ANYA sipped her morning coffee on the balcony of the Xantos Eco Resort, her eyes tracing a worn map of Xantos Island. She had already neatly arranged her theory in her mind, supported by years of research from libraries to online journals. But real evidence, that was what she needed. Specifically, evidence that the Otan River on the west side of the island was the heart of a long-lost stone age civilization.
“Morning, Miss Anya! Are you ready for today’s adventure?” The cheerful voice of Made, the hotel’s concierge, greeted her.
Anya smiled. “Morning, Made. Always ready! Thank you for helping me find a guide who was willing to explore the Otan River.”
“Ah, Mr. Wayan. He knows the ins and outs of the river the best. The oldest fisherman in our village, he knows every curve and rock there by heart,” Made explained. “He will be waiting at the small pier at nine o’clock.”
At exactly nine o’clock, Anya was already standing on the pier, the Xantos air still fresh, carrying the scent of the sea mixed with wet soil. A small boat with a simple outboard motor bobbed in the water. Inside, sat an old man wearing a coning hat, his skin dark and sunburned, and his eyes radiating wisdom. It must be Mr. Wayan.
“Good morning, Mr. Wayan. I’m Anya,” Anya greeted him kindly.
Mr. Wayan nodded slowly. “Morning, Miss. So, do you want to see the rocks in the Otan River? Honestly, I don’t know what you expect from those old rocks.” His voice was hoarse but firm.
Anya smiled. “I’m sure there’s more than just old rocks there, Mr. Wayan. I believe it’s the center of an ancient civilization.”
Mr. Wayan just shrugged, starting the engine of his boat. The boat sailed through the water, leaving the hustle and bustle of the coast behind. The further they went along the Otan River, the denser the forest atmosphere became. Shady trees towered on both sides, creating a cool green tunnel.
Anya kept observing the riverbank. Large rocks began to appear, some looked like natural piles, but some others looked like they had been deliberately arranged. “Mr. Wayan, can we get closer to that cliff?” Anya pointed to a rock formation that looked different.
Mr. Wayan sighed, but he obeyed. As the boat docked, Anya jumped down. With a small brush and a water bottle, she began to clean the surface of the rock. Slowly, beneath the moss and soil, a faint carving pattern began to appear. Rough lines, resembling primitive human figures and animals.
“This… this is a carving!” Anya exclaimed excitedly.
Mr. Wayan looked out of the boat. “Oh, that. It’s been there since I was little. People say it was made by the ancients.”
“Which ‘ancients’, Mr. Wayan?”
“Our ancestors. They were the first to live here,” she answered briefly, her eyes glazed over. “There’s a legend about negotiation stones around here. They say that if there’s a dispute between tribes, they’ll gather there, and the elders will talk on the stones until the problem is resolved.”
Anya hurried back to the boat. “Negotiation stones? That must be what I’m looking for! Can we go there?”
Mr. Wayan nodded, then steered the boat further upstream. After about half an hour, the river widened, and they arrived at a large, flat area on the riverbank, filled with arrangements of giant rocks. Some of the rocks stood upright like menhirs, while others formed a perfect circle.
“This is it, Miss. This is the place,” Mr. Wayan said, pointing to the open area.
Anya got off hurriedly, her eyes sparkling. This was exactly what she had imagined! She began walking around the rocks, feeling their rough surfaces, feeling the ancient energy radiating from each piece. In one corner of the area, she found a large rock with a strange depression on its surface, like a giant bowl.
“Mr. Wayan, what is this?” Anya asked, pointing to the depression.
Mr. Wayan approached. “That is where the elders pour holy water, Miss. When they swear or make important promises. Water from this river, taken with a special leather container, is then poured here. It is a symbol of unity, or a sign of an agreement that must not be broken.”
Anya imagined the ancient ritual, the elders in simple clothes gathered under the open sky, water flowing from the basin, uniting their vows and intentions. These were not just rocks, this was a stage for history.
They spent the rest of the day walking through the grounds. Anya found more pottery shards and stone tools – hand axes, knife fragments, even some rough beads made from shells. Each small discovery was a piece of a puzzle that slowly came together, forming a picture of a busy life in the past.
In the afternoon, as the sun began to tilt to the west, coloring the sky with golden orange, Anya and Mr. Wayan sat on one of the large rocks on the riverbank, facing the flow of water. The fishermen’s lights began to twinkle in the distance, just like small stars in the sea.
“Back then, when the moon was full, Miss,”Mr. Wayan began, his voice softening, “Sometimes we hear voices from this river. Not the sound of water or wind, but like whispers, or the echo of singing. The old people say, it’s the voice of the ancestors communicating with nature. They don’t speak with words, but with feelings, with energy.”
Anya looked at Mr. Wayan, sensing the depth of wisdom behind his words. “So, this ancient civilization is not truly gone, huh, Mr. Wayan? It still lives in stories, in memories.”
Mr. Wayan nodded slowly. “It’s not gone, Miss. It’s just changed form. From stones and tools, to stories told, to respect for this river, for this forest. Our ancestors taught us to live in harmony with nature. This river is our mother, these rocks are witnesses.”
Dusk crept up, drowning Xantos Island in silence. Anya closed her notebook. She had not only found archaeological evidence. She had found a philosophy, a profound connection between humans and their environment, that had endured for thousands of years. The pulse of past life truly still beats among the magic stones of the Otan River. In his mind, a grand plan began to form. She would return to the Xantos Eco Resort, compile all the data, photos, and stories he had collected. He would submit a proposal to the local authorities.
The Otan River site must be reconstructed, preserved, and opened to the public. This was not just for history, but for the future of Xantos Island. This would be a historical tourist attraction that enriched the destination, offering every visitor not only beautiful scenery, but also a journey back to the roots of civilization, the lessons of the ancestors that still whispered among the river stones. And she knew, with the help of Made and Mr. Wayan, he could make it happen. (*)
