Creative Nonfiction
Creative Nonfiction - Humor - General Audience
4 min
The Chicken Chase of Banyumas
Fendy S. Tulodo
Fendy S. Tulodo
Fendy S. Tulodo from Malang, Indonesia, writes about how time and feeling shift. He also makes moody music as Nep Kid. Instagram: @fendysatria_."The Chicken Chase of Banyumas" is in Short Circuit #18, Short Édition's quarterly review.
Deep in the heart of Central Java, tucked between rolling green hills and sprawling rice fields, lay the quiet village of Banyumas. Life moved slowly there—too slowly for Darto, a twelve-year-old boy with wild curls and an imagination that could power a small city.
Darto had a reputation. If there was trouble in Banyumas, chances were he had something to do with it. Like the time he accidentally let the buffalo out of Pak Sukir's pen, or when he used his mother's prized rooster, Joko, to race against his friend Arif's goat. Joko won, but his mother grounded him for a month.
One scorching afternoon, with the sun glaring down like an angry parent, Darto sat under a banyan tree with Arif and Siti, plotting their next adventure.
"You know," Arif said, scratching his chin, "I heard Pak Danu has a chicken that can't be caught. He calls it Si Putih."
Darto's eyes lit up. "Can't be caught? Impossible! Every chicken has two legs, and I've got two hands. It's just math."
Siti rolled her eyes. "You don't even like math, Darto."
"That's not the point!" Darto said, jumping to his feet. "The point is, I can catch Si Putih. And when I do, Pak Danu will have to admit I'm the best chicken catcher in Banyumas!"
"Or," Siti said dryly, "he'll chase you out of the village with a broom."
Darto grinned. "Only one way to find out."
The plan was simple—or so Darto thought. That evening, while the adults gathered at the mosque for prayers, the trio crept toward Pak Danu's yard. The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of crickets chirping.
"There it is," Arif whispered, pointing to a sleek, white chicken pecking at the ground near the chicken coop.
Si Putih looked ordinary enough, with feathers that gleamed in the moonlight. But as soon as it spotted Darto, it cocked its head, as if to say, ‘You think you're ready for me?'
Darto crouched low, his hands outstretched. "Easy, Si Putih. I just want to be friends."
The chicken stared at him for a moment, then bolted.
"After it!" Darto shouted, scrambling after the bird.
What followed was nothing short of chaos. Si Putih darted through the yard like a feathery lightning bolt, weaving between banana trees and jumping over piles of firewood. Darto was hot on its tail, but the chicken was faster—and smarter.
It led him into a muddy ditch, then into a thorny bush that left his arms covered in scratches. By the time he emerged, panting and covered in mud, Si Putih was perched smugly on the roof of Pak Danu's goat shed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Darto muttered.
"Darto, look out!" Siti yelled.
He turned just in time to see Pak Danu charging toward him, a broom raised high.
"What are you doing in my yard?" Pak Danu roared.
Darto froze. "Uh . . . admiring your chicken?"
"Get out!"
The three of them ran until they reached the edge of the village, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
"I told you he'd chase you with a broom," Siti said, clutching her sides.
Darto wiped a tear from his eye. "Si Putih is faster than I thought. But I'm not giving up."
Arif groaned. "Darto, let it go. It's just a chicken."
"Not just a chicken," Darto corrected. "It's the chicken."
The next day, Darto came up with a new plan. He borrowed a fishing net from his uncle and a handful of corn from his mother's kitchen. "This time," he declared, "I'll outsmart Si Putih."
Under the cover of darkness, Darto snuck back to Pak Danu's yard. He scattered the corn near the chicken coop and hid behind a pile of bamboo, holding the net at the ready.
Minutes passed. Then, like a ghost, Si Putih appeared, its feathers glowing in the moonlight. It approached the corn cautiously, pecking at the ground.
"Got you now," Darto whispered.
He lunged forward, throwing the net with all his might. But Si Putih was quicker. It darted to the side, and the net landed harmlessly on the ground.
Darto stared in disbelief as the chicken strutted away, clucking as if it were laughing at him.
By the third night, word of Darto's mission had spread through the village. Half the kids in Banyumas showed up to watch him try again, cheering him on as if he were a hero in a cockfight.
This time, he had a new strategy: a trap made of bamboo and string, designed to snap shut when Si Putih stepped inside.
The crowd waited in hushed anticipation as Darto set the trap and stepped back. For a while, nothing happened. Then, Si Putih appeared, as bold as ever.
It approached the trap, pecking at the bait inside. The crowd held its breath.
Then, with a flick of its beak, Si Putih disarmed the trap and walked away, leaving the bait untouched.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
"Face it, Darto," Siti said, shaking her head. "Si Putih is smarter than you."
Darto was humiliated, but he wasn't ready to give up. On the fourth night, he decided to change tactics.
"If I can't catch Si Putih," he said, "I'll make it come to me."
He borrowed a chicken costume from the village's dance troupe and spent the evening practicing his clucks. By the time the moon rose, he was ready.
The sight of Darto clucking and flapping his arms like a deranged rooster drew a bigger crowd than ever. Even Pak Danu showed up, arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face.
For a moment, it seemed like the plan might work. Si Putih came closer, tilting its head as if trying to figure out what kind of chicken Darto was supposed to be.
Then, with a loud squawk, it launched itself at him, claws outstretched.
"Help!" Darto screamed, running in circles as the chicken chased him, pecking at his costume.
The crowd roared with laughter, and even Pak Danu couldn't keep a straight face.
By the fifth day, Darto was ready to admit defeat. Si Putih was more than just a chicken—it was a legend.
He went to Pak Danu's house to apologize, expecting another scolding. But to his surprise, Pak Danu just laughed.
"You've got spirit, kid," he said, ruffling Darto's hair. "Si Putih's not just any chicken, you know. My grandfather raised it from an egg. It's been with us ever since, keeping us on our toes."
Darto blinked. "Wait . . . how old is Si Putih?"
Pak Danu smiled. "Older than you'd believe."
Darto never did catch Si Putih, but he didn't mind. The chicken had taught him something more important: sometimes, the chase is more fun than the catch.
And from that day on, whenever Si Putih strutted through the village, clucking like it owned the place, Darto couldn't help but smile.
Because in Banyumas, even a chicken could be a legend.
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