Asdahlia, page 3
Years and many months went by Asdahlia looks at the Dutch merchant ship heading for Penang just a couple of days after the ship of East India Company passed by, and which they can observe from their vantage point. Every now and then Asdahlia and her mother looked far into the sea and began counting the days. It’s been six years and it is again time for Ubbu to return. They are waiting for him tonight with much anticipation. Asdahlia has grown few inches taller and she is now fifteen years old. She has taken over from her mother the task of preparing the meals and making sure everything is ready to celebrate her father’s arrival. She is looking forward to find out what gifts he will bring for her this time. Most importantly, she is anticipating their most awaited trip to the Holy Land of Mecca. This has to be the right time.
Loud shouts and sudden commotions are coming from the seashore below. Startled the plate drops from Asdahlia’s hands and her face turns pale as she turns to her mother. Another sound like a ship has just moored, but there are also unfamiliar sounds of engines roaring. Thalia passes a hand over the lamp and extinguishes the light while Asdahlia holds on to her mother, her eyes unblinking, not sure what is happening outside. They listen as the noise gets louder and quickly getting closer. They join hands tightly together; their chests heave urgency with each breath. Asdahlia jumps from the deafening sounds of guns and cannons blasting from the beach. Seeing the lights flashing through the woods, Asdahlia spins her fingers around and all the hanging vines and roots wrapped the cottage and cover all the paths leading to it. They listen intently and they can hear advancing footsteps seeming to surround them. Instincts tell them to escape; hand in hand mother and daughter leaps and soars with the wind to safety.
Gliding with the strong wind as it blows, they disappear among trees and vines. Thalia tightens her hand around the small waist of her daughter. She can feel her hands tremble and her own heart pounding in her chest and through her ears. They pause for a moment at their vantage point to look down below. Four military patrol boats are chasing a group of fleeing bandits aboard a big boat down below and several men are running up the hill. It cannot be her father’s boat.
Asdahlia holds on to her mother and in the next breath they soar into the night air floating and hopping through the weaves of hanging vines. The bright lights darting in every direction can only come from powerful handheld flashlight carried by the military. They move quickly and manage to avoid being spotted until they reach the opposite end of the island. Slowly they begin to descend and pause. At the sweep of a hand, the floor materialized to support them both. Asdahlia whispers to her mother.
“Is father coming home tonight? Ina, did his ship arrive? I can’t understand who are those men? Why did they come to our shores?”
Thalia looks at her daughter blankly. She doesn’t have the answers but told her what’s on her mind.
“Let’s hope he is safe. Come on, and let us pray for him.”
Stepping carefully on the solid curve, Asdahlia comes closer and snuggles with her mother. Thalia curls next to her daughter and blinks away the tears now forming in her eyes. Here they are high up in the safety of the old fichus tree, wrapped in mist and darkness where they wait for the morning to come. She has no idea whether her husband has indeed arrived. All she can do is fervently pray that he is not the one whom the military are chasing after.
“Asdahlia, I hope and pray that it is not your father’s ship the military is going after.” She whispered.
“Yes, Allah will protect him, Ina.”
Both are settled and have resigned themselves to sleep despite of being exposed to the elements. While making themselves settle as comfortably as best they can, they heard a scramble of activity and some unmistakable noise of people somewhere out in the dark not very far below. Again, for the second time in one night, they are looking at each other alarmed and ready but no word passed between them for what seems the longest moment. A sound of child crying sears thru the silence of the forest below them. They just lay there and listen until they both fall asleep.
The next morning brought chilly air to the mountains. It is the month of December and the Christian world is preparing to celebrate Christmas. Here, the rising of the sun is greeted by a successive recitation of praises steadily turning into a chant. It is coming from the forest below.
A large tin pot is boiling in the open hearth and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee floats into the surrounding shacks that were built along the sides of the crater forming a bowl about fifty feet deep.
This extinct volcano serves as a refuge to the hundreds of rebels who resist the rule of the foreign forces that invaded their land. The sheer number and the superior fire power of the invading enemies drove them to escape and live here in hiding. They came with their families and with others who sympathized with them.
The sun slowly rises up from the east and the rebel leader emerges from his cottage and walks up to his elevated chair in front of the crowd. He is medium built with dark brown complexion. His thin face appears worn-out for lack of sleep. Someone came forward and served him coffee in a white enameled tin cup which he accepts gratefully with a nod. He savors the taste of freshly ground coffee while it is hot, holding it a bit longer to smell the rich aroma in his nostrils, showing the high cheekbones browned by exposure to the sun. His narrow forehead is framed by a brown turban lined with beads sewn at the edges worn as a mark of authority despite his rank as lesser sultan. He wears an open breasted jacket fitted to protect his upper torso and it is matched with tight-fitting pants with slits at the bottom front showing his bare calloused feet.
He finishes drinking his coffee and gives the cup to the person seated nearest to him. The handle of the sheathed sword is on his side and tied with a rope around his waist. He starts a light conversation with his followers who congregate around him expecting to hear what he has to say while occasionally sipping their own coffee. He leans forward slightly to listen to the man emotionally relating how his boat and crew was fired upon by the military patrol boat. The man is telling him and everyone listening in the crowd his anger and frustration for losing his boat which was totally obliterated in the encounter.
People are beginning to come out and gather around him and the sultan. Directly across from them is where the coffee is being served. Men huddle together around the burning fire, to warm their scantily clad bodies and bare feet. Some of them are naked with only strip of cloth to cover the genitals and a sheathed long knife tied around their waists. Others wear tattered shirts to provide some warmth in the upper body. Some carry spears as additional weaponry.
As the morning grows the conversations become heated and boisterous. They are competing for the attention of their leader to consult with him on issues that concerns them. The sultan stands up to express his outrage in a voice loud enough for all his followers to hear.
“We can see that these people are here to invade us, to grab our land and deprive us of our livelihood.”
The people roared back their agreement and buzzing their own concerns amongst themselves at the same time. Where else can they go if they are again forced to move?
Some are raising their long knives expressing readiness to war while others are shaking their heads in disbelief before taking the last gulp of coffee from their tin cups.
“We can never submit to these foreigners, and they now expect us to pay tribute for the land that we already owned for many generations. This is not acceptable.”
The crowd is enraged to rise into rebellion and is now growing impatient waiting for direction from the sultan. The noise and restlessness is growing with every passing minute. Some men have just awakened and join in while the women busy themselves settling the small children and waiting for their turn at a cup of coffee. They are seated on one side with their children whose high-pitched clamors vanish in the rising noise of the crowd.
The sun is streaming its life-giving light through the swaying branches and leaves of trees pushing the fog higher above and into the clouds. Dogs bark frantically in the background but are completely ignored.
The sultan looks at the faces around him and he sees defeat and burning anger in their eyes. He can hear in their voices the immense frustration that is welling up from feelings of hopelessness. He feels responsible for every one of them for they are here because they believe in his cause to resist foreign domination. He raises both his hands in an appeal for calm. He waits until the people have quieted down before he continues to speak.
“Think about what happened to those who opposed them, they killed everyone. My brothers, when you join this cause you must be sure of yourselves especially those of you who have family who depend on you.”
Men who have lost their livelihood made a bold suggestion to their leader.
“Sultan we have to find a way to go back to our business otherwise our families will go hungry. We must discover new routes to the northern islands.”
“It is very risky. I have received news that the Kentucky is heading back here soon. Think of the patrol boats so if you have to sail again, you must always be on the look out to avoid an encounter at sea.”
He pauses and spits to the side before he shakes his head. His countenance turning even darker as his desperation heightens. He raises his hands on the air and with great effort to control the crowd, he continued.
“My brothers, we will wait for the Great Sultan to negotiate a solution. When the Great Sultan has become powerless then it will be the time to take matters into our hands. But this is perilous time, so we must be ready to defend ourselves and our families from the enemy.”
The heat is rising and the smell of coffee, tobacco and sweat from the crowd mix with smoke from the hearth and the smell of rotting leaves on the ground. This is beginning to fill the basin. The speech continues, oblivious of the barking of dogs now intensifying at the background. More angry voices echo and the leader raises his sword.
“We will fight and we need to plan.”
“We must fight to the finish.”
A yell from the crowd drowns everything else that the sultan is saying.
In that moment at the foot of the mountain, far below, men clothed in full dress military uniforms numbering about six hundred are marching into the deep woods. The climb is steep and the vegetation is damp from the cold morning dew. They pick up speed as they move forward while the sun rises behind them. They race with time before the heat and humidity peaks at midday. Dried twigs and leaves snap under their weight as they creep through the thick underbrush. The sun is high above when they reach the top. They quickly hoist their artillery and mount at the edge of the crater. All eyes are at the commanding officer who immediately changes over to hand signals as he gives orders to his men. They could hear loud barking of dogs and the voices of people coming from the bottom of the crater getting louder as they draw nearer. Circling the bowl the soldiers crawl. Arm to arm they get closer for the kill. Shoulder to shoulder they close ranks and all hands at .45 caliber rifles aimed and ready to fire. In a brief breath-stopping moment the commanding officer waves down his hand.
Volleys of shots come in rapid succession, loud and deafening; awakening all the creatures that have taken sanctuary in the forest. Pandemonium reigns as birds swoop away and the animals on the ground run for safety. The crowd surrounding the sultan is caught by surprise. They run riotously and scattered in different directions, all scrambling to climb out of the bowl in order to fight back evenly doing so with the ferocity of a cornered beast. The soldiers who are schooled in organized attack close in at the mouth of the crater and deliver more shots. The rebels defended as hard as they scream against the onslaught of the enemies, but their swords and knives are no match to the superior rifles and cannons fired at them.
Women and children are thrown into panic, screaming and running through blasts of guns searching for cover and facing the frightening realization that there is nowhere to hide. Mothers shield their children with their bodies certain that death is about to lay claim on all of them. After several hours of confusion and fierce battle one by one men, women, and children fell on the ground. Those who remained standing continued to charge but are out-numbered by their better trained and well-armed opponents. Bodies fall on top of naked bodies and blood flows upon more blood. Screams of women and children halt with numbing gasps, and dogs bark relentlessly in the background while the sound of artillery and gunshots continues without interruption.
Looking down as her whole body shakes in horror, Asdahlia is horrified witnessing from above the soldiers closing in to deliver more shots on the sprawled bodies beneath her. Her hands are tight over her ears and her eyes shut tightly as she tries to hold herself as still as possible.
Thalia reaches to hug her. She could hear her own heart drumming against her chest. Just last night they came and took refuge at the crook of this great tree and stayed half awake until almost dawn unable to fully sleep. She cannot be sure how long she drifted to sleep before she was awakened by barrage of gunshots and by sudden flurry of birds escaping from the scene. Thalia tightens her embrace on her daughter trying to ease her trembling, lest she might betray their location. For the moment it seems as though the carnage will never end.
Asdahlia slowly raises her head to peek through the thick hanging vines that concealed them from below. She wipes the tears that blinded her with the shaking hands and covered her ears. Her lips pressed together; her body curled in fear. A strong gust blows and the trees respond through the hissing of the leaves. Thalia holds her daughter down.
“No. Let us not get mixed up with their troubles.”
“But Ina, the people are being slaughtered.”
“Yes. I can see that, but I don’t want you to get hurt in a war that we do not fully understand.”
She looks up at the dark cloud passing over the mountain. The bright sun cannot bear to see any longer the heart-rending inhumanity taking place under its watch. Everything seems to stand still until the nimbus moves away allowing the sun to mourn in silence. Asdahlia looks down with tears welling up in her eyes.
The ambush continues until not one rebel, including women and children, is left standing. The shots stopped as abruptly as they began and then long silence followed. Then the silence becomes eerie after the day-long burst of noise in her ears.
Not far below, the body of the rebel leader lies lifeless among his men, blood spreading and soaking his turban in deep red, his body riddled with bullets, his right hand still holding his sword.
They held their breath and waited a bit longer as shots crack the air in few short intervals while the soldiers inspect the limp bodies on the ground.
The man in stiff uniform standing at the top of the crater appears to be the commander. He stands there looking on while his men finish off those who might still be breathing. At his direction, a lanky man goes down into the bowl and quickly positions a tripod to mount a camera. Flash after flash he takes photographs of the fallen rebels.
Asdahlia and her mother watch the scene below since morning and they are still waiting until the last soldier leaves. The shots finally stop and they breathe relief. Yet she feels sad and angry by the events that she has experienced in the past twenty-four hours.
By now the forest has awakened to Asdahlia’s emotions. Subtly roots had crept up and vines extended its reach, slowly transforming the forest all around the scene of the carnage. Trees bend their branches and leaves echo the relentless moaning wind that waits to be unleashed.
The soldiers march back down the hill moving out as quickly as they came. This time, to their amazement, the terrain has changed. They can see the movements around them. For several hours they march but they cannot find their way out of the forest. They walk in circles until the night takes over.
Booming sounds of night birds chased them as they tried to run faster. They were unprepared for the darkness in this woods and the forest floor seems to have thickened with the rain that comes in torrents. They did not expect to remain here until nightfall. Their leader is just as confused as his men but could not fathom what has transpired during the span of time when they were engaged in battle.
When at last Asdahlia is able to move, she feels the stiffness and her frail body ached but she raises her hands to the cloud that is brewing a storm, strange coiling swathes of grey; a thick cloak above the sky. She looks at her mother whose face is hidden by a brown veil, both hands clasping at her chest betraying her emotion.
Only a few minutes have passed, and their tears barely dried in their eyes, again they look at each other with alarm. They hear people scampering and dreadful, painful screaming begins. Asdahlia bends down cupping her ears not wanting to hear the terrible sound of anguish. It goes on and on until the sorrows of the bereaved relatives have been sufficiently vented. After a while, everyone begins consoling each other, finally carrying away their dead when darkness arrives.
Thalia and Asdahlia sit unmoving for many more hours waiting for the darkness to completely swallow up any lingering sunlight, hoping everyone who came for his dead are safely out of the forest. Hand in hand they leap into the night, soaring with the wind over the forest. The trees are mere passing blur as they both raise their hands.
The soldiers stopped to listen to the sound of crying, a screaming in the air around, a terrible sound of rage. The wind blows with ferocity, forcing the trees to sway from side to side until their leaves hiss in protest. They look at each other questioningly, but there is no time to ask the question in mind. They run but were stopped by a lightning bolt. Round boulders have grown in an instant from a plain grassy hillside where they were headed. Mother and daughter have tapped the power of the natural magic of sun and moon, wind and water, rock and fire and channeled it for their own purpose. Tonight they will bring the horrors of Skeleton Island to these murderers of helpless people.
