Chapter 1: Mahesa Birawa

“This…!” growled the thick-mustached man with a rough voice.

“Give it to him! I want his answer today, Kalingundil! Do you hear me?!”

The man called Kalingundil nodded. He took the letter being handed to him.

“If he runs his mouth too much…” said the thick-mustached man again, “just take care of it. Go now. Bring Saksoko if you have to!”

Kalingundil stood and left the room. Once he vanished behind the door then Suranyali, the thick-mustached man, began to mutter darkly to himself.

“That cursed woman! That damnable wench!” he growled, clenching his right fist and slamming it onto the teakwood table in front of him.

CRACK!

The tabletop splintered, the four legs sank three centimeters into the floor, cracked under the impact! Then he stood up. His body trembled with rage, barely restrained. His mouth flew open again, shouting at no one.

“That crazy woman! I only leave for one year and she goes off and gets married?! Pregnant even—with a kid! Fuck her!”. 

Suranyali stood panting by the window, then stormed over to another table in the room. From a clay jug he drank cool water—but after just two gulps, the jug was already empty.

“Fuck her!” Suranyali cursed again, hurling the jug to the ground where it shattered into pieces. A middle-aged woman peeked her head from another doorway, but quickly vanished again at the sight of Suranyali’s rampage.

Finally, worn out from his own fury and string of curses, Suranyali threw himself into a chair. Now the fatigue in his body began to sink in.

“Ludjeng!” he shoted.

The middle-aged woman from before hurried into the room. “Yes, Master Sura…”

“You’re damned too!” Suranyali barked at her. Spittle flew from his lips, splashing her face, but Wilujeng dared not wipe it off.

“How many times have I told you—don’t call me by that name! Are you stupid?! How do you keep forgetting?! Huh?! Have you gone mad?!”

Wilujeng stood frozen, trembling in fear. She had forgotten again. Once again, she’d called him Sura, though Suranyali had ordered her many times to address him as Mahesa Birawa.

“You pointy-nosed hag! I asked you a question! Are you insane?! Answer me!”

“No, Master Su—uh, Mahesa Birawa…”

“If you’re not insane, then you must be deranged! Bring me some water. Now!”

Wilujeng turned and quickly returned with a glass of water. The cool liquid calmed Suranyali’s anger, if only slightly. He sat quietly in his chair, and when he narrowed his eyes, memories from a year ago came flooding back.

Back then, he had already known Suci for a while. He knew the girl didn’t like him, but by constantly appearing by the riverside where she did her laundry, he had hoped to eventually soften her heart.

Eventually, Suci started to respond to his chatter—but not because she liked him. She only did it out of pity. Unfortunately, Suranyali misread the signs. He convinced himself that Suci had fallen for him.

One day, Suranyali was summoned by a powerful figure atop Mount Lawu. Before leaving, he met with Suci and said, “Suci, I’m heading to Mount Lawu. I might not be back for a year. I hope you’ll wait patiently for me. When I return, I will marry you…”

“But, Kangmas Sura…” Suci hesitated, because in that moment she saw Suranyali stepping forward with arms outstretched to embrace her. She backed away. “Please, Kangmas, someone might see us…”

And then, Suranyali left—without giving Suci a chance to explain that she didn’t love him, and that she had no intention of accepting his proposal.

During Suranyali’s absence, Suci married Ranaweleng, a young man she loved and who loved her in return. To Suci, the marriage was no betrayal. She had never loved Suranyali, nor had she ever promised anything to him.

So when Suranyali returned and the very first thing he heard was that Suci had married Ranaweleng, it was like pouring oil onto a raging fire. The couple even had a baby boy. Though they lived modestly, they were happy. And now Ranaweleng had become the village chief of Djatiwalu.

If Suranyali were a man of dignity, he would have backed off upon hearing of Suci’s marriage. It would’ve been shameful to continue pursuing a woman who didn’t love him—especially one who was now a wife and mother.

But Suranyali was no man of sound mind. He was quick to anger, prone to wild rage. That very same day, he sent his men to Djatiwalu to deliver a letter—an open threat—to Ranaweleng.

Suranyali—now calling himself Mahesa Birawa—rose from his seat as the thunder of horse hooves echoed in the courtyard. He stepped toward the window, watching his two men depart. 

Suci must be mine… she must! he fumed silently.

If not…

Mahesa Birawa didn’t finish the thought. Instead, his left hand swung, smashing into the window frame. The wood exploded into splinters!