The Angkara Murka
The Book of Tri Deshi Chapter Two
In another curve of destiny. In the days long before the name Soemantri Soekrasana even thought to be pinned to a human, the woman named Sarti saw her own blood gushing from her stomach torn by the spark of a cannon blast. Smoke billowed everywhere with a shriek of fear and fear. Bodies are scattered, young old, male, female, armed or not. The palace fortress had been broken, bringing in a dark-skinned sepoy army, short-pocketed and carrying a rifle with a stick at the end. A sea of sepoy troops stalked British bule troops through the smoke. They plundered whatever was in the palace and whatever was attached to the bodies of both the living and the dead.
It was the early hours of the morning, the twelfth of June the year eighteen hundred and twelve.
Sarti took his life.
His vision was clouded, but the funny thing was that he did not feel any pain at all. He was helpless. The bedilnya had been thrown away, although earlier he had stabbed one sepoy with his keris despite the wound on his stomach that gaped constantly shed blood like a waterfall.
In its might, a thin shadow slipped from the smoke that was either white or black. The shadow slowly showed its shape clearly in front of Sarti's two dying eyes. She was a woman who was too graceful and beautiful to be described in words, even so beautiful as to be impossible in this mortal world, moreover, contrary to the destruction that is happening as a background. He walked so majestically, striding over the corpses with his bare, pure white feet. Her green scarf is like wings. Her cloth twins help to show the shape of her curves.
He continued to approach Sarti with a movement that was so flexible and frightening. Not why, in a half-dead state like this, Sarti still thinks about the fate of the royal court noble woman if it looks sepoy or bule soldiers, or, certainly with this incredible charm he will be transported as spoils of war.
"You coming with me, huh, Nduk?" the voice of the noblewoman was clearly heard in his ears. Sarti doesn't know what's going on. But he nodded. It was as if there was some kind of strange power from the princess' words that made her comfortable and just come along.
Sarti was finally dead.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
Sarti rose from the grave.
His body did not rot, his hair did not fall, he did not grow old, almost no different from his condition when before he died and was buried. He was killed at the age of sixteen in an attack by the British and his sepoy troops in the palace of the Sultanate of Yogyakarta. She was a member of the Estri army, all of whom were women.
The green-clad princess stood majestically and majestically on top of the grave, right in front of Sarti's body that was smashed with earth.
"Sir, wake up" said the princess with the green scarf. His face exuded an inexplicable charm. Just like before, this time Sarti was also as drugged. Although still very confused by his circumstances, he still followed the orders of the princess.
Sarti broke away from the shroud and climbed out of the grave. Her naked body was illuminated by the moon that was shining perfectly. The queen was still standing in front of him, right under the pure white-flowered frangipani tree. He smiled and said, "It's time for you to come back, Nduk."
It was the year one thousand eight hundred twenty-five, thirteen years since his death.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
***
In the year one thousand six hundred and forty-eight, on a clear day in the square of the palace, Sarti stood beside the throne of Sultan Amangkurat I along with other female soldiers who surrounded and guarded the king, he witnessed the slaughter of six thousand scholars and their family members.
In less than half an hour, everyone was dead. Beheaded, pierced by a spear, harvested, or bled to death. The grassy field became viscous red by the liquid of life that gushed and flowed without end. The cries of pain and the heaviness of fatigue delayed the release of the breath of each other to decorate the slaughter fields. The blue sky and the clouds as a flock of lambs were testified. A day of pain and suffering.
Sarti and members of the Kenyan Trisat army noticed this massacre without showing any feelings, because for that they were trained and assigned, which is to guard the Sultan and obey all his orders. Special and special forces containing all young women. Women who are intelligent in using all the abilities that are bestowed on them. Using weapons and riding is as good as flirting. Women who force their hearts cold and devoid of feeling, or otherwise go on a show of facial expression to show contrived emotions in order to deceive the interlocutor.
At that time he was sixteen years old.
Like the life of a soldier and ending with a death in war homage, Sarti was killed by the spear thrust of Trunojoyo's army that attacked Mataram twenty-nine years later, precisely in the year one thousand six hundred and seventy-seven.
...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...
For hundreds of years Sarti had to die and live again in a body of sixteen years old, no matter what the end of his life was like, whether killed, because of illness or aging properly. He was burned, cremated, and he came back alive from the ashes. I don't know how much he was buried and resurrected.
That beautiful woman who always woke him from death. He always tells the tasks that must be carried out and carried out Sarti next, although Sarti is not always directly faced with the work that he must complete at that time. Often he had to wait for years to arrive at the thing he was responsible for.
Just like this time, he had already waited for more than seven years until he could read the signals aimed at him. He was twenty-three in his life this time.
Sarti actually never stopped thinking about this task and his life, wondering about his fate and airway. However, perhaps he is too bored, too bored and tired to question how the world processes and treats him. The Universe is constantly giving it a chance to breathe and sap life. However, behind his mediocrity, the age of hundreds of years matured him. Of course, the maturity count here is far compared to the average human. It is not only through youth, adolescence, adulthood and old, but through the ages and all its problems. The world is very different in its view.