Chapter 8: The Last Lesson

But Eyang Sinto Gendeng did not strike.

Instead, the grandmaster simply leapt into the guava tree and settled back onto the same branch she had perched on before.

“Very good, Wiro… Very good,” she said, her face turned firmly eastward. “All these years I’ve trained you atop Mount Gede… and you did not disappoint me.”

Then she laughed, long and shrill like a crazed bird at dawn. As her laughter died away, she sang once more—yes, that same eerie song that had stirred Wiro’s heart earlier.

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Pitulas taun wus katilar,
Pucuking Gunung Gede isih panggah kaya biyen mulo,
Langit isih tetep biru,
Wulan lan suryo isih tetep mandeng lan kangen,

Pitulas taun agawe kang tua tambah tua.
Pitulas taun ndadekake bayi abang dadi pemuda kang gagah,
Pitulas taun wektu perjanjian,
Pitulas taun wiwitane perpisahan,
Pitulas taun wekdaling pamales….

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Seventeen years have passed.
The peak of Mount Gede remains unchanged.
The sky still blue,
The sun and moon still gazing longingly from afar.

Seventeen years have made the old older.
Seventeen years turned a red-faced baby into a handsome youth.
Seventeen years since a pact was made.
Seventeen years since a parting began.
Seventeen years—the time for vengeance.

Wiro sat down under a tree across from the guava. His limbs sprawled, his heart restless. He watched his master draw several long, silent breaths.

“Your chest feels tight, Eyang? I could give you a massage…”

“Silence!” Sinto snapped.

Wiro scratched his head and shut his mouth.

“I want to talk to you,” the old woman said again.

“What do you want to talk about, Eyang…?” This time, Wiro’s tone turned serious. His instincts told him something important was coming.

“How long have you been here with me, Wiro?!”

“I… I’m not sure anymore.”

“Crazy boy! Then what did I teach you reading, writing, and arithmetic for?!”

“Maybe ten years, Eyang?”

“Idiot! Seventeen years, you blockhead!”

Wiro laughed. “Ah, yes… Seventeen years, Eyang.”

“I don’t want any of your nonsense today, Wiro!” she barked, eyes still gazing toward the east. “You see the sun over there?”

“I see it, Eyang…” he replied, glancing at the horizon.

“That sun… it’s the same sun as seventeen years ago. Mount Gede is still the same too. But the old got older, the babe became a youth. Only the outside world has truly changed.”

Wiro listened intently. His master had never spoken in this tone before. And then her voice returned, soft and grave.

“Seventeen years… You’ve lived with me that long. Learned to read and write, practiced martial arts, absorbed sacred knowledge. But don’t you forget! You must not forget! The skills and powers I’ve passed on to you are nothing—nothing!—compared to the might of the Almighty. Do you understand me, Wiro?”

“Yes, Eyang…”

“That’s why you must remain humble. You may now possess incredible strength, the kind most mortals can’t match. But power means nothing if your heart turns wicked. Never become arrogant, boastful, or drunk on your own strength! Use your knowledge to protect others, to do good! If you stray from the righteous path, retribution will come, sooner or later! Remember—there are many mighty beings in this world. Just because you’re strong, don’t ever think you’re the strongest! Beyond every sky is another sky, Wiro! Do you understand?”

“I understand, Eyang…”

“You remember?”

“I remember, Eyang…”

“Remember… ha! People remember with their brains! But I don’t want you just to remember! Because where there’s memory, there’s also forgetting. And all humans—all of them—are cursed with forgetfulness. What I want from you is more than memory. I want you to plant this truth deep inside you! Into your heart, your soul, your bloodstream, the throb of your pulse, the breath in your lungs! Let it grow inside you like a tree. A tree with roots so deep no force on earth can rip it from the soil. With each passing day, the roots go deeper, the trunk stronger. Let it become part of you.”

For a while, silence fell over the mountain.

Then Sinto Gendeng spoke again, her voice cutting the quiet like a blade:

“Today… is the last day you will remain here, Wiro.”

“What…?” Wiro gasped, stunned by words he never expected.

“You’re surprised? Don’t be. In this world, there is always a time for meeting… and a time for parting. A time to arrive… and a time to leave. My duty is done. I’ve passed on all that I can. And you have completed your part—you have received and learned what I had to give.”

Wiro remained seated, struck dumb. Now he understood the song she had sung earlier—it was not just a melody, but a lament, a tale of life, time, and farewell. Still, one part of the lyrics haunted him:

Seventeen years—the time for vengeance.

Sinto Gendeng floated back to the ground, landing lightly before her disciple. She began again:

“Everything in this world is made in pairs, Wiro. Two parts—opposites—that form one entity.”

Wiro frowned. “Can you give me an example, Eyang?”

“Of course. There is man, and there is woman. They are different, but they are meant to be together, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Eyang…”

“Then there’s sky and earth. Sea and land. Fire and water. Hot and cold. Life and death. Poverty and wealth. Blindness and sight. Straight and crooked, long and short, high and low, deep and shallow. Always two sides! And above it all… there is the One who created them all. Now tell me, Wiro… Who created you?”

“I don’t know, Eyang…”

“Fool!”

“I mean… my parents, Eyang…”

“And who created your parents?”

“My grandparents?”

“And who created them?”

“Their grandparents…?”

“And who created them?!”

“Uhh… great-grandparents?”

“IDIOT!” she shouted. “No human can create another human! Your father lay with your mother, and your mother gave birth to you, nothing more! She didn’t create you. And your grandmother didn’t create your mother either. Life does not come from man. Life comes from the One! From God! Everything in this world—these pairs, these opposites—they all exist by His will! He made man and woman, sky and earth, sorrow and joy, the rich and the poor. Now answer me, how many eyes do you have?”

“Two, Eyang.”

“Nose?”

“One.”

“Nostrils?”

“Two.”

“Mouth?”

“One.”

“Lips?”

“Two, Eyang.”

“Head?”

“One.”

“Arms?”

“Two.”

“Legs?”

“Two, Eyang…”

“And your… ahem… your stones?”

“Two, Eyang…” Wiro muttered under his breath, both annoyed and amused.

“And your… um… staff?”

“One, Eyang…” He snorted a laugh, but didn’t dare show it.

“See? It’s all ones and twos! The balance of life—one and two, two and one. This isn’t random, boy. This is divine design. It proves that the dualities of life are bound together by the One—by God! We all must live with these twos and ones, and we all must believe in the One.”

“But what about someone who’s blind in one eye, Eyang? Or has only one leg?”

“Even so, that’s still one eye, one leg, isn’t it?! The numbers are still there—one or two! Haven’t I told you that already, blockhead?!”

Wiro said nothing. His master’s point—strange as her delivery might be—was undeniably true.

“Now get up!” Sinto commanded.

Wiro rose to his feet. Sinto Gendeng bared her teeth in a twisted grin, her laughter rising again. Then, from within her black robe, she once more withdrew her strange, enchanted axe.

Wiro recoiled instinctively, taking several steps back in alarm.

But Eyang Sinto Gendeng only cackled louder—until tears welled at the corners of her eyes.