IKAPITONG KABANATA - tr. CHAPTER 07
Ang kamatayan ni Vray
Vray's Death
DIWA
I survived.
The Rajah took me back, his anger palpable as he confronted Vray. Inside their opulent home, their voices clashed like thunder, Vray’s sharp accusations cutting through the tense atmosphere. The revelry outside ceased, and the night air grew heavy with unease.
I stared at my hands, still trembling from the confrontation.
I have killed a man.
“Diwa!” I turned at the sound of Lila’s voice as I made my way back to my humble nipa hut. Her eyes held a mixture of concern and relief. “Are you alright? Were you hurt?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.
I managed a weak smile. “I’m fine, Lila,” I reassured her, though the weight of what I had done hung heavily on my conscience.
She regarded me for a long moment before pulling me into a tight embrace. I returned the gesture, finding solace in her comforting presence. “Please, Diwa. Be careful,” she implored, her voice laced with worry.
I will.
But the next day, when the Rajah was absent, Vray summoned me to her chambers.
The morning light filtered through the ornate capiz windows as I hesitated outside Vray’s quarters, my heart pounding with trepidation. The tension from the previous night still lingered, casting a shadow over the grandeur of the Rajah’s home. Summoning all my courage, I entered.
“Diwa,” Vray’s voice sliced through the air like a kampilan, cold and venomous. “Come closer.”
I approached cautiously, my gaze meeting hers. The fury and resentment in her eyes were unmistakable. She motioned for me to sit, but I remained standing, my muscles tense with apprehension.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “The Rajah may have spared you, but I will not.”
Before I could react, Vray lunged at me, a glint of steel flashing in her hand. Instinct took over as I dodged her attack, my hand instinctively reaching for anything to defend myself. I grasped a nearby wooden pestle and swung it with all my might, striking her arm and sending the dagger clattering to the ground. She staggered back, momentarily stunned.
Seizing the opportunity, I snatched up the fallen dagger, my hands trembling with adrenaline. “Stay back,” I warned, my voice quivering with fear and defiance.
Vray’s laughter filled the room, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Do you think you can kill me, slave?” she taunted, her eyes blazing with malice. She lunged again, and in the frantic struggle that ensued, my survival instincts kicked in.
With a surge of desperation, I plunged the dagger into her chest.
Vray’s eyes widened in shock and agony as she stumbled backwards, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers, staining her elegant baro’t saya crimson. I recoiled in horror at the sight of what I had done, the reality of my actions hitting me like a tidal wave.
No, no. This must be a dream. This time, I will become a murderer. This—
The room spun around me as I watched her collapse to the ground, her life ebbing away before my eyes. It felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. But there was no denying the truth—I had taken a life, and the weight of that knowledge threatened to crush me.
Gasping for breath, I dropped the bloodstained dagger and fled from the room, my mind swirling with panic and guilt. I stumbled blindly through the halls of the Rajah’s home, desperate to escape the scene of my crime. There were no people outside, and if someone saw me…
I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of guilt that consumed me. The knowledge that I had taken a life weighed heavily on my soul, casting a shadow over any sense of relief or safety. And deep down, I feared that this was just the beginning of a darkness that threatened to engulf us all.
 As the days passed, the air in the Rajah's home grew heavy with tension, each breath laden with unspoken fears and whispered suspicions. I tried to push the memory of Vray's death to the depths of my mind, burying it beneath layers of forced forgetfulness while I worked. But guilt has a way of clawing its way to the surface, haunting every step, every heartbeat.
Then one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the palace was shrouded in the soft glow of twilight, a summons came—a command from the Rajah himself.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I made my way to his chambers, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The air seemed charged with anticipation, thick with the weight of impending doom.
When I entered his home, the Rajah was seated, his expression unreadable as he regarded me with cold eyes. "Diwa," he said, his voice like ice slicing through the silence.
I sank to my knees, my pulse racing with dread. "Rajah," I whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
"You have been summoned," he continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "To answer for the death of my wife."
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach, the reality of my actions crashing down upon me with crushing force. I could feel the weight of the Rajah's judgment bearing down upon me, threatening to crush me beneath its merciless weight.
"I-I had no choice," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "She attacked me. It was self-defense."
The Rajah's gaze bore into me, his eyes like twin flames burning with intensity. "And yet, she lies dead at your hands," he said, his voice betraying nothing. "A woman of noble birth, slain by a lowly slave. I can overlook your killing of Magat, but not this."
The accusation hung in the air like a heavy fog, choking the breath from my lungs. I felt as though I were drowning in a sea of guilt and despair, my chest tightening with each passing moment.
But despite the fear that threatened to consume me, there was a flicker of defiance burning within my soul—a stubborn refusal to bow down to the injustice of it all.
"I am no murderer," I declared, my voice trembling but firm. "I defended myself against an attacker. I will not beg for mercy for doing what any person would do to protect their own life."
The Rajah's expression remained impassive, his eyes unreadable as he regarded me in silence. For a long, agonizing moment, the air hung heavy with uncertainty, the tension between us crackling like lightning in a summer storm.
Then, finally, he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a kampilan. "You will stand trial for your actions," he said, his words like a death sentence hanging in the air. "And may the Bathala have mercy on your soul."
"Absolutely not," I vehemently retorted. "You would execute me for avenging your wife's death in the name of justice, yet what you've done to my people means nothing?" My question dripped with bitterness. If I were to die, I'd unleash everything. "You are despicable, Rajah," I spat, fixing him with a steely gaze. But he only stared back at me, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes. "Execute me or sell me to another datu, I no longer care. I lived as a slave, and I'll die as one."
But he just stared at me.
He then said, “You will not go to any other datu but me, Diwa. I will not allow you to be killed.”
My eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He stood up, and I immediately looked up at him as he approached me. “There are no people listening to your judgment. Do you think I would let you be executed?”
“What do you want?”
“Become my wife, and all your crimes will be forgotten.”
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