His Nyai, Their Enemy

Sekar Larasati sensed something was wrong long before the sound of horses reached the village, as if the morning itself carried a quiet warning she could not ignore. The air felt too still, too heavy, pressing against her chest in a way that made each breath slightly harder than the last. Usually, dawn came with familiar sounds—roosters calling, leaves shifting in the wind—but that morning, everything seemed to pause, suspended in a silence that did not belong. She stood barefoot in front of her bamboo house, clutching her shawl around her shoulders, trying to shake off the unease crawling beneath her skin. Then the sound came. At first distant, but quickly growing clearer—the sharp, steady rhythm of hooves striking the ground, fast and deliberate, echoing through the quiet village. Sekar turned instinctively, her heartbeat faltering as a large carriage appeared at the end of the path, followed by armed men in uniform. One by one, villagers stepped out of their homes, whispering to each other, pulling children closer, watching with the kind of fear no one needed to explain. Dutch soldiers. The realization spread through her like cold water. When the carriage stopped directly in front of her house, she no longer needed to guess. This was for her. A quiet “no” slipped from her lips as she took a step back, but her body felt rooted in place when her eyes landed on her father. He was kneeling. The sight struck her harder than anything else. “Father?” she called, her voice unsteady as she moved toward him, only to be stopped by a soldier who stepped in front of her without hesitation. “Stay back,” he said flatly. Sekar tried to push past him, her movements quick and desperate. “Move. That’s my father.” The man blocked her easily, his grip firm when he caught her arm, as though her resistance meant nothing. “Ayah,” she called again, louder this time, her voice beginning to break. “Look at me. What is happening? Why are they here?” Her father did not lift his head. That silence hurt more than the soldier’s grip, more than the presence of the armed men behind her. It was heavier, deeper, and far more difficult to face. “She’s the girl?” The voice came from behind the soldier, calm and controlled. Sekar turned slowly, drawn by the tone more than the words. A man stood near the carriage, tall and composed, his uniform immaculate in a way that made him seem out of place in the village. There was nothing hurried about him, nothing uncertain. Every movement carried quiet authority. His gaze settled on her and did not move. It was not a casual glance but something far more deliberate, as though he were evaluating her, deciding something about her that she had no say in. “I will take her.” The sentence was spoken without force, yet it carried the weight of something final. Sekar stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up with what she had just heard. Then the meaning struck, sudden and sharp. “No,” she said, shaking her head as she broke free for a brief second and dropped to her knees beside her father, clutching his arm tightly. “No, this is wrong. Tell him. Tell him I am not going.” Her fingers tightened around his sleeve as though she could anchor herself there, as though holding on hard enough might change everything. “Father, please.” He finally spoke, though his voice was strained and quiet. “Sekar, forgive me.” The words seemed to hollow out her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling now, panic rising with each second. “We can find another way. I will work. I will do anything.” “We have debts,” he replied, cutting through her desperation with a simple truth. Sekar stared at him, disbelief flooding her expression. “So I pay for them?” she asked, her voice cracking. “You send me away to settle them?” He closed his eyes briefly, as though the act alone might shield him from her pain. “I have no other choice.” A soft, broken sound escaped her, something caught between a laugh and a sob. “There is always a choice,” she said, her voice shaking as she looked at him. “You just chose me to lose.” He did not deny it. And in that moment, she understood more clearly than ever that no one was going to stop this. “Enough.” The Dutch man’s voice came again, closer this time. Sekar rose slowly, her hands trembling at her sides as she faced him. “I am not going with you.” The words were not strong, but they were the only thing she could offer. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression, something almost like interest. “You do not have a choice.” “I would rather die.” The moment the sentence left her lips, she knew she had gone too far, yet she did not take it back. A faint, almost amused smile touched his face. “We will see.” Before she could move, a soldier grabbed her arm, his grip tight enough to make her flinch. Panic surged through her immediately, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She twisted, pulled, struggled without rhythm or control, her movements driven purely by fear. “Let me go,” she cried, her voice rising as she fought against him. “Let me go.” Her resistance only made his grip tighten. “Sekar.” The sound of her name cut through everything. She froze and turned sharply toward the voice. “Raka.” He came toward her quickly, breath uneven, his expression filled with anger and urgency. Without hesitation, he stepped between her and the soldiers, placing himself firmly at her side. “Let her go,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. The Dutch man observed him calmly. “And who are you?” Raka did not answer immediately, his attention fixed on Sekar as if reassuring himself that she was still there. “I am here,” he said to her more quietly. “I will not let them take you.” Sekar shook her head, fear tightening her chest. “They will hurt you,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Please, do not do this.” “I am not afraid of them,” he replied, then turned to face the Dutch man directly. “If it is money you want, I will find it. Give me time.” The man studied him with a detached expression. “You have nothing to offer.” “I have enough to fight for her,” Raka answered without hesitation. For a moment, no one moved. Then the Dutch man spoke again, his tone unchanged. “Take him.” The shift was immediate. Soldiers stepped forward, grabbing Raka before Sekar could react. He fought back, striking and pushing, refusing to go down easily, but the difference in number was too great. Within moments, he was forced to the ground, held there despite his resistance. “Raka,” Sekar cried, panic breaking through her voice as she tried to reach him, only to be pulled back again. “Do not touch her,” he shouted, struggling under their hold. “Stop,” Sekar pleaded, her voice shaking as she turned desperately toward the Dutch man. “Please, do not hurt him.” Her breath came unevenly, her thoughts racing too fast to hold onto. “I will go,” she said suddenly, the words leaving her before she could reconsider them. “I will go with you. Just let him go.” Raka’s head lifted sharply. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “Do not do this.” “I will go,” she repeated, forcing the words out despite the pain that came with them. “Please. Let him go.” The man watched her for a moment before giving a small nod. “Release him.” The soldiers obeyed. Raka pushed himself up, his gaze immediately finding Sekar, filled with disbelief and urgency. “You cannot go with him,” he said, his voice strained. “I will find a way. I promise.” Sekar looked at him, tears slipping quietly down her face. She wanted to believe him. But something inside her had already begun to change. Promises felt fragile now. Unreliable. As she was led toward the carriage, Sekar did not look back at her father. She could not bear to see him again. Just before stepping inside, she paused and turned. Raka was still there, watching her as though everything depended on this moment. “I will come back for you,” he said. Sekar opened her mouth, wanting to answer, wanting to hold onto something that still felt real, but no words came. The carriage door closed, cutting off the moment before it could become anything more. As the wheels began to move, carrying her away from the only life she had ever known, Sekar felt the weight of it settle deep inside her. She was not only leaving her home. She was leaving behind the part of herself that believed she had any control over what came next. Inside the carriage, she sat stiffly, her hands trembling in her lap, her thoughts scattered and hollow. Then a voice broke the silence. “From today,” the man said. Sekar slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “You belong to me.” There was no anger in his tone, no raised voice, no visible cruelty. Only certainty. And somehow, that certainty felt far more terrifying than anything else that had happened that morning.