my slumped figure, she stopped for a brief second. Looking down at me, she threw a parting jab: "Kang Ujang is completely mesmerized by Melis. Why don't you just make her your girlfriend?"
For the second time that night, humiliation burned through me. I felt like a petty clothesline thief caught red-handed by the entire neighborhood.
If my pursuit of Atit had pulled my steps toward the West, my next venture drove me sharply toward the East. (A transition marked in my memories by the throbbing, restless rhythm of Naluri Lelaki—the primal instinct of a man who refuses to let heartbreak tire him out, who continuously seeks a woman to soothe his anxious soul).
While walking down the road, I crossed paths with Enggih.
Stopping me, Enggih pointed toward a house in the distance. "Kang, if you can actually win over the girl who lives in that house, I will officially declare you a true master."
My pride was instantly provoked. Accepting the challenge without a second thought, I marched straight to the house and knocked firmly on the front door, calling out a polite greeting.
When the door swung open, my breath caught. Standing before me was a girl of striking beauty. Her skin was a rich, sweet dark complexion—a true Si Hitam Manis. Her eyes were wide, dark, and mesmerizing (cureuleuk), framed by long, elegantly curled eyelashes that felt completely captivating.
I fell hopelessly in love on the spot.
"Who are you looking for, Kang?" her smooth, melodic voice washed over me.
"Oh, no one in particular, Neng," I stammered, pulling myself together. "I was just visiting a friend nearby, but they didn't even offer me a single drop of water. I'm incredibly parched. If it isn't too much trouble, could I trouble you for a glass of plain water?"
The beautiful girl smiled and vanished into the kitchen. Moments later, she returned, handing me a glass filled with fresh water.
Remembering a religious sermon I had recently received, which cited a Hadith from Ibn Abbas stating that the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ once drank Zamzam water while standing, I took the glass and drank it in slow, deliberate sips until it was completely empty—all while remaining on my feet. (Only much later in life would I learn of alternative Hadiths strictly advising against drinking while standing, going so far as to suggest inducing vomiting if one forgets. From that later realization onward, I always made it a sacred rule to sit).
After finishing, I handed back the glass, offered my deepest thanks, and bid her farewell.
Enggih, who had been watching the entire exchange from a distance, walked up and playfully slapped my stomach. "Alright, I admit it," he laughed. "Ujang, you really are a master."
By the time the next Saturday night rolled around, I returned to the same house under the exact same pretext. But this time, my heart was set on something far more serious. I had resolved to take a leap of faith; I was going to confess my feelings and ask her out.
To clear my conscience, I had decided that very afternoon to visit Aryati's house first. I wanted to tell her that I would be incredibly busy with my university studies and wouldn't be able to visit her for a very long time. In reality, it was a ruse; I was preparing to officially redirect all my courtship efforts toward Si Hitam Manis.
As I approached Aryati's house that evening to deliver my farewell, my mind was entirely consumed by visions of the dark-skinned beauty. In my imagination, her sweet smile seemed to manifest right before my eyes, accompanying my footsteps to the romantic verses of the classic song, Hitam Manis.
But before I could even step onto the porch to speak with Aryati, a voice cut through the air, offering a polite greeting from behind.
I turned around, and my heart dropped into my stomach. I stood paralyzed in absolute shock. Walking up the path was Si Hitam Manis herself—and she was walking side-by-side with Dedi, a young man from the neighborhood whom I already knew very well.
As it turned out, Dedi was her older brother.
"Is Aryati inside, Kang?" Dedi asked casually, entirely unaware of the storm raging inside me.
"Y-yes... she's inside," I choked out.
"Ah, never mind then. We'll just come back another time," Dedi said lightly, turning around and leading his sister away.
I stood there, drowned in a sea of bitter disappointment. It felt as though the heavy hand of destiny itself was slapping me in the face, sending a clear, unyielding message: I was fated to return to Aryati, whether I liked it or not.
A few days later, trying to reclaim my pride, I walked over to Aryati's house carrying an acoustic guitar slung over my shoulder. strumming the strings, I felt a surge of arrogant confidence, fancying myself a romantic artist. But the moment I reached the courtyard, I ran straight into Pak Suwanda, Aryati's father.
He looked at the guitar, then looked up at me with a dry expression. "Done busking, Ujang?" he asked casually.
At that time, I was naive; I didn't truly understand the gritty, lower-class connotation of the word ngamen (busking/street singing). I foolishly assumed it meant performing high art for the public, so I nodded my head with an arrogant grin.
But later, when the true meaning of his words finally registered in my mind—that he had basically compared me to a penniless street beggar singing for spare change—a furious rage erupted within me.
How dare Pak Suwanda insult me like that? The utter disrespect of his question became a burning ember in my chest.
It was an insult I would carry straight into the ill-fated night of the Tarka anniversary. When I stood in Aryati's living room hours later, watching her walk back from her father's room with a thoroughly dejected, sorrowful face, her quiet words broke the final thread of my patience.
"Apa says I'm not allowed to go with you, Kang," Aryati whispered listlessly.
Every ounce of suppressed resentment from the past year—even stretching back across the three years since I first laid eyes on her—boiled over. The realization hit me like a physical blow: after all this time, after enduring her father's insults and pouring out my devotion, I was still completely untrusted. I was still deemed unworthy.
Without a single word, I turned around and walked out of her house, leaving her standing alone in the dim light. I didn't look back. The thin veneer of my patience had shattered completely, and the wound left by her family's rejection cut deeper than any blade.
A very important moment arrives, namely the birthday of Tarka RW 04. At that time the summit will be conducted by a band coordinated by the musician's family, parera family, Christian family.
At that time Sim Kuring already knew a girl named Ike, champion Pop Singer West Java, kiara condong guava stall people, who introduced my friend named Kang Ibom, his full name is Bambie Terawan Suhendi Situmorang (Batak-Sunda), street people Gumuruh Gatot Subroto.
At that time Sim Kuring served as Chairman II, Chairman I Kang Djodjoh and chairman was generally Pak Rachman, who became the Teacher of our organization both. He was called by Mr. Guru because he was an elementary school teacher.
Sim Kuring contacted Ike, to perform at the summit, but there are obstacles Sim Kuring will invite Yeti to attend the event. Ike agreed.
The afternoon before the event there was information, a female singer in the control of a man, hammered by members of Elzus, (Elembas Sukarisi, regional name), a large gang under Perlon.
The singer refused and then was struck by a rickshaw chain until he collapsed. Ba'da magrib, Sim Kuring takes Klewang's legacy of the era of gangs.
Called one, because there is another one, which is exchanged as souvenirs with Dedi Ileung, gang Perlon 2 (forget again, what Ciroyom or (Satasiun bandung) in Jaya giri lembang.
I leaves alone but someone knows it, gives each other information, finally the former gang member Anker (Anak Karees) is complete, plus the next generation who like to follow along.
In the middle of the road We met with the head of sweeping road safety, Mr. Aan, a retired Kaavileri, who was feared for his fierceness. But when he met with us, complete with each other's rations, he didn't react.
From a distance a man alone, tall, large, black, turned out in Frans, the cross man, Chairman Elzus. Seeing us invading his domain he was silent not reacting, We ignored him, continued the search, but the atmosphere was quiet.
Finally we got the information they were gathering at a house was gambling. Sure enough, we beat them all out. They managed to escape, reportedly they fled to the Kosambi rickshaw alley.
After they escaped. I pictured them being conquered. There's no need to be urged anymore. Like a tiger that has been pushed, in the urge again will return to fight.
It occurred to me that I gathered the men to gather their weapons, and told them to go home.
The weaponry collected in the dekap by yakob who was still in elementary school, and brought home.
At the same time, I was arrested by a gunman and wearing a helmet. Apparently it was the riot squad that was on Mr. Aan's phone. So was Kang Djodjoh's arrest.
"Shut up you've caught my father," said One to Sim Kuring.
"Sorry sir, I'm a student, I want to ka Kosambi" "Where's the proof?"
I went out on a student card, and so did Kang Djodjoh. At the same time, other police reported, no one was found.
"Wonder! At least anu in attack aya. maybe this is the wrong mah that was attacked It's go to the hell been a case of ongoing." Said the police
One day the Perlon gang controlled their territory, the choice fell to the Balatax gang.
At that time Ujang had a business that could not be left behind. The Karees Gang, the leader of which was attacked by Perlon Gang leader Benny Burs.
After them, after the business is done. Ujang was worried, afraid something would go wrong.
Finally Ujang caught up with them right at the entrance of the Balarax Territory, Ujang heard the conversation of the Perlon gang's children.
An idea arose for a moment Ujang took a stone the size of an adult's fist. Parallel to the bamboo fence of a garden, Ujang threw the stone with all his might. There was a loud crash.
"Bang!"
They all run away. It turns out that this is the only Perlon Gang that everyone is afraid of. Ujang felt very disappointed and stuck. Truly no learning for beginners goes to waste. They fled towards Gumuruh Street towards binong jati.
Ujang walked to Jalan Gatot subroto and walked slowly. Tailing members of the Perlon Gang. after approaching Ujang again threw the same stone at them. "Bang!"
The stone fell right in front of them. They looked and screamed for the person who threw the stone.
Ujang showed himself, "That! That!" said Beny Burs while pointing at Ujang. Besides strangers. Apparently he was escorted by Jeger Binong Jati.
Ujang stepped across Gatot Subroto's street. He stood before the members of the Perlon Gang.
Ujang crossed the road to meet them.
"Hey Kang Ujang!" said Beny brush shocked.
The writer was silent, turned around, went home. We went back to our respective homes without saying a word.
The Verse "We must not act in an emotional state"
The next day at 09.00 am Ujang collected the brands, lined up one elbow long with only Ujang's hand apart.
One by one they got hot hits. Tempelengan left and right, including wonder. Understandably still very disappointed and annoyed. But learning must go on.
After that, the Karees Gang went crazy, especially Lili Dhowah.
He hit someone who was on a date on a Sunday night with a knife. He was beaten to a pulp.
In the end, he was arrested by the security of the teak vinegar. Which incidentally is an active cavalry member. At that time everyone was very afraid, not the weakest.
Ujang was worried, Ujang knew that one character, cannot be caught. Cannot be defeated by others, no one is arrested for practicing the same verse as Ujang.
Sure enough, he was tensed with security because he was told to push up 10 times in front of the people who were watching him.
Ujang patted his back. Then Ujang put his hands on the side of the road and did 10 push-ups. He followed Ujang Push ups 10 times.
Problem solved
Come down another Verse
"Defeat for victory."