Nusantara Throne - Senandung Kebangkitan
Satria

Tonight the moon appears perfectly round with a magnificent silvery color. Aided by moonlight, Satria treads a narrow, moist two-pasta-sized walkway with her bare feet slowly. A child never wears shoes. Amazingly, it makes their soles strong, their arctic skin hardened like frozen wax.

It was the second time Satria had explored the forest near the camp. He did not feel as nervous as when he first explored. For fifteen years of Satria's life, exploring was not his custom. He was only born as a royal slave who worked day after day like a rice-plowing buffalo.

Satria realized its actions were dangerous, not because of wild animals or poisonous plants. However, walking away from the slave camp was the fastest way to get a ferocious lash from the watchman. According to his foster mother named Asih, the wounds from the sharp whip of the warrior rattan were never easy to heal.

Suddenly Satria remembered the stories her mother told her, about the slaves who wanted to escape. Mayakarsa soldiers did not hesitate to tear the skin of the backs of dissident slaves. The wound of torment will always be eternal to remind them of the foolishness to resist.

The worst story was when the warrior overseers cut off their toes trying to escape for a second time. If Asih did not treat it, the wound would only be a nest for the maggots.

            However, tonight Satria did not want to escape. He wanted to enjoy again the expanse of stars that were spread magnificently in the sky. He longed for the glow of the light, and was content to imagine himself flying with the stars in the sky. Had he not been reckless, perhaps he would never have found such a quiet place.

Satria had already ascertained the best time to sneak. In the night of the blind, when the sky was clear, and the moon was shining perfectly, just as the slave overseers were drunk and kicking. Dozens of tuak jugs were enough to make the supervisory soldiers fall asleep until morning.

            Satria chose the path carefully while crossing a thick bush, one snake bite was enough to send his life to the gods in the kahyangan. But he did not want to die yet. After continuing to walk uphill, his breathing was quite stupefied, it felt like he had stepped tens or even hundreds of stone steps for twenty minutes.

Arriving at the top of the hill, in front of him, Satria saw a grassy field. The grass was thick and lush silvery green due to the moonlight. The green colors seemed dimmer as he retraced into the middle of the roomy. The smell of wet soil and wood filled the air. Wild moths fly with loud crickets and grasshoppers.

            Satria then lay down, she did not care about the cold wind tonight. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at the sky. Satria enjoyed the moment, her mind was shaken by the expanse of colored stars, her mind was carried flying away. His feelings were mixed, happy and sad. Can he live free like an eagle. To see the world without being ruled and ruling.

            Unknowingly, Satria almost fell asleep. He got up irritated and slapped his cheek, he must not sleep here or the watchman would realize a slave was missing from the camp this morning. They were indeed foolish warriors, but Satria avoided the slightest risk.

            The remnants of his weariness reappeared when he imagined the day he would pass tomorrow, digging clay under the scorching afternoon, moving red bricks towards the temple courtyard, and, stacking hundreds of bricks for the temple complex, and digging a water canal for irrigation. Instantly he felt nauseous, his joints ached and his fingers numb.

            Satria spurred her steps down the hills, but during the descent, the smell of smoke faintly smelled. The campfire should still be far away and the smell of smoke will not smell until the hills. Satria's heart beats. He could see a ribbon of white smoke moving down the crevices of dark trees like a wave of clouds.

            There are people around here, he thought agitatedly.

            The most feared thing came into Satria's mind. Did the smoke come from the torches of scattered soldiers looking for him? For a moment Satria was imagined with the sound of rattan hitting the back, sore and hot. Satria grew increasingly frightened, she then put on an ear with jelly, but only the sound of wind and the rustling of branches could be heard. Satria believes the smoke was not coming from the torch of the soldier because it was not the way that Mayakarsa soldiers often do.

            Satria followed the stream of smoke. He moved from the tree trunk to the other tree trunk, he began to peek. A point of dim fire embers is quite visible on the lips of the cave.

            “Slave? Or Warrior?” whispered guessing two possibilities, his breathing trembled.

            He was approaching the direction of the cave. During his time as a slave, Satria had never heard news of any city warriors living inside the cave. Soldiers were rewarded by the king with a comfortable shelter, a soft cotton-coated bed, abundant food with dozens of jugs of palm wine every day.

            Satria's breathing instantly became heavy, she thought about leaving immediately, but there was a tight feeling that kept her body moving to find out. Who lives in a small cave in the forest alone?

            His body froze as he felt something hard clinging to his nape. A wood that was cold, rough and quite sharp.

            “If I were you, I wouldn't step again,” said a soft and hoarse voice behind him.

            “Ha-servant please forgive Mister!” satria replied, a sweat drool dripping from her forehead.

            “Who are you! What you want!” threaten the man.

            Satria believes a hard object stuck to his neck is not a spear, this person is not a soldier. However, the tone of the voice of the person gave a distinctive impression as if his throat was choking and heavy. Satria guessed he was old.

Raising both hands, Satria wanted to give up, this man's threat was not playful. “Hamba is a slave, not the intention of the servant to injure or even steal, servant is no one Sir!”

            Before the man replied, he took a deep breath. Satria felt the man's breathing was very heavy and unnatural.

            “Slave?” ask the man doubtful. Then he coughed and continued, “which kingdom are you from?”

            “Mayakarsa Tuan!”

            Satria's answer seemed to be floating in midair, and the man fell silent. But Satria still felt a sharp object clinging to his back nape.

            “Praise the gods of the Emerald Country!” he said happily. “The day of retaliation will be getting closer, I have arrived in Mayakarsa?”

            “True Mr.”

            Satria did not understand and was not very curious about the meaning of the man's words. His arms were still shaking violently, he wanted to leave this place immediately before the old man grew mad. However, the old man's excitement triggered a cough attack that was more powerful than before, before long a loud buk sounded. Satria turned her face and saw the man fall into limp.

            The man's body was as straight as a trunk, much thinner than Satria's. The bones stand out clearly covered in wrinkled and scuffed skin. His face shriveled with a very old look, his whiskers and snow-white beard waving like breathless water. On his thigh was wrapped in a shabby woven cloth with patches of reddish-brown color.

            “Master was seriously injured,” said Satria. Satria then carried the old man into the mouth of the cave, leaning against the wall near a small bonfire. Anxiety arose when she felt the cloth wrapped around the man's thigh soften, stickiness and warmth.

Satria exited the cave swiftly rushing towards the bushes not far from the mouth of the cave, all she needed was a few banana stalks. Satria is not a healer, only a little knowledge about the treatment he got from his foster mother. Satria often saw Asih attaching the sap of banana stems to the wounded slave, it was quite useful.

After breaking three whole banana stems, he went back into the mouth of the cave.

“It is difficult to find betel leaves here Sir, but I hope this is enough.”

The old man groaned with an irregular sigh.

Satria then opened the woven cloth on the old man's thigh. A nauseous feeling invaded his stomach when he smelled a faint fishy smell. The wound was so bad, it opened like a hungry mouth, its blood thickened and clumped with yellow pus.

He was all his strength to close his mouth, refraining from vomiting, with trembling hands he applied the sap of a banana stem like he was pouring milk. The man was groaning, as if he were having a nightmare. Every now and then Satria glanced warily and pretended to be calm.

“It hurts Sir, please hold.”

“Pur.. Returning,” said the old man, his brown eyes glittering behind his bushy eyebrows. “My name is Purnapana.”

Satria felt that things were starting to melt, but she tried to remain cautious. “Why can you get hurt this badly?”

“The story is very long,” says Purnapana.

Satria felt that this old man was playing tricks on her, but her pity shifted her conjecture.

The retiree tries to get up to lean on the slender rock. The wound was still hot, but there was a cool feeling running through his veins.

“Can you get water?” purnapana said while pointing to a jug stored behind Satria. After sipping some water in a small jug, Purnapana asked, “you healer?”

            Satria shook her head, “before becoming a slave, foster mother a healer. As mom treated the wounds, I learned a lot.”

            “Foster mother? What about your birth mother?”

            “Hamba...” answered while shaking slowly.

            “No need to answer, I'm sorry.”

            Purnapana rubbed his beard, his finger movements like living bones, “I owe you young man, what's your name?”

            “Satria,” replied Satria.

            “I appreciate what you have done, young slave, Satria,” said, coughing, not as good as before. “If I could return the favor with a gold coin, you would have pocketed that coin by now.”

            Satria cheeks flushed, she never felt flattered as great as this, “but the servant is just a slave, the servant expects nothing, Mr. Purnapana.”

            “It makes no difference,” Purnapana smiles. “Everyone has hope, good or bad, that hope is always there. You came with your curiosity, but you didn't run away with your fear. Your castle is a slave, but your actions show you more than that, much better!”

            Satria could not say anymore, as long as he became a slave there was never anyone who praised him other than Asih.

            “What Mr Purnapana is a hunter?” ask to divert the pleasure.

            “Not,” he said, his face wrinkled looking sad. “I'm too old to hunt, after all this wound is getting worse.”

            “Origin that wound..”

            “Piercing stab,” interrupted Purnapana, his voice as calm as night.

            Satria exclaimed in shock at hearing that.

            “How can Tuan?”

            “I've said it,” Purnapana insisted. “Will be a long story.”

            Satria enjoyed this conversation, she felt that this conversation would flow into a great story. For years Satria had never heard such an amazing story. He was already quite bored with the past stories of his slave friends, Harsya, Sham and even his mother. However, this conversation made him anxious about the time that continued to run.

            “Master, I have to go back,” said the lowered Satria. Satria saw the face of Purnapana changed.

            “I understand, come back again, I will tell you my story in return. Have you ever heard the story of my love for the tiger man?”

            The veil of Satria's face twitched, there was a sense of excitement flaring up inside her chest. Satria had never heard of any fairy tale since childhood. He wanted to stay seated and force the old hermit to continue his story tonight. But Satria did not dare to make that decision.

Satria then moved, before he left, once again Satria observed the thin body of Purnapana. There was a deep sense of pity as faint as mist filled his heart. Even for a slave who lived in suffering like himself, he wanted happiness to arrive soon for the old hermit.

            “Did Mr Purnapana eat something?”

            “Do not worry,” he said with a laugh, his laughter slightly forced. “This condition does not allow for hunting now, even to catch a mouse is difficult. The rest of my strength I have used for one of the best attacks. But I was able to survive the water dripping on the ceiling of the cave. Anyway, I think tomorrow this wound will get better, and I can catch some game animals, hopefully.”

            Satria stared at Purnapawa's face from across the campfire. His ramp had improved, although the banana sap was not as nutritious as a jumping antelope, Satria felt calm. Apparently, he likes Purnapana.

            Satria then remembered about a storage warehouse containing food for the soldiers. The warehouse was not far from the camp, guarded by a fat lazy soldier named Tarmigi.

            “Looks,” she firmly, she then thought of a small idea in her head, she smiled. “The next night I will bring you something delicious.”