Chapter 1 TRAGEDy
At the beginning of the eleventh century, the sea winds across the Strait of Malacca carried grim tidings for Sriwijaya.
The dawn had barely risen when the Colamandala fleet appeared on the horizon—dozens of sharp-prowed warships moving like a gathering storm from the south. In the royal palace of Sriwijaya, warning bells shattered the silence of the morning. Buddhist monks, foreign merchants, and local soldiers rushed toward the harbor, watching as the skies seemed to darken with dread.
The assault came swiftly and with ruthless precision.
Flaming arrows streaked through the air, setting merchant ships and spice warehouses ablaze. Fortresses that had stood unconquered for centuries trembled beneath the pounding siege weapons of Colamandala. The King of Sriwijaya deployed his elite forces, but the enemy tide was overwhelming. One harbor city after another fell, leaving behind only smoke and ruins.
That day marked the beginning of the collapse of Sriwijaya's glory—a maritime kingdom that had once ruled the seas, now forced to kneel before a storm of iron from the south.
After Sriwijaya fell into the hands of the Cola Kingdom, a dark age descended upon the once-prosperous cities and ports. Cola soldiers were stationed as the new guards, but they behaved like lawless tyrants.
Along the streets, the people were forced to bow whenever military patrols passed by. Those who refused or were too slow to move aside were beaten with spear shafts or kicked to the ground.
The Cola officers were even crueler. They seized merchants' homes, looted wealth, and forced some families into servitude.
In the markets and harbors, the women of Sriwijaya lived in constant fear. Many suffered brutal humiliation, became targets of mockery, or were forced to satisfy the desires of officers without the strength to resist. The elderly could do nothing but lower their heads, powerless against the foreign rulers who had arrived bearing only disgrace and oppression.
Murders happened almost every night.
Anyone suspected of being a spy or rebel was dragged away and executed without trial. Their bodies were left on display as warnings to anyone who dared oppose them.
Sriwijaya, once the center of knowledge and commerce, had become a land consumed by fear.
Its people lived in silence, hiding anger and pain deep within their hearts.
And from that darkness, only one hope remained—that one day, their homeland would be free once again from Cola's grasp.
*****
The boy was not yet eleven years old.
He peered through the curtain of a window, his face burning with anger, eyes reddened, and teeth clenched tightly as he watched the scene unfolding inside his father's mansion.
The room was large and brightly lit. The sounds of musical instruments echoed noisily through the hall, mixed with the loud laughter of seven foreign men being entertained by his father.
From outside the window, he could not make out their conversation beneath the noise and music, but what he saw alone was enough to make him furious and heartbroken.
His father spoke while bowing repeatedly.
The man who was usually harsh toward servants and arrogant before others had suddenly become excessively pleasant—smiling, nodding, and even personally serving one of the officials, a tall bearded giant, by pouring wine while bending his back respectfully.
His father, who was being summoned like a servant by these men, became flustered.
His foot caught the leg of a table.
The wine jar tilted in his hands, and some of the liquor spilled onto the trousers and boots of another man with a dark face.
The boy watched as the man widened his eyes in anger, shouting furiously while pointing at his stained boots and clothes.
His father immediately dropped to his knees and used the edge of his own robe to wipe the man's boots and trousers, nodding repeatedly like a foolish donkey.
Tears finally flowed from the boy's eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
He was angry.
He was heartbroken.
But above all— He was ashamed.
Deeply ashamed.
Why had his father lowered himself so much?
Wasn't his father known as one of the wealthiest men in the city? Not only wealthy, but also respected for his knowledge and learning.
His father had memorized countless books and had taught him since childhood to study ancient texts—books that spoke of life, wisdom, and civilization, teaching people how to become honorable and useful human beings.
Yet now… Before these men… His father had become nothing more than a pitiful flatterer.
The boy's name was Rangga.
His full name was Rangga Surya, though everyone simply called him Angga.
He was the youngest child of the family, for his father, Juragan Sudirja, had only two children.
The eldest was a daughter named Sri Utami, who was now seventeen years old.
Rangga was the second child.
At that moment, Rangga saw his father rise again, apparently forgiven by the dark-faced official.
But then the bearded officer, half drunk, approached him and said something.
Rangga saw his father's face instantly turn pale.
He immediately shook his head.
However— The bearded officer moved his left hand.
SLAP!
His father was thrown backward onto the floor.
Rangga nearly cried out.
His father had been struck across the face.
All the servants assisting with the banquet froze where they stood, their faces pale and their bodies trembling. The seven men burst into laughter, mocking Sudirja while pressing him to do something.
The dark-faced official rose from his seat and drew his sword.
With a threatening motion, he thrust the blade downward.
Thud!
The sword buried itself into the table, its hilt swaying ominously.
Rangga's eyes widened.
He quickly slipped down from his hiding place and crept around to the rear entrance. Moving carefully and unnoticed, he managed to enter the hall and hide himself behind a wooden screen, where he could both watch and hear their conversation.
"Sudirja!" the bearded official barked, pointing his finger at the merchant who remained kneeling, his body shaking and face drained of color.
"Do you still dare refuse our command?"
His voice sounded strange and stiff as he spoke.
"What do you take us for? Ordinary soldiers?" the dark-faced man shouted.
He pointed toward the hired women and singers gathered in the hall.
"What use are these singers and prostitutes to us?"
"We are honorable officials..." another man sneered. "Do not force us to punish you and burn your house to the ground."
"Bring out your wife and your daughter."
"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed another official, a fat man with a tiny head.
"I heard Lady Sudirja and her daughter are both exceptionally beautiful."
"Let them serve us," said another official, thin as a dried branch.
"Only then will we believe that you truly submit to the glorious new rulers."
"B-but..." Sudirja's voice trembled so badly that it could barely be heard.
His head shook repeatedly while both hands rose pleadingly.
"T-that is impossible..."
"Please show mercy, my lords..."
Seeing his father beg like that made Rangga's tears flow even harder.
It was not only sadness or pity.
It was shame.
And disappointment.
He knew many families in the city had fled after it fell under the rule of the conquerors. They had abandoned their homes and wealth, choosing safety over possessions.
But his father had refused to leave.
Partly because he loved his wealth too much.
And partly because he had believed that if he behaved obediently and bribed the new rulers often enough, he and his family would remain safe.
"So you dare refuse us?" the dark-faced officer roared.
"Then you are rebelling against us!"
"The punishment for rebellion is death by beheading!"
The dark-faced officer rose from his chair and pulled his sword from the table.
The blade gleamed beneath the lantern light as he raised it high above Sudirja's head.
Every servant in the hall turned pale.
The musicians.
The hired women.
All of them covered their mouths to stop themselves from screaming.
Behind the screen, Rangga stared with wide eyes.
"Stop!"
A desperate cry suddenly echoed from inside the mansion.
Everyone turned.
Lady Sudirja came running into the hall.
"My noble lords, please spare my husband...!" she cried while dropping to her knees.
"I beg you... allow me to serve you instead..."
The seven officials turned toward her.
Their eyes instantly brightened.
The dark-faced officer grinned wickedly.
He sheathed his sword and, with a swift movement of his left hand, pulled Lady Sudirja by the waist into his embrace before dragging her onto his lap.
"Beautiful indeed..." he laughed.
"Still beautiful... soft... fragrant..."
"Hmm..."
Without the slightest shame, the dark-faced officer pressed his lips against her cheeks and then her lips.
Lady Sudirja's eyes widened in shock.
Fear.
Humiliation.
And despair froze her expression as her face turned pale.
