Nusantara Descend

Birds began to chirp in the distance, breaking the silence of the early morning. The soft glow of the rising sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange. As dawn slowly emerged over the horizon, the slight smell of damp earth and ash permeated the cool morning air.

Before being released when the cave was graced by the sunlight, Arjuna was unaware that he had been imprisoned there all night.

Arjuna, overwhelmed with fatigue, embraced the morning's warmth. He inhaled clean air after wiping the dust from his body.

Around him, the injured villagers huddled, their souls fortified despite their battered bodies. One offered their body as a crutch after glancing at Arjuna.

"I'm fine; you should take care of yourself," Arjuna declined, clutching his sides.

The villager took off in respect for Arjuna's choice. Instead, they supported others by draping their arms over the other's shoulders.

Scavenging for sturdy vines and firm sticks, the healthy villagers hurried to the wood. They wanted to craft makeshift crutches. While every villager was doing their own thing, an elderly lady approached Arjuna.

She slowly walked toward Arjuna with her makeshift cane. She clasped his hands with her weathered fingers.

"Thank you, truly," her eyes welled up with tears.

"It's fine," Arjuna embraced the old lady, caressing her worn-out back.

The other villagers looked at the scene and nodded, expressing their gratitude. Meanwhile, the children swarmed Arjuna, wanting to be caressed too.

"There, there," Arjuna massaged each of them individually.

As Arjuna gazed up at the bright sky, he pondered. "If only I were stronger,"

The journey home was quieter than Arjuna expected. Despite their weariness, the villagers maintained a steady pace, proving their perseverance.

Their stomachs were not quiet, but neither were their voices. Arjuna wished to keep them from going hungry.

Whenever the group would take a small break, Arjuna would silently split from the group. He slipped off into the woods, taking out his bow and arrow. Kunti helped him by spotting prey from above the canopies.

"That bush to your left," she pointed toward a cluster of bushes.

Pulling an arrow, Arjuna knelt. It was a wild boar, munching blindly through the undergrowth. Exhaling, he stepped on a parched leaf and drew his bow.

After spotting Arjuna, the boar fled. Arjuna swiftly aimed at the running boar and fired, not wanting to miss the chance. It came very close.

"Damn," Arjuna lowered his bow.

"You ought to practice your stealth," Kunti hinted.

"Perhaps if I had the benefit of floating," Arjuna retorted, glancing up at the trees.

Kunti's gaze narrowed as she noticed a rustle. "Somewhere between those bushes is a rabbit."

Blindly, Arjuna shot into the bushes. Fortunately, the shot was successful, and a rabbit was captured. Arjuna grinned triumphantly, pleased with the result.

"Nice shot," Kunti floated over the body.

"Thanks," Arjuna placed the body into his spatial bag.

"Though, why aren't you using your magic?" Kunti looked at Arjuna.

Arjuna touched his stomach. "Perhaps my mana has been exhausted."

"Is that why you asked for my help?" Kunti pondered.

"Yeah," Arjuna snapped his fingers.

Then, with Kunti leading him to more game, they hunted in silence. Arjuna brought enough meat with them when they got back, enough to sustain the villagers for a while.

Several birds, rabbits, and even a few wild boars were in his bag. The villagers kept foraging to make more tools while Arjuna hunted stealthily.

Upon returning to the villagers, Arjuna saw that they were all grinning. As they conversed with one another, their laughter was loud. Leaning against a tree, Arjuna had a somber expression.

"You're brooding again," she said in a lighthearted but kind tone.

Arjuna asked himself. "Have I done enough?"

"You've done plenty," Kunti patted his head.

When they returned to the village, the sun was at its zenith. The fire's ashes and debris were clearly visible. Only the charred remains of houses remained.

Because of the intense heat, the villagers had no time to weep this loss and moved. They moved into houses that barely stood.

Although ridden with exposure, everything can be covered by a tarp. Tarps were quickly placed over the holes in the roofs.

After they settled, a villager went around, telling them to assemble in the village center, where everything took place.

They cleared away any leftover trash, erected a temporary altar, and decorated it with flowers they had picked along the way.

The villagers moved in a systematic rhythm. They needed more hands than ever. They moved without being ordered; they moved with synchronized understanding.

The fathers looked for debris that could be useful; the mothers collected burnt remains of household items.

Even children had to put in work. Their tiny hands scoured their homes, searching for their missing toys.

Arjuna settled in one of the burned-out houses, which had only half a roof over his head. Watching it all happen, he leaned back and laid his head against the scorched wall, falling asleep.

"I'll watch over them," Kunti smirked.

Arjuna was awoken by a loud but melancholic vocal. The gentle hum of voices surrounded the village with a grateful, albeit mournful, mood.

He opened his eyes to the villagers gathered around the altar they erected at noon. Each one of them was singing a particular tune.

Arjuna was enamored by the scene. The villagers gathered around the altar to sing a sweet but sorrowful melody. He couldn't help but listen quietly from the distance.

"Juna, the meat," Kunti reminded Arjuna.

Arjuna snapped back at reality. "Ah, right,"

Arjuna approached the kids to not disturb the adults who were gathered. He opened his bag and showed the various dead animals.

The kids looked at Arjuna, their eyes radiating the stars. "Is this for us, mister?"

"It's for everyone. Can you ask the butcher to help me prepare them?" Arjuna asked the kids.

The kids took off immediately. They soon brought back their local butchers. The butcher and Arjuna worked together to prepare the meat for the feast, while the kids watched in awe.

Arjuna wiped his sweat. "Alright, it's time to feast,"

Behind his back was a pile of animal corpses, ranging from small to medium. They were placed on a washed tarp.

"Can you guys bring your parents here? Of course, when they're finished," Arjuna asked of the kids.

Their ritual was wrapped up shortly after. They wanted to know what was so urgent that their kids dragged them there.

Arjuna revealed the animal corpses behind him. "Enjoy!"

"Wow!" the villagers exclaimed in unison.

Quickly, a festival was organized. Some villagers brought out their secret stashes, including spices and alcohol.

They lit campfires and brought out their pots. The adults eagerly began cooking while the children continued to play.

One of the kids pulled Arjuna, who was sitting on the sidelines. It was the kid in the barrel, the older of the siblings.

"Thanks for bringing our parents back, mister!" she smiled brightly.

She introduced Arjuna to her mother, simmering a rabbit stew. Her brother tugged at Arjuna from behind.

Arjuna looked back. "Hey, kid." he ruffled his hair.

The brother pointed at Kunti. "Can I play with that older sister over there?" he asked politely.

Arjuna glanced at Kunti, signaling. "You want to?"

Kunti held the little boy's hand, interacting with him. The sister was confused at the situation, wondering why her brother was smiling into the air.

"Excuse my son," the mother stirred the pot.

"No worries," Arjuna sat beside the mother.

"He does that often, talking into the air," the mother handed Arjuna a bowl.

"He's talking to spirits; he has a great aptitude," Arjuna looked at the bowl.

The mother's eyes glimmered. "He can be strong like you?"

"I'm not. If only I were stronger…" Arjuna looked up at the starry sky.

The mother noticed the somber expression on Arjuna and poured him the stew. Arjuna noticed the heat on his hands and nodded at her.

"Thank you," Arjuna drank the soup. "Hot!"

The mother continued stirring the pot. "Take your time,"

The night of mourning went on. All of them wept, whether in joy or grief. They wanted to remember their loss, but they also wanted to forget their suffering.