“My son, what should I give you to remember me? Oh god, show me your generosity so that I can give my son a token of my love for him," Dewi Sokawati called.
Nature heard Dewi Sokawati's request. The moonlight shone through the fabric of night. A glimmer gave enough light for Dewi Sokawati see the falling campaka (champak) flowers. Best of all, as the champak flowers fell, a ray of the evening light suddenly snaked down to fall in front of Dewi Sokawati, turning into a length of thread. Taking the night’s thread, she arranged the champak flowers that fell earlier. In a moment, it became campakamala, a necklace of champak flowers.
The wind rustles softly, its sound approaching the trees to hum the evening song of the champak flowers as Dewi Sokawati drapes the string of fragrant blooms around her son's neck.
"My son, on this night of champak flowers, I leave you to nature. I believe that nature will be able to take care of you more perfectly than your mother could. Humans can be cruel to life and neglectful of it. I believe nature is not like that. Nature gives life and nurtures it. In this time of my sorrow, the night sings with the joyous song of the champak flowers. For me, this is a sign, that nature will protect and take care of you, my son," said Dewi Sokawati, looking at the garland of champak flowers on her son's neck.
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Her son looks beautiful with the garland of champak flowers around his neck. Dewi Sokawati smiles. Her smile is small and brief. In the midst of herdeep sorrow, however, that smile appears as a sparkling rainbow in the dark night. The baby, who lays on a base of champak leaves, seems touched by that smile. And he smiles, too, in his sleep. Dewi Sokawati cannot but feel miserable and sad on seeing her son's smile. She hugs her son tight.
There is a flash of light like lightning. The light then enters the string of champak flowers. And in an instant, the string of champak flowers turns into pearls, white and yellow. The pearls of champak flowers form the necklace that forms a ring around the neck of the ugly demon baby. Dewi Sokawati seems to disbelieve what she is seeing. However, all convince her that her son will bloom and grow like the champak flowers. She looks at her son, and she kisses him for the last time. The night again turns dark. "My son, it is finally time for me to leave you." Then Dewi Sokawati leaves, with immeasurable grief in her heart.
In a limp and unsteady gait, Dewi Sokawati walks. The night still lends its darkness as she departs the forest on the edge of Jatisrana. In the distance is heard a sad cry. The whish of the wind carries the cry. And the wind raises the cry to the leaves of the teak and pine trees in Jatisrana Forest. The leaves then grieve also, and allow their sadness to become a painful whistle that sharpens the heartrending cry. Dewi Sokawati knows this cry is the cry of her child, who is fast asleep on the champak leaves. The child must have awoken and cried on sensing that his mother was no longer by his side. Who can stand to hear that heartrending cry? Even if Dewi Sokawati wants to stopper her ears, indeed, she cannot close the doors of her heart to her son's voice.
Slowly but surely, the cry fades. It is not because the tears have dried, but because Dewi Sokawati has left Jatisrana Forest far behind her. Dawn begins to break, the sun giving it a deep red hue. Why, on such a beautiful morning, has the crow of the rooster to wake the universe been unheard as yet? Why is it that all that is heard, even the call of the cuckoo, is in sorrow? Dewi Sokawati feels that this is all because the cry of her child will always be with her. At the break of dawn, his cry is not far, but remains in the sorrowful song of the cuckoo.
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Finally, Dewi Sokawati arrives at the Jatisrana hermitage. Grief cannot be swept away in an instant. Grief continues to accompany her like clouds sweeping over clouds. For a long time, she does not speak to her husband. Begawan Swandagni also does not know what words he can use to comfort his wife. In his heart, he admits he is guilty that his wife has been afflicted with immeasurable sorrow. However, he stands firm, that he is innocent of throwing out his ugly son.
As the days pass, the Jatisrana hermitage also becomes submerged in that sorrow. In the morning, the birds are unwilling to sing. At night, the moon always sinks beneath the horizon. The roots of the banyan trees no longer want to hold on to the earth. The leaves of the ashoka trees, the trees without sorrow, wither. Their flowers fall to the ground, the red leaching from the blooms. The champak flowers, too, are reluctant to bloom, and their beautiful white and yellow hues disappear from Jatisrana hermitage. Meanwhile, Dewi Sokawati looks older, her beauty slowly fading. Grief seems to be leading her to the end.
This article was translated by Hyginus Hardoyo.
