Echo of the White Hermit

2.1: Riot on the Mountaintop

Dawn on the slopes of Gunung Kawi always comes with a silent drama of majesty. The thick fog that enveloped the valley like a white sea overnight was slowly torn apart by the golden arrows of the sun. The tops of the towering damar trees were the first to welcome the light, their wet leaves sparkling as if sprinkled with jewel dust. The air felt so pure, so clean, as if every breath could purify the soul.

But for Arok, the natural beauty of that morning felt bland. He sat alone on the edge of a cliff, staring out at the fog that refused to leave. Last night's victory over Ki Glondong Wisesa left no satisfaction in his heart. Instead, it tasted like ashes on his tongue, leaving a strange unease gnawing at his soul. Their actions had indeed succeeded; their message might have gotten through. But it was no more than swatting mosquitoes away from the hide of a giant elephant. That elephant, Sang Akuwu Tunggul Ametung, would probably not feel the slap.

His thoughts wandered back to the events that had fueled his passion. He remembered the face of Pak Kerto, an old farmer in Sumbersari Village. Arok and his group had once hidden in his barn for several days. He had witnessed Pak Kerto and his family eating only stale, dry rice mixed with a little salt. It wasn't because they were lazy. Their fertile rice fields yielded a bountiful harvest. However, nine out of ten of that harvest had to be handed over as tribute to the Tumapel officials.

"This isn't tribute, son," Pak Kerto told Arok one night, his voice hoarse with tears. "This is robbery legalized with the duchy's seal."

Arok also remembered Sari, a village flower girl in a neighboring hamlet. Beautiful, cheerful, and recently engaged to her lover. One day, the convoy of one of Tunggul Ametung's high-ranking officers passed through their village. The officer saw Sari, and his piercing gaze immediately captivated her. That very night, Sari was "invited" to his guesthouse. She returned the next morning, but she was no longer the same Sari. Her gaze was blank, her smile had faded. She never spoke again. A few weeks later, she drowned herself in the river. Her fiancé, who had sought justice, was accused of rebellion and his head was displayed in the village square as a warning.

That was the face of Tumapel under Akuwu's cruel hand. Fertile land, but its people starved. Beautiful land, but the honor of its citizens could be taken at any moment without price. Tunggul Ametung and his cronies—commanders, officials, and cunning merchants—had turned this sacred land into their own personal hunting ground. They were like a pack of wolves devouring the bones of their livestock.

"Daydreaming again, Bro?"

Mahesa's voice brought him back to his senses. The burly young man was now sitting beside him, handing him a still-smoking roasted sweet potato.

Arok accepted it without saying anything.

"What are you thinking, Sis?" Mahesa asked. "We did it last night. We made that bastard tremble in fear. We should celebrate."

"Celebrating what, Mahesa?" Arok replied in a deep voice. "Celebrating because we managed to extinguish a single blade of grass, while the entire forest around us is burning fiercely?" He glared at his friend. "Ki Glondong is just a small leech. Killing him won't stop the real leech plague. As long as the swamp where they breed remains, new leeches will continue to appear. And that swamp," he pointed eastward, toward Tumapel, "is over there."

Mahesa fell silent. He understood Arok's meaning. He was a great warrior, but sometimes he lost sight of the bigger picture. For him, justice was simple: the wicked must be punished, the oppressed must be defended. He didn't think about the "swamp" or the "system."

"Then what should we do, Brother?" he asked. "We've tried. We've attacked small guard posts. We've intercepted tribute collectors. But our forces are limited. Tumapel Palace is guarded by thousands of soldiers. We can't attack it directly."

"You're right," Arok admitted. He took a bite of his roasted tuber. It tasted bland on his tongue. "Attacking from the outside is like trying to destroy a stone fortress by throwing pebbles at it. It's pointless. We'll just die fools."

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes staring blankly into the sea of mist. His fighting spirit was strong, yet lost. He felt like a tiger unleashed in the ocean: powerful, yet powerless. He needed a path, a new strategy, but his mind felt stuck. Last night's small victory only emphasized the devastating defeat they had suffered in this great war.

As he was lost in his worries, something strange began to happen.

Silence.

The morning silence was unusual. It felt strange. The usually lively orchestra of nature—the buzz of insects, the distant chirping of birds, the chirping of monkeys in the treetops—slowly faded away. One by one, the sounds fell silent, as if a grand conductor had commanded them to be still.

The wind that had been rustling gently through the leaves had now stopped completely. The air felt heavy, still, and filled with an inexplicable energy. Mahesa, whose animal instincts were sharper, sensed this as well. He stood, his body tense, his eyes scanning his surroundings warily.

"What's wrong, Brother?" he whispered cautiously. "I don't like this. It feels like the whole forest is holding its breath."

Arok stood up. He sensed no danger or death. Instead, he felt a calm so powerful, so majestic, it was oppressive. It was as if a powerful force were approaching, a force that would make all nature bow in respect.

At that moment, Tanca approached them from the direction of the camp with hasty steps. His face, which was usually as calm as a river stone, was now filled with confusion and shame.

"Arok," he said. "Someone's looking for you."

Arok and Mahesa immediately became alert, their hands reflexively gripping the handles of their weapons.

"Who? Tumapel soldiers?" asked Arok.

Tanca shook his head. "No. He's alone. An old hermit. His clothes are pure white, a bit strange for someone walking in the forest. He said his name is Lohgawe. He's waiting for you near the waterfall."

Arok frowned. Lohgawe? That name sounded strange. A hermit searching for him? Why?

"Isn't he dangerous?" asked Mahesa.

"I don't know," Tanca answered honestly, and that's what sent shivers down Arok's spine. "I don't sense any hostility from him. But... I don't sense anything else, either. His aura is so calm, so deep, like a bottomless lake. That's what makes him feel... dangerous."

Driven by curiosity and his instinct that this was no ordinary encounter, Arok decided to meet her. He advised Mahesa and Tanca to remain vigilant and ready to act if anything happened.

He walked alone toward a small waterfall hidden behind a crevice in the rocks. As he got closer, he felt a calming energy growing stronger. The normally loud roar of the waterfall now sounded softer, providing background music for the mysterious figure's presence.

And there she saw it. An old man sat cross-legged on a large rock, his back to her, facing the roaring waterfall. His pure white robes stood in stark contrast to the green moss and black rocks around him. His snow-white hair flowed long down his back.

Even though the man sat still, Arok could sense something Tanca had sensed earlier: an incredible power radiating from him. Not physical power, but an inner strength so powerful that the air around him vibrated.

Arok stopped a few steps behind her, not daring to disturb her meditation. He simply stood still, waiting.

After what felt like an eternity, without turning around, the old man spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clearly audible over the roar of the waterfall.

"The fire within you burns so brightly, young man. So bright that its light can be seen even from the highest mountaintops."

Arok was shocked. How could this person know?

"Who are you, Grandpa?" Arok asked, his voice calm. "And what business do you have with me, Grandpa?"

The old man slowly turned around. And when Arok saw his face, he was stunned again. His face was lined with wrinkles of wisdom, but his eyes... were clear and sharp like an eagle's, as if they could penetrate flesh and bone, straight to Arok's soul.

"My name is Lohgawe," he replied. "And my business is with destiny. More specifically, with your destiny."

He stared at Arok intently. "You have noble intentions. You want to extinguish the flames of injustice. But your methods are flawed."

"Wrong?" Arok replied, slightly offended. "I'm fighting for the people. What's wrong with that?"

"Your approach is like trying to put out a forest fire with a cup of water," Lohgawe said. "You might succeed in putting out a few small flames. But the main fire will continue to spread and eventually consume you. You attack the tribute collectors, but you leave the man who commands them sitting comfortably on his throne. You attack the branches, but you let the roots continue to flourish."

Every word Lohgawe spoke was a bitter truth that hit Arok hard. This was the thought that had been bothering his heart this morning, now spoken very clearly by a stranger.

"Then what should I do, Reverend?" Arok asked, his tone softening, acknowledging the wisdom of the old man before him.

Lohgawe smiled. "You already know the answer, right? This morning, when you saw Tumapel, you already thought about it. It's the only way."

Arok fell silent. So, not only could this man see the fire within his soul, he could also hear his thoughts.

"Infiltrate the palace," Arok finally said, admitting his crazy plan. "But that's impossible. I'm the number one fugitive in this country."

"Nothing is impossible with destiny," Lohgawe replied. "Your form can be changed. Your name can be changed. Your identity can be erased. What cannot be changed is the fire in your heart." He paused, his gaze deepening and sharpening. "And that fire, Arok, is not the fire of an ordinary rebel."

"Then what fire?"

Lohgawe smiled mysteriously. "That's the fire of a king."

The words struck Arok like a bolt of lightning. A king? Himself? A farmer's son turned robber? The thought was so wild, so impossible, that he almost laughed. But as he stared into Lohgawe's unblinking eyes, he saw no joke. He saw absolute certainty, a terrifying truth. A door to a destiny he had never imagined was now open before him.

***

 2.2: Legend of the Padepokan Flower

The word "king" hung in the humid air around the waterfall, heavier than the stone beneath Arok's feet. He stared at Lohgawe, searching for a glimmer of humor or madness in his old eyes, but all he found was the calm of a deep ocean. For a moment, Arok thought the hermit before him might indeed be mad.

"King?" Arok finally managed to let out a forced, hoarse laugh. "Reverend, you must have the wrong person. I am just Arok, the son of a farmer forced into exile. My blood is that of the mud of the rice paddies, not of royalty."

"Blood is just red water, Young Man," Lohgawe replied, completely unaffected by Arok's rejection. "Fate does not choose based on the color of blood, but rather the color of the soul. And the soul within you... shines with a golden color."

Lohgawe walked slowly toward Arok. He didn't exude a threatening aura, but his majestic presence made Arok instinctively want to retreat.

"Do you think your struggle is just about revenge? Just about upholding justice for the poor?" asked Lohgawe. "Those are noble intentions, but they are only ripples on the surface. Behind them, a much greater current of destiny is moving. You are just one of its pawns, Arok. The most important pawn."

"I don't understand," Arok said honestly. His usually sharp and strategic mind now felt dulled by the priest's metaphor.

"You will understand," Lohgawe said. "But before that, I want to ask you a question. Amidst all the corruption you are fighting, amidst all this mire of injustice... do you believe there is still holiness in this land?"

The question was strange, unexpected. Arok thought for a moment. He remembered Pak Kerto's kindness, Sari's sincere love for her fiancé. He remembered the loyalty of his friends.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "I believe it. Purity resides in the hearts of good people who are oppressed."

"Good," said Lohgawe. "But I'm not talking about hidden holiness. I'm talking about shining holiness. A lighthouse in the storm. Have you ever heard the legend of the Kembang Padepokan Panawijen?"

Arok frowned. He had vaguely heard the name before, carried by the wind among the chatter of market vendors or travelers who had stopped in his village long ago. A fairy tale, he thought.

"I've heard of her," Arok replied. "The daughter of the great Mpu Purwa. It is said that her beauty is unmatched."

Lohgawe smiled faintly. "Physical beauty is the most deceptive veil, Arok. Poets and merchants can only see the skin. They cannot see what lies beneath." He stared at Arok sharply. "That girl, Ken Dedes, is not just a beautiful woman. She is a sign. A key. Within her lies the revelation of the cakraningrat, a gift that will give birth to great kings. She is Nariśwari."

Even though Arok did not fully understand the ancient terms, he could feel the mystical weight of every word Lohgawe uttered.

"And now," the priest continued, his voice now more serious, "such power is blooming unprotected, in a peaceful hermitage, not far from the lair of a hungry dragon. How long do you think a dragon will allow a golden lotus to bloom peacefully in a pond near its lair?"

A chill unrelated to the mountain weather ran down Arok's spine. He immediately understood where this conversation was headed. Tunggul Ametung. With his lust and greed, if he heard about this legend...

"Your struggle has always been centered on one thing, Arok: destroying the dark past," Lohgawe said. "But destiny now offers you a new, greater goal: protecting the sacred future."

"Protecting Ken Dedes?" asked Arok.

"Protecting what it represents," Lohgawe corrected. "Protecting the hope of a new, just order. If it falls into the hands of Tunggul Ametung, then from her womb will only be born new, even more terrible tyrants. That gift will be a curse for all of Java. And you, Arok, are the only one I see with a fire strong enough to prevent that from happening."

Arok's mind raced. It all seemed too big, too impossible. He, a fugitive, was being asked to protect a legendary princess from the clutches of the most powerful ruler in the land? And all this was based on an ancient prophecy?

"I... I don't know, Priest," Arok said hesitantly. "My powers aren't that great."

"Your current strength is indeed not much," Lohgawe replied. "Because you only use the strength of your body. You have not yet awakened the true power hidden within your soul: the power of destiny itself."

He took a step back, returning to the rock where he had been meditating. "I've said what I needed to say. The choice is yours." He closed his eyes, as if their conversation were over.

Arok stood there for a long time, his mind racing. On the one hand, his common sense screamed that this was all crazy. This was just the whispered story of an old hermit who was probably going senile.

But on the other hand, his heart felt something else. He sensed a truth. Ken Dedes' story, about the hope for a new order, somehow resonated with him. His struggle, which had previously felt like blind rage, now seemed to have been given a compass. A purpose beyond mere revenge.

He walked back to camp with heavy steps, his mind preoccupied with the priest's parables. Upon arrival, he found Tanca and Mahesa waiting anxiously for him.

"What's wrong, Sis?" Mahesa asked impatiently. "What did that strange old man say?"

Arok didn't answer immediately. He stared at the brightly burning campfire. "He... he offered me a different path."

He then recounted part of his conversation with Lohgawe. He discussed the theory of "destroying from within." Of course, he didn't mention the part about the "king" or "Nariśwari." That was too personal and too crazy to share at this time.

"Infiltrate the palace?" Tanca repeated, her calm face now showing genuine surprise. "That's a very dangerous plan, Arok."

"But that's our only plan!" Arok snapped, his voice filled with renewed confidence. "What else do we have to do, Uncle? Keep hiding in this mountain like a pack of rats? Carry out small, meaningless attacks until we all die one by one?"

He then turned to Mahesa, whose face showed strong rejection. "Mahesa, I know what you're thinking. But listen to me. Sometimes, the greatest battles aren't won with drawn swords, but with worn masks."

Before they could argue any further, Arok added something. Something that gave them a more tangible purpose, just like Lohgawe had given him.

"And there's another reason why we must move faster," he said solemnly. "The hermit gave me a warning. Tunggul Ametung... he has heard rumors about the Bunga Padepokan Panawijen, Princess Ken Dedes."

Hearing that name, Tanca and Mahesa fell silent. They, like everyone on the slopes of Kawi, knew and deeply respected Mpu Purwa and his daughter. The Panawijen Padepokan was a symbol of purity and peace for them.

"We all know Akuwu's nature," Arok continued. "He would never allow such beauty to exist without seeking to possess it. If we don't act quickly to weaken his power from within, sooner or later, he will return and desecrate the only sacred thing left in this land. Our fight is no longer simply to avenge the dead. Our fight now is to protect those who are still alive and precious."

The debate was a resounding success. Arok had successfully shifted their focus from an abstract mission of revenge to a concrete and urgent mission of protection. Protecting Ken Dedes was something they could understand, something that united their hearts.

Mahesa, who had previously been the most rebellious, now seemed to be wavering. Her firm face softened. Imagining the great Princess Ken Dedes being in the grip of the ferocious Tunggul Ametung was truly unbearable.

"So... you're going to do it, Arok?" Tanca finally asked, her voice heavy. "Are you really going to go down that path?"

Arok stared into the campfire. The shadows of the flames danced across his stern face, making him appear like an otherworldly figure.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "I will. I will go into that dragon's lair. And I swear, I won't come out until I rip out its heart."

That night, under the gaze of his most loyal followers, a decision was made. Arok had accepted his new destiny. He was no longer just a rebel. He was now a future protector, a knight about to embark on his most difficult journey to protect a princess he had never even met. The voice of the white hermit had changed the course of their struggle forever.

***

2.3: The Meeting of Two Fates

Arok's firm decision hung in the dim cave air, as heavy as the solid stone that formed the walls around them. The campfire crackled, the only sound breaking the tense silence. The hard faces accustomed to the clash of swords now looked confused, trying to comprehend an incomprehensible strategy. Infiltrate the palace? Their leader, the tiger of the Kawi slopes, would disguise himself as a mouse?

Tanca, with his wisdom, was the first to break the silence. He stared at Arok for a long moment, his aged eyes as if trying to weigh the burden of the young man's soul before him.

"This is the path of the sharpest sword, Arok," he said in a deep voice. "Once you step on it, you could slip at any moment and fall into the abyss of death. In the palace, your enemies are not just armed soldiers. Your enemies are fake smiles, poisonous compliments, and whispers that can kill faster than snake venom."

"I know, Uncle," Arok replied, his gaze unwavering. "But on this path, at least there is hope. Our current path leads only to one thing: a meaningless death."

However, Mahesa, pure-hearted and simple-minded, still couldn't accept it. To him, a warrior's honor lay in open combat. Hiding behind the mask of a servant felt cowardly.

"So, Brother, are you going to abandon us?" he asked, his voice hoarse, betraying deep disappointment. "How can we fight without a leader? Without you, we are just a pack of toothless wolves."

"That's where you're wrong, Mahesa," Arok replied, his voice softening. He stepped closer to his friend. "I'm not leaving you. I'm simply changing positions on the chessboard. All this time, I've been a king with limited movement, protected by pawns like you. Now, I'll be the pawn itself. A pawn that will infiltrate the opponent's defenses, and if I manage to reach the edge of the board, I can transform into anything. A queen, a rook, or a knight."

He placed a hand on Mahesa's strong shoulder. "And you... you're not a pack of toothless wolves. You're my fortress. You're the stake that will keep the fire of this struggle from dying out there. When I'm inside, alone and surrounded by enemies, my thoughts will always return to you. Knowing that you're still here, on this mountain, guarding our ideals, is what will give me the strength to continue this struggle."

Arok's words, spoken with incredible sincerity, slowly began to melt Mahesa's resolve. He looked into his leader's eyes, and there was no sign of fear or intention to flee. He saw a determination greater than the mountain itself.

"I will not be gone forever," Arok continued, his gaze now sweeping over every face before him. "I will plant a seed within. I will study every crack in the fortress walls. And when that seed grows into a tree strong enough to crack the walls from within, that is when I will need you. When I give the signal, you must be ready to become the storm that will come from outside and bring down the remains of the fortress. Uncle Tanca," he turned to the old man, "I entrust them all to you. Lead them, train them, and remain a terrifying ghost to the tyrants of the valley. But do not launch a major attack. Evade if a large force comes. Your first priority is survival. Wait for my signal, whether it takes one full moon, or ten years."

Silence fell again, but this time it was filled with understanding and compassion. They finally understood. This wasn't an escape. This was a long-term, high-stakes infiltration mission.

The first Tanca nodded firmly. He had long seen the timeless wisdom in Arok. "Your command is an oath to us, Arok," he said in a deep voice. "We will wait for you. We will be your shadow. Always."

Mahesa, his eyes slightly teary, finally clenched his fist and slammed it into his own chest. "If this is the path you must take, Brother... then I will follow it. But if we hear that you have truly forgotten us and become a palace guard dog, we will personally come down and drag you back, dead or alive."

Arok smiled faintly. "I kept your promise, Adi."

The farewell wasn't marked by tears, but by a silent promise exchanged between their eyes. They all knew their leader was about to embark on a path from which there would likely be no return. A lonely path he would have to travel alone.

That night, Arok couldn't sleep. He left the cave and walked to a small cliff overlooking the hermitage in the valley below. He drew a short sword from its sheath. It was the only thing left of his father, a common farmer who had died after being whipped by a tax official. The blade was plain, and the sheath was made of simple wood. But to Arok, this sword was a reminder of his first vow. A vow to avenge his father and thousands of others like him.

He sharpened the sword on the Wungkal stone with rhythmic and emotional movements. Every friction was a memory. Memories of hunger, memories of humiliation, memories of loss.

As he was lost in thought, he sensed someone's presence behind him. He didn't turn around; he already knew who it was.

"You shouldn't be alone here, Sis. You should be spending your last nights with us," Mahesa said, his voice softer now.

Arok didn't stop his movements. "I'm just saying goodbye, Mahesa. Not to you, but to her." He nodded at the sword in his hand. "At my destination, I can no longer take her with me. She's too honest, too upright. She won't survive in a world full of falsehood."

Mahesa sat beside him. "I still don't fully understand, Sis. Why you? Why do you have to get your hands dirty like this?"

Arok stopped sharpening his sword. He stared at the faint reflection of his face in the now sharp and gleaming blade.

"Because no one wants to, Mahesa," he replied softly. "Everyone wants change. Everyone prays for the gods to bring a miracle. But no one dares to be that miracle. No one dares to be the lightning that strikes in the midst of a long drought."

He turned to Mahesa, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "You and Uncle Tanca are true knights. Your hearts are pure. Your cause is righteous. You are shields for the people. But to slay a dragon, sometimes you can't just use a shield. You need a snake that dares to enter its lair and sink its venomous fangs right into its heart. And I," he smiled bitterly, "am used to living in darkness. I will be that snake."

Mahesa was silent, his heart moved by the sacrifice his friend and leader would make.

Arok then stood up. He walked to the edge of the cliff. With all his strength, he thrust his father's sword into the crevice in the rock. The sword stood upright, its sharp blade reflecting the moonlight, looking like a silent memorial.

"Guard it for me," Arok said without looking up. "This sword is my former heart. The heart of Arok the rebel. Someday, if the gods permit, I will return to retrieve it. If not..." his voice trailed off.

He then turned and patted Mahesa firmly on the shoulder. "Now go. Dawn will soon come. And my journey must begin."

Mahesa could only nod, his tongue feeling numb. He stared at the sword embedded in the rock, then at Arok's back as he slowly walked away, heading toward the meeting point he had agreed upon with Priest Lohgawe.

Mahesa knew he had just witnessed a historic moment. A moment where a hero deliberately buried his own heart, donning a monster mask to slay an even greater monster. 

Arok didn't look back. Each step felt heavy, leaving behind his past, his friends, and the only symbol of honor he possessed. He stepped into an uncertain future, toward a workshop that would change him forever. His final message was not spoken in words, but in a sword embedded in the mountaintop. A silent message that the Arok they knew was gone, and what would be born from his ashes, not even he himself knew. It was the end of his first chapter as a rebel, and the beginning of a legend that would be written in blood, deceit, and tears. The meeting of two fates—his and Lohgawe's—had turned the wheel of his destiny in a direction he never expected.

****continued from chapter 03