The Musafir

Birawa Emergence

So Mantingan has decided, he will write the story of his journey on a ejection sheet. So that the story does not fade, and so that the story can be widely famous. Not impossible, he will be a role model for travelers in the future.

The mantang has no intention of sleeping tonight. He wrote his story from the beginning of his departure from the village of his birth and his journey that made him so poor. Later Mantingan will write how he met with Kenanga, and he will also write how the beauty of Kenanga both from outside and inside.

Writing on a palm actually consumes a lot of time and energy, but by writing like this, Mantingan feels happier. During Mantingan's writing, a smile never escaped his face, even though what he wrote was the saddest part of his wandering.

Mantingan almost finished the part of himself and Kenanga, but the movement stopped when his ears caught the sound of falling objects stretching from outside his room, or even outside the house. The exact location of the origin of the sound is not known, but now he will find out the origin of the sound.

He got out of his bed and opened the door slowly.

“Rara? Ark?” his call echoed almost throughout the house.

There was no reply, Mantingan grew curious. Is there really a mouse in this house that does not work with disguise sirens? So he walked slowly through room by room. Starting from the kitchen, Mantingan did not find any objects that fell from their original place. There is no middle room either. Storage is nothing strange.

Mantingan let out a long sigh, maybe he was just too scared, is it not common for strange sounds on the beach?

But there was another voice similar to the one before. There was no reason for Mantingan to be unawares. The bad news is, he doesn't carry any weapons, plus has no bare-handed science at all.

There are two women that Mantingan must protect here, there is not enough reason to fear. Mantingan back down the room, but this time the pace is faster.

Again, Mantingan found nothing after walking through the entire room. No items dropped, when the sound he heard was the sound of falling objects opposite, such as the sound of metal or maybe the clink of a sword?

The mantan almost gave up and was about to approach Arkawidya's room to announce this, but a familiar voice called out his name.

“Children Mantingan, no need to worry. It's me Birawa.”

Mantingan turned to the origin of the voice and found Birawa standing behind him with a smile. His condition was not very good, his hair was disheveled and his clothes were torn everywhere. There was no visible wound on his body.

“Bapak Birawa, it turns out it was you.” The smiling back coat. “What happened to you?”

Birawa maintained her smile as she said, “Not a big deal, Son. The quality of my clothes was not very good so this is how I used to fight at lightning-fast speed. But I have no injuries, Son.” Birawa patted her own clothes which did look a little sandy. “Where are Arka and your friend? Are they safe?”

“They're all safe, Father. Both are still sleeping.”

“Good, you have managed to do this quite strenuous and risky task.” Birawa came forward and patted Mantingan's shoulder as a sign of gratitude. “You have saved my grandson. O. .. how hard I am to find Arkawidya, Son. One year I searched for him, nor did I find his whereabouts after an incident that killed two of his parents. It's a shame for her fate, son. Do you want to hear stories about me and Arkawidya? I know that you are filled with many questions.”

“Sure, Mr.” Warm smiling coat.

“Then, let's sit on that bench, let me tell you more fluently, Son!”

Mantingan followed Birawa and sat face to face in the middle room chair. Start Birawa telling stories. About why he was not there when Arkawidya and his family needed help from him.

The village of Arkawidya is flattened with land, as well as Widya's house. As he searched through the rubble of Widya's house, he could find the writings on the wall.

The post reads: “Grandpa where?”

It was Arkawidya who wrote it. I don't know what he had written the letters for, but Birawa saw that it was likely that Arkawidya had written them with his own nails.

“I'm really sorry, Son. I'm looking for them everywhere. Until I got word from the villagers who survived the incident, that Widya's mother and father were killed. My son, o. ..”

Birawa took a deep breath. His smile disappeared from deep sadness. Can be clearly drawn from the look in his eyes that look down, deep regret.

“No trace or news of Widya. I looked for him and ignored the fighting challenges of many warriors, until my name in the martial world was tarnished and considered not a warrior. I also did not find him. I then stayed in Sundapura, which indirectly protected the city from black attacks.

“I thought Arkawidya hated me. And I deserve to be hated by him. Has failed my duty as a grandfather for him, has failed my duty of being a protector for him!”

Mantingan let out a long sigh as the story ended. It was increasingly clear in his head that the short path was a quiet and lonely road. A swordsman will be dangerous if he takes care of family affairs even a little, so many warriors who choose not to marry or have a family.

But for now Arkawidya is in a guaranteed condition thanks to the existence of Birawa. Not much to worry about.

Birawa smiled again and brought another conversation. “Son, the sun has not yet risen but you have awakened, what is it?”

The mantle shook slowly and chuckled. “Actually I'm not sleeping, Mr.”

“Loh, why?”

“Last night I wrote on the empty ejection sheet of the guest room. I wear it is okay, Mr?”

“Not why, not why! I'm happy instead.” Birawa smiled broadly. “If I may know, what have you written, Son?”

“I wrote the story of my journey, Father. Not a good story, I'm not good at composing words.”

“If it is a story, of course to read delusional, right?”

Mantian nodded. “True, I wrote that to be read by many people.”

“Then, can I read it a little?”

“Of course, Father, I'll get it in the room.” The mantan got up and rushed the way towards his room.