Prologue

Dharmakusuma: Defender of Langkasuka 1
REGION IN TURMOIL (Clash of Kingdoms)

Prologue

Before the pen was crafted;

Before the ink was formulated;

Before the stone tablet was inscribed;

Before the beginning started; and the ending finished;

Before the earth was laid; before the sky was curved;

In the darkness; amid the chaos;

Then was the before of the before.

§        §        §

960 AD, Gunung Sembatu (Stony Mountain), Upper Galas River Valley, in the land named Amdan Negara (Kingdom of the Valiant).

The sun peeked from over the treetops in the east, beaming out the first rays of brilliant golden orange to light up the morning world. In the west, the rolling curves of mountains, riding high over the clouds, alternately rising and falling, looked like the silhouette of a giant serpent peacefully meditating on the earth’s breast.

Adhi Vira gazed at the distant horizon, his face clouded with gloom. For three nights running, he had not got even a wink. Blade and battle never fazed the powerfully built warrior, but now the fight he had to fight simply ground and grated deep into his soul. Watching his beloved wife grow weaker moment by moment, struggling with constantly diminishing strength against the unrelenting pain wrought by the Lord of Death, until she had little energy left for even more struggle. While he himself had no means whatsoever within his power to help her.

“What fate awaits my lady, Kejora?” Adhi Vira watched his wife, lines of extreme worry etched deep in his face. As she lay on the mattress of kekabu jungle fruit cotton, her disturbed look, even as she slept, suggested that she had not had much peace. “I see, from her face, that she is in much suffering.”

“I am sorry, Lord Prince,” the middle aged midwife cum healer handed him a mug of water. “Lady Permata Sukma (Gem of the Soul) had lost way too much blood. Her body is extremely weak now. I have tried my utmost best to stop her bleeding. But her fever has still not yet subsided.”

“What about my daughter?”

“The young princess will be fine,” another female voice interrupted, making Adhi Vira turn around.

“Teratai Putih (White Lotus)!” Adhi Vira looked surprised. “It's been a long time."

"Greetings, Lord."

"Greetings to you, Teratai. We were talking about you just a while ago. You were prominent by your absence."

“Got held up on the way, Lord," the elderly seer continued. "With these old ankles and knees also slowing me down."

"Poor soul. Should have let me know beforehand. I would have sent a pedati to fetch you."

"Oh no, Lord. I can't. My legs and feet need the exercise. Or they'll just go to rust even faster. Anyway ... I am come to pay my respects ... and to see the baby."

"Thank you, Teratai. We really appreciate that. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you too, Lord. Your daughter’s crying voice ... it's so loud and strong. She sounds like one boisterous bundle of energy. My instinct tells me ... that she will be blessed with good health and peace all her life. It’s like ... I can almost feel ... that she carries the fortune of the Dharmakusuma Dynasty in her.”

“And what else do you feel, Teratai?”

“She will one day be queen of Tanah Serendah Sekebun Bunga (Valley of Flower Gardens).”

“You mean … Kelantan Amdan Negara?”

“Oh well, Lord. Whether Kelantan Amdan Negara … or Tanah Serendah Sekebun Bunga … or Sambhu Gita or Imbang Jaya … or Sri Saujana Vijaya Mala … for me they all mean the same one kingdom … heir of Negeri Bumi Merah (Red Earth Land) … our kingdom and that of our ancestors since the ancient past. Your daughter … according to my intuition … will be the first sovereign ruler of this land … since such a long, long time … from the Dharmakusuma Dynasty.”

“Only you sound a bit too certain, Teratai,” Adhi Vira rolled a small piece of dried nipah (swamp palm) leaf around some shredded tobacco, then lit it up. “Making me a trifle anxious.”

“I can only peer ahead according to the ways that I have been taught, Lord,” said Teratai. “Insofar as the ability that I possess. Still, I have made more than a few predictions, and a fair number of them have come to pass.”

“She smells so pleasant,” Adhi Vira bowed low to inspect his three day old newborn daughter even more closely, his face brightening up a bit then, upon hearing Teratai’s soothing persuasion. The child's eyes were still tightly shut, its tiny hands bunched tightly as Adhi Vira held one of them gently in his own.

“Yes, dear Husband,” Permata Sukma had to struggle hard to muster the strength she needed just to get up from her lying position. “She does, doesn’t she? As pleasant as glorious musk, she is. Allow me my last pleasure ... the sweet privilege … of giving … our daughter … her name.”

“Of course, my love. Anything you wish is yours.”

“I name her ... Kembang Seri Wangi (Blossom of Fragrant Grace).”

“A splendid name for a princess,” her husband laid his palm lovingly on her cheek. It felt like it was fast losing its warmth.

“Husband,” Permata Sukma had to make a massive effort as she tried to eke out a few more words.

“My beloved, please don’t exert yourself too hard,” Adhi Vira pleaded with his wife. “You must save your energy for your recovery. You’re too weak now. You need to rest.”

“Take care of … our daughter … to the best … of your ability. She will … give you … pride and happiness. She will be … a suitable heir … for the … Dharmakusuma Dynasty. Good … bye … my … love.”

Adhi Vira just sat there, stunned into total stillness and silence. Finally tears flowed, first slowly, then freely, down his burning cheeks. Tears of love of a fearless warrior. Tears that hadn’t flowed since he was a five year old child hankering for his mother's attention. The weather outside looked shining bright then. But Adhi Vira’s heart felt darker than the darkest night.

“Great Lord,” he sobbed, unabashedly. “Why do you do this to me? Why? Why? Why?”

Moments passed, which felt like ages to Adhi Vira, while deathly quiet reigned in the room. Then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I shall come and see the baby every day, my Lord, if my services are required,” Kejora offered. “My house is only a short distance from here. My daughters shall help me if necessary.”

“And so shall I, Lord,” Teratai added. “Your daughter will be my godchild.”

"But then ... what am I going to do ... when my daughter ... cries for her milk again?" Adhi Vira wondered aloud, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Not to worry, Lord," Kejora comforted him. "My third daughter is nursing her two month old child. She is strong and healthy. She can feed two babies with little difficulty. Princess Kembang Seri Wangi will never ever go hungry, Lord. I'll see to that myself."

"Thank you, Kejora. I don't know what I would do without you."

Adhi Vira lifted himself up slowly, aided by Kejora and Teratai. His body felt heavy as lead, his muscles sore, his bones fatigued. A familiar pain ran up his left thigh, the lingering effects of a months old spear injury, courtesy of a skirmish with the marauding Palembangian forces of Biduk Bota (Ogre's Ship).

Adhi Vira's fighters had regularly managed to inflict heavy losses on the Sumatrans every time they came on one of their random raids up the mountainous interior. Ambushing them on the march, striking at them when and where they least expected it, destroying them with all kinds of booby traps. But Biduk Bota's supply of men and arms seemed inexhaustible, and he kept those raids coming.

"I'll alert the neighbours, Lord," Kejora put up her shawl over her head, getting ready to leave.

"I'll go with you, Kejora," Teratai added. "We're going to need as many hands as we can gather to organise a proper funeral for the Lady. You take your time, Lord. Keep the child company. Get yourself together. The people must not see you in this state."

Teratai was right, Adhi Vira reflected. He felt like he was in a thousand little pieces then. But he could not dissappoint the community of Gunung Sembatu. To them, come what may, he must always remain their invincible, indomitable, indestructible Lord of the Mountain. A scion of the Dharmakusuma Dynasty could not be anything less. Even if it had been a dynasty in exile for two centuries.

He straightened Permata Sukma’s by then cold body on her mattress, held her face in his hands, and kissed her for the longest time. Then he draped a long piece of clean white cotton cloth over her.

The love of his life was gone now. Gone forever. But he has to soldier on. The family quest will continue.

§

Thus was how, in the same one week, his daughter’s birth brought a glorious ray of pleasure into Adhi Vira’s life, while his wife’s passing tore his heart apart. Now, the happiness of gaining a child was so cruelly mixed with the pain of losing the woman he loved. The feeling of good cheer brought about by the arrival of Kembang Seri Wangi was shared by neighbours, relatives, friends and followers of Adhi Vira. Likewise, the departure of Permata Sukma, whom they had come to regard as a shining light in their reclusive mountain stronghold, equally grieved them all.

Quite a number of them comprised migrants from the area around Bukit Panau, a morning’s boat ride downriver, who had been forced to leave their ancestral lands, after their homes, farms, rice fields and other property were seized by Biduk Bota and his henchmen. Supposedly as punishment after a large scale rebellion by the villagers protesting a sudden hefty raise in taxes on farm produce and on travel and transport of goods by both land and river.

§        §        §

960 AD, city of Rajbadi Danga, province of Karna Suvarna, in the land of Bhangala.

Prakasha received the various leftover foodstuff brought down by his wife from their kitchen. His youngest son ran excitedly after the ducklings following a surati mother duck, trying his utmost best to grab hold of one. The ducklings scampered away all around from the boy in fright. The mother duck’s feathers bristled in a show of hostile resentment.

“Bhava, why are you disturbing those poor ducklings?” Prakasha squeezed and mixed the old cooked rice, vegetables, meats and gravies with milked-out grated coconut and some freshly grated sago to make feed for his chickens, ducks and geese. “If their mother suddenly turns on you, then you’ll know her wrath.”

“I only want to hold them, Father. I only want to play with them.”

“If you want to hold them, then you have to approach them gently, Son. Feed them, coax them, gain their trust, like I do. If you just keep rushing them and scaring them, they’re always going to run away from you. Here, look. When I call out to them, they come tamely to me without any fear. Look now, they even poke their beaks into my hand to find food.”

“Why are those ducklings following a surati duck, Father? Why aren’t they following their own mother?”

“Because they think that she is their own mother. Because she was the one who brooded them until they hatched, then cared for them since they were small.”

“Why didn’t their own mother brood them herself, Father?”

“Because she died before they hatched. A hungry cobra tried to steal her brooding eggs one night. When she fought the snake, she got sprayed with venom before the snake slithered away. So I had to continue brooding the eggs using a surati mother duck, until they hatched."

"What? That's weird!"

"Heck, you know, my old friend Sarghuna even had a hen continue to brood his duck’s eggs when the duck died from an infection. So the ducklings that hatched later are now following the hen around like their mother.”

“Crikey! A hen mothering ducklings ... that’s even weirder!” Prabhava first shrieked in astonished disbelief. "Does she enjoy a good swim too?". Then he broke into a shrill laugh of kiddy mirth. "I want to see that! I have to! I must!" To his little mind, the world was regularly full of mystery and magic, making life constantly merry and wondrous.

"Well, it happens that I'm going to pay Sarghuna a visit tomorrow. I haven't seen him for some time. You can tag along with me then. If you promise me that you'll behave yourself."

"I promise, Father. I promise."

Having just passed seven years of age, Prabhava was always so ebullient and inquisitive. Seldom stationary for any prolonged period of time, he was a ball of energy in perpetual motion. Whether running around, playing, chattering away with someone, or pestering someone else to be told yet another tale, from morn till dusk.

§

The day was bright and sunny. A warm, gentle breeze blew from the coastal plains in the east. It had not rained for several days. The air felt dry.

The old man watered the beds of okra, long beans, tomatoes and brinjals with water which his sons had fetched from the well. The newly fruiting vegetables would be ready for harvesting in a couple of months or so.

He then looked to the other side. The rows of tapioca, sweet potato and sugar cane looked thick and luxuriant in their foliage. The tapioca and potato would give him plump succculent tubers. The sugar cane would carry plenty of sweet juice. A smile came over the man's wrinkled, weather beaten face. 

"Uncle Sarghuna!" a little boy's excited shout from the direction of the gate to Sarghuna's farmstead jolted the man from his ponderings.

Sarghuna turned around, looking pleasantly surprised by the unexpected appearance of his distinguished visitors, a tall smart looking man and his equally well dressed son.

"Hello, young man!" the man greeted the little boy gingerly. "Still looking hale and hearty as usual, aren't you?

"Where's the hen with the ducklings, Uncle? I want to see them!" the boy continued, brimming with eagerness.

"They're foraging around in the backyard of the house now, I think. Go have a look there, Son."

The boy scooted off at speed to find the object of his wonderment. 

"Your veggies are looking good, my friend," Prakasha surveyed the area. He was still sweating from the morning walk with his son from their home across the foothills. "Must be the soil around here."

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Sarghuna watched the ducks and geese picking out the snails, beetles, worms and borers on his plants. "They are, aren't they? You could be right. But I still sprinkle some manure on the beds, though."

Sarghuna had known Prakasha from his days as a young recruit in the cavalry. Their friendship had endured since then, Prakasha often turning to the older man for advice.

"Let's go up to the house for a cup of tea and a proper chat, Lord. It gets too warm down here after some time."

"Thank you. I could use a drink."

"Amrita!" Sarghuna called out aloud to his wife. "Boil a kettle of of your best tea. We have important guests."

The two men talked about the latest developments, the weather, their own respective farms, the local politics, everything.

“So what does the future hold for this youngest son of mine then, Sarghuna?” Prakasha broached the subject of his son's future as he sipped the delicious fragrant tea, which came from the Assam highlands. “If I could have the benefit of your sage wisdom."

“Lord,” the old seer crushed small bits of betel nut in his dusty, worn out betel nut crusher with his wiry hand. “It pleases me greatly to hear a highly respected Ashvaka soldier seek my humble counsel. As befits his proud name, Prince Prabhava will grow up into a brave and strong warrior. However, he will be imbued with the restless spirit of an adventurer. Taking after his father, I would believe. His life, therefore, will be driven by his wanderlust. His many journeys abroad will end in a distant place, far, far away from here."

“And where would that place be, if I may know?”

“Yonder, across the Bay of Bhangala, roughly in the direction of the rising sun from Singhala Dvipa (Singhala Island). In a blessed land, on a peninsula that leads from Suvarna Bhumi, the Golden Continent, to Suvarna Dvipa, the Golden Islands. There would be where he will eventually find the ultimate happiness and peace that he craves."

"He also always gets so excited every time he hears about Daivi Khadga ... that legendary sword from the sky. He says that ... he wants to go and look for it ... when he grows up."

"Oh! Daivi Khadga? The Sword of Arjuna. Of course. It's every young warrior's dream."

"Sorry, Sarghuna. But to the Kambhoja people ... it will always be the Sword of Kambhujiya. After all ... King Kambhujiya ... won it fair and square in battle from King Kuvalashava of Kosala. But Arjuna ... descendant of Kuvalashava ... only obtained it after he had slain Prince Sudakh Shina ... descendant of Kambhujiya ... with his arrow in cold blood. After Sudakh Shina had truly and totally bested Arjuna in a face to face, man to man fight ... in the Battle of Kurukshetra. You know ... Sudakh Shina even badly wounded Sri Krishna."

"You sound so sure about that story, my friend."

"Oh yes. I am. I'm a Kambhoja. The blood of King Kambhujiya is in me."

Talk of the ancient Kambhoja never failed to fire Prakasha up with fierce pride. They had always been known throughout the Himalayas as a valiant, heroic people.

"Now we're arguing about some mythical sword of more than two thousand years ago," Sarghuna smiled.

"And we don't know if it even exists ... much less where it lies," Prakasha smiled back. "It's all ancient legend."

"Oh well. Let's just put it this way, Lord. If the quest for Daivi Khadga makes Prince Prabhava go out to the world ... drives his ambition ... and helps make a man out of him ... it can only be good for him. By that time ... whether Daivi Khadga really exists or not then ... would be beside the point."

“If that is his destiny, then so be it,” said Prakasha. “For it was also destiny that once brought me here all the way from Badakshan … my Kambhoja homeland in the Western Himalayas. That was how my life as a cavalryman in the Bhangala army began.”

"Do you still miss Badakshan, Lord?"

"I'll never cease to do, Sarghuna. Its magnificent scenery ... its urvara bhumi ... its elegant horses ... its sturdy ponies ... its divinely fragrant musk ... its beautiful precious and semi-precious stones. If only I could experience all those things again ... maybe some day ..."

The royal court of the ruling Pala Dynasty of Bhangala and its army, especially the cavalry, was dominated by men of aristocratic Ashvaka ancestry. The Ashvaka, their name meaning horseman in Sanskrit, was an elite Kambhoja tribe of accomplished riders who could shoot an arrow in any direction from the back of a horse in full gallop, who came from the west.

Prakasha could have exploited his lineage and the good connections that came with it to engineer a faster career advancement, but, like a good soldier, he had opted to work his way professionally up the ranks. In the end, he had still impressed his superiors enough to eventually rise to Maha Senapati (Chief Commander) of the Cavalry. It was a most coveted position, because the cavalry formed the cream of the Pala army.

§        §        §

Three years later ...

"Father," Prabhava spoke. "You promised me yesterday that you'd tell me some stories about the Kambhoja ... and the battles they fought in times of old."

"Go gather the firewood for your mother first, Bhava," his father answered. "You'll hear those tales in the afternoon."

The morning passed. It seemed to take rather long for Prabhava, but he bore with it patiently. After lunch, father and son sat together under the verdant shade of a mango tree whose fruits were just about to ripen.

"There was once this ancient Kambhoja warrioress," Prakasha began, "who had stood up with admirable courage against Alexander of Macedonia."

"Did she? Really?"

"Yes, she did. Her name was Krippya (Cleophis), of the Ashvaka tribe of Massaga. She was the Queen Dowager. Her land had been attacked by Alexander and his army, and her son the new king had fallen in battle."

"Poor woman. What happened next?"

"With classic Kambhoja bravery, she simply took over the role of supreme commander, then exhorted her Ashvaka forces to continue fighting tooth and nail against those of Alexander. The Macedonian king was even gravely wounded in the Battle of Massaga and only made a narrow escape. He had to hobble his way out with the greatest urgency."

"Great stuff, that. I knew she'd give him a good fight. She was an Ashvaka."

"Kripya's army, by then including many other women of the tribe who had also lost husbands or sons, was only defeated and overpowered by the Macedonians, not in a fair fight but through fraud, treachery and breach of treaty. An act for which even Alexander's own court historians, including Callisthenes of Olynthus, had severely castigated him."

"What poor excuse did Alexander give then?"

"Alexander claimed that he had no choice, for in order to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat against the fiercest fighters his men had ever faced, he had to break every sacred rule in the code of the true warrior."

"How disgusting. And then?"

By the same sly wile and guile, Alexander went on to win further battles against Ashvaka armies in Ora and Bazira, the remaining Ashvaka fighters then retreating to a high mountain fortress in Aornos. Eventually, however, Alexander met his match in cunning and trickery in the form of a young man by the name of Sashigupta, renegade son of a prince of the Nanda dynasty, rulers of the powerful kingdom of Magadha, by his Ashvaka concubine named Maurya.

On the run from his grandfather the king of Magadha after a perceived slight, Sashigupta found refuge in the willing embrace of Alexander's invading army. The youth managed to convince Alexander that he had the fighters who could help the Macedonian king win the Aornos fortress with minimum casualties. At the same time, Sashigupta told his Ashvaka kinsmen, quite correctly, that Aornos was a lost cause and persuaded them to abandon the fortress, after some token resistance to make things look real, to the Greek invaders.

Sashigupta's plan worked brilliantly, avoiding what would have been the sacrifice of many thousands of lives, both Greek and Kambhoja. Alexander made Sashigupta satrap of Aornos, and left it for him to rule on Alexander's behalf. Sashigupta would later lead a composite army of nomadic highlanders, with Kambhoja warriors forming its core, to vanquish the kingdom of his Nanda grandfather and found a new ruling dynasty of Magadha, named after his mother, the Maurya Dynasty.

Sashigupta himself ascended the throne as King Chandragupta Maurya. In later years, Chandragupta would wrest back the Kambhoja territories lost to Alexander from Seleucus, Alexander's successor in the Indus Valley region, and incorporate them into his Magadha kingdom.

"There was another famous Kambhoja queen, I think," Prabhava tried nudging his father toward one more story.

"Well, there was Timmeya (Tomyris), also of the Ashvaka tribe."

"Did she fight a conquering king too?", the son enquired, prompting the general to continue.

"Oh yes, she did. And she won."

"Tell me about the battle, Father."

Queen Timmeya had actually jumped into the fray to lead her forces to victory against Persian conqueror Khouroush-e-Bozorg (Cyrus the Great), in what would turn out to be his last battle. Khouroush had wanted to annex the mountainous lands of the Ashvaka tribes, including Massaga, to Achaemenid Persia, citing common ancient ancestry, a familiar tactic among conquering kings.

Khouroush could have been right about the ancestry claim, the name Kambhujiya of the Kambhoja's ancient founding ancestor having cropped up rather frequently among the Achaemenid royal household of Persia. But when Khouroush tried to force Queen Timmeya to marry him, after her husband and teenage son had been killed by Khouroush's forces in battle, he pushed his luck too far.

After her rampaging army finally routed Khouroush's invading forces, Timmeya chopped off Khouroush's head from his corpse, grabbed it by the hair, turned it upside down, and  screamed, "You were always thirsty for blood! Now you have the fill of your own!" She then went riding all around the battlefield, holding her trophy aloft for all her warriors to see and cheer.

§        §        §

970 AD, Bukit Panau (Spotted Hill), in the land named Amdan Negara (Kingdom of the Valiant).

Biduk Bota (Ogre’s Ship) surveyed the area around Mahligai Gemilang Sakti (Palace of Sacred Glory). The palace previously named Mahligai Dharmakusuma (Dharmakusuma Palace). For two centuries it had been occupied, in turn, by various self-appointed narapati (provincial chiefs) hailing from Palembang who claimed to be, whether truthfully or otherwise, related to the royal house of Palembang Srivijaya, the latest among whom being Biduk Bota himself.

The people’s uprising along the entire Kelantan River Valley around Bukit Panau had been crushed, swiftly and brutally. Several rebel leaders had been captured, bound and thrown into prison. There they languished in fear, awating their final punishment. Their homes had been burnt down to ashes, their property seized. A few more of them were still on the run, now hunted like wild animals by Biduk Bota’s henchmen.

In an isolated settlement, a couple of prasanga distance from Mahligai Gemilang Sakti, Biduk Bota’s men, armed to the teeth, barged into two houses located nearby each other. They came out again dragging a man and a woman from each house.

“Father!” a small boy, about five years of age, cried on the serambi of his house. “Mother! Wait! Don’t leave me!”

“Bastards!” another child, about the same age as him, from the other house, screamed angrily. “Don’t take my mother away! Mother! Where’re they taking you to? Father!”

The two men and their wives were bound in sturdy rope and brought to Mahligai Gemilang Sakti to receive their punishment. The women were roughed up, then abused by Biduk Bota himself, in front of their husbands. The men were then beaten up and tortured to within an inch of their lives, then dragged and hurled into a killer crocodile’s cage amid screams of terror, to be savaged then feasted upon by Jaka Pelara, Biduk Bota’s voracious reptilian executioner. In short order, their wives were executed by keris in public. The ghastly punishments were necessary, Biduk Bota insisted, to serve as deterrence against future rebellions.

One of the men somehow managed to whisper a weak request to two relatives, moments before he was dragged and thrown into the crocodile’s cage. “Utih, Uda. Save our sons … Pinang and Nibung. Take them away … to Gunung Sembatu … leave them with our good friend … the Lord of the Mountain.”

The two youngsters slipped away immediately. They rushed back to their village, sought and found their two small kindred, then quickly smuggled them out, taking them through isolated jungle routes, toward the mountains far upstream. They avoided going anywhere near the Kelantan River for fear of encountering Biduk Bota's men.

Only when they reached Krai, near the place where the Galas River met the Lebir River, did they dare to consider and take up a friendly looking villager's offer of a ride on his fast dugout longboat up the Galas River to Jelawang. Even then, Utih and Uda never took their eyes off the boatman for long, always keeping a sharp watch in case the man was a spy or a traitor who might turn them in, while at the same time helping to row the boat. Then they walked again through thick jungle, from Jelawang town in the direction of Gunung Sembatu, until they reached their final destination, the abode of the Lord of the Mountain.

Thus the two children, Nibung and Pinang, were eventually taken in by the Lord of the Mountain into his home, and raised by him as his own, with all the love a father could ever give, even though he himself had lost his beloved wife ten years earlier.

§        §        §

970 AD, Gunung Sembatu (Stony Mountain), Upper Galas River Valley, in the land named Amdan Negara (Kingdom of the Valiant).

For Kembang Seri Wangi, the unexpected appearance of Pinang and Nibung in Gunung Sembatu (Stony Mountain) was like a fortuitous blessing, even if it had occurred in the most painful of circumstances. In a single day she had gained two little brothers, thereby adding much needed life and cheer into her home. While awating a room of their own to be built for them, the two young boys slept together with her in her room. Every night she would keep them company until they both fell asleep. Only then would she herself retire. While her father mostly preferred to sleep outside, in the guest lounge, rather than his own bedroom.

During the day, Nibung and Pinang would run around and play normally like the other kids in the neighbourhood. At first they were shy and reserved, preferring to keep to themselves. Eventually, however, their new friends won them over with their warm good-natured friendliness, making the two children forget momentarily the recent dark events in their life.

At night, however, when sleep came, all the terrible memories would come back to haunt them in their wild nightmares.

“Mother! Father!,” Nibung sobbed aloud in his dream, waking up Kembang Seri Wangi who had just dozed off. “Don’t leave me!”

Kembang Seri Wangi wiped Nibung’s face, wet with sweat, with a piece of moist rag. The child woke up briefly from his sleep, shifted his position a few times, and soon fell asleep again.

“Don’t take my mother away!” moments afterward, Pinang screamed. “Bastards! I’ll kill you all one day!”

Kembang Seri Wangi did the same with Pinang as she had done with Nibung.

“Wangi,” moments later Nibung had woken up again.

“Nibung,” Kembang Seri Wangi turned back to Nibung, readjusting her new brother’s blanket, which had by then shifted all over the place. “You’re tired. Go back to sleep, dear brother. Tomorrow you’d want to go play with your new friends again.”

“My mother and my father … when are they going to come and pick me up? It's been a long time since Uncle Utih and Uncle Uda brought me here. My old friends back home … and my relatives … I miss them all so much.”

The child’s innocent lament hit Kembang Seri Wangi hard and deep in her young soul. But she made a big effort to keep her poise. She had to be strong for him.

“Nibung, my brother” she spoke softly, in a soothing tone. “Your mother and your father … they have gone to a place far, far away from here … so that they shall not be disturbed by those bad people again. Be patient. One day … when they’re ready … they shall come for you.”

Thus young Kembang Seri Wangi tirelessly looked after and cared for the little boys, calming them every time she sensed turmoil rising in their small hearts. Day by day, night by night, she learned to fulfil her newfound duties and responsibilities as an elder sister.

As Nibung drifted into slumber again, Kembang Seri Wangi got up and opened her windows a little. She looked up at the night sky, watching the half-moon appear, disappear behind the clouds, then appear again.

“O Purnama, Lord of the Moon,” she pleaded. “Why are those evil conquerors of our land still lording it so cruelly over our people … still terrorising and mistreating them? Beating them up and torturing them … hurting their women, plundering and pillaging their land and property … wreaking carnage and destruction everywhere.  What are the sins of these two little brothers of mine … what are the wrongs of their mothers and fathers … that they have all been abused so wantonly and violently?”

Without her realising it, tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her warm cheeks.

“Wangi,” Adhi Vira stretched himself, sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes and peered toward his daughter’s bedroom.

“Father!” Kembang Seri Wangi turned around, jolted out of her thoughts. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry, Daughter. You haven’t gone to sleep yet?”

“I had, Father. But I was woken up again by the cries and screams of Nibung and Pinang in their sleep.”

“So was I.”

“They both seemed disturbed by some bad dream of theirs.”

“Don’t you worry about them too much, Dear. They’ll both gradually recover from their painful experiences. Time will heal their wounds. What’s most important is that we both take good care of them … always … and to the best of our ability.”

“I hope so too, Father. They are unfortunate children. Still … I can feel … like they shall bring good fortune to our family. Even now … their mere presence … seems to have cured the loneliness … which I’ve often felt … in our home all this time.”

Such was the character of Kembang Seri Wangi. She was barely ten years old, but her words often sounded better thought out than those of many other children much older than her. Perhaps, having long had to cope by herself in every awkward situation where another little girl would have gone running to her mother had somehow made Kembang Seri Wangi grow up that bit quicker than the rest.

“I’d be most happy if things turn out that way, Wangi,” said her father. “Anyway … like someone said … behind every cloud there’s always a silver lining.”

"You think so, Father? But what good can there be ... in the abuse and killings ... of the innocent people of Bukit Panau then?"

"I don't know the right answer to that, Daughter. What I can tell you is that ... we can't ... and we won't ... let them go unpunished. There will be payback some time. That much I can promise."

"My mother came to see me in my dream," Nibung sprang to the door, startling Kembang Seri Wangi. "Teach me how to fight, Sir. I want to face those murderers one day. I want to make them pay for their deeds."

"Me too, Sir," Pinang then appeared alongside his cousin. "Those animals destroyed my family and my life. I want to kill them all."

"Teach me also, Father," Kembang Seri Wangi joined in with her two new brothers, her voice now sounding surprisingly steely with determination. "I want to fight with Nibung and Pinang. I want to liberate our land from those evil conquerors. I want to restore the pride and honour of our people."

"Bravo! Bravo!" replied Adhi Vira. "I'm happy and proud to have brave children like you all under my wings. When you're all ready, children ... when you're old enough to learn the art of the warrior ... I shall teach you everything."

"In the meantime," the prince continued after a pause, "you shall each live your life like children ... and enjoy it like all children should do. When the time comes ... when you're all big enough and strong enough ... I shall be glad to have you join me and my friends ... in our fight for independence ... against our enemies."

The children went quiet. Like a calm suddenly came over them and enveloped them in its embrace. After a while, Kembang Seri Wangi led the boys back to their pillows again.

The early morning wind began whispering from the seven mountains nearby their highlands home. Kembang Seri Wangi closed her bedroom window. She readjusted, yet again, the blankets covering her new little brothers, Nibung and Pinang, so that their small bodies would be protected against the now increasingly cool mountain air.