Chapter 14: Thrall of Freedom

THRALL OF FREEDOM

Together we'll war and clash and fight

With our sacred life and all our might

For the sake of our motherland

Rise we must, we sons of the land

We'll resist the occupying conqueror
We'll slay every pillager and plunderer

For the sake of our motherland

Rise we must, we sons of the land

Remember ye all, princes of the realm

Of this blessed land we are the helm

We all covet complete sovereignity

We all desire glorious dignity

Amdan Negara, this Land of the Valiant

Of warriors brave, strong and elegant

We all covet complete sovereignity

We all desire glorious dignity

 

This thrall of freedom shall glow like ember

To warm our hearts forever and ever 

This thrall of freedom shall glow like ember

To warm our hearts forever and ever

"Master," a student spoke.

"Yes, Sulung. You have a question. Go on."

"Umm ... what would be the best way for one .. to face an opponent ... so as to give one the maximum advantage?"

"Right. Do you own any fighting cockerels?"

"I have a few, Master," Sulung replied. "Well, they're my father's really. But I help him take care of them. And he's promised to give one of them to me."

"Have you all seen a proper, arranged cockerel fight, between two evenly matched cockerels?"

"I have," Andak offered.

"Me too," Dani added. 

"Good. Could you guess which cockerel was going to win?"

"Very difficult, Sir," Dani answered.

"Why?"

"It depends on many things, Sir," Andak replied.

"Like what?"

"The strength and endurance of each cockerel, its combat skill, its physical conditioning, its fighting confidence, its bravery, among others," Sulung responded at length. "And then there is its innate talent, which is determined by its blood."

"Its blood?"

"Its lineage and pedigree, Sir," Sulung explained.

"How do you make a cockerel pick up fighting skill and fighting confidence?"

"By having it fight in many fights," Sulung replied again. "Both arranged and otherwise."

"And how do you maintain its strength, endurance and and physical conditioning?"

"By giving it special training, and having it spar and fight regularly."

"Well, there you are, Sulung," Adhi Vira stretched his legs. "You have answered your own question." 

"Isn't there any other way?" Andak asked.

"That is the only way. Only many fights, against many different opponents, can tell you the best way for you to fight. There is no substitute for actual experience."

"But do we fight the same one way every time, Sir?"

"That would be asking for trouble, Andak. Someone would just need to watch you fight once, and he would be able to beat you easily. No. A good fighter constantly varies his fighting style accordingly. To suit the situation, his opponent, his own physical condition and anything else that he might need to consider. That means he must be able to fight in as many styles as possible."

"But I'm only well versed enough in one style, Sir," Andak looked apprehensive. "The spelek style."

"That's enough for you, Andak," Adhi Vira comforted the boy. "For now. You can use that as your core fighting style. But in the long term, you'd be much better off learning as many other styles as you can. Eventually, as you grow confident enough in yourself, you won't be bothered anymore about what style you're using. Because you're fighting as an individual, namely you yourself, not as any particular style. Ultimately, every man has to learn to trust himself, including his own instinct and good judgement."

"What about us, Master?" Mustika, a pretty but hardy type boyish looking girl of about fifteen years age, spoke on behalf of her group. "We are girls."

"Well, I meant every man and every woman," Adhi Vira clarified.

"Master must've forgotten about you, Tika," Sulung commented, in his usual provocative way. "Maybe because you've always looked too much like a boy."

"And I can fight like a boy too, Sulung," Mustika riposted. "You should consider having a spar with me some time. Only I fear that I might end up tearing apart that fragile arse of yours."

Mustika's friends giggled, while the boys guffawed in good humour.

"No sweat," Sulung remained nonchalant. "As long as you don't resort to any sly female trickery."

"Like gouging his eyes out," Andak suggested.

"Or whacking his balls in," Busu added, raising another roar of gregarious laughter.

"That is one scary thought," it was Dani's turn to tease, as he thought he saw a flicker of worry cross Sulung's face. "But you can't back out now, Sulung. That would be disastrous to your manly reputation." 

§

"I have this problem when I fight, Master," Dani spoke.

"Tell me more, Dani," Adhi Vira stretched his neck, then turned around.

"I get all anxious, excited and edgy, and too easily riled ..." Before he could finish Adhi Vira snapped a quick left hook at him. Dani danced and swayed backward while parrying the blow. The parry was not even necessary.

"Very good, Dani," Adhi Vira commented. "You reacted instinctively to an unexpected strike. But don't parry or block, unless absolutely necessary, or when doing so sets your enemy up for a good hit." As Adhi Vira locked arms with Dani, he struck the youth with a swift right footed flick kick to his head. "Like this."

"Ouch! That was a hard one, Sir."

"You needed it. Let your foe strike and miss. That would tire him and frustrate him. While you save your energy, and your poise, for striking. And respond quickly with a counter-strike whenever you can. It destroys your opponent's rythm. Disrupts his flow. And punctures his confidence too. You should've done that to me."

"Yes, I should."

"Now, where were we? You were saying ..."

"I get too easily riled up during a fight, Sir," the youth continued. "Then I end up fighting haphazardly and making the worst moves, and my opponent gains an advantage over me."

"Then you have to learn how to gain and keep serenity during a fight. If you can do that, then you'll be the one who gains the advantage over your opponent."

"How, Sir?"

"By stilling and quietening your mind. Then letting it be the centre of your whole self and everything about you."

"Ugh. Sounds tough. How do you do that, Master?"

"He can't even still and quieten his mouth," Sulung taunted.

"And you can't yours, Sulung," Andak admonished him. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"Have you ever ridden a cart before?" Adhi Vira continued.

"Many times, Sir," replied Dani. "I have ridden yours too. Hitched a ride along with Uncle Utih and Uncle Uda."

"Me too, Master," Andak added.

"Which part of the cart's wheel moves the fastest?"

"Its rim, Master," answered Dani.

"And which part moves the slowest, or almost doesn't move at all?"

"Its hub, Master," answered Andak.

"All of the hub?" Adhi Vira pressed.

"The very centre of the hub itself," Andak clarified.

"Good. What do you think that means, Dani?"

"Umm, what does that mean, huh?" Dani scratched his head, then turned toward a colleague closest to him. "Hey, Abu. Do you know what that means?"

"Master asked you, Dani," Sulung interjected. "You give your answer."

"That means," Adhi Vira continued, "that a different part of the wheel moves at a different speed. What is most important is the overall balance in the wheel. The perfect, complete balance in the wheel occurs only when the centre of the hub is firm, stable and almost stationary."

"Your meaning, Master?"

"Your mind is your centre. The perfect, complete balance in you also occurs only when your mind is unyielding, quiet and still. That's what a wise fighter seeks. Because when you have that, then the rest of you, your body and everything else can move and roll as smoothly as a finely balanced wheel."

"Amazing, Master," Dani shook his head in wonder. "Amazing. Now, why did I never think of it that way?"

"Because you never think a lot, Dani," Sulung could not resist another taunt. "All you do is talk."

Dani swung a fist at Sulung's head. Sulung ducked and grabbed Dani's arm, then jerked it and twisted it. Dani slipped and wound a leg around Sulung's arm, pointed his foot in the direction of Sulung's armpit, then shoved hard, breaking his hold.

"That's a good move, Dani," Adhi Vira noted. "Who taught you that?"

"He thought it up himself, Master," Abu spoke. "While we two were practising together."

"Very good. You're creative. That's something else very important that every fighter should develop. Creativity." Dani swelled with pride.

"Oh dear," Sulung sighed. "Now his arse is going to float."

"Now, back to the balance thing, you can learn it, Dani," Adhi Vira assured the boy. "As can Andak, Sulung, Tika, Abu, Busu and everyone else. With lots of practice."

"How do I start, Master?" Dani pursued. His colleagues waited eagerly for the answer.

"Pick any time of day you like, when you're carefree and well rested. Sit or stand in a comfortable position which you can maintain for a long time. Then just be as still as you can, in as near the same position as you can, for as long as you can. Let your thoughts drift anywhere it wants to, freely and slowly of its own accord, like water flowing gently and finding its own path, guiding it but not overly forcing it or constraining it."

"Then?"

"The mind and the body is connected with each other. When you still your body for long enough, your mind calms down too. Do it once a day, or a few times a week. Once you've got the hang of it, it becomes easier and easier. Eventually, if you persevere, you might be able to keep your mind as calm as a lake even while your body is thrashing about like the wildest storm."

"That's when one begins to fight like a master, right Sir?"

"Now you might be on to something."

§

"Likewise, when someone fights, the most important part of him is not his hands, his arms, his feet or his legs, but his mind. That is his centre and source of balance, stability and strength. However fast his limbs or body are moving, his mind would best be in the state of utmost calm and serenity. As peaceful as the mind of an ascetic monk in meditation."

"That would be most difficult to obtain, Master," said Busu. "The moment one starts fighting, one gets excited, nervous and anxious."

"I agree, it's not an easy thing to do. But high skill is not attained easily. One has to strive to master it. Excitement, nerves and anxiety during a fight is an immature habit that has to be peeled away bit by bit. You will gradually grow out of it as you get older. Just like a kitten or a tiger cub becomes a calmer hunter and fighter as it grows more mature. But it does not come without a great effort on your part."

"Master," another student spoke.

"Yes, Taling," answered Adhi Vira. "Please share your concern."

"A friend of mine says that one needs to have some swagger and daring when one fights. Is that true?"

"It is. Swagger and daring destroys freeze, hesitance, indecision and lethargy. It also makes you bolder and more agile in the face of an enemy. But it has to be natural, controlled and in accord with your true capability."

"You mean, Master?" asked another student.

"You just watch a cockerel. When it meets an opponent and is spoiling for a fight, how does it act?"

"Umm, it wings drop low, its neck feathers bristle, it lifts its chest and torso," answered a trainee. "Its tail feathers stiffen and flare."

"What else?"

"It scratches the ground, picks on grain, grass or morsel as bait, like it's inviting its opponent to come to it," another trainee replied.

"There you are," Adhi Vira took the chance to make his point. "Even a cockerel displays swagger and daring when challenging an opponent. To taunt its opponent and to let it know that it's got a stiff fight coming. One caution, though. If at any one time, some fear or other is filling your heart, you just have to face it and deal with it. Because the trained eyes of an experienced opponent can often see through false swagger or faked daring. Especially when you have not adequately learned the skill of masking your feelings and emotions."

"Boys! Girls!" Prabhava called out. "You will start training with weapons tomorrow."

"Yay!" the youths screamed in joy.

"At last," Andak spoke.

"About time too," Mustika added.

"Real blades, sir?" Taling looked eager.

"Of course not, idiot," said Sulung. "Are you that keen to die young?"

"Wooden weapons to start with," said Adhi Vira. "I won't let any of you spar with a real blade yet. It's not child's play, you know. Maybe in three months, six months, I don't know. We'll see how you all shape up first."

§

"Demak Sawo, Kebo Laro," Biduk Bota spoke.

"Yes, my lord," the Captain of the Guard and his deputy answered in unison.

"You know why I've called for you two?" the governor continued.

"No, my lord," Demak Sawo had a fair idea, from the tone of his master, but he did not want to appear presumptuous.

"It's been some time since we made our last raid into Adhi Vira's territory. We can't give him too long a respite, for he will use that time to build up his rebel army further. I want you two to destroy them this time. How many men would you need for this?"

Demak Sawo thought for a while, making some mental calculations. "Give us five hundred able bodied fighters, sir, and we will crush them once and for all."

"You will help me gather six hundred men. All Palembangians. I'll take care of the expenses. You just make sure you come back with nothing else but a victory. A smashing victory."

§

Demak Sawo surveyed the thick woods around the jungle path leading to Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain). The number of fighters given to him this time was quite sizeable. It exceeded six hundred men. He split them into two groups, one led by him, the other by his assistant Kebo Laro.

Nonetheless, the task charged to the two of them felt like quite a challenge. It was to destroy the bulk of the rebel army, now named the Dharma Kusuma Army, which had been raised by their leader, Prince Adhi Vira.

It had been quite a while since Demak Sawo last crossed paths with them, when a band of raiders led by him was given a stiff fight by them in the middle of the jungle six moons before. The rebels had improved vastly under Adhi Vira's leadership. No more were they so easily whacked and smashed by his crack Palembangian warriors as before. The situation seemed to have reversed. Now it was his Palembangians who were looking nervous and edgy each time a skirmish shaped up.

What worried Demak Sawo more now is the sudden appearance of a band of peasant fighters seemingly out of nowhere, as had happened a few times already. They would only be armed with walking staff, hoes, woodcutter's axes, scythes, machetes and other simple farm implements. But they could fight as good as any seasoned fighter, and they had the swagger and boldness to match any Palembangian warrior.

As they marched on, Demak Sawo heard birds whistling. It sounded like a brood of murai, the chirpy black and white robin which the locals believed was the carrier of latest news, but it was somewhat energetic. Maybe they were some virile males, he thought. Some moments later, the whistlings came from another direction. As time passed, the whistlings became more frequent, louder and more widespread all around, the different groups of birds seemingly responding and replying to one another. It was the mating season, Demak Sawo contemplated.

Just then, something twanged from some distance away to his side, followed by a whoosh through the air. Demak Sawo turned. An arrow buried itself in the head of one of his men, punching deep into his brain. The man swayed for some  moments, then fell to the ground with a thud, with not a sound from his throat. Several more men fell.

"Captain!" a fighter shouted. "We're under attack!"

Hundreds of arrows now rained onto Demak Sawo's Palembangians from all directions. That was followed by a shower of spears striking down on earth, trees and men.

"Everyone!" Demak Sawo roared. "Spread out and take your best positions. We'll retaliate heavily."

"Whoresons!" a fighter swore. "I thought it was just some birds."

"Me too," his colleague spoke. "How wrong we were. It was them whistling back and forth!"

"The bastards," another Palembangian shouted. "They fooled us completely! Now they're going to piss and shit everywhere when I start swinging this kelewang of mine."

"Ouch!" another fighter felt around the side of his neck. "Huh. What stinking shit is this?" The thing felt like a tiny dart. It took quite an effort, but eventually he managed to pluck it out completely and chucked it to the ground. "Dickheads! They thought they could kill me with that stupid little thing ..." Then he swayed and lurched.

"Hey, Baguk!" his friend scolded him. "Are you drunk again? Didn't I always tell you not to gulp too much tuak before a march?"

Baguk's sway and lurch gradually became more severe, his mutterings became more illegible, and his movements became more languid. Finally, he collapsed. The potent sap of the ipoh tree had beaten him. It was delivered by a bamboo dart shot with a blowpipe by a Pangan man sitting on a tree branch twenty armspans away. The dart had been soaked for two weeks in the sap. Twenty such darts would have taken an adult bull elephant down in less time than it took to cook a pot of rice. Sometimes the sap was mixed with human excrement and rotting deer meat to give it added potency, causing a slow death if a quick one was not achieved. 

Such was the power of the Pangan blowpipe. The wild tribe of the interior was the earliest known inhabitants of Amdan Negara. Now a growing number of them had joined the fledgling defenders' army of Amdan Negara. The army now known as the Dharma Kusuma Army.

§

Kebo Laro began to feel anxious. His group of three hundred men should have met up and merged with the one led by Demak Sawo at that place by that time. They would reorganise themselves into a single force which would pounce on the rebel fortress on the foot of Gunung Sembatu. But Demak Sawo's was yet to appear.

A spear flew in the air. It plunged into the ground several armpans away from Kebo Laro. It came from a raised mound, thickly wooded, which stood in a clearing, not far behind which was a cluster of even denser undergrowth. It would have been the perfect site for an ambush on a party crossing the clearing, Kebo Laro considered.

The area around it was full of puddles after a night of relentless rain. As Kebo Laro looked about anxiously, he heard a warning scream. A couple more spears flew, one after the other. They were from the same spot as the first spear, he thought, although in the confusion he could not be that sure.

At Kebo Laro's command, fifty sharpshooting bowmen took their positions. They loosed a few showers of arrows at the wooded mound. If there had been men lurking in there, they would have been ripped up to shreds, he judged. Silence ensued. The others then advanced cautiously to the spot, each one of them holding a dadam shield, a round-shaped wooden shield clad with rhinocerous hide, bamboo stripping and rattan stripping, on one hand and a golok or kelewang on the other.

They heard shrill squeals from the mound. That was followed by loud snortings. The snortings increased in loudness. There were rustlings among the undergowth behind the mound. Kebo Laro and his men froze in their tracks.

Seventeen male boar surged out of the undergrowth and charged at Kebo Laro's party. The beasts were huge and fierce. They had big sharp tusks all reaching above a man's waist. The men scampered with all speed in all directions to escape the angry beasts. The Sumatrans had been duped into attacking a boar's lair which held many nursing females.

The animals had chosen the mound as the place to brood and suckle their young because it was dry, warm and puddle free. While their males, now in heightened protective mood, had loomed further back in the thick undergrowth. Now Kebo Laro and his men were about to find out the price they had to pay.

Many of the men failed to get away in time. Several were struck on the run. Others slipped and fell, and the beasts pounced on them. They were mauled, bitten, trampled and tusked to much injury. Their legs, thighs and buttocks were torn to shreds. Some men had their guts ripped and their entrails torn apart while struggling in vain to fight off the boar on the ground.

Others fell into booby trap holes planted with sharp spikes of wood, rattan, bamboo or nibung. The holes had been covered with dried grass, leaves and weed on a framework of tree branches and coconut and palm stalks.

§

Demak Sawo forced himself to continue leading his party's march to their enemy's stronghold. His fighters had now been reduced to two thirds of their original number. The further he trundled, the weaker he felt. Over his whole body.

As they trudged on, he heard another round of bow twangs and arrow whooshes. A group of rebel fighters appeared, riding ponies, cattle and water buffaloes. His men scrambled to the trees to take up defensive positions. Before Demak Sawo and his men could do anything significant, the rebels charged at them on their galloping beasts, loosing arrows and hurling spears.

As the two sides joined, the rebels stabbed with their lances and hacked and slashed with with their  golok and kelewang. While Demak Sawo and his party hurried to reorganise themselves to make a proper stand, their attackers sped away, again loosing arrows and hurling spears at them on the gallop. Demak Sawo was furious. His whole body shook with anger.

The rebels rounded a forested area that had a clearing in the middle of it. Some of their colleagues seemed to have lost their animals during their ambush and ran on right though the wooded area and the clearing in the centre.

"Hey, friends!" One of them, riding a large bull, shouted to the ones on foot. "We'll recombine at the usual place." The man was bigger and taller than the others and looked like a foreigner, but he spoke with a local accent. Demak Sawo made a mental note of that.

Flush with fury, Demak Sawo ordered his men to sprint through the trees. With his vastly larger party, he would overtake those rebels fleeing on foot, encircle them and cut them up to pieces.

Within moments, the rebels they were pursuing had vanished. Disappeared into thin air. Just like ghosts. Demak Sawo hacked a rattan stem in exasperation. The thorned palm fell with one blow.

Just then, a herd of bull seladang, the local wild cattle, came out of the trees, grunting murderously. With massive white horns that darkened toward the tips, a white forehead, white feet and a gleaming jet black body rippling with solid muscle, each bull was a formidable sight of beastly splendour. With an immense roar, the bulls charged at the raiding party.

Demak Sawo's men turned tail and fled in every direction. There was no way they could stand up to those ferocious beasts. Each of them easily weighed as much as ten men. But the bulls were just too fast for them. They caught up with many of the men and tore into them, mauling, butting, goring, crushing and trampling them to a pulp.

The place was a seladang's lair. It had several cows nursing newborn calves. The bulls were therefore in especially aggressive mood, their paternal protective instincts risen another notch. Demak Sawo's men were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, they had been led into the wrong place at the wrong time. By the rebel riders and their ground running friends who could climb up trees and disappear into them like monkeys. Their Sumatran foes had no chance.

Only after making sure, by their perfectly birdlike whistling between one another, that their Sumatran enemies had gone far enough away, the now tree-borne ambushing group climbed down again. Soon afterward, they met up with their animal riding colleagues and rode away with them.

§

Kebo Laro's depleted squadron, by now reduced to a collective nervous wreck, passed by a place made prominent by several huge tualang trees with vast canopies. The shade they provided was cool and welcoming. Only the place appeared too quiet. Eerie, almost. His exhausted fighters wanted to just lie down and take some rest. Kebo Laro thought he should keep driving them onward. But he had to acquiesce. His men badly needed a break. While he himself was feeling tense too. He whacked a persistent dustfly bent on boring its way into his ear, and missed it. It seemed like the very jungle around him was hostile.

Oh, heck. A breather and a nap would do them the world of good. Just as he was about to doze off, he heard a thud several armspans away. He turned around to look. It was a segment of tualang branch. Broken by the previous day's thunderstorm, he reckoned. Then two more came down. From different trees to the left and front of him. They were followed by five more, in different directions all around his squadron, in close succession. Then he heard buzzing sounds. They came from around those points where the branches had fallen, and each source of sound grew quickly in intensity. Bees!

"Run!". "Bees!". "Run!.

"Find a stream!" someone shouted while stampeding away.

"Darn whoresons!" another one grunted. "They've got us again.

The defenders had predicted that there was a fair chance that some of the Sumatrans would be passing that way. They had some of their men climb the big thickly leaved tualang trees, a favourite of the local honey bees, and search for branches with suitably placed hives. Branches isolated enough such that they would fall unhindered all the way to the ground if hacked.

The climbers then cut incisions on those branches, laboriously and painstakingly slowly, so as not to disturb the deadly insects, at points just far enough away from the hives proper. They made the cuts just deep enough for each branch to be easily sliced off with one strong slash when the right time came.    

§

With every skirmish and every ambush, the fledgling rebel army grew in skill, boldness and confidence. Their prowess in jungle battle, often armed only with sticks or stems of rattan or nibung, indeed sometimes totally unarmed then wresting an enemy's weapon and turning it on him, gradually became the proud talk of their countrymen regaling merchants and adventurers travelling to what they really believed was their soon to be sovereign again kingdom.   

Who could blame them? This was what they, as well as their elders, had been waiting for all their lives. Unlike previously, their fighters were now receiving proper fighting training under the most capable and experienced of warriors, led by the most formidable of them all, the Lord of the Mountain himself. As time went on, more and more of them sent their children and their siblings to learn and train under his charge in Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain).

§

980 AD, Bukit Panau, Amdan Negara, the Golden Peninsula.

Biduk Bota leaned back on his cosy sofa, which had a pillow of kekabu jungle cotton wrapped in Chinese silk, in the guest hall of Gemilang Sakti Palace. The palace formerly named Dharma Kusuma Palace. The imposing place had felt increasingly comfortable and homely to him. How good it would be if he could live in it to the end of his days. If he was ever to be blessed with a son, surely that son would be the one to one day inherit Gemilang Sakti from him.

How good it would be if he were to marry a pretty local maiden who could make him happy and give him an heir. But now the latest developments in Amdan Negara disturbed him. He chewed on the remains of the betel leaf smeared with lime still in his mouth.

"My lord," the Captain of the Guard kneeled before him. "You asked for me."

"You fools!!!" Biduk Bota bellowed, his face reddening to his earlobes, his eyes burning. He glowered at the man. "Not only fools, but cowards too!!!"

"But my lord,” Demak Sawo spoke, his voice wilting.

"But what???” Biduk Bota terus roared. "I gave you six hundred of my best fighters, to destroy that rag tag peasant army of rebellious mountain men. But how many have you brought back with you, after your shameful defeat to them??? Not even a hundred men!!!"

"Their men were too proficient in battle, my lord, and ..."

"And what???" The governor cut him off. "And you and your men were too stupid, were you???"

"No, my lord," Demak Sawo struggled to find an answer to satisfy his master.

"I mean, every fighter of theirs fought like a god of war, and fighting them was like ... fighting ghosts ... lord."

"You are really something now. So you're even more of a fool than I thought you were all this while. Did you and your idiots fight against men, or ghosts?"

"Against men, my lord."

"If they were men, then how could they have fought like ghosts?"

"It's like this, lord," Demak Sawo forced himself to remain calm. "They were always in hiding. They kept pouncing on us, attacking us and killing us on the ambush, when we least expected it. They were always watching us, as we moved through their territory, but we could never see them, until too late."

"So, where did they hide themselves?"

"In caves, in ditches or holes that they had dug for themselves, on the hillsides, in the valleys, behind big rocks, in big trees with thick leaves. They could climb trees like apes. Frequently they hid in them and rained arrows, lances and spears on us. They killed us with darts too, poison darts that their wild jungle friends shot with blowpipes. Or they simply leaped down on us from those trees and killed us on the ground. Our men also often fell into their pits which they planted with sharp stakes and caltrops, then they covered with tree branches, dried grasses, weeds and leaves and coconut fronds."

"That bad?"

"True, my lord," Kebo Laro weighed in his support for his captain. "Their men were also skilful in fighting without weapons. They killed and maimed many of us with only their hands, elbows, legs and feet, which were hard as wood. If they had a piece of wood, rattan or nibung on them, then all the worse. They used their heads too."

"They fought with their heads as well?"

"Yes, Lord," Kebo Laro looked relieved that their master was beginning to believe in their story. "They butted with their heads like a furious buffalo. They would first butt forward or downward into an opponent in the face or chest. Then they would butt again sideward or upward, against the man's jaw or chin. Many of our men had their jaws broken or their noses shattered that way."

"Whoresons!!!" Biduk Bota swore. Then he went silent for some moments. The fighters of the mountains must have improved by leaps and bounds, he pondered.

"Even so, some of them now are quite well armed, with good weapons. They're also much more agile in both attack and defence, unlike before. When we're on open ground, they'd charge at us on animals."

"Animals?"

"Ponies, oxen, buffalo. I have seen the odd seladang too, my lord."

"They rode seladang too?"

"Yes, lord," Kebo Laro interjected. "I saw two with my own eyes."

"Some of them have even taken to wearing armour, lord," Demak Sawo continued. "Invincible metal armour that ordinary weapons just bounce off. The captains among them, I believe."

"Did they make that themselves?"

"They shipped it in from abroad. Bhangala, as I heard from local gossip," answered the captain. "Adhi Vira's daughter has married a Bhangali nobleman, whose father is of Kambhoja nobility, said to be the former Maha Senapati of the Pala kingdom's cavalry."

"Darn it!"

"Our men had also been tricked into attacking wild boar, and crossing into seladang territory, where there were females nursing their young," Kebo Laro interejected. "Many of us were mauled and gored to death."

"They had also set us up to be attacked by swarms of angry bees," Demak Sawo continued, "by chopping off tree branches with beehives in our way and making them fall over and around us. Many of our fighters, while stampeding, fell into their booby trapped pits. We lost not a few men that way."

"That's enough!!!" Biduk Bota roared again. "I shall teach those lowly peasant bastards a real lesson. Then they shall know who Biduk Bota really is."

"How about we make a sacrifice, to invoke the Sakti Muna Dragon and the Lady of the River?" Demak Sawo proposed. "Perhaps they could help us to subjugate the rebel army."

"Now it's clear," the governor sneered. "Not only are you foolish, but you're mad too! Maybe you've left your brains in Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain). For centuries no man has seen even the murkiest glimpse of the Sakti Muna Dragon or the Lady of the River."

"But lord," Kebo Laro pleaded, "what harm would there be in just trying?"

"No more buts," Biduk Bota glared at his second deputy. "Those are mere folk tales without any substance to them. Silly yarn spinned by senile old men drifting in and out of their own stupid fantasies. And even, let's just say, even if the Sakti Muna Dragon or the Lady of the River appeared, aren't they supposed to be the protectors of these lands of Langkasuka? So most likely they'll be defending the locals, and turning on us. Idiots!!"

Demak Sawo and Kebo Laro dropped their faces, their eyes fixed to the floor.

"Look here! I am the Lord of the River, and I am real!" Biduk Bota slammed his chest. "And look at this here. This unsacred, but proven, very tough and very dependable, steel golok of mine is going to slice Adhi Vira's wretched head off his wretched body, and end the fight of his upstart rebel army!!"

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