IKATLONG KABANATA - tr. CHAPTER 03
Mapalad ka, Diwa
You are fortunate, Diwa
DIWA
The first light of dawn filtered through the entrance of the Rajah's home, casting a warm glow on the wooden floor and woven mats. I stirred, slowly waking from a restless sleep filled with fragmented dreams. For a moment, I forgot where I was, but reality soon returned, heavy and unyielding. I was a captive in the Rajah's camp, and my life was no longer my own.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and looked around. The Rajah was already awake, sitting by the fire pit, his back turned to me. He seemed lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding. I felt a pang of fear and uncertainty but also a strange sense of curiosity. Who was this man who had taken everything from me, yet now held my fate in his hands?
And why am I here in his home in the first place? I am a captive.
He turned to face me; his expression unreadable. "Come, Diwa," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We have much to do today."
I nodded, standing up and smoothing down the simple tunic I had slept in. His home felt warmer, more inviting in the morning light, but it was still a cage, a reminder of my new reality. I followed the Rajah outside, into the bustling camp where men prepared for the day's tasks and women moved about, tending to chores.
The Rajah led me to a small clearing near the edge of the camp, where a young woman awaited us. She had kind eyes and a gentle demeanor, a stark contrast to the harshness of our surroundings.
"This is Lila," the Rajah said, gesturing to her. "She will show you your duties and help you adjust to your new life here."
Lila smiled warmly; her eyes filled with understanding. "Come, Diwa," she said softly. "I will take care of you."
I followed Lila, glancing back at the Rajah. He watched us for a moment before turning away, his attention already on other matters. I couldn't decipher his intentions, but I knew I had to focus on surviving, on finding a way to endure.
Lila led me to a hut where several other women were working. They were sorting through supplies, preparing food, and mending clothes. It was a familiar scene, reminiscent of my life before, yet everything had changed. I was no longer free.
"You will help us here," Lila explained, handing me a basket of fruits to sort. "The work is hard, but we support each other. You are not alone, Diwa."
Her words were a small comfort. I focused on the task at hand, trying to keep my mind occupied. As I worked, the women around me shared stories, their voices a blend of sorrow and resilience. They had all faced hardships, had all been taken from their homes. Yet, they found strength in each other, in the small moments of kindness and solidarity.
"How long have you been here?" I asked Lila during a brief lull in our work.
"I don’t remember how long," she replied, her smile tinged with sadness. "I was taken like you, but I have found a way to survive. You will too."
I nodded, absorbing her words. Survival was my only goal now. I had to learn, adapt, and find my place in this new world. As the day wore on, I fell into a rhythm, the work becoming a distraction from my fears.
By the time the sun began to set, I was exhausted but grateful for the sense of purpose the tasks had given me. Lila guided me back to the Rajah's home, her presence a reassuring anchor in the chaos of my new life. But… why am I taken back to his home? I am a captive.
"Rest well, Diwa," she said as we reached the home. "Tomorrow will be another busy day."
I thanked her and stepped inside, finding the Rajah already there, his expression thoughtful as he studied me.
"You did well today," he said, surprising me with his praise. "Lila speaks highly of you."
"Thank you," I replied quietly, unsure of how to respond to his unexpected kindness.
He nodded, his gaze softening slightly. "You are strong, Diwa."
His words lingered in my mind as I prepared for bed, the day's exhaustion finally catching up to me. I lay down on the woven mat, staring up at the simple wooden ceiling of his home, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Everything about this place felt wrong—the bedding beneath me, the foreign surroundings—it all filled me with a profound sense of guilt and unease.
I closed my eyes, letting the fatigue pull me into sleep.
The next few days passed in a blur of labor and quiet dread. The camp buzzed with activity, and I did my best to remain unnoticed. I was transferred to a regular hut, a small mercy I was grateful for. I had quickly learned that the Rajah's attention was a double-edged sword. His initial praise had been unexpected, but he soon seemed to forget my existence. I became just another face in a sea of captives. Each passing day, I felt a growing anger simmering within me.
But what’s new about being angry? Anger has been my constant companion since the day I was born.
Every seventh day, a heavy tension settled over the camp. The men grew quieter, their eyes darker with anticipation. The women, on the other hand, were a mixture of terror and resignation. I soon learned why.
On the seventh day, the Rajah would choose a woman from among the captives. At first, it seemed like an honor, a chance to become his concubine and perhaps gain some semblance of protection. But the truth was far more sinister. Once he grew bored of his new toy, she would disappear, her body found lifeless and discarded outside the camp the following morning.
I shivered at the thought, doing my best to blend into the background. Lila and the other women shared the same haunted look, each of us silently praying we wouldn't be next. The Rajah's right-hand warrior, a brute named Bulan, was the one who carried out the executions. His eyes were cold and emotionless, a stark contrast to the life he so easily snuffed out.
As the next seventh day approached, my anxiety grew. I could feel the weight of impending doom pressing down on me. Lila noticed my unease and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Stay strong, Diwa," she whispered. "We must endure. We have no other choice."
Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they did little to calm my racing heart. That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the camp grew eerily silent. The men gathered around the Rajah's home, their eyes glinting with dark anticipation.
The Rajah emerged, his gaze sweeping over the assembled women. My heart pounded in my chest as his eyes passed over me. For a moment, I thought I had escaped his notice. But then, his gaze snapped back to me, and a cruel smile curled on his lips.
"You," he said, his voice a chilling command. "Come here."
My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to step forward. The other women watched in silent horror as I approached the Rajah, my body trembling with fear. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron.
"You will entertain me tonight," he said, his voice low and menacing.
I nodded, too terrified to speak. He led me into his home, the flap closing behind us and sealing my fate. Inside, the fire cast flickering shadows on the wooden walls, creating an atmosphere of foreboding. The Rajah released my wrist and gestured for me to sit.
I obeyed, my mind racing with fear and uncertainty. The Rajah sat across from me, his eyes boring into mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was suffocating, and I struggled to breathe.
"Do you know why I chose you, Diwa?" he asked finally, his voice a dangerous purr.
I shook my head, unable to form words.
"Because you are different," he continued, his gaze never wavering. "There is a fire in you, a strength that intrigues me. But do not mistake my interest for mercy. If you bore me, your fate will be the same as the others."
A chill ran down my spine. I nodded again; my throat too tight to speak. The Rajah leaned back, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Let's see if you can keep my attention," he said softly, a sinister edge to his words.
But I didn't know what to do. I remained silent for so long, and when I looked at him, I couldn’t read his expression; his eyes just bore into mine. I gulped hard when I saw him reach for his kampilan.
“I-I can sing,” I whispered.
But he stood, kampilan in hand. I couldn’t move, frozen in place, feeling utterly mute. I looked up as he approached, the tip of the kampilan aimed at my throat. Should I run? No. I couldn’t. There was no escape!
Could someone like me even hope to escape? The Rajah's imposing figure, his tattoos and scars, all served as a stark warning—could I possibly defy him? No, I couldn’t.
“I can’t hear you. Speak, slave.”
I swallowed hard, staring into his dark eyes. The gentleness of his face was a sharp contrast to the ferocity of his gaze. “Speak.”
“I-I can sing,” I stammered. “It’s the only thing someone like me can do, Rajah.”
He sat down in front of me, and my eyes followed his every movement. He set down the kampilan and fixed me with an intense stare. “Begin, slave.”
I nodded, trembling with fear. Softly, I started to sing a melody I had learned from my mother. My voice echoed gently in the silent room; each note filled with trepidation. The Rajah's gaze never wavered from me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I no longer cared what he thought or planned to do. When I finished, the room fell into a heavy silence.
I froze as the Rajah lifted his broad hand, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek and trailing down to my chin. He tilted my face upward, his head slightly cocked as he gazed at me with an almost predatory intensity. “You are fortunate, Diwa,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.
His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw with an unnerving tenderness. My breath hitched, the air around us thick with a tension that was both frightening and strangely intoxicating. His eyes held mine, a dark promise lurking within their depths.
"You sing beautifully," he said, his voice a rough caress. "Perhaps you will entertain me again."
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. His fingers trailed down my neck, sending shivers through my entire body. The Rajah's presence was overwhelming, his power palpable.
"Go, rest now," he commanded, finally releasing me. "Tomorrow will be another day."
I rose on unsteady legs, my heart pounding in my chest. As I left his home, I could still feel the weight of his gaze on me, the memory of his touch lingering on my skin. The night air was cool against my heated cheeks, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
The days ahead would be filled with uncertainty and fear, but I had survived another night. As long as I could endure, there was hope. And perhaps, someday, a chance for freedom.
*****